A Daydream on Elm Street

As I woke up to a misty morning on my last day in Vermont, I appropriately celebrated my four-month anniversary of being on the trail by hiking until my next meal stop. Everything from navigating tricky descents to setting up and taking down camp had become clockwork to me, and as I crossed a bridge into West Hartford, I was called over to a house owned by a trail angel and talked to her about the trail over freshly brewed Green Mountain Coffee. I had told her about my "trailiversary", and she congratulated me and said that I was nearing the end of my journey. Now, I always knew that it would eventually end, but the fact that it had started to become recognized by others made me resent the fact that the culture and spontaneity would end as well. Most people look at the guy on the street corner holding the sign that says "The End Is Near" with disgust, but that is because they can't fathom or simply choose not to entertain the thought. As I had neither luxury to distract myself with, I found myself running a race that I secretly didn't want to finish. I'm confident that my body will cross the finish line, but I couldn't say the same about my mind. Anyone who has ran a race knows that besides physical prowess, one thing that will get you to the finish line is encouragement from the sidelines, and my mind was propelled to match my stride on Elm Street coming into Norwich, overlooking the state of New Hampshire. Multiple driveways had trail magic set up near where it met the street, and I found myself bolting with power and a new found mental fortitude into the second to last state of my trip.

A couple of weeks ago, I teamed up with Yankee (who I had met right before the Smokies), Roadrunner (an army veteran/nurse I became acquainted with before the Shenandoahs), and Fireman (who I had met on the spot) to hike through Massachusetts. We went over Mt. Greylock (the highest point in the state) in excellent weather, and were treated on the other side to burgers and hot dogs cooked by visiting friends of Yankee. The next day for the Fourth of July, we were picked up by Fireman's mom (affectionately called "Firemom") and were brought to their house in central MA to enjoy smoked meats and craft beers while we listened to patriotic songs and played a trail version of "Horse" (all the while trying to dribble quietly).

As we crossed into Vermont the next day, we received many warnings concerning the muddy trails (characterizing the state's trail name "Vermud") and were made aware that the state just had it's rainiest June in 130 years. We took the mud as well as the occasional moments of rain we had in the state with stride, but one thing that annoyed me were all of the blown-down trees. Normally on the trail, blowdowns are cleared with the help of a chainsaw relatively quickly, but due to a noise regulation in Green Mountain National Forest as well as a possible lack of funding, the trail in Vermont is littered with fallen trees, making me wonder sometimes if there had even been a trail at all. It was very frustrating slowing my pace down to get over the trees and getting myself wet and dirty to nearly straddle over the larger ones. The trail in Vermont eventually earned my personal slogan, "the prettiest bushwhack you'll ever take."

The second day in Vermont, Yankee and I went into the town of Bennington, where we immediately stopped at a Stewart's Shop for snacks. Quintessential to the Adirondacks, I was feeling more in my element along with the scenery more and more everyday. From there, our group went up to the summit of Glastenbury Peak, where we set up camp and caught the sunset from the top of the firetower. The next day, we climbed into the clouds up to the top of Stratton Mountain and enjoyed wild strawberries on the way down.

As I needed to get to Killington (about fifty miles ahead) before the weekend to pick up a dropbox I had sent to the post office, I went ahead of the group the next day to a shelter, where some of us made a roaring bonfire. It was there I invented a new trail recipe called the "quesadilla roll", which involves making a quesadilla with a choice of fixings, wrapping it around a stick, securing it with a skewer, and roasting it over a fire. Needless to say, it went over very well among the group of hungry hikers. From there, I headed to the summit lodge on Killington Peak and made the hills come alive with a beer crafted by the Von Trapp Family Lodge in Stowe. From there, I heard about a race event happening at the base of the mountain the next day, so I stayed in the town of Killington to watch that and meet awesome people.

The following day, I learned that the rest of the group was at a work-for-stay hostel in Rutland (10 miles west), so I went over to meet them and help pick raspberries in exchange for a bunk and amazing wholesome food from the adjoining Yellow Deli. The whole establishment was run by the Twelve Tribes Community, and I experienced the same wonderful hospitality that I did at their farm near Harper's Ferry, West Virginia. Our last day there, we decided to slackpack 24 miles from Killington with the help of the excellent area bus system. The plan was to hitch back to Killington at the end of the day to take the bus back to Rutland, but we found it very difficult as we had unknowingly ended at a road crossing outside a very ritzy, resort-like town called Woodstock. Daylight was dwindling and spirits were low due to no cell service to call a shuttle with, but we eventually were able to find hitches and got back to Rutland where we gorged on long-anticipated frosties from Wendy's.

We somehow left the hospitable grasp of the Hostel at Yellow Deli and had an easier time getting back to Woodstock the next day (this time using a sign decorated to channel the iconic music festival, which may have helped our chances). What awaited us was elevation gradient reminiscent of the roller coaster at the end of Virginia, and we slogged into the shelter near the end of Vermont completely wiped out. As I write this now in the library of Hanover, NH, I will soon be exploring the pretty downtown and the beautiful campus of Dartmouth College. And this is only the beginning of New Hampshire.