What Storm? (Day 164) (Miles Hiked: 1890)

I wish I had a cool hurricane story. I wish it had been necessary to tie myself to a tree to avoid being blown away and I wish I had spent the duration of the storm with wind whipping through my hair while I cursed the gods like Lieutenant Dan in Forrest Gump. Unfortunately, when the rains came, I was in a cheap hotel playing cards and eating caramel ice cream. If it weren't for the condition of the trail the next day, I wouldn't have noticed that a hurricane had been here at all. The picture above is NOT a creek--that's the trail. My feet are soaked but I'm in a great mood. Today, I cross a state border for the 13th and final time. States finished: Georgia North Carolina Tennessee Virginia West Virginia Maryland Pennsylvania New Jersey New York Connecticut Massachusetts Vermont New Hampshire States remaining: Maine

My Mountain (Day 152) (1820 Miles Hiked)

The White Mountains of New Hampshire are challenging enough even in the best weather conditions and on that particular morning, the local weatherman said it was going to be awful.

I started the day in Lincoln, NH with two sensible hikers named Coyote and Lady Sherpa. They urged me to take the day off, dodge the rain, and eat chocolate chip pancakes with them in town. I'm not sure why exactly, but I declined. Stubbornly, I hitched a ride to the trail head alone and began hiking.

Around 1:30 PM, I was approaching the peak of Kinsman Mountain when I decided that I had made a mistake. What was I thinking being out here today? Not only was I soaked and climbing a steep incline, I hadn't seen another hiker in 4 hours. I don't mind being alone, but usually, when I'm attempting to climb a waterfall during a torrential downpour, I prefer a little company. (You know, just in case I slip off a rock ledge and need someone to remove two words from the title of my blog.)

I was thinking about maple syrup and warm chocolate chip pancakes when I finally reached the so-called "scenic overlook" on the summit. It was obviously a nice spot. On clear day, I would have seen valleys thousands of feet below and miles of towering mountains fading off into the distance. Of course, on that particular day, I couldn't see a damn thing.

I was wet, cold, alone, and annoyed as I stared out into a sea of white. I couldn't visually tell if I was 200, 4,000, or 50,000 feet above sea level.

I was ready to turn around and begin the arduous journey down, when out of nowhere, a pleasantly ridiculous thought came to mind: There is no one within five miles of me. The rain has kept all the sane people inside. Thousands of tourists will climb this mountain within the next few months, but today, at this very moment, this is MY mountain.

And standing there, gazing out into the infinite abyss, I smiled. And then, for reasons I can't explain, I felt the urge to yell.

I yelled as as loud as I could. I yelled until I ran out of breath and my lungs were sore. And when I couldn't yell anymore, I took one last look at the nothingness below and chuckled a little. Then, I turned around and began the long climb down my mountain with a goofy smile on my face.

The weatherman was wrong when he made his prediction that morning--it was a nice day. And I was alive.

One Paragraph About Vermont (Miles Hiked: 1716) (Day 143)

Vermont has been nuts and I don't have much time, so I'm going to have to write this one fast.

After I spent a night in Bennington with a half blind artist who builds sculptors out of old bicycle parts, I saw a moose on my way to a hostel in Rutland that was run by a cult. I thought I'd be safe at the cult hostel because I was there with another hiker named Thimble, whom I assumed was responsible because she is a devout church going Methodist. But when the cult leader greeted the two of us with a "complimentary drink," Thimble immediately chugged it. Fortunately, the Kool-Aid ended up not being spiked and the cult wasn't all that weird other than the fact that all the men styled headbands and ponytails, their "church service" mostly consisted of square dancing, they ate with chopsticks, and they owned an old van that was used solely for ministry work and road trips to Grateful Dead concerts. (Yes, the Dead still tours--sans Jerry.) After that, I climbed up Mount Killington, only to ride down it on a ski lift where I listened to a mediocre Sublime cover band play a free festival at a ski resort that had no snow because it is the middle of the summer.

Here's a picture of a butterfly that landed on my shoe:

Sorry. I'll try harder next time.

P.S. wisconsinfan--There is no one way to do the trail, so it cost different amounts for different people but imo, it can be done for about $3k and it can be done comfortably for about $5k.