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!
Dirty Girl Hikes 