The shelter last night was on a loop trail off of the AT. We’re over 2000 miles in, yet I’m still trying to be somewhat of a purist in spite of the fact that we slack packed for 8 days. I can almost put my head around doing that when I consider the pain my knee was giving me at the time. What I haven’t been able to accept yet is that I spent one of those days as a sobo. I haven’t blue blazed or yellow blazed at all, so I consider that a point in my favor, but sobo! That’s like selling your soul to the devil just to play the guitar. Mizman did a stint as a sobo when we caught up with him at the Hudson River. As I recall, he had to heavily medicate himself to even sleep at night (or maybe he just liked the taste of beer…a lot). What I’m getting at is that I’m still a pain in the ass about going by every white blaze. Even though we were on a loop, I made everyone backtrack the route we came in and walk the main trail around the shelter. One day, they’ll thank me. Today was not that day.
It was a little on the cool side this morning, so what could possibly be a better start to the day than another river crossing where we’ve got to wade across? We were expecting this. If we had been cumulatively 100 years younger (that’s 24 years for Bear and 19 years each for GCN, Sassy, Bunny, and myself bringing Bear nearly in age line with the rest of us yet keeping me the youngest), we would have pushed on yesterday for the East Branch of the Piscataquis River just to get the crossings out of the way in a single day. Normally, we would have changed shoes for the crossing but the river was low enough that, if we don’t slip, we can make it across high and dry. We had an 80% success rate. I had my camera ready for Sassy because she has been voted “most likely to fall,” but she made it. Poor GCN.
It’s time for a little more back story on Good Chip Norris. GCN is from an area in New Jersey called the Jersey Shore. This would make his wife a real Jersey Shore housewife. I’ve never seen the show, but I’ve gathered the gist of the program from extensive conversations with GCN. He and his father used to own a steam boat very similar in style to the “African Queen.” GCN has also been talking quite a bit about designing and building a mouldering/composting privy in his back yard. These two topics lead me to believe that “The Real Housewives of Jersey Shore” must be a frontier program describing the trials of primitive living. It seems that GCN’s forefathers made it as far as New Jersey and just didn’t have the “mmph” to move away from the shore where civilization took hold. They have been living a backward existence for generations ever since.
Our goal for the day is to make it into Monson, ME. This is a very doable short day for us thanks to us pushing on a bit more than we had planned yesterday. After the river crossing, we had a gentle climb to the top of Buck Hill which had an overlook of Lake Hebron. When we got to the view, I heard someone say “Bunny Tracks and Easily Forgotten, I never thought I’d see you again.”
It took my old brain a few minutes to recognize that this was Legs who we had met just before we got into Daleville. We all met in the old schoolhouse when we were hiking with Stickers and Lady Bug (and periodically with Little Blue, Geo, Summit, and Bearfoot when we caught them off guard not giving them time to hide in the woods as we approached). Legs had made it up to VT and decided to flop up north to spend some time with his family in Maine. He had already been up Katahdin and was now hiking sobo back to VT to finish his thru-hike. He seemed not to be bummed about being a sobo. This was also the second person in the last few days we never thought we’d see again on the trail (the first being Handy). Since coincidences usually come in 3’s, I’ll be ready for the next surprise.
It was not too many years ago that the AT used to run directly into Monson. People complained about all the road walking they had to do to get back to the 100 mile wilderness. After coming down Buck Hill, we met the old, now blue blazed, trail that runs directly into town. Of course, this was a non-starter. One day everyone will thank me. Once again, today is not that day.
We finished the last mile and a half and got to the road by early afternoon. GCN was able to get a call into Hippie Chick to come pick us up. I had called ahead when we were an Northern Outdoors Center and made reservations for all of us, so she was expecting the call.
Hippie Chick showed up in less than 10 minutes to bring us back to her hostel; Shaw’s. She grew up working in a hostel for her parents who own Appalachian Trail Lodge in Millinocket. When Shaw’s came up for sale a few years ago, she and her husband, Poet, bought the place. She took us back to the hostel and showed us around. As soon as we pulled up, we ran into Hollywood. We noticed that we were able to actually get a few words in every now and then and he wasn’t swearing quite as much. Someone must have said something to him. We later found out that wasn’t the case, he was just extremely hung over and not quite himself.
We walked into the main house for Hippie Chick to show us our rooms and right away I heard “Easily Forgotten! Is that you?” Once again, my old brain took a few minutes to figure this one out, but for good reason. This was Mr Overhill who we had shared a shelter with our second night in North Carolina (and our third coincidence making the law of 3 hold true). At the time we met, we were all wearing hats all of the time because it was so cold. I had no idea he had so much hair so I have an excuse, but when I heard him talk more, my memory was jarred.
Mr. Overhill was putting in big miles when we met him. We had been on the trail for almost 2 weeks and it was his fourth day. He was trying to hike the trail fast. I told him our plan was to take as long as possible. The next day, he blew right by us and we never saw him again until today. He filled me in that he had kept pushing the big miles every day and made it all the way to Vermont by early April. He said he was absolutely miserable. The weather sucked. He didn’t have any friends on the trail and he wasn’t having any fun. He said the last week he was out he cried almost every day from misery. He got off and went to work guiding for the summer. He had just gotten on about a week and a half ago and was hiking sobo to finish the thru-hike, but with one big difference. He was going to take his time, meet people, and enjoy his life on the trail. He told me he thought we were doing it right and had been all along. He had hoped he might meet us again one day and tell us so.
Running into Mr.Overhill and having him validate us made me feel great. Screw the fact that we were sobo for a day. We’re out here hiking the trail. We’re putting in the miles and having a good time. We’ve met great people along the way, seen as much as we could, and now have a great tramily to finish the trail with. Make personal connections is what long distance hiking is all about. We’ve seen 3 people in the last few days we never thought we’d see again. This after I was feeling low about the way we’ve hiked and thinking we wouldn’t see anyone else we knew once we got to Maine. Life is good; faith in humanity restored.
We had plenty of time left in the day to do the things we needed to get done: shower, laundry, grocery shopping, finding out about Baxter requirements and registration, and, it seems like there’s something else we usually do in a town, what could that be. It’s on the tip of my tongue, literally. That’s it! Eat! We headed down to Lakeshore House for supper.
Monson is a, I hate to use it but it applies so well, “quaint” little town. Quite recently, the founder of Burt’s Bees has been pumping money into several small towns in the remote areas of Maine. Monson is fortunate to be one of the beneficiaries of that generosity. Several old buildings are being remodeled on the main strip. There’s a community art gallery and I understand that there is also subsidized housing for artists to try and develop a thriving art community. There also a couple of shopping options for thru-hikers. Monson is the equivalent distance down the trail for sobos as Franklin was for nobos. Since I’ve mentioned Groundhog Day a few times this can’t hurt. “It’s so beautiful. Let’s live here. We’ll rent to start.”
EFG