“Is that human?” I wondered. The roaring sound occurred again. I decided it was. Nevertheless, I sprang from my tent quickly. I walked up the spur trail to find the shelter empty, and the two Long Trail ladies were packing nearby. They confirmed that the sound was the dozen or so high school aged kids camped there last night.
By the time I got back Tater was nearly ready to go. We had a long day to accomplish, including a resupply in Bennington. Neither of us wanted to stay in town, but the Rec Center there had showers, and the prospect of clean laundry was alluring.
The eleven miles to VT 9 were uneventful, though we did run into that group of kids. We also lost the trail on the edge of a pond. The final descent to the road however, was a total asskicker. Tater remembered doing this section with her mother.
“My mother called it a wonderful, and tragic day.” She recalled. Tragic on the knees for sure. Relentless slab after slab, a drop of 800ft in .2 miles. A local would later inform us that three ambulances has been out to pickup injured hikers here in the past month.
What stuck in my mind was the climb on the otherside of the road. Til now I had never once ventured into Bennington, though I’ve hiked this section twice.
A thru named Chandler came down the stairs behind us, lifting his headnet when he approached us in the shade. He has a resection at the Catamount Inn, and told us he had a shuttle inbound.
Tater and I had been trying to hitch without avail, so this was wonderful news. Both from the North West, he and Tater had much to tall about on the way into town.
Chandler lacked a trail name because he averages 27 miles per day. I met a hiker like this in the Whites named Oliver a few years back. Too fast to have a trail family, this is a harsh, lonely approach to the trail. Chandler had a strict time limit due to school though, and dialed everything in around it. His Gossamer Gear G4 probably weighed eighteen pounds with resupply. Light and fast.
The driver dropped us at the Rec Center and the first novelty in that place was the bottle fill fountain. Tater and I excitedly made trips to it, intermittently interuppting the woman checking us in as we did so. The lady seemed more amused than annoyed. For two bucks we were allowed access to the locker rooms.
Tater made a spa day of it. The place offered no soap or towels, but ten minutes under and automatic hand dryer gave her hair a salon finish. My dumb ass however, had a far different experience.
Sure, the man in his 70s naked and bathing enthusiastically under the water was a little odd. It was when the entire junior swim team, boys aged seven to maybe ten came in and filled the stalls, that I became less than comfortable. The bandanas I brought in with me as towels were mistakenly soaked within the first thirty seconds. I was a mess.
Loofah in hand, I had hoped to make use of the regular bathroom hand soap, but those dispensers looked empty since about 2005. Finally I resolved myself to change into my dry pair of shorts and rain jacket.
In the lobby I dripped, munching on apples found in a cardboard box labeled “free.” I shuffled, dripped, and made room for people on the waiting bench, while Tater, in ecstasy, finished her hotwater bliss. She even employed the dry sauna. When she bounced out of the woman’s locker room glowing I, looking like a drowned rat, looked up miserably. The expression didn’t last long, she’s kind of a goddess, even in Frogg Toggs. We decided to do laundry.
Among the great mysteries of the cosmos, why so few laundromats have bathrooms, is well positioned. This one was spotlessly clean though. Tater made a call home, while I sourced pizza at the Domino’s next door. At a folding counter turned restaurant table, we demolished the pie in minutes. Woe to they who do not love Hawaiian pizza. They don’t know what they’re missing.
Resupply was town chore number three, and the most difficult. We wandered towards a Henry’s Market. Savanah, the front clerk, was arranging produce outside when we dropped our packs. She took a liking to us immediately, the way one does when they like stay cats. We had absolutely no luck at Henry’s for resupply, but Savannah gave us her number, and directions to Walmart.
We found a Dollar General on the way, and a decent gas station where I bought a few noodle packs and bars. We finished our Dollar General run quickly enough, though we were super low on canister fuel. I scoured the place for anything that might run in my alcohol stove, HEET, isopropyl, anything. No luck.
At checkout Tater was caught between an angry homeless man telling her to hurry up, and the lady at the register, who was busy explaining why she needed to have all her teeth removed. A woman approached me and offered us a ride back to trail.
“That’s dangerous!” One Dollar General employee barked to her.
“They’re a couple, they’re safe!” She retorted.
“Sometimes they work in pairs, you know, to murder people!” The employee replied nonplussed and well within earshot.
Bennington. Is. Ghetto.
Thankfully Savannah from Henry’s rolled in and whisked us away, she had gotten off work a few minutes before. A rare gem in this very odd Vermont town, she offered us showers and a night at her place. Frazzled, we declined. We just wanted to get back to the mountains. She dropped us off and bid us farewell. Tater and I were so grateful to her.
The climb up to Melville Nauhiem was as difficult as I remembered. Our bodies too, were being tested for fortitude. Such a climb, directly after a pizza and the ice cream sandwichs we ate the General, is typically ill-advised. We made it though, “nutrients” intact.
We didn’t bother with dinner. Once my tent was up we snuggled in and fell asleep. What a day!
Dirty Girl Hikes 