I’ll Be Home for Christmas

I am bloging from Killington Vermont, at the Mountain Meadows Lodge which boasts an unbelievable thru-hiker package including Breakfast and Dinner. With almost 1700 miles completed I am staring up at the Whites with trepidation and excitement and though I have less than 500 miles left, I still have a long way to go.

Connecticut was beautiful which surprised me. Miles of river walks led to resepectable climbs over a well maintained trail. Clearly the state that spawned Martha Stewart was not going to let a dingy overgrown trail blemish its manicured landscape. Even the signage adhered to a strict color scheme: eggshell and fern. Complimenting the forest pallete, these signs were handcarved some in cursive which usually directed you to the toilete. Unfortunately the muted tones made reading the signs difficult. Even the  trails leading to the shelters were blazed by a gentle sky blue rather than the standard abrasive attention grabbing neon shade and therefore easily missed. 

In Massachusetts the trail goes through the Berkshires, which though beautiful were not as “dreamlike” as James Taylor would have believed in fact it was slightly nightmareish. Rundown motels get away with murder on the weekends, everything is overpriced and not many shops were happy to see a dirty hiker come through the door. The area even has its own currancy, the Berkshire, which cooincidentally is stronger than the US dollar. a thru-hiker named Durty Feet and I commiserated over the problem. Durty Feet is not a “purist” hiker determined to hike every mile and every white blaze but rather hiking, hitch-hiking and flip flopping her way to Maine, hopeful to complete 1500 miles for the season. She is from Orgeon and is taking time off from her job where she was hired becasue she was a Sagitarius. After consulting her astrological chart, her boss told her they needed a Sagitarius on staff and he liked what her chart said she would bring to the office. “That’s Oregon” she told me.

I learned the hard way that Massachusetts mosquitos are immune to DEET, a toxic chemical that can eat through tent material but can’t adequately repel bugs. Sometimes I would glance over my shoulder to see a dark cloud of blood thirsty mosquittos in pursuit. Its too dangerous to stop so If you have to pee, you have to hike and pee, if you have to eat, its on the go.  But the climb up Mt. Everett and Mount Greylock was worth the inexorable itch.

In Mass I was reunited with Pokey Pokey who joined me for a couple days of hiking. Pokey made sure that there was ample space between us at all times. Apparently my stentch triggered her gag reflex. I was warned by a flailing arm and frantically waving hand that I was encroaching and contaminating her clean air supply. Boxed wine seemed to ameliorate the problem. Why I haven’t been able to find wine in juice boxes til now, I know not? I do know that it is a brilliant invention, a touchstone of human engineering equaled only by the invention of gore-tek. Unfortuantely true to form, it rained for 3 days straight. Seeing a pattern emerge Pokey Pokey and I snatched up a motel room in Williamstown, Mass. which plays host to the Williamstown theater festival every summer. The festival attracts actors from near and far using celebrities to headline shows and fill houses. Sure enough, walking into the Stop and Shop to resupply we ran into Kristen Johnston, the really tall actress from third rock from the sun talking really loudly into a cell phone and kind of making a scene. “Shes not even trying to be incognito,” I said to Pokey who responded, “I don’t think she’s famous enough.” There we were in line with Kristen Johnston at the great social equalizer- the Stop and Shop. I thought how wierd it was for this small town to host both celebrities and hikers, from people who won’t get out of bed for less than $10,000 to people who havent slept in a bed in weeks.

Before Pokey left, I checked the weather report which went something like this. “BUCKETS of rain, SOAKING New England, moving SLOWLY, advised to stay INDOORS,” voiced over a 7 day graphic forcast of nothing but angry frowning gray clouds with lightning bolts. I ended up hiking the first 20 miles of Vermont in Crocs unable to avoid the river of water rushing down the trail. This was not a light trickle of water but 4-6 inches of fast moving streams and waterfalls gushing down on me. Where the terrain was flat, the water pooled up to a foot deep. If the water managed to soak into the soil it simply converted the trail to a mud pit up to 8 inches that sucked both boots and crocs off hikers. Apparently this is one of the wettest Julys in Vermont record but Inspite of the trail itself the woods are beautiful and have seamlessly transitioned into tunnels of evergreens, leaving soft pine needle beds for camping. Moose have replaced bears and the smell of fir trees makes it impossible to resist singing christmas songs.