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I returned to the trail after taking three days off visiting my roommate Richard min New York City. My main excuse was blisters, but I was also slowly going crazy from the 90 degree heat, high humidity and rocky terrain of Pennsylvania. To make my deadline of school on August 22nd, I had to keep a seventeen mile a day average (Seven days a week), and the end was nowhere in sight. Or two months away. I never told anyone that I had to take time off because I was really wound up, but felt better when I heard "Red Rover" tell me later on that this was why she had to take three days off in Connecticut. Looking back, everyone I met had taken at least a long weekend off at some point. A vacation from the vacation.
When I returned to Port Clinton I was greeted with a pig roast. I remember seeing signs for it as far back as Maryland, and just happened to catch it. To my surprise, it was thrown by a group of Mennonites, here in the heart of the Pennsylvania Dutch country. Back on the trail, it didn't take long for me to return to a foul mood. My blisters came right back, the rocks were as bad as ever, and now mosquitoes were becoming a concern. Moleskin wasn't doing the trick anymore, so I was using a purple pack towel to pad around my blister and cover most of my foot in duct tape. It was quite the spectacle.
Through Pennsylvania I was also hiking in a "bubble." I knew I was only a few days ahead of my group, and the trail registers let me know how far ahead everyone else was. So it was lots of solo time through here. On day 104 I met "Engine." There are all types of hikers out here, and he struck me as one of the more transient. He was friendly, but quiet, and chain smoked Marlborough Ultra Lights, which struck me as odd. Though he claimed to be a thru-hiker, I had never heard of him before and he didn't really know anyone I was hiking with. Aside from New York, I had been keeping a steady pace, and pretty much knew everyone in my area. This was my first and last encounter with "Engine."
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This was the first time I had seen New Jersey. Though it is part of the continental United States, it is as foreign to me as Ireland or Australia. Sometimes stereotypes are really true. At the post office, in the grocery, people honestly spoke at a louder decibel. It was also the first and last time I was asked to sit in the corner of a restaurant-I was politely asked if I was a hiker, and politely asked if I could sit away from the other customers. No Joke!
Still, I had the good fortune of meeting some great people. Two days into New Jersey, I knew my feet couldn't handle my boots anymore. This was my third pair, and at a full size too big. I knew I was going to have to get a fourth. My dad knew a friend of a friend in the area, and she spent the day getting me boots, taking me grocery shopping and keeping me well fed. Thank you Tina. Luckily these boots were a good fit, and carried me all the way to Katahdin.
I found it hard to believe that New Jersey has a sizeable black bear population, but it does. The first came as a quick rustle in the bushes. I thought it would be just another deer, but it was two cub bears about thirty yards away, running for their lives up a tree (It was a pretty funny sight). The momma bear was standing motionless below, telling me to leave right now. The second was on the trail, also about thirty yards ahead, and when we saw each other, he ran. Much to my relief.
At the highest point in the state, they decided to erect this huge tower, much like Cleopatra's Needle. I don't really know what the point of "High Point Monument" was, but when the mountains scrape a mere 1700 feet in the sky, I guess they have to spruce it up.
New Jersey was also really bad about giving hikers rides. Lots of road walkin to resupply points. The one ride I was able to get was from an older immigrant from Romania (Go Figure). Another hiker, a retired man from the Ozarks, spent five minutes talking to a woman, and then asked for a ride into town. She said she honestly would, but gave him several reasons why she really just doesn't pick up hitchhikers, sorry. And this guy worked for the District Attorney his whole life. Mile 1352 brought me into New York.
I didn't get a single day of rain in New Jersey, and the heat was pretty fierce. The next day I hit the trail at 2:00, and had to make seventeen miles to the shelter. Naturally, I had to walk over lots of big, sloping boulders, and naturally it rained. I took two good spills with my pack on- @#$%!. No time to sulk, I had to make it before it got dark (I haven't met a single hiker who enjoys night hiking). I hiked about an hour and a half, had trouble finding the shelter in the fog, and everyone was asleep when I finally got there. The days like these really wore me out.
Day 112 brought me to the Fingerboard Shelter, where I got to meet back up with my good friend DuBois. DuBois had to step of the trail for about two weeks to get some more money together for the rest of the hike. To keep up with everyone, he jumped two weeks ahead. Unfortunately, he wasn't really feeling the seventeen mile a day pace and I had to leave him at the end of the next day, pushing on another five miles. It was raining stead that day, and I learned something new about rain. I had never spent a full eight hours in it before. Its just like the heat in the sense that once your in it, its not so bad. But after a full day of exposure, it wears you out worse than just about anything. It gets through your skin somehow.
Earlier in Pennsylvania, I had to spend a full day directly under the cloudless sun, hiking through fields and lowlands. Sunscreen wasn't doing the job and I had to break out the long underwear to keep the sun off. Both experiences fully manifest themselves in my thoughts, and there was nothing I could do to bring myself out of this mood. Both situations probably had something to do with being solo and not laughing it off. I was ready sink $70 on a motel room, but the only lodging at Bear Mountain started at $100, and I just couldn't justify it. Well, only after one of my worst days on the hike do I get an easy hitch into town and an offer to stay the night with a generous couple. Thank you Peter and Peggy. They cooked a dinner, we had drinks, I did laundry, and I got to hear about Peter's early days of rock climbing-where they used old soccer cleats and other more primitive means-and later days of trail running (Something I would enjoy taking up too). The next day was the most refreshed I had felt in a long while, Mile 1388...Only 786 to go!
Then it was back to life on the trail as usual, by myself, solo. I couldn't believe it when I saw it, but another old hiking buddy popped up out of the clear blue sky. Sean, who I hadn't seen since Waynesboro, VA (Mile 848), said he had put in some big miles A) to catch up to me one more time, and B)get some alone time from the group. He had hiked two 25 mile days and one 33, saying everyone had always been just a few days behind. It was so great to see him, and hear that next year he will definitely hike the Pacific Crest Trail, and the next year something else (Work six months/Travel six months). I told him I really hope to get on for at least a week long stretch.
Day 118- July 4th in Connecticut. I really should have planned this one out better. When looking through any trail register on July 5th, you are bound to read "We camped up on the ridgeline, and could see the fireworks from four different towns." Well, I was still really busy keeping a steady seventeen mile pace, and was of the attitude "well, however far I get, that's where I sleep." I camped in a flat area covered with bugs. Just another reason why I should do the hike again.
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The next day brought me into Massachusetts, and I finally caught up with some other hikers-"The Brits," "Throw" and his dog "Fetch." We all had a long day getting there, and the bugs wouldn't really let us stop. When Throw finally made it to the hostile, he asked that his dog stay inside with him because it couldn't take the bugs anymore, and he was handicapped without it. The lady scoffed at this, made a contorted face and said "Oh come on, you aren't handicapped." He put her right in her place by informing her that he had stage 4 terminal Melanoma. They had removed part of his hip muscles from the Lymphodema, and he needed assistance back up anytime he layed down. He had trained his dog to pull him back up, and to get help in other emergency situations. Since he was diagnosed about four years ago, he has biked across the country with his son and paddled the entire Mississippi River with his wife. He wrote about both adventures, though only "Rodents Ride" has been published (I believe "Mississippi Howl" is still being completed). Its available on bn.com. I can say I was lucky to have met Throw, and I need to track down his progress on the hike. He should be done before too long. I told him about my mom and the HERA Foundation, which he knew about. But cancer isn't something we talked about all that much, because he never projected himself as someone with such an overwhelming disease. Four years of living with it has given him peace of mind on what he calls "just really bad luck."