Flashes of lightning startled me out of sleep around four in the morning. Muffled rumblings of thunder approached our cozy hemlock grove. I lazily closed my vestibules and went back to bed, the droplets came in gentle waves.
I heard Smooth and Coolwhip speaking nearby around six, and checked my phone for messages from Tater. Though camped a few feet from each other most nights, she’ll sometimes find memes or share photos with me overnight.
Today’s midnight message was urgent though. Due to the Forth of July holiday, the post office in Great Barrington would be closed until Tuesday. Complicating matters, today was Saturday, and they’d be closing at noon. Her message went on to suggest that we’d better be up and out of camp by 7am.
Breaking camp by then would give us five hours to walk the eight miles to Hwy 7 and hitch into town. Thankfully she was up and we were soon on our way. The rain had mostly abated though the rocks on trail had become “slicker than whale shit” to use a phrase favored by my father.
I felt like garbage, still fighting a sinus infection, though certainly on the mend. Coming down Mt. Bushnell was treacherous, and Smooth had warned us about it before we left camp. Apparently commenters on the Guthook app said to watch for sections of slippery rock, and we found them. I lost traction a few times, and Tater took one scary fall. She landed on her forearm, and though a little bloodied there, she came up laughing.
We did get some nice views when we weren’t ice-skating in our trail runners. We even hit our first Trail Magic of the trip from a man named Steve. We saw his hatchback proped open from the top of a hill, but didn’t get our hopes up until we saw the camp chairs set out in a crescent shape.
Sure the deadline had us moving, but a lemon lime Gatorade and an iced Coca-Cola are always worth a stop. So many people have offered us beer, and I thanked Steve, because I had been craving soda for days. August will make five years sober for me, and Steve is twenty-five years in.
We were as curt as propriety would allow, and he gave us some fun sized candy bars for the road. It was remarkable how refueled Tater and I felt after cool drinks and a little sugar.
About two miles later something remarkable happened. A sign reading “trail magic” and the unmistakable smell of hotdogs. A church group had setup, but our deadline was looming. Briefly I considered asking for a ride to town, but only one vehicle was parked, so we opted to forgo the food and keep walking.
Mass and Connecticut are full of farmland, which soon disappears completely in Vermont and the northern states. In fact, dropped randomly into Massachusetts, a hiker would vehemently confirm that they were in Virginia farm fields. The land is identical. Bee balm, clovers, yarrow, queen Anne’s lace, plus myriad others lend a scent unmistakably “AT.” Every thru hiker knows it. A sweet melody of yellow grasses and nectar clad blooms for the nose. Tater and I, despite our rush, made sure to be present-minded for these last field crossings.
The hitch into Great Barrington has never been an easy one for me. It’s a ritzy tourist town with a very upscale town center. Most stores would probably pay to keep the hiker trash out.
Watching a dozen Subaru’s pass our outstretched thumbs is a phenomena known only on this short stretch of highway seven. Thankfully though a pleasant woman named Jess pulled over and popped her hatchback. We approached and placed our packs on the tarp lining the trunk.
“You’ve picked up hikers before!” I said. On the way we learned that she is a shuttle driver, along with Joe, who I met in 2019. Together they provide rides to hikers for pay.
We told her about our post office conundrum and she drove us straight in, a few miles out of her way. When I offered cash she refused it, saying she never charges hitchhikers. Thanks for the Trail Magic Jess!
Inside we claimed our Amazon box. I had ordered a new phone case and two Rite In The Rain pens. Tater, nearing thirty years of age, has found she can no longer sleep comfortably on a foam pad. As a side sleeper, I switched to an inflatable one years ago. So included in our box of goodies was a SleepInGo pad for Tater. A game changer for overnight comfort. Having our box in hand was a relief!
We had been trying for a couple days to find a hotel room for the weekend. With the Forth of July holiday, prices had effectively doubled, and vacancies were virtually non-existent. One inn owner actually laughed at me when I called the day before.
Nevertheless, Tater is tenacious when she’s feeling gross and in need of a shower, so she made another round of calls. She managed to find a reasonable room in Lee, a town about ten miles north. She repeated the price to person on the other line, and I gave two thumbs up.
After some discussion we decided to just hitchhike to Lee, figuring it would take at least two rides.
That’s exactly what happened. A man in a Volvo wagon took us to Stockbridge and wished us luck. As we found a shady spot to orient and prepare for our next hitch, he got out of the car and presented us with a brown paper bag.
“This is a pecan and cherry bread loaf. My wife sent me for two but, really we only need one.” He smiled and we laughed before bidding him farewell.
Within minutes a gardener picked us up in her Nissan, laughing as we meticulously entered her vehicle and apologized for the smell. Apparently many, many flats of plants had graced the seats before us, and we were the least of her worries.
She dropped us at Joe’s Diner in Lee, a place Tater and her mother had eaten at during her hike.
It was so wonderful to eat reasonably priced greasy diner food. The coffee was dark and had as much bite as the servers, who playfully slung the occasional one-liner at us. All-day breakfast being the love of hikers everywhere, Tater and I quickly found ourselves in a pancake-induced carb coma.
Lee is a lovely town, better than Great Barrington in that there are less tourists, cheaper restaurants, and real locals. Among these locals was our second Steve of the day. Steve of “The Five BC’s of Lee.” Tater seems to magnetically attract dogs wherever she roams, but finding seven at once was incredible. The five border collies were Steve’s, and the two doodle mixes were customer’s dogs. In addition to his day job, he walks dogs like this to the tune of eight to fourteen miles a day. Additionally, he wears t-shirts for various local businesses, adding ad revenue to his income as well.
He helped direct us to our hotel, and we managed to check in three minutes before the rain came back again, with vengeance. It was a hiker-hotel to be sure, but we were glad to hear the drops beating hard on the roof overhead instead of our shoulders.
Showers and laundry at the local coin wash filled our evening, until we ran back into Steve again. Tater and I took a leash with him as we searched for dinner. I fell in love with Sophia, all the way to the right in the first photo.
It was a very long, full day. Once back in our room we slept soundly, though not before Tater hatched a good plan. The following day, instead of navigating two difficult hitches back to Great Barrington, we’d just walk there on the trail. Then once completing this short southbound section, we could hop on the local transit bus back to Lee, and continue north on trail. Tomorrow, we would be Sobo’s (southbounders).
Dirty Girl Hikes 