Day 127: Straight Outa’ Vermont

Vanlife

We boondocked at the VT12 trailhead parking lot, which had just enough space for the van and possibly two Prius. Priuses? Priusi? But the July floods had done so much damage to the trailhead, bridge, and parking area, I doubt a Prius would have been able to navigate the driveway.

Hold on, hold on, I know how sensitive Prius owners can be, but I’m one of you. We just donated ours to the Red Cross in February after 17 years and 189,000 miles of saving the planet.

Fortunately, we didn’t have to share the parking lot with any Priusi and we were gone before any day hikers showed up.

Goals

I’d planned a 19.2-mile hike today, but when I checked the map before I left this morning, I discovered Hanover was 22.6 miles away, not 19.2. It was that same mileage error I’d experienced at Great Barrington when I crossed between FarOut map segments. I wasn’t thrilled about a 22.6-mile day, given the terrain, climbs, and likely trail conditions. But I was even less thrilled about staying one more day in Vermont.

So, today’s motivational goals included: (1) Get out of Vermont, and (2) Get into New Hampshire. Plus, check off one more day until our magical granddaughter arrives. And her parents too, of course.

Same ‘Ol Vermont

Don’t get me wrong, I love Vermont. But I don’t think I’ve seen it at its best, and its AT needs a little TLC. Sure enough, the trail was once again buried in the long green tunnel. In places, brush, grass, weeds, and branches leaned so far over the path that I walked by faith, not sight. I literally could not see the ground or my feet. And my pants and socks were soaked from the dew.

Locals told me that the summer floods diverted resources from trail maintenance to emergency road and infrastructure repairs. That may be, so I’m giving Vermont a pass. In fact, I met five hikers in New Hampshire who completely gave Vermont a pass, hitching rides from Massachusetts to Hanover, skipping the entire Green Mountain State.

Today’s hike had no big climbs, but all the little ones added up to 5,700 feet of total elevation gain, with somewhat more elevation loss as the trail dropped out of the mountains to the Connecticut River. The air was cool, but humid, causing me to take off my sopping wet outer shirt after one of the first climbs, and take my chances with the gnats and mosquitoes.

Don’t You Wish We Were Hiking This 200 Years Ago?

As I stood next to the trail wringing out my shirt before stowing it in my pack, a burly, beardy thru-hiker came up the trail and stopped near me where the one-track path joined an old forest road. He saw the forest road, which was bordered by a mossy stone wall, grunted in disapproval, and said, “Ugh, a road. I hate road walking. Don’t you wish we could have hiked this road 200 years ago when it was all farms, wagons, and sheep?”

As you know by now, I love the old forest roads. They’re wider, smoother, and less steep than the rest of the AT, and they often have interesting historical artifacts nearby. But I still found his comment confusing. Does an old dirt road that probably hasn’t carried a vehicle for 50 to 100 years count as “road walking?” If he hated road walking, why did he want to walk it 200 years ago when it would have been in better condition? And why sheep?

Then I noticed his ultralight pack, carbon fiber hiking holes, lightweight trail runners, polyfiber clothing, and cell phone. Did he expect to bring all that back with him on his time travel hike to the early 1800’s? Back then, young men who spent their summers hiking instead of working were regarded as worthless bums, not adventurous thru-hikers.

All those questions flashed through my mind in an instant. But of course, all that came out of my mouth was, “Uh, I like forest roads.” The guy gave me a disgusted look and sped off.

West Hartford

Around lunchtime, I hiked into West Hartford, the community where we’d dropped off Fearless last night. After six hours of hiking, I’d developed little hot spots on two of my toes and my knees hurt. I attributed the pre-blister hot spots to not washing out my socks, which were a little crispy from all the mud. My knees hurt because I’ve been abusing them for four months. And because I’m old. Lots of things hurt.

I stopped in at the public library, hoping to refill my water bladder and use the facilities, desperately on both counts, having drunk three liters of water this morning. Alas, the library was closed on Mondays.  And Thursdays, Saturdays, and Sundays, though the Monday closure was the key today.

FarOut informed me that no other public facilities existed in this metropolis, and I had a 0.8 mile walk before I reached the woods again. Then I remembered the nice old ladies who’d helped Fearless last night and walked over to ask if I could fill up at their water spigot.

Secret Trail Magic

Sure enough, they were sitting on the porch. Had they ever left? They invited me up for a cold soda out of their mini fridge, to sample any of the snacks laying out on the table, and to rest on the comfy chairs on their shady porch. They even had a porta-potty for hikers next to their garage. Permanent, unadvertised, secret trail magic. Sweet.

I thumbed through the hiker log, paging back to see who else had found this place. Voices and Masters had stopped by earlier today, and J-Mo and Lioness the day before yesterday. A week and a half ago, Black Dog and Mantra, who I’d last seen along the Blue Ridge Parkway in early June, had signed in. And dozens of hikers I’d never met. I guess the place is not so secret after all.

The old ladies, who had kept up their own conversation about local affairs since inviting me up, saw me looking at the register and asked if I recognized any names. I said yes and that I’d been surprised to see a few that I thought were behind me. They laughed and said, “That happens a lot. I guess a blaze is a blaze, whether yellow or white.”

Yellow blazing means catching a ride in a car to skip portions of the trail, named for the yellow lines on the highway. I’m starting to think yellow blazing is a lot more common than the popularized AT culture will admit.

What a Nice Town

The ladies pointed me at their water spigot with an odd smile, where I filled up before moving on. Later on, when I took my first sip, I discovered why they were smiling. The water “had a little extra,” as my Great Uncle Alec would say when we drank from his tap. Sulphur and who knows what else. Two hundred years ago, their water could have been bottled and sold as “the cure.” Today, we wrinkled our noses at the smell and wonder what toxins are in there.

The next house I passed had the most elaborate trail mileage sign I’ve ever seen on the AT, complete with a surrounding flower garden and a marker describing the house’s history. After that, I saw a white-haired man sat in a rocking chair on the porch of a restored, circa 1880 schoolhouse. He waved, called me over, and chatted about his home (purchased for $15,000 in 1968), the weather, and the trail. His neighbor waved as I walked past.

The heck with Hot Springs and Damascus. West Hartford is the friendliest AT town I’ve walked through.

The Last Leg

I wasn’t excited about the next ten miles, with another long climb and then a sawtoothed descent into the Vermont side of Hanover’s suburbs. I met Stallion on the climb. He started May 9, a full month after me, and is crushing the AT. He’d taken a zero at Killington and gone mountain biking for the day with a friend. Must be nice to have young legs.

Just before I left the woods near Norwich, Vermont, I met Skitch (or something similar) and walked with him along the sidewalks into Hanover. He had met Northstar at a trail magic somewhere in the south, knew about our van, and said he’d seen me off and on for a few months. I don’t recall ever seeing him.

We groused and laughed about our sore feet, poor blazing in New York and Vermont, humidity, and PUDs. His AT hiking partner had just quit in Connecticut, worn out and tired from the long green tunnel, and he seemed a little lonely. We both have our eyes on the White Mountains and Katahdin and are committed to finishing well.

New Hampshire

We rounded a bend and saw the bridge over the Connecticut River that leads to New Hampshire. Finally! Skitch planned a zero in Hanover but didn’t know where. I was meeting Northstar, of course, and I had a surprise for her.

The Gift of the Magi

One of my blog readers had invited us to stay at a private nature reserve near Hanover. We’d have the place all to ourselves. The pictures she’d sent looked incredible. I thought I’d surprise Northstar with something better than another Walmart parking lot.

But when Northstar met me at the Dartmouth Boating Club across the bridge, she surprised me with a motel reservation and a plan for a zero day. A non-refundable motel reservation. And she’d already checked in. Surprise! So I texted our would-be host to explain the situation, thank her for her kindness, and say sorry for any inconvenience.

The motel shower, cushy bed, and delivery pizza were lovely. And a day off before starting the White Mountains after a 23-mile day was a really good idea.

Well done, Northstar.

Daily Stats:

• Start: VT 12 (Mile 1,732.9)
• End: Hanover, New Hampshire (Mile 1,755.5)
• Weather: Warmer, humid, overcast.
• Earworm: Psalm 23 (Covenanter Version)
• Meditation: Ps 23
• Plant of the Day: False Bindweed
• Best Thing: New Hampshire
• Worst Thing: Humidity