Tater and I have a reputation for sleeping in, so the boys were quiet when they packed and left in the morning. 

I woke not long after and made my usual journey to a tree, and then the bearbox to grab our food. Tater began to stir, and we took our time with breakfast.

We got underway and soon passed Griffith Lake, where all the tenters were headed the night before.  The bog boards here were rotting, and showing the wear of many travelers.  Such boards are placed in wet or muddy areas along the trail.  Usually just a pair of one by sixes bolted to a railroad tie, they keep these sections passable, and protect surrounding vegetation. 

This particular section of the AT / Long Trail goes through the beginnings of the Clarenden Gorge.  A distinct area of Vermont, the river here becomes deeper and faster as you head north.  The boarders quicky morph from pebbles to massive, pronounced slabs of stone.  One of these would become or lunch spot for the day.

There was a beautiful suspension bridge in view, and we were maybe a half mile from Big Branch Shelter.  Sage and I had stayed there for a night in 2019, and the place became memorable following a podcast I heard a few months afterward.

I’m fairly certain Legend, the Long Trail FKT holder, spoke about Sage and I during his Backpacker Radio interview.  Legend had intended to stop at Big Branch Shelter during his 2019 attempt but, “found two guys sleeping inside.”  So instead, he nodded off in the nearby privy for half an hour.  Legend made his SPOT device track public, and Sage was diligently following the record attempt. 

Over breakfast Sage mentioned that were passed during the night by the, well, Legendary backpacker.  So, I’m quite certain we were those “two guys.”  For the record, we would have welcome his company! 

Tater and I are far from going after FKT’s (fastest known times) which, is what trail records are called within the hiking community.  We did have a milestone of our own today though, and that was passing the two hundred mile mark from Pawling, NY.  Actually, we passed it days ago, but over lunch we finally remembered to take the photo. 

We tried packing up after lunch, but both ended up laying down on the slab again, our packs as pillows.  Within minutes we both fell asleep, waking an hour later. 

Soon we left, crossing the bridge and stopping briefly at the aforementioned shelter for a privy stop.  I made a quick note in the logbook there and we continued on.

We found ourselves on the way to Little Rock Pond, a popular day-use area with a GMC shelter on the edge.  We cruised through this flat, wide section of trail.  Our pace often encouraged the oncoming hikers to pull aside and let us pass.  This body of water is as memorable as Stratton Pond visually, though admittedly I forgot the name.  The rocks on the far shore being the defined, memorable feature. 

We stopped at the shelter for a snack, and met a GMC Caretaker named Pterodactyl.  He could have been Sage’s twin, and I was struck by how similar they looked.  He and Tater had both hiked similar sections in 2017, and had a lot of crossover trail family.  Eventually his attention was taken by other backpackers, out for the weekend and looking for a place to camp. 

At Pterodactyl’s advice, we made for the White Rocks Overlook.  In his mind the area was a “must-see” that most people unknowingly pass.

As we ascended away from the pond, I noticed a pair of Apple Airpod Pro’s sitting on a boulder.  They were encased in a fine leather pouch.  Being that we had only seen two southbounders the whole trip, I pocketed them and decided to carry them to the next shelter.  Trail registers are often full of messages around lost items, and more than once I’ve hiked a phone, a sleeping pad, or a trail journal back to its owner. 

Within the following mile, a young hiker named Bolt came into view, speeding southbound down the ridge.  He had a distraught look on his face.

     “Hey brother, did you loose some earbuds?”  I asked.

I took them from my shirt pocket and held them up.  He stopped instantly and leaned back in relief. 

     “Oh man, thank you so much!” 

I placed them in his hand and asked what his trail name was.  When I heard the reply I asked if he wanted to pass us now, but he said he needed to rest.

Tater and I continued the climb.  Bolt zoomed past us about ten minutes later, buds in ear with a far more relieved countenance.

As we closed in on the turn for the White Rocks Overlook, we recognized where we were on trail.  This section sports hundreds of tiny rock cairns, which have been around at least 2016.  Tater and I were happy to see them, the other big stand being near Sunfish Pond in New York. 

The side trail was tough to spot, and given that neither of us trust my sense of direction at this point, Tater took the lead.  She had gotten very quiet over the past few miles and I assumed she was just fatigued.  When we made it to the overlook, which we found a bit underwhelming, she told me she wasn’t feeling well. 

Though the trip to Greenwall Shelter was under a mile, it took us a while to get there.  The trail was super buggy, and Tater’s discomfort was becoming more and more obvious.  She began to lag behind, such that I made it down the shelter spur trail a full five minutes before she did. 

Coolwhip was at the shelter, along with a few others at the picnic table.  She said a simple “hey” to him and continued walking right past the shelter.  I got up and we found a quiet spot with room for both of our tents. 

Her answers to my questions were mostly one-word.  I got the feeling she needed space, so I returned to the shelter area. 

Cool Whip was good company, but I was pretty worried about Tater.  After dinner I returned to our camp and found her munching on some snacks in her tent.  She was more communicative, but I could tell she wasn’t herself. 

Rest has miraculous affects on trail, so we decided to sleep and address it in the morning.  Camp was buggy, though thankfully the weather was dry and a tad cooler than the past few days. 

We woke and finished packing our backpacks. Our gear was dry, our food bags were laden, and our legs felt fresh for the trail again.

I had asked my sister to mail in my shoulder season sleeping bag, and my puffy jacket, both custom made by Enlightened Equipment. I received notice over breakfast that the items had made it to the Manchester Center post office.

This morning’s 8:30am shuttle would take Merit, Tater, and I back to the trail. Sherri and Lori would also be joining. These were the two Long Trail ladies we’d leapfrogged since Greylock. Play by Play, her sister Relish, and another Long Trailer had left on the early shuttle.

Breakfast was eggs, pancakes, and even more bacon from Merit. All told she had purchased some seven packages of the stuff. We devoured breakfast as our packs lined the downstairs dining room wall, one by one in a row, all now readied for the trail.

Casey announced that it was time to go, so we reclaimed our shoes and poles, then boarded the giant Yukon SUV.

We stopped at the post office on the way, but my items could not be found. With people waiting on me in the truck, it had to become a problem for another day.

At the trailhead, Casey seemed reluctant to see us all go, and encouraged us to reach out to her and Duffy should we ever find ourselves on the Florida Trail. They reside in Jacksonville for most of the year.

Slowly we made our way back northbound, and up the gentle ascent over Bromley Mountain. Tater and I quickly took the lead of the group, and overtook several day hikers on our way up. Flowers were in bloom, bees and butterflies were busy buzzing about the tall stands of brush.

The wide ski slopes lent themselves to open, expansive views. We passed a south-bounder on the way, only the second we had seen this trip.

We eventually crested the summit of Bromley and spread out on the exposed rocks there. A Canadian day hiker chatter with us for a time, and one by one the rest of our hostel group arrived. Merit sat next to us and took in the view. Tater was content to sit for a while in the sun, but I was fidgety.

I explored the warming hut, looking for water. Neither of us had brought enough up with us. Then I called Sage to keep him posted on our position. We would be closing in on Woodstock within a few days.

Bromley is a pretty iconic summit on the AT. The first real ski infrastructure a hiker encounters going northbound, it firmly states that you’re in the north. The ski lift was even operating today, depositing dozen after dozen of flip-flop clad tourists from the resort below.

Tater and I were quite entertained watching a group we decided must be a bachelor party. The head of the group, after exploring for some time finally announced:

“Guys, we took the wrong lift! We’re on the wrong goddamn mountain!”

“Poor dude-bro’s.” Tater lamented.

“Poor dude-bro’s.” I agreed.

We decided to push on down the other side of the mountain. Tater and I were both low on water. As we approached Mad Tom Notch, we noticed two milk crates piled with fresh, unopened gallons of water. A note said that they were from the Green Mountain Club.

Such caches are pretty common down south, and with Vermont in record drought, we eagerly poured from the jugs.

Next to the cache was a group doing trail magic. The couple looked familiar and I inquired. Sure enough, the woman was none other than Krispi, a class of 2016 thru hiker I had met my first year on the trail. She had gone on to complete the Pacific Crest Trail, and most of the Continental Divide Trail.

Her and her boyfriend’s trail magic stopped a full dozen hikers in their tracks. We enjoyed some bagged chips, and sodas. I also had the best non-alcoholic IPA of my life. Appleseed appeared, and we spoke with him for a time. Slowly but surely the man was coming out of his shell.

We continued on, leapfrogging the couple and their friends all the way to Peru Peak Shelter.

Tater and I originally planned to push to the camp sites near Lost Pond, but as we sat in Peru Peak Shelter, we observed some half-dozen thru hikers streaming by. We were definitely being caught by the wave of hikers behind us since the start. We had just managed to surf the northern edge of the crowd these past weeks, but their pace had caught ours.

Staying at Peru Peak Shelter meant only a ten mile day, and following the zero, we wanted more miles. When Krispi’s crew arrived, including her friend with a very yappy beagle, we immediately inquired about where they planned to stay for the night. When they said the lake, we knew we were staying put. The dog had whined literally the entire journey up Peru. Tater and I were over it.

It was early, but the shelter was vast, and comfortable. Tater and I had tented nearly every night, and this would be an interesting change of pace. The nearby tent sites were already taken by other hikers, so we didn’t have much choice anyway.

Not long after we had inflated our sleeping pads and began to settle in, Cool Whip and Cool Cucumber both arrived. They too were staying in the shelter. It would be a trail fam reunion! Smooth was in town spending four long days with his wife. Cool Whip and Tess intended to spend four days off trail as well, as soon as he made it to the Inn at the Long Trail, still two days ahead.

We were so happy to see our friends again! Cucumber opted for the shelter, but Cool Whip was determined to camp.

“Well, the spot I chose said it was a reforestation area but, it can reforest tomorrow.” He explained.

I was set about my calve massage duties, keeping my hiking partner in tiptop shape, when he began to cook dinner. Right on cue, GMC Caretaker Compass Rose came by and introduced herself.

“So there is a tent pitched in the reforestation area… Does it belong to any of you guys?”

Cool Whip looked up, and explained he hadn’t realized where he had setup, but that the tent was his.

“So, was that your hat then, hanging on the reforestation area sign?”

Cool Whip turned slightly pink and admitted that it was. Then he refused Compass Rose’s kind offer to help him move his tent. We giggled at him like classmates, Cool Cucumber thought it quite hilarious.

“I guess your bunking with us tonight Cool Whip!” Cucumber exclaimed.

The caretaker stayed and talked with us for a while. I asked her a million questions about her job, by this time having moved on to massaging Tater’s feet. She accepted our $5 use fees for staying in the shelter, and issued Tater and I a single card.

“Here’s one card for both of you, since you guys are obviously together.”

I explained how happy I was at all the work the GMC had put in. Since 2016 the shelters, privies, and tent pads in this section had greatly improved. Besides, as I told Compass Rose, I prefer the volunteer-based GMC over the for-profit AMC.

“Yep, we hear that a lot!” She said, and then continued on her patrol.

Over dinner Cool Cucumber related that he had hiked the Camino de Santiago four times. Tater and I asked him several questions, as we had almost hiked that trail instead of coming back to the AT.

When Tater asked if he had ever found a love interest during these European hikes, he mentioned a German woman who had caught his eye.

“However, I am a Catholic Priest so, pursuit wasn’t really an option.”

Tater and I were shocked to hear that Cucumber was a priest! Though it all made sense. A Jesuit scholar, along with all the places he had lived and taught. Cool Cucumber is the coolest priest I’ve ever met! He continued on with his account of the Camino:

“You see, so many of these cathedrals are empty, and there’s a bell in town that is rung if there is a priest staying nearby. So for these small villages I would perform mass in Spanish and English. This way the villagers would benefit, and my fellow travelers also.”

Cool Whip came back and setup in the shelter with us, remarking on how kind the caretaker was. The campsite move took him less than ten minutes.

I continued conversation withCucumber about his profession as a teacher, relating that it is the one job I had always felt called towards.

“I have taught at all levels, from young elementary children, on up to graduate students. Universally, what never changes across this whole spectrum are the excuses for not getting work done!”

We laughed and he continued:

“The most important thing though, the message I try to impress on anyone who wants to teach, is that your students are never going to remember the majority of what you teach them. At least ninety percent of the information will not be retained.

What they will remember though, is how you made them feel.”

Solid advice, and a sentiment I can viscerally verify. From Mrs. Ezell in third grade, to the absolute crackpot philosophy professor who’s class was the first I dropped as a college student. I do indeed remember how each of these people made me feel.

The sun was fading fast on our log home, and we all settled in for the night. Our backpacks were hung from hopefully mouse-proofed cords, and left open just in case. Our food was safely bear boxed, and our bed rolls were cozy.

Tater and I snuggled in together, us on one side of the shelter, the two Cool’s on the other. With the babbling stream out front, and the endearing snores of our friends, we soon slept soundly.

The following are what distance hikers strive to accomplish when they hit town. As you’ll soon understand, these are time consuming chores. Often days off trail are far more stressful than the ones on trail!

Laundry: Best done at a hiker hostel with loaner clothes, so that you can wash ALL of your clothing at once. More often than not however, this is done at a bathroom-less laundromat or a hotel’s guest laundry machines. Why so few laundromats have bathrooms is one of the great mysteries of the universe. I’ve left handwritten thank you notes at the ones that do.

Worst case scenario, laundry must be done by hand. Any basin will do, be it the sink at Wendy’s or a state park bathroom. In hotels, Tater extends the luggage rack in the bathtub, and uses it as an indoor clothesline.

More than once I’ve used my body to dry freshly “cleaned” clothes, by simply wearing the wet items for an hour. All backpacking clothing should be synthetic or wool, so this is a viable option.

Shower: I’ve showered in truck stops, behind a garden store, via a deli’s outside spigot, in community rec centers, and of course, hostels, and hotels. What makes a good shower a great shower is conditioner.

I often carry my own, because it actually is a rare commodity. Letting Tater have the rest of my bottle, not long after we first met, was something that made us friends for life. Besides, who can say no to such a woman, when she bursts from the stall towel-clad and in need? Not this man. Never this man.

Resupply: Of the list, this is the most important task. You cannot hike without food! Decisions around sustenance can have a massive impact on morale and comfort on trail. The problem is that a hiker’s brain often goes to mush in a grocery store. The options can be overwhelming, so I always try to get a basic grocery list together the night before a town day.

Packets are life! Condiments like Mayonaise and honey, or packets of instant coffee, or electrolytes can all can turn a rough day into an easier one. My goto are the “Energy Rush” from 4C, and Propel packets. Both contain 200mg of sodium and the 4C boasts caffeine and B-Vitamins. That 4C hiker-crack has turned many a rough, cold, shaky day into a solid effort at real miles.

On the spectrum of backcountry eaters, my tastes are simple. I can eat cous cous, Easy Mac, or instant mashed potatoes for dinner, for weeks at a time. For breakfasts I choose between Pop Tarts, instant oatmeal, or when I can find it, Bob’s Red Mills Muesili.

Lunches are always tortilla-based. They range from simple peanut butter foldovers, to tuna wrap concoctions with cheese, mayo, and even Fritos for crunch. The rest of my calorie needs are supplemented with bars and snacks of all kinds.

Cliff bars, Lara bars, bagels, donuts, chips, cheese, fruit, graham crackers, trail mix, pudding cups, applesauce, precooked bacon, and about a thousand Snickers bars, have all made it into my pack.

I’ve known folks who hike with small spice cabinets. I’ve seen some cook steakes on trail. For me, simplicity and expediency reign supreme. The less time, water, and fuel it takes to prepare, the better.

Gear Maintenance: Finding a space to air out wet gear, clean the mud out of your shoes, or get all the pine needles out of your tent can be done on trail, but it’s nice to do it town.

Even the best gear breaks, and often a trip to an outfitter is needed, or a post office stop to mail items out for warranty.

Device Charging: Best done on an overnight stop, getting everything charged takes time. In town hikers are always plugged in, choosing seats in restaurants based on outlet proximity. I’m well past any stigma around sitting outside a grocery store like a bum, shamelessly leeching power from outside outlets.

Town Food: A solid town meal is essential, especially on longer trips. I’ve sat outside a delivery pizza place and eaten an extra large pie in one sitting. I’ve downed two footlong Subway sandwiches in under ten minutes. I’ve also eaten the ENTIRE McDonalds value menu in one visit.

I’ve done these all in an attempt to put back on the pounds, that hiking fifteen to twenty miles a day inevitably melts from your body. The caloric needs of a typical thru-hiker are well over five thousand calories per day.

There’s simply no way to carry this much food, unless eating spoonfuls of ghee becomes a favored pastime. Speaking of butter, if any restaurant is foolish enough to set out free dollops, I’ll load down my coffee, breads, and oatmeal with the stuff. As my friend Cedar taught me:

“That can be four hundred calories just sitting there, free for the taking!”

Discarding Trash: The eyes of hikers will light up at the sight of a trash can. We never really carry much trash, but there is some kind of beautiful OCD satisfaction to getting every packet, wrapper and used ziploc out of your (backpack) home. I usually fill one ziploc per day with that day’s trash. Most of the contents are mine, but people leave trash in shelters and on trail all the time.

One group I’ve hiked with, lead by TuneUp (RIP brother) was known as The Trash People. A double-meaning of their behavior and also their penchant for removing every piece of trash they encountered on the trail. Like Riff Raff, they’re a bunch of rough dudes who like to party, but give a lot back to the trail community.

The above list may not seem like much, but can easily consume half a day. Not to mention the time it might take to get to town from the trail, via a hitch, bus, or just plain walking!

Our first true zero day, Tater and I tried to accomplish all of our town chores on our first day at the Green Mountain House.

Town days may seem like a break from the rigors of trail, but they actually have challenges of their own. Half a day or more might be required to get everything accomplished, so time managment is critical. I’ve written a detailed article about town tasks, which I will post next.

Thankfully though, we were successful in getting everything done, so we had the day to relax. Given the rare novelty of a bed without an 11am checkout looming, we both slept in.

I woke around 8am, and went down stairs to find many of the previous night’s guests making their final pack arrangements. Caretakers Duffy and Casey will run the hikers out to trail twice between 6am and 8:30am. This gives the guests a nice early hiking day, and the caretakers ample time to clean. The next batch of backpackers typically arrives in the early afternoon. GMH runs like clockwork.

Tip Toe and Splint left with the early ride, but I had the chance to say goodbye to Rainbow as he departed.

Merit was up, as were Karefree and her husband Hot Foot. It was lovely to have hikers sitting at a table together. We took turns heading to the stove to make our breakfasts, often trading items or sharing leftovers with each other.

One of the reasons Green Mountain House is such an economical stay, is the free “cook your own” breakfast. They provide cereals, oatmeal, eggs, pancake mix, and myriad other odds and ends. Leftovers from previous hikers also serve to add variety. I eagerly accepted maple sausages from Merit and pancakes from Rainbow. To be honest, I didn’t have to cook myself anything that morning. Tater even gave me scrambled eggs later that morning.

Caretaker Casey, came in and filled a colender with cherries. Some other hikers had left fresh black berries as well.

I had packed in four butterscotch pudding cups, a four-pack of black berry turnovers, and several bananas Yesterday’s resupply frenzy certainly ran its course with me. The others had no interest in my fare though.

Merit was busy for a time, and finally held up two entire baking sheets covered I’m bacon.

“I bought a bunch as a trail magic of sorts, eat up, there’s plenty!”

She placed them in the oven, and within fifteen minutes my gorgeous trail mate was roused from her slumber.

“Oh my God! Is that bacon?” She asked from the stairwell. Merit confirmed that it was, and Tater made a sound of delight which is difficult to describe. It’s like some kind of resonating hum that increases in pitch. Whatever it is, it’s adorable.

Tater and Casey were soon seated at the breakfast table. Duffy was back from shuttling, and setting about his cleaning tasks upstairs.

We asked Karefree and Hot Foot several questions about the trail, and to our surprise, they had both hiked the AT in 2019. Further inquiry revealed that they, Tater, and I, were extended trail family. They too had hiked with the veterans Tater and I hiked with that year.

We swapped stories late into the morning. Sadly, due to a family situation, Karefree and Hot Foot were headed to the airport. What a lovely couple though, and so well matched for each other.

Hot Foot had worked as a plant manager for Crowne Lift Trucks. I’ve driven a lot of Crown Forklifts in my life, and with a background in manufacturing, we found much to talk about. Particularly, how plants are always full of characters, and yet everyone seems to find their perfect fit. Kirk Rudy was exactly the same way.

We bid The couple safe journey and decided to go into town on Duffy’s next run. He had some hikers at the trailhead for a 2pm pickup, so we rode with him back into Manchester Center.

Tater and I had both been craving Thai food, and the restaurant there looked promising. She had also been having some issues with her shoes, and we wanted to see if the outfitter carried Altras.
At the outfitter we were given quite the education on footwear, insoles, and how the bones in the leg shift, then align with each step. When Tater explained her issues, the salesman’s response began with:

“You need to get your minerals first.” It was not the advice we were expecting, and then he continued with “roll your calves out too, every night. Using your trekking poles like a foam roller, you’ll be amazed how tight they are.”

He took one look at Tater’s legs and seemed to see a bowing in the tibia. It was exactly this kind of tight-calve-enduced bowing that caused my stress fracture in 2019.

He continued his speil for some time, but what Tater and I both took away from it was that her calves needed to be massaged. It had to be done daily. For the the trail, for the sake of all our efforts thus far, I had to massage her legs every night. What a burden.

We soon realized that the salesman ran an orthotics business on the side. Neither of us asked how much his insoles cost, and we didn’t have time to wait for them anyway.

I put our name on the list for Thai, and Tater went into a giftshop to build a carepackage for a friend. Sadly one of her besties just had a breakup, and Tater wanted to cheer her up. Within fifteen minutes she assembled a box of goodies any holiday company might envy, because that’s the kind of friend she is; thoughtful.

Thai didn’t disappoint, and with Manchester Center’s crisp buildings neatly framed by the backdrop of the Green Mountains, the outside venue was gorgeous.

We made it back to the Price Chopper for a few odds and ends, and then Casey picked us up. I had noticed Play by Play and her sister Relish’s names on the guest clipboard in the truck. Tater and I had been hoping to meet Relish after spending time on Greylock with Play by Play and Big Hungry. Casey confirmed, we were about to get our chance.

We spent the rest of the day hanging out with Merit and the two sisters. Relish was as hilarious as her sister. It was a great evening.

Tommy, Casey and Duffy’s teenaged cat, also came out to play. A lazy, though affectionate fellow, Tater delighted in that he never got completely on his feet unless he absolutely needed to. For pets, he’d happily lean and move just his top half in the direction of outstretched hands.

It was a great and restful day. We’d be back on trail first thing in the morning.

In the meantime, Merit passed many extra resupply items into the hiker box, including a couple of Mountain House meals. I gladly took these, some of her Leuko tape, and a nearly full 200g fuel cannister left behind by another hiker. Discarded Cliff Bars also made it into my bag. I offloaded my Rite In The Rain journal, as I hadn’t written a single page in it yet. A $13 item I’m sure someone would love to have, though my own haul from the box was at least a $30 value.

These are the hidden benefits in staying at hostels, especially one that serves both the AT and the Long Trail. Simply having a back flush syringe to clean my water filter with was a delight. Again, something no hotel would ever think to have on hand.

Before bed, Tater and I confirmed we’d be on the 8:30 trail shuttle. Despite the two tiny twin beds in our room, we still managed to fall asleep cuddled for half the night. Too soon we’d be back on trail. Dirty again, smelly again, though in reality, we both love that too.

I’ll be uploading some poetry and shorter things I’ve written over the past few years soon. These will be about hiking, yoga, relationships, and who knows what else. Here’s a preview for now:

“Dream Girls”

All those dream girls,
In plaid button downs,
Wearing dirty trucker hats
Climbing ALL mountains,

That gusto-gumption,
Unapologetic-libertas,
Damn girl you got it!
Gimme some of that!

Crest-made smiles,
Blinding like a snow pass,
Sharp wit, defiance,
and swagger to match.

Louis Vuittons?
Altra’s please! Thank you.
Gearing up?
Maybe a ‘lil ULA too?

The only kids she wants?
Sour-Patch in her resupply!
You wanna dance?
Let’s see those snacks guy…

Cause she’s tramping hard,
Racking those miles,
Your twenty-fives,
Barely move’n her dial.

So keep training boy,
Or start taking classes!
Do you even know,
Where Forester pass is?

Bring her a burger,
She might stay a while,
Then she’s gone with the shade,
With her hiker-trash smile.

Tater and I woke on the tent pad, pretty stoked for the day. We had made reservations for a private room at the Green Mountain House. Better yet, reservations for two days. We were taking a zero.

Shoelace The Snorer had struck again. As we passed the shelter on our way back to trail, we came upon the upset chain smoker from yesterday. He was chatting with Rainbow, a thru hiker from Utah. Rainbow explained to the three of us the events of the night before.

“I told him, man if you don’t pitch your tent, I’m going to wake you up everytime you wake ME up. And I did! Four times! He claimed he had no idea he snored so badly, but surely someone must have told him by now? The audacity! He has no right to sleep in a shelter and disturb everyone else.”

Later, as Tater and I turned onto the AT proper, she mused.

“Ah, the trail gossip!”

I laughed and we both agreed. When snoring is the biggest worry you have, you’re in a great place in life!

The goal of the day was to get down to Manchester Center and stay at our beloved Green Mountain House. Tater stayed there with her mother in 2018, and I stayed with my trail family in 2019. Friendly, and impeccably clean, it’s my favorite hostel on the AT.

We made the road crossing by late morning and found Shoelace The Snorer sitting on a boulder in the shade.

“I have a ride coming in from a hotel, but it’s not actually in town. Might be worth asking though, maybe the shuttle will take you into town anyway?”

It was a lovely offer, so Tater and I joined the barrel-chested Mainer in the shade. I rather adore Shoelace’s relaxed demeanor, and his many trail stories. He makes me feel less self-conscious when I go on telling a half-dozen of my own. The poor guy cannot help that he’s a chainsaw at night.

While we were waiting a Subaru pulled up, containing a former thru hiker from 2014, or something. He was pretty blitzed, and his trail name may well have been “Frat Boy.” Tater and I refused his beers, Shoelace followed suit. We all lied that we were current-year’s thru’s in some unspoken effort not to upset the man.

Nevertheless our refusal perturbed him, and after recounting some kind of poem related to his trail name –at least fifteen stanzas long, he departed.

“What the actual fuck?” Tater said aloud. It was on all of our minds. Like the sad former high school quarterback, ever telling bar stories of his glory days, so was this man.

Finally our ride arrived, in the form of a very beautiful and well-maintained Land Rover. After some convincing, along with the full brunt of Shoelace’s charm, we secured a ride into town. The driver was smitten with Tater instantly. Who isn’t?

He ran us straight into Manchester Center, and even did a loop to give us a tour. We grew on him, especially when we took care to keep our trekking pole tips away from the truck’s headliner. He vocally appreciated this.

After passing restaurant upon enticing, food-smell-pouring restaurant, we pulled into the Price Chopper. Our driver refused cash from Tater and wished us safe journey. Shoelace smiled and said goodbye.

Resupply was efficient, this being our second or third Price Chopper so far. We rolled out with enough rolls, cold cuts, and condiments to make half a dozen sandwiches too. We called Duffy at Green Mountain House, and he reminded us to grab our dinner items before he arrived. Tater went in and brought me out a frozen pizza I had never tried before.

Duffy rolled in, and recognized me from 2019.

“I thought I recognized the name!” He said and we shook hands. My last stay was with Crusher and Sage, among many others. Apparently we had made a positive impression.

We got another tour of town, though Duffy had several historical facts to add.

“This is the tavern where the Green Mountain Boys gathered before heading down the mountain to meet the British. Rooms here are about $400 a night!”

We pulled into the hostel and checked our shoes and poles at the door. Leaving your shoes on a rack outside is standard at most hostels, but GMH is adamant about poles too. It keeps the walls and carpet intact!

The place was exactly as I left it in 2019. Memories flooded back. It made me miss Sage even more. I’m glad I’ll see him soon.

We set about the requisit pack-explosions. Gear was damp, but not soaked. Armed with my loofah, wet-hair comb, and regular comb I made for the shower. What makes a good hostel a great hostel? Conditioner. GMH has full-sized bottles.

Rainbow was hanging out down stairs in the living room, along with a Long Trail Sobo named Splint. His finger was still wrapped and braced. While Tater was in the shower, he filled me in on the gnarly realities of the Long Trail north of the Maine Junction. I’ve wanted to see these miles for myself for years.

I also met Merit, a short woman in her mid-forties. Tater and I would come to love Merit. Her lightning wit and matter-of-fact anecdotes were a delight.

Tater came out of the shower goddess fresh, as she always miraculously seems to. After cuddling up with a few episodes of Schitts Creek, and devouring our $1 pints of Ben & Jerry’s we started getting sleepy. The dollar first pint is a staple of the Mountain House. I’m glad that hasn’t changed!