Uh-Oh This Isn’t Good…

I am now 1,135 miles into the trail, leaving a paltry 1,040 miles left. At this crucial juncture, just north of the 1/2 way point, I feel the need to pause and reflect and perhaps obviate just how little I’ve learned in the last 3 months in a blog i’d like to call “Uh-Oh, This Isn’t Good.” Part 1: Things that are gross. Part 2: Things that i’ve broken. Part 3: Things that I shouldn’t have done.

Part 1: Things that are Gross

The 1/2 gallon challenge, as I mentioned earlier occurs at the Pine Grove State Park just south of the half way point and was the cause of much of my trepidation two days prior to my arrival. Could I actually consume a half gallon of ice cream? and worse, would I be sitting on the privy for the next 3 days? The woman behind the counter of the general store informed me it was a 27 year old tradition and the only way to gain membership into the exclusive “1/2 gallon club.” Not one to argue with tradition I was convinced and sat down with my brick of vanilla surrounded by a ring of spectators including three children who wore expressions of excitement equalled only by those seen on Christmas Day. I set my watch and dug in. 19 minutes and 34 seconds later I finished. It was by no means a record breaking time but it was the strongest showing recently. I was proud and nauseous. The kids cheered and asked whether I would attempt a full gallon in Maine. Absolutely not was my response. It was about three miles later that the mound of butter and cream became restless and I thought, uh-oh, this isn’t good.

The only other time my stomach revolted was in Virgina. I came to a beautiful section of trail and heard a gentle drizzle in the distance. I thought it odd that it was raining on a cloudless day and as the pitter patter grew closer I realized it wasn’t rain at all but little seeds falling from the leaves. I then asked myself what kind of tree discharges seeds at such a constant volume? The answer is none. I looked up to see hundreds of thousands of Gypsy Moth Caterpillars defecating over me. I was under siege. pummeled by poop unable to escape the “friendly fire”. This continued for miles and miles and ceased only when the moths entered the next stage of metamorphosis which I like to call the “yellow-goo phase” this also brings us to the present. It seems these pests have fastened themselves to any and every surface only to die and ooze or drip yellow goo from their rotting bodies. Inevitably I find myself sitting in these gooey bodies almost daily evoking the same thought every time Uh-Oh this isn’t good.

Part 2: things Ive Broken-

I recently took my trekking poles to an outfitter for repair, having worn down the tips to nothing more than blunt nubs. The woman behind the desk said, “These are the worst tips i’ve ever seen, I mean ever and i’ve seen thousands of poles.” I agreed they were pretty bad but doubted they were the worst. ” I mean how could you let them get so bad?” she asked as if I had just revealed to her a goiter the size of a cantaloupe. After wrestling the ends off she replaced the tips and they were beautiful. I showed them off to everyone. “Yeah, they’re new,” I said, proud of my new bling. The next day one of my poles broke in half after some aggressive hiking and then the waistband of my pack split in half, dangling like a broken wing from my side. Uh-oh this isn’t good I though. Fortunately I managed to repair the pack with some sticks and a strap but I am afraid the pole is a goner. Now I simply carry its pieces, unable to part with its beautiful new tip.

Part 3: Things I shouldn’t have done-

Recently after a 20 mile day , I came to where I had hoped to camp, just past a footbridge over US 11, a major highway. I found a spot that showed clear signs of over and misuse with litter scattered about but with a decent pad to pitch a tent. Going against my gut reaction to run away fast, I set up camp thinking, what kind of rif-raf comes out on a Wednesday night? I mean really. Sure enough at approximately 2 AM I heard branches breaking in the distance. The sound of cracking limbs came closer and closer and I prayed it was bears- at least I knew how to handle bears. It wasn’t. Flashlight beams struck my rain-fly and a crowd of people emerged from the woods carrying bags of spray paint cans which I could hear rattling between spurts of laughter. Uh-oh this isn’t good, I thought and at 2 am I packed up my bag and hit the trail. What lay ahead were miles of farmland and wetlands both of which are impossible to navigate in the dark and prohibit camping. For hours I stood in overgrown fields, turning in circles looking for the next white blaze to guide me ultimately giving up and trusting my intuition, heading off into the dark in some random direction. I can say without fail that my intuition was wrong every single time and I was forced to retrace my steps, swallow my pride and chart another futile course into the darkness. By process of illumination I discovered the trail and took an embarrassingly long time to hike away from my poor judgement.

-Newt