Hey guys, I have a lot to catch up on. For now, I’ll just leave this here:

I’m taking a full zero at the Sterling Inn. My pack has exploded all over the floor, onto the dresser, and the small nightstand in the corner. The scent of mold, mildew, and my own body odor have either dissipated in this ten by ten room, or I’ve become acclimated to it. More than likely the latter. At least everything is dry again.

I woke at 5am to say farewell to Jelly and her parents. They were kind enough to invite me to dinner last night. In the dining room down stairs we ate a simple meal of rice, beans and onions. I was quite grateful to be included in a small family dinner. Her dad kept the stories coming. Her mom, a fairly tightly wound woman, seemed to relax too. Her dad even showed me a “miserable while hiking” picture of Jelly, taken some five years previous. The thru-hiker equivalent of embarrassing baby photos!

Shortly afterwards Jelly and I wandered off to “check on the laundry.” Then we settled down for a little mission planning. She’s headed south across the Bigelows today, tackling the whole set in a single fifteen mile slackpack. We looked over the elevation profile together, and I pointed out some particularly technical stretches near Avery Peak and into Little Bigelow. The weather today isn’t stellar, but I hope she’ll get some views. It’s a beautiful section of trail.

When I woke this morning I felt anything but rested. With less than ten days to Katahdin, I decided to pack it in and regroup for a day. I might even be able shave the trip to seven days, and make up the lodging costs by needing three days less food. That old “rest to be your best” adage is true. The difficult parts of Maine are over though, with just 151.2 miles to the summit. Totally doable in a week.

Mentally, at this point, I am leaving the southern leg of the trip entirely open. Releasing the attachment to the full thru hike seems the best course for actually making it happen. When you think too hard about a massive endeavor, it often stifles the first step. Best to step first, and think later, even if that step is far in the future.

If I can find easy transit to the Long Trail northern terminus, I might swing over and finish the 177 miles I have left on that trail. If not, it’ll go on the bucket list. Maybe I can bag it next year?

Garrett, In A Day, Jelly, and Sage have all hiked most or all of the LT. Every LT alumni raves about it. I received hitches from two of them in Vermont, and most recently a proud papa in Maine. His son is currently half way through its 277 mile span.

For now, I have a date with a claw foot tub. Afterwards I am going to meticulously inspect, clean, and pack my gear. I’ll probably do my laundry again, then sleep. Glorious sleep.

“Oh my god dude, this is rancid.  What the hell am I even doing?”

“Keep adding those spuds.  You add those spuds, and you like it!”  Sage encouraged.

“So nasty.  This is so nasty.”  Then I took a bite.

“Dude!  Wow.  Wow.  I love this.”

That my friends, was my first “Ramen Bomb.”  This is the quintessential thru-hiker meal, and one I have avoided like the plague for years.  It consists of ramen noodles, and enough instant mashed potatoes to soak up the remaining water.  It sounds nasty, it looks nasty, but it’s the kind of meal you can truly appreciate after several hundreds of miles on trail.  I loved it.  I gobbled the entire monstrosity down in under two minutes.

The past few days on trail have been interesting.  Southern Maine is every bit as difficult as the White Mountains, with climbs and ascents easily hitting three thousand feet at a time.  Instead of smooth flat trail, or graded switchbacks, it consists instead of rocky and root bound steps.  “Steps” would be a loose term.  Quite often the rocks are sheer slabs some fifteen feet high, set at a seventy degree angle.  When you loose traction the next part to gain traction is usually your knee, or the palm of a hand.  Its like a slip and slide mated with a cheese grater.  As a result, my Vibram sole hiking shoes have been worn bare.  Going down one of these sections is even more perilous.

I wear Altra trail runners, which are revered among both long distance hikers and off-road ultra runners.  I have a love hate relationship with these shoes.  They have unmatched traction, breath-ability, and for me, perfect fit.  What they lack is durability.  I used to hike in their Superior line, which are the lightest shoe Altra makes.  They’re minimal and inexpensive.  After my injury, I went to the opposite end of the spectrum, and began to use the Altra Olympus.  These shoes are $130-150 a pair, and I’ve completely destroyed two pairs in less than a thousand miles.  The Superiors by contrast last 600-700 miles at a cost of $68.

My current pair of shoes began to fail about twenty seven miles from Rangeley.  The only outfitter in town carries Oboz and Merrill, both of which are too narrow for my feet.  Thankfully, I was able to get a call into Altra directly.  For $180 they shipped me a pair of their newest generation Olympus next day air to Rangeley.  Thanks to Anna and Sophia at Altra for making that happen.  I’ll be sending them a post-hike postcard for sure!

On the southern leg of the trail I’ll be going back to my Superiors, of which I have three pairs in reserve back in Georgia.  The trail on the Southern AT is softer (less rocky) and I feel as though my left leg has sufficiently healed enough to use more minimal shoes again.

Rangeley is pretty touristy, but there is a small hostel on the edge of town run by Steve Lynch.  The Hiker Hut is very rustic, very remote, and pretty primitive.  Steve spends half the year in India, and originally purchased the property as a place to meditate and get away from people.

“The gods had other ideas!”  He told me with a smile.  Hikers began to trickle in, and what was just an original 100sqft cabin multiplied into several small “huts” on the property.  There’s no electricity, no running water, but it’s a very clean place.  Steve has a porta-potty on site, and a homemade shower, which uses water from a nearby stream.  You simply add three buckets of water to the system, and turn a knob.  This activates a solenoid valve, which is run from a car battery.  This turns on an on-demand propane heater, and within a few seconds you’ve got a hot water shower.  So hot it scalded the shit out of my arm until I learned how much flow was needed to cool the system off.  One must not be bashful about using up the full fifteen gallon tank!

I was initially sketched out by Steve and the place, as it gave me immediate flashbacks of Standing Bear, which is probably the worst hostel on the AT.  Over time though, Steve and his property have grown on me.  Truth be told, given a small parcel of land and a few thousand dollars, this is exactly the home I would create for myself.

It’s a peaceful place, and when you stop to look at the flowerbeds for a good length of time, you begin to realize just how much thought and biodiversity exists in them.  There are at least fifty species of flowers, and as many edible plants on the tiny property.  Steve tends them well.  At $100 in taxes per year, he uses a large portion of his income from the site to feed and educate children in India.  His second residence is near Dharamshala, where he has lived seasonally for over twenty-two years.  After meditating in a cave for two months, explained to me that he just couldn’t go back to the nine to five life.

The photos in the previous post came from Human Nature Hostel.  I’ll be writing about Yukon and his place soon.  Human Nature is one of the few “Must Stay” places on the AT.  More to come!

At this time I am 220 miles from Mount Katahdin.  I hope to be there by the 29th of August.  I have hiked 967 miles so far, averaging just over fourteen miles per day (including zero days).

 

 

Hostels are weird. Even the nicest ones becoming a bit jarring when thirty hikers suddenly appear under one roof.

“Thank you for not murdering me in my sleep last night.” -A weekender from the second full shelter I hiked into Saturday evening. He told me this over breakfast the next morning…. Awkward.

Apparently my “underbreath” comments at 9pm were louder than I thought. I didn’t threaten anyone actually. I did use the F-word a lot, and I may or may not have asked the Universe a few times if it intended for me to hike until the (fucking) morning.

So I went back to the shelter spur trail, sat on a rock and made cous cous by headlamp. I felt grateful for a long enough break in the rain to jam hot food down my throat. I threw four ounces of Cabot cheddar in there for good measure too.

I was dizzy and lightheaded from lack of calories, and navigating by headlamp over the rocks didn’t help the vertigo. Pasta will do wonders to cure (what some perceive as) a murderous rage. Thankfully, I managed to find a tarp spot shortly afterwards. All the little weekenders stayed warm and snug in their bags —safe from the bearded night monster.

Really though, the idea of going to town to somehow sleep better than I can in the woods, is pretty absurd. Moreso in the presence of strangers, all sharing a crampt bunk space together.

I’m 247 miles from Katahdin, which is roughly two weeks. Barring a flooded bag, or some other life-threatening catastrophe, I’m going roof-free till the summit. If it works out, the Southern leg will be that much cheaper. Getting 6000 calories in today was pretty sweet though. I’m going to devastate some pancakes in the morning.

Made it into Maine yesterday evening. I spent the night in a shelter with twelve guys after a downpour suddenly blew in off the Whites.

Two years sober today.

I’d highly recommend staying with Paul at the Libby House BnB and Barn.