When I left off this blog in Pawling last month, that was sort of a last hurrah. Pawling was a great town and I still felt that I was a thru-hiker, though my eminent return to life at home was increasingly on my mind. Sure, the feeling continued in Kent, CT too, but there I got what I knew would be the last of my maildrops. I was having nights where I was alone, which was strange. Then I hit Massachusetts, the last state I would hike through. Too close to home for my liking. I was missing the trail friends I had left behind and was feeling a bit lonesome.
I saw Moxie again and met Onager and Soulslosher. I hadn't seen Moxie since Virginia and seeing her again made me feel like I was with friends again. Indeed, I got along with Onager and Soulslosher very well too. The best was yet to come once I reached Dalton, MA. There, I stayed "The Bird Cage", the home of Rob Bird a man I think we should all aspire to be like: one of boundless generosity, and selflessness. He really inspired me in many many ways. That morning, I was feeling down about the end of my long journey being just a few short days away and I talked about it with Moxie. Afterwards, I noticed the words above the door, words I needed to see: "Don't be sad that it's over. SMILE that it happened." That was the reframe that I needed and it helped me put things into perspective and to focus on how fortunate I had been to be able to be out there for the past seventy-something days, What a wonderful life-changing miracle.
After that, Rob came back from work and there wound up being seven of us (myself, Onager, Moxie, Soulslosher, Caro, Kermit, and Rob) sitting around the kitchen table while Rob played guitar and we sang every old song we could think of. It was a perfect morning and really gave me that feeling of community that the trail is all about. If only moments like that weren't so rare in the frontcountry.
I wound up having a shelter to myself my last night and it was a bit lonesome, but it was good too because I could focus on my thoughts and reflect on some of the many lessons I've learned. In the morning I hiked to the Vermont border. The sign for the beginning of the Long Trail there was like my version of the sign on the summit of Katahdin: big and marking the end of a long journey. I then backtracked and met up with my dad who took my out for dinner and then back to NH. My first day off the trail, my car was hit by an uninsured motorist. Welcome home. The next day, I was at a camping weekend with friends and hiked a small connecting piece of the trail I hadn't done. I was still working on the trail, but I was in the wrong state and it felt weird.
The next week I moved to my new home and then got back on the trail in Vermont, finishing up the part of the AT I hadn't done before (Maine Junction to NH). Along the way, I met Whistler who was of the same ilk as Truckin' and myself, deeply philosophical and examining life. He said that he thought that the trail gave him what he needed when he needed it and I couldn't help but feel that the trail bringing him my way was doing that for me. He helped me to rehash in my mind the lessons I'd learned as he had learned many of the same ones as well. We even had the same idea for a tattoo in the same location. In the end, I dubbed him a Soggy Bottom Boy. It was only fitting. He is a Soggy Bottom Boy if there ever was one. Very fitting too as there were three of them. At the end of this stretch, I had the opportunity to pass on advice to SOBOs and to visit whichway and Pamola, which was very good for my soul.
Back home again, I took care of more mundane things and less than a week later, I was back on the trail this time in the Mahoosucs finishing up that part of NH and and the ridge. Mahoosuc Notch tested my resolve, but I came out on top and was glad for it. Even though with my car near by and quitting being an easy option, I didn't let tough conditions or bad weather break my thru-hiker spirit even though I was coming to accept the fact that I was now a section hiker. That was/is a hard thing to admit, even though it's true, because I took great pride in my thru-hiker identity.
Getting off the trail again after that section, I returned to my work-study position.Good to be making money again, but I felt more under the microscope like I was some kind of exotic specimen. People wanted to see and hear me and they marveled at the changes they saw in me. All I wanted to do was get back on the trail. I felt like a creature that was captured in the wild and brought into captivity. I longed to be back in the woods.
Then on Friday I headed back to the trail in Maine again. I saw Old Crow at the shelter and I hadn't seen her since Waynesboro! Things got even more spectacular when I got to the summit of Baldpate in the morning. Just as I got up there, Whistler came up from the other side! Once again the trail gave both of us what we each needed: him a ride into town to resupply, me a friend to again remember and internalize the trail's lessons with. His friend Walkin' Home was with him too and the three of us had a great day talking about life, the trail, and what's truly important. We wound up finding an abandoned rundown cabin that we tidied up a bit and spent the night at. It was on a beautiful pond and the sunset during the calm before the storm was so serene, I think it made that night one of the best of my trail experience.
This story and this blog are not done. I believe I have one more weekend left where I can get on the trail and see if any further lessons are revealed to me. When all is said and done, I will share hear much of what I have learned. For now, I say to my trail friends "Happy trails to you, until we meet again."
