Today I jumped off the White River Bridge, and yogi’d a dinner at Dartmouth from a student there. Yes, that Dartmouth. The student was an outdoor club member, the school’s being among the oldest in the United States. As for the bridge, and why I jumped, you need only to brush up on your Sir Edmund Hillary. Why?

“Because it’s there!”

As I sit down to write this, in a bed at a parishioner’s home in Norwich, VT; I reflect on two points. The first being how in the hell I found so much time to write during my last hike. Then, even given the time, how do I compress so much into a tiny narrative? It’s a daunting task. Nevertheless, too much content is a blessing. I prefer a deep well to a dry one, and my days have been anything but parched.

That last part works figuratively, even if not literally true. In this heat and humidity, I’ve found myself quite parched in the north Vermont hills. What water does flow here is deep, and clear. The people of Vermont are the same.

I want to write about my friend Sage, but no single post would suffice to describe him. We united in our love of Abby and Kerouac, kept the conversation alive in musical taste, and stopped to laugh when we both pulled Melanzana Hoodies from our backpacks. Sage is my homie, my brother, and an instantly trusted friend.

When his roommate picked him up in Rutland, to take him to a wedding, we both became adamant that a picture be taken of us. People on the trail are transient, but I hope this one sticks. Besides, who else can I sit in a stream eating a grinder with, or on the side of a Walmart downing pomegranate kombucha? Real life dharma bums. We even meditate together.

Fuck I miss Jelly. In a moment of weakness, I asked her if I could bus up to Hanover and shuttle up to hike with her to the end of Maine. She saw this for what it was, and talked me out of it so thoroughly, openly, and honestly. In my deepest heart of hearts I knew it was a terrible idea to begin with. This weak man needed a strong woman to articulate back to him exactly why the idea felt so off. I’m grateful for the transparency between us, but clarity with a strong woman is best accessed as a strong man. She makes me want to be that man.

I listened to Damian Marley’s “Speak Life” tonight. A song Molly and I would often sing and dance to slowly in our kitchen on Merritt St. It made me appreciate that relationship for what it was. I feel myself applying the lessons from that time these days. I have so much more clarity than I had then. What a blessing to find intermittent lovers, and validate a little growth along the way. I’ve been reading some Pete Holmes lately, and he makes that point well.

There’s a lover I’d like to be anything but intermittent with, and the last post was password protected for the sake of her privacy. Maybe with another fifteen hundred miles under my belt, I’ll be closer to the type of man I wish to pursue her as.

An odd thing out here, is that I am as confident in women’s shorts and pink gaiters as many men are in business suits. Walking around the Dartmouth campus in my Marshall’s 3″ inseams and a polyester button down, I felt sexy as fuck. I have this theory about increased testosterone in long distance hikers –thinning waistline, large muscle groups in high use, but I wonder. When I dress like hiker trash I am being my most myself. My weird, goofy, talking to all the ladies self. Because I’m a hiker I am automatically a total badass in my mind. People respond to this most wonderfully.

There’s so much sexual guilt and shame bubbling around in my brain it’s a little startling at times. Yeah guys, “me too” and all that. I’ve never really written about that before. It’s one of the many things I am working through out here.

Where the hell did this post even come from? So much for an AT journal! Seriously though, between No More Mr. Nice Guy and Comedy Sex God, I feel like I am getting a legitimate handle on some of the more fucked up parts of my childhood. Introspection is the source of inner peace and happiness, but no one likes digging ditches. Though, I implore you friends. When you’re ready, grab a fucking shovel!

I woke feeling as stiff as the board I had slowly butted up against during the night. Pitching next to the tent platform Airbud called home, was not without its hazards. My bivy slipped on its ground sheet, and by morning I was wedged hard against the 2×8 beam.

I packed as quietly as I could and made for the McDonalds, where I wrote “Town Stops.”

As I traveled back towards the community center, I found Crotchidile and Jelly sitting at a picnic table. I hadn’t seen either of these lovely people since Duncannon, PA. Jelly and I had kept up via texts, and I had been trying to catch her for at least four hundred miles. We met after her dog Mabel, followed me to the shelter before Boiling Springs.

“I don’t know why you’re following this man?” She asked. Five minutes worth of conversation at the shelter, and it started to make sense. We had some odd things in common. Among them, that all of our possessions can fit in a sedan, and we both sleep on tri-fold futons. She’s also an OT, a profession I’ve been considering for myself of late.

Crotchidile and I bonded over being thru hikers on our second attempt. He too had to bail out due to budget. We discussed this in a bar in Duncannon; he over a dark ale, and me over a dark soda. I’d totally hang with him off trail.

The picnic table we met at today, happened to be located in front of the Travel Lodge. Not one to invite myself, I spoke with my friends and hoped for an invite. Sure enough, it came.

“So yeah, I have a room. It would be $135 split four ways. It’s Jelly, me, and Airbud.”

I agreed. Those were hostel stay rates, and we wouldn’t be seeing one of those for a while. I had intended to zero at the community center, but the increased comfort was worth the cost. I also managed to create an $86 budget surplus from New Jersey thru New York. It was time to cash that in.

It was so good to see my friends again! Jelly stayed in the yard, giving Mabel a haircut, and pulling ticks at the same time. Conversation between us picked up right where it left off three states previous. I took a shower and then we went for town errands.

Crotchidile needed a new loofa. He and his previous hiking partner, Super Girl, had become converts to my secret cult. The cult of people who actually like to to get clean when they take a hiker shower. We carry loofas. The NJ Ridge Runner Sugar Magnolia is an OG loofa user too. Maybe I should cede leadership to her?

Jelly and I finished our grocery shopping, and she managed to find him the perfect one. It was a green plush frog loofa of unmatched cuteness.

“If he hates it, I might keep it.” She exclaimed.

Sure enough, he loved it.

Back at the room Jelly and I fell into conversation about spirituality, and then I told her about my sobriety. Airbud came in around this time, and nonplussed, I carried on. Soon though, her and I left the space. Utilizing the parking lot to dry some wet gear, we kept talking.

She was aiming to hit Upper Goose Pond in two days. I could easily make up the eight miles between us by then. I was glad to know I’d have someone to hike with again.

We spent the evening at the hotel pool with Crotchidile and Airbud. Chai and Pokerface joined us as well.

The following morning a trail angle named Joe drove us back to our respective trailheads. I said goodbye to Jelly and Mabel, and told them I’d see them in two days.

As I hiked back into the tall grass, the road noise dissipating with each step, a familiar sound returned. Again, the mini-vampires were back. This time I had a goal and a friend to catch.

By 7pm that evening I had hiked seventeen miles, enough to catch Jelly and Mabel a day early. Crotchidile opted to stay in town, but I spotted Airbud’s tent. He had made it to Shaker Camp too.

Jelly came over to chat for a few, but I was beat. As soon as my bivy was up I crawled inside and disappeared into well-earned unconsciousness. Tomorrow I’d be going to Upper Goose.

“I am not a fucking buffet!”

I shouted, and slapped the side of my thigh. Three mosquitos lost their lives in a single blow, and I was on a rampage. I dropped my pack to the ground and dove my hand into the bottom of the rear panel. Soon my fingers found a small plastic cylinder, and I triumphantly lifted the container skyward.

I had been carrying this travel-sized death ray with a 40% concentration of DEET since New York.

I frantically sprayed every exposed inch of flesh with it. Then, to further delay my complete decline into insanity, I coated my baseball cap and shirt as well. Finally. The micro-vampires were abated. My confidence grew as each landed and left, until eventually, none dared to land at all. Flies continued to orbit my head, their beating wings dominating the incoming array of sounds.

I took a brief, blessedly bug free breath, and continued on my way.

I was a mile from the first road crossing into Great Barrington. The second crossing was another eight trail miles away. These two points make the base of a triangle, with its apex being the the town itself. This is important to note, because it meant that I’d be interacting with hikers in town who were actually a half-day ahead of me on trail.

I had planned to hike to the second crossing, but the mosquito onslaught took its toll on me. Nearing 7pm, with the next shelter some five miles away, my legs begged reprieve. I had already put down twenty for the day.

“This is it.” I confirmed to myself aloud. On the curb I stood, thumb outstretched. Traffic was thin, the sun was fading fast, and everyone knows that hitches don’t happen after dark. Great Barrington is a ritzy place, and even the Subaru drivers are slow to pick up Hiker Trash.

My eyes caught a blue 5-Series BMW, but she passed too. I payed special attention to the pickup trucks, which account for most hitches, but the drivers barely noticed me. A horn honked and I turned around. The blue BMW had come back for me, an older blonde woman waving me closer.

By the time I approached the passenger side, a peach colored towel was laid out on the front seat. I climbed in and immediately apologized for the smell, lowering the window slightly upon entry. She laughed and off we went.

I explained that it was my second time through this section, and she thought that was quite odd.

“I thought hiking the Appalachian was a once in a life time thing?” She inquired.

I explained that I hadn’t actually hiked the whole thing yet, and that answer seemed good enough to satisfy her.

“GB is a big place, is this okay?” She asked, pointing at the parking lot of a bank. I agreed and hopped out, immediately orienting myself to the nearest Subway. I sat on a bench outside the restaurant, wolfing down my cold cut combo, and watching immaculately pedicured women in heels walk by. Town girls…

TaterTot made fun of my mention of town girls once.

“Fuck no dude! Give me a rough guy with an unkempt beard, and a little sunburn too. A dude who’s done some shit. Town girls!!! Psshhh!”

I made my way to the Berkshire Community Center on the north side of town. It was nearly 9pm and I was coming up on twenty-three miles for the day. I passed a high end Mexican place, which seemed to be piping the smell of carne asada into the air. I should have ordered two subs.

The sun had long set by the time I reached the center, but I was navigating by memory. Beyond the grassy side lawn there was a small kiosk and a dense wall of trees. An outsider would have no idea that twenty hikers were pitched a hundred feet away.

I crossed the small wooden bridge, and entered the tree line. I searched and searched for a spot, but the tent pads from 2016 had become quite dilapidated over the past few years.

I texted Jelly to see if she was camped somewhere with this labyrinth of pine needles and nylon domes. She was at the shelter. I knew I should have hiked on…

In one hammock I saw a cellphone-lit face. It looked like Chai. It was Chai. I hadn’t seen her since northern PA.

“Oh! That’s Airbud’s!” She replied, after I asked about the Quarter Dome pitched nearby. I had known Airbud for two days, therefore giving me adequate license to pitch three feet from his home.

Bivy’s are stealthy things. When Airbud returned to his dwelling, I actually had to greet him to keep from being stepped on.

“Wait! You don’t sound like Spoons?”

“Dude, it’s Dirty Girl.” I assured him.

“Duuuude! Do you want to go bowling?”

I assured him that all I wanted was sleep. It had been a long day. Already, my brain was busy deciphering the to-do list of town errands for the following day.

After nearly being stepped on for a second time, this time by an unknown hiker without a headlamp, I fell into a deep sleep.

Hey guys, a more detailed post will be coming in the following days. For now I just wanted to let everyone know that I summited Mt. Greylock, and entered Vermont yesterday.

I’m currently 46(ish) miles south of Manchester Center, where I will hopefully be staying at the Green Mountain House for a night. Yesterday I said goodbye (for now) to Jelly and her adorable adventure pup, Mabel. They both hopped ahead to the Maine Junction, in pursuit of their second to last section of trail.

As soon as I made the decision to let go of trying to keep up with others, and resolved to hike solo, both Jelly and Crotchidile came back into my trail life. Additionally, I met a badass ultra-lighter named Sage, and he are hopefully destined to become good friends.

More on the Great Barrington – North adventurers to come. For now, I have thirteen more miles to hike. I’m aiming for the Goddard Shelter tonight.

I’m at the McDonalds in Great Barrington, MA, drinking coffee and doing a little mission planning. This is a particularly robust town, with many hiker friendly food and lodging options, so it’s an attractive place to take a zero day.

In addition to all of the greasy McDoubles I could ever desire, there is also a Subway on the south end of town. For lodging, the Berkshire Regional Community Center allows tenting behind their building. Additionally, for a mere $7, hikers can have full use of their facility for the day. This includes showers and the pool. A veritable stinky hiker oasis!

Mission planning typically includes making a grocery list, tailored to conditions and the miles until the next resupply. Generally for me, fifteen miles equals one full day of food. If the next resupply is forty five miles out, that’s three day’s with. The tendency for hikers is to overpack their fears. I always buy too much food, because running out is my biggest worry out here.

Conditions affect the grocery list too. In summer heat I load up on Propel powder, because electrolyte replacement becomes paramount. In colder weather, I will always carry out at least eight ounces of cheese, which is unmatched in its calorie to weight ratio. Summer sausage and precooked bacon are also winter staples.

Another great aspect of Great Barrington, is that there is both a Marshall’s and a Good Will here. About a hundred miles ago, I split one pair of men’s running shorts, right down the rear seam. It’s gone from a one inch tear to three inches in that time. Thankfully I wear liner shorts, so the mooning has been kept to a minimum.

Woman’s running shorts have been a game changer for me. Thanks to Neemor’s YouTube channel for that recommendation. They’re light, they breath well, and the shorter length allows more leg movement, which wards off splitting butt seams. I’m hoping to find another pair today, as my men’s shorts are pretty worn out anyway. They’re not worth repairing.

Other town errands involve bumming WiFi for podcasts, uploading YouTube videos to make space on my phone, and downloading my next audio book, Good to Great.

Speaking of errands, I had best get to stepping! Here are some pictures from the last few miles:

An inviting pool of water. I took a little hiker bath here (no soap).

New video. Leaving CT

Leaving CT today. It was a beautiful section, and very well maintained. The flats along the Housatonic River were stunningly beautiful corridors framed by tall hemlocks and sycamores.