The Great Walk
Eve
6:57- It is time to detect the name of the day: a Seared Bite!
Look at my timing the same as yesterday coincidence.
This morning my fly was pelted by cones as part of an Obama-inspired treedweller drone strike campaign;
a short while later, as I ate breakfast, a chipmunk came right up to me and stared at me with and indescribable expression.
Was it the perpetrator?
Or was it expressing sympathy for my suffering at the hands of red squirrels?
Unclear.
I'll be getting packed up shortly and then getting water and then getting headed out on this also going to be hot but not as hot as yesterday day.
8:45- Barred owl silent swooper in the tree.
14:52- I have nothing at all to report from the last several hours.
Now I am standing atop a part that is supposed to have spectacular close-up view of the end part, I am less than 10 miles as the fly flies, surely I will be able to see it now.
Nope!
Vague hints of a presence at best.
The big hill remains invisible.
In case I do not have coverage or functional wirefire again today, the plan for the evening is to get to the stopping spot, stop, meet the parents, they are bringing ample food and other supplies, drop off unused consumables, set up, and go to sleep very early.
2am wake up tomorrow.
The great summit push is upon us.
I have a lot of thoughts to share about this journey, what it has meant, where it has taken me, you all, support, meaningful experience, life spiritual growth and development and discovery of deep introspective truth.
Tune in tomorrow for all that and more in the live update grand summit finale (barring a Rob Milne moment or enormous weather catastrophe such as the slightest hint of thunder)!
Working 9 To 5
6:57- Using the privium, gonna get started in just a few breef moments!
Breaking my own early start record of the morning!
Why bother to do this, very unpleasant?
Listen up my man, I am trying to go 33 miles today!
That is a lot of miles!
Tune in constantly to find out how bad I am.
I'm gonna be moving fast, flying around, expect short updates.
Economy of words.
Diction is the intersection of precision and concision.
7:42- Magic brownie from the magic brownie bag!
Praying they're not too magic.
8:18- No genuin forde for me.
I hopped those rocks like they wanted it.
9:34- Big climb done, standing on a board, board members agree on this.
Down and flat as far as the I can see.
12:08- Noontime update.
Mile 15.7, strollin along in the heat and humidity.
I am being bold with the amount of water I am carrying.
Hopefully it won't backfire.
12:25- Startled a number of fowl of some kind.
Grouse?
Maybe.
12:54- I have stooped so low as to suckle on my squeeze directly.
Like breastfeeding from mother earth.
I just can't be bothered to squish juice anymore!
Perhaps this might save me a little time.
14:40- Little climb done, just a bit of a speed bump, can't let that slow you down!
I've got my head net to catch my hed sweat, I've got other things, experimental, carabiners on the load lifters.
Very hot.
15:54- It's a marathon!
15:58- It's the granite just like she told me!
16:11- It's my biggest day!
17:07- It's too hot and I'm too tired so I have to take a break and slow down!
At least I maintained a 3 mile per hour pace until now.
17:38- It's a 30-miler (as of several minutes ago because I missed it)!
17:53- It's an ultramarathon!
18:41- It's done!
33.2 miles in 11 hours and 31 minutes for a net pace of 2.88 miles per hour.
Woe is me!
This is sub-3!
At least it beats my previous long-distance pace record from the good old PE6-5000 finale.
Time for frock fule.
21:18- It is the final toilet seat sit before I retire this evening.
FRoCC are here, and I chatted with them for a bit while finding a hangsite;
then over dinner I had a lovely conversation with a southbound section hiker who used to do trail maintenance in Viermont many years ago.
The highlight was when she inadvertently articulated something that sounds a whole lot like Kaczynski's theory of the power process.
I emphatically agreed, of course.
21:25- I have almost forgotten crucial detail for you!
The name of the day is The Impossible Whopper (third time is the charm time).
I whopped the impossible, but the impossible also whopped me.
9/4, Just One More Week Until 9/11!
7:57- Why am I up this early you all ask in unison, your voices melding into one great cacophonous accusation?
Because last night a woman camped near me had her battery go all fucky wucky and didn't have a way to set an alarm.
6:00 was the time.
I wasn't sure the phone would be loud enough, but I don't see her tent anymore, so one must logically deduce that it indeed woke her up.
I of course snoozed it for about 2 hours.
This is a fun little spot with some of the more ample fungals I have ever seen now illuminated by mr morning sunshine.
Today we're going to get going as soon as I get up and get going.
9:24- Privy detour before the wet moment to come.
It looks like I could have crossed it without a problem in the dark after all;
but no matter.
The best decisions are made out of laziness and ineptitude.
10:36- Genuin forde complete, plus magical hillrime and gernola bar, plus extended conversation with a ridgerunner and a trail maintainer of truly matsy caliber.
Rocksplitting moment!
And now we have hermit novelty and slate novelty to usher in the day's strides and footfalls.
13:24- We've crested the ridgeline friends.
Next step is to steal the land's natural resources in a rubber bag and consume them gradually.
19:40- Ridgeline traversed, all peaks nabbed and packaged.
Now I am privying myself before I find a pair of tensionworthy woodlets.
But as you can most probably ascertain and deduce from the time stamping of this textual update, I did not come straight here in a hurry.
No, rather, I spent a few hours up on the top of the hill!
In honor of the ancient Labor Day tradition, I decided to stop laboring and eat a lot of food.
Snacks and dinner all done plus very special Arnold Palmer Arizona fruit snacks (narrative framing device).
I would have had a splendid scenic sight of the whole time to come while sitting there, but the air today is so fucking humid and hazy that the mountain was borderline invisible!
A faint outline could be seen on the flanks, but only a gray wash of the main attraction (it has discovered the invisibility cloak).
Still I felt nothing.
We'll see if I have any other notes to tell you before shut eye time but I gotta sleep early to be up early tomorrow for reasons you will come to see and understand in real time, very exciting!
The name of the day is Two.
20:29- Hangin on a wacky slope just like I often used to do very nostalgic!
Ictus is about to get a manicure and then I am done.
93 Miles To Go Will Be True Later Today
11:33- Greeting to you everyone from the halfway up the first climb of the day and the special numerological point of interest where I have BLACKJACK BLACKJACK HAHHAHA I GOT BLACJACK JACKBLACK JACK IS BACK JACK BLACK IS BLACK, BACK IN BLACK WITH JLACK BACK.
A small detail that I omitted last night is that I was camped with less than one hundy miles to go.
The name of the day: Chair.
I would love to sit in a chair right now.
13:32- Here's a new one: I annoyed a red squirrel and it began angrily tap-dancing at me.
Wildlife biologists and tap-dancers will be puzzling over that for a while.
14:03- Special novelty bog with pitchy and sundy plants!
Big fat ones and little itty bitty ones.
Noveltousness everywhere.
14:34- Yet another novelty item of the day, it is a plane crash!
Much smaller plane but still mostly intact.
Trinkets all over the ground.
17:41- I have crested the last peak of today's range.
Now there is just one more pain in the ass descent between me and the flat of the day.
Unfortunately 1.5 hours only of daylight remain and I have yet to cover at least 6 if not 9.4 miles.
Looks like I'll be night hiking tonight!
This is how I wanted the day to go!
19:57- Okey dokey people and pets of the audience, we have a change of plans.
There is another genuin forde just ahead on the trail.
I really do not feel like doing that in the dark (or at all, but sometimes we just gotta tolerate a bit of squelching).
So instead of pressing on through the water and subsequent federal "fuck you don't camp here" zone another several miles, I will be camping just before it near many other people who had the same idea.
Tomorrow will still be short.
Just not as gloriously short as it would have been.
Very sad for slothful old me!
7ptember 2cond
8:59- A rushèd morning!
The famed hôtel breakast, while ample, was nothing to write home about.
I finished all my food acquisitions and preparations just in time to return to the place I left yesterday;
my pack is probably the heaviest it's been in months.
Now I enter the famed 99.7 Mile Wilderness!
This better go well!
11:04- Some more morning updates since little has happened:
our omnipresent Hiking Associate was in the same room as me several times, and on one of these occasions she asked me both when I planned to summit and how I got my trail name.
Curt answers solved both situations.
Fortunately I don't believe she is hiking today, so it would be very difficult for her to catch me again.
But we can't rule it out.
Pack weight today has made a mildly annoying trail very annoying, especially the slate--I am so deep in the slatezone I can smell John F Kennedy's gravestone!
I expect the next few days to be pretty rough if not miserable.
And to top it all off with a topping I had a day hiker pitbull moment just a short moment ago.
"He's actually very friendly."
12:45- Yet another genuin forde.
I am too lazy to add one to the previous integer to give you an accurate count (try it yourself as an at-home exercise).
Alas as I was fording an intrepid man found a spot downstream where a rock hop was possible.
It just goes to show: the wet man always loses.
14:28- Second genuin forde of the day.
Mr. Intrepid couldn't find a way around this one.
Knee dee, not so swift, cool but pleasant.
What else fordingwise is to come today?
Will there be more?
Will there be less?
17:08- Another genuin forde.
To gift you a better image to picture in your mind of the situation here, every one of these requires me to remove socks and insoles, put my bare feet in the bare shoes, wade across, take off the shoes, wring out my pant legs and shoes, then put the whole footwear stack back together.
This is a pain in the ass!
21:40- I rolled in to the shelter, my fellows, and I sat down and pondered whether I should stop or keep going (Mr. Intrepid was to keep going, German and autistic as it turns out).
And I began eating the sandwich I packed out.
As I did so a squad gang rolled in going by Radish, Happy, and Suave.
Happy was experiencing some gastrointestinal distress after eating the sandwich she packed out.
Great!
But no to worry because it quickly passed.
As I kept on pondering and thinking they built a fire, and this made up my mind immediately.
Why push if I am already ahead of my original plan and there is a fire?
So I hung the hangables and we sat around and talked for a while.
Early on there was a bold chipmunk that came and looked around beneath our feet.
Then the bold mice came out;
first looking around the fire area, then around my hammock, then eating part of Radish's raspberry bar, and at last in the dark literally crawling onto my knee.
Fucking brazen if you ask me, a less open-minded person might have given it a whoop ass right up the ass.
It was a good evening with many entertainments, particularly from Radish.
Now it is over and I am using the privy before bed.
We're gonna see how many more graffitoi I can educe from my pigment stylus before it desiccates.
And for your notice and information, as you must well have been wondering, the name of the day is Zippy Water.
Zippy Water complete!
7ptember 1st
8:46- Early morning, another autumnal morning, about to get going this morning so I can get there in the evening but first I am using the privy.
I already decorated it last night so this visit is strictly business.
Today should be very flat mostly which is good so that I can make each stride in minimal time.
9:38- Second genuin forde of Main.
Today I am testing the "fuck it just walk in" method, which is quicker than other methods but leaves my feet undesirably heavy with water.
10:58- Third genuin forde!
(Another alleged ford earlier turned out to be instead a swift running jump.)
Very easy as long as you do not blindly follow the path everyone else has worn into the banks.
That would be nearly waist deep.
Instead you should go the route that is obviously only mid-shin.
Why does this not occur to people?
12:53- Updownupdownupdownupdownupdown.
How many updowns can you fit into a section of trail that is overall flat?
Fortunately that has all come to a more or less close with the fourth genuin forde.
Another easy one.
Now it is climbing for a little brief while!
OBX & co & FRoCC in the vicinity!
14:07- Pileated sighting just before the final big climb, this means I will fly like a woodpecker up the hill.
Breeze and fly fast.
15:32- Your humble narrator made it in time for the 4pm flightround instead of the 6pm!
Also magician is here!
Very good very good yay.
16:02- The sherpan talismans have been consumed: doritos, gatorade, gushers.
Landing is imminent.
00:30- This hôtel is probably the most renowned on the entire trail, and I have no idea why.
It is a solid mediocral average in my opination.
Very little distinguishes it from most other large hôtels I have stayed at, and it certainly does not hold a candel to the best small hôtels.
Just another of the latest lessons teaching me to never trust any other person's judgement!
My first act here was to walk to an informatiom station where a woman with just the right level of autism flooded me with helpful and relevant details.
Every customer service employee on the planet should spend their life trying to be more like her.
Then I acquired creme de glace down the street, returned and showered, picked up a dinner pie at the gas station, returned and did laundry, and organized a committee of food items to be consumed over the next few days.
The finishing touches will be perfomed tomorrow morning.
For now it is most certainly the time for me to bed myself.
Gee, The Month Of August Sure Has Been Full Of Joys And Surprises, But Looking Back At All Of Our Accomplishments It Is Clear That The Time Is Here To Wrap It Up And Close This Chapter Of The Story Of Our Lives
9:51- Breakfast zone on the continent, bagel and muffins.
Packin it all up.
Sody and a flight back down to the woods.
It's autumnal weather day, a day of autumnal weather!
Sunny and cool and swept by a breeze of air.
Now we're hitting the trail people and all, not that many people, seems like most people got going before I got up.
How far can I go over the hills is the question in a reasonable chunk of a 24 hour period.
11:17- Autumnal weather bonus duo surprise!
I just ran into Cruise Control and Fuel Rod.
They would no doubt have been far ahead of me were it not for a nine day stock car oglefest in Daytona.
I expect to see them repeatedly at regular but still randomly distributed intervals over the next few days.
12:53- I'm just up here getting the first of the day's two mountains out of the way, and I am pleased to report that I can at last see the northern terminodia in more detail than a vague gray wash!
It has a form and shape that is discernible in contrast to the background!
I still feel nothing.
15:13- Yet another alleged ford that really only involves wet feet on the rocks.
I used the sockless insoleless technique pioneered by somebody in the past;
so far it seems to have limited the squelch but not eliminated it completely.
A moderate success.
20:06- The second mountain was of pretty good quality indeed as I would evaluate it.
And now the day is over and I am waiting for my dinner to cook in its bag on a luxury item picnic table instead of on the ground as usual.
The OBX crew is here and so are FRoCC.
Special reunion surprise!
Fairly good site, pleasant body of water again, recurringe them of Main.
Tomorrow will be an early start to the month because I have to be all done by sixpy em to get picked up so I am told.
Early alarm get ready everyone be prepared!
20:38- Mouse touched my shoe, this is a positive omen.
This August Age Will Not Last Much Longer Seeing As It Is The Second To Last Day
8:57- Morning time, hello Mr. Morning.
The drizzle has begun, on and off, here and there, sprinkle and moisten.
I endeavor today for an early start;
though my day will be short, I must allow time for my great journey with the ferryman.
Then it will be an afternoon of leisure and Neronian abundance.
11:16- I am in line for the ferry.
The Styx is wide and rocky, though today its wave is gentle.
11:41- It was a swift crossing.
The ferryman, for whom I suggested the name Charon, directed the paddling with succinction and expertise as we drew nearer to the final lands.
Now they are all that remain.
My day will be done shortly.
00:06- No coverage, GPS too slow, had to walk halfway here from the trail.
Where is here?
Here is an "Inn."
Last time it was a hôtel nice enough to be called an inn, this time it is and inn chaotic enough to be called a hôtel.
Some questionable piloting from the youth and less questionable from the olth.
Got my box, got my out of the rain, got my room and shower and laundry and soda and out to dinner and pint of creem and all my things.
Our Hiking Associate is also somewhere here, and from loud conversation overheard I gather she and the man she has been hiking with for at least a few days had quite a night last night.
High Route is also here, I spoke to him briefly in the postnoon.
Gonny head to slumber now because I gotty eat in the tomorrow morning and then hike as far as I can get!
Two days to the final town!
A29, A Really Tiny Paper Size
11:38- Evening update because I was too tired (this is the advantage of the live update medium, I can string you along with little morsels and the cost of delaying a single morsel is near zero conpared to the cost of delaying a whole meal):
Crosswalking a mountain that is Little and Big and Low, I saw some weather rolling in, which hurried my ass to class.
At the shelter was a neurotic flipperflopper who wanted to know all kinds of details about the next two days of his hike southbound including the weather (I have just as much cell coverage as you buddy) and an organized group of ~18 year olds, probably one of those outdoors preorientations from some college designed to lull new students into a false sense of social security with top-down "community" building.
I talked to one of them who was a fellow hammocker from the Filthadelphia area;
he seemed nice enough.
After dark while I ate dinner a whole train of them silently walked in the direction of the privy, then after some time had passed all silently walked back to the shelter.
Ominous!
But I am now using the privy for the second time since then and nothing seems amiss.
This morning Bittersweet and the man who calls himself Jukebox have stopped by the shelter, and I suspect our hiking associate is in the vicinity.
Nothing else of note has happened but I will be sure to let you know as soon as it do!
18:23- I have had almost no coverage today, but that doesn't matter because almost nothings have happened!
Not at all!
I passed by OBX &co resting by the water and somehow managed to get ahead of our Hiking Associate without encountering her, and beyond that the trail has been flat or mildly hilly and devoid of events.
Soonish I will reach the end of the day.
What noveltous fun this is you should come join me!
Highly recommend if you ever have the time!
22:26- Nothing to say about the end of the day, I am next to a body of water, there are mosquitos, there are other people, I have eaten dinner.
What other details do you want to hear about, I value your feedback, please let me know.
Please tell me so that I know.
I will tell you so that you know.
Oggus Tuendiate
8:22- Breakfast bonanza, breaking your fast so fast you'll break!
Bittersweet appeared for the meal.
Gotty get the payment, gotty get the photographic documentation, gotty get the shuttle flight through the air and sky.
Ponchonem iam emi.
12:59- A bumpy ride on the smooth jazz bus (new spaceflight program, very top secret) got it started right in the appropriate mood for starting.
Climbing compatriot of the morning and early afternoon hours: a man who calls himself Blink.
Boulder, moss, root, soil, rock view, trees and mud under my shoefeet.
13:46- I am on top of one of the horns, I'm not really sure, it was a climb to get here.
That is not important.
What is important is that by some stroke of divine comedy none other than our Hiking Associate has appeared on the summit.
I am floored.
Allow me now to continue hiking and fully enjoy my weaponized presence.
14:53- I am now on a splendid mountain that is Big and Low, so big and low that I can technically see Mr. Washeton (gray wash) and the northin turminis (also a gray wash).
It is way up on the top of here from which I directed a highly advanced covert intelligence operation to determine the recent actions of our Hiking Associate, codename MOTTSAPPLESAUCE.
My agents gained surreptitious access to both the American network of subcutaneous GPS units contained in the COVID vaccine and the Chinese network of global positioning bloodstream nanobots contained in COVID itself and reconstructed the following timeline:
on Wednesday 8/23 MOTTSAPPLESAUCE reaches the summit of Washington and is picked up.
All activity is nominal before this aside from some blue blazing.
The following morning, 8/24, she returns to the trail not where she left off but instead just north of the Androscoggin river, skipping the second half of the Presidentials, the Wildcats, and the Carter-Moriah range.
(As I write this she is passing behind me, very funny.
I had forgotted just how fucking annoying she is.)
MOTTSAPPLESAUCE proceeds through the Mahoosucs over the following three days, is picked up from Grafton Notch on Saturday 8/26, does not hike on 8/27, and resumes 79 miles later at Route 27 this morning, 8/28.
That's a lot of skipping!
My tolerance for her voice is rapidly waning, so I must away.
15:46- Just passed another Big and Low spot, also the last notably tall one until the finale.
As I left the last spot, the Hiking Associate actually spoke to me, addressed me by name, and asked if my mom was still hiking with me.
I said "no" and extracted myself swiftly from the situation.
(Snake in a rock moment!)
There was no acknowledgement, even attitudinal, of what transpired back in March.
BPD is jenuinely terrifying.
8 27 64 125 216 343 Et Cetera
10:58- Gee we sure did do a lot of learning yesterday.
Let me add one more thing.
Yesterday we learn that the door of this privy is not attached to its hinges and the toilet lid of this privy is not attached to the seat.
Makes it very fun and interesting to use last night and this morning!
Almost mishap!
12:13- Spruce grouse!
Also known as the fool hen because they are pretty dumb I guess.
This one is just hanging out on a branch right next to me.
Scratch that, it's on the ground again.
Eating berries.
Oh, to be a bird.
12:24- In an unexpected twist of sufficiently clear skies and digital augemtation of my object recognition ability, I can technically see the end of the trail from here.
Stupid fools who have not paid for the appropriate apps would easily miss this remarkable opportunity to stare at a distant grey bump and feel nothing.
19:59- Hôtel night, comfort and rest, food abundancy.
A school bus was involved, genuine illegal yellow!
Shower, grocer, dinner, and soon launder will all be taken or had.
The television is on here playing drivel such as america funniest video and familial feud with stee harvey oswald, from which great insight about our country and culture can be eckstracted.
Lots of familiar faces of people such as OBX and company and Green Machine and Hummingbird and other outines moi.
What will tomorrow bring as in how far of miles?
Aside from high pressure system?
00:33- Launder done, late snacking done, collocutions done, bedtime for me.
Before I came upstairs from the downstairs area I was entertained to see Green Machine going for some mountain dew to accompany his marijuana like an early 2000s gamer.
Just needs illuminati doritos.
Sleep shall take me to breakfast in the morning after the night has passed, which is for a nominal fee, served at 7:00.
Foods aplenty.
Full of food.
8-2 = 6
12:05- Let's go everybody, come on and follow me!
We're gonna go do something today and learn something along the way!
14:18- Today we learn that there are spider webs all over the place, absolutely everywhere, how did they get here so fast?
Touch spider web?
14:49- Today we learn about peaks nearby, not immediately close but in the vicinity.
There are big ones.
We will not go to them, they are not where we are going.
16:31- Today we learn how to wave to mountains as you pass them by.
My pack may be full, but my bag is empty.
16:53- Today we learn how to complete build the link of trail, many mile, continuous.
Link the pieces and see what you find.
It is like a chain puzzle!
17:10- Today we learn how to dismantle misinformations.
Take the foot, deliver a stout sweeping side kick to each stick element.
Repeat until all confusion has been erased.
17:56- The sign of stones proclaims that I have walked 2000 miles.
This is a truly brand new neverbeforeseen proclemption, very innovative, very forward-looking.
Today we learn how to walk 2000 miles!
The key secrets are food, money, and unquestioning obedience and submission to authority.
19:02- Today we learn how to ford (people keep spelling this "fjord" can you believe that? are they stupid or something?) a predominante river in Main.
The optimal strategy I would say is to walk across on planks and rocks without getting your feet wet at all.
8 = 2+5, Alas! The Pattern Does Not Hold
10:41- Not much to say yesterday but gee whiz my prediction for today was corect!
This is going to be just like Franconia.
A warm front has been gradually soaking everything all night and morning and will continue to do so for the rest of the day.
It is just on the threshold between too warm when hiking and too cold when standing still, and winds on the ridge are bound to make the problem worse.
There is no good attire for such conditions.
Once I am done with this privy (two person edition with a board game between the seats) I will have to pick an outfit and go forth into the misery.
22:03- It was a full rain gear day.
Every piece of rain gear I have went on.
I hiked up, over, and down the range with a longhair millennial man who calls himself Easy (unclear how easy he actually is, but I do not intend to find out).
Just before cresting the alpine tent exclusion, we encountered a toothless old southbound woman rolling cigs out of the wind.
She warned us that the wind was blowing like a bitch up there, and it's some crazy fuckin shit, and it's her birthday tomorrow.
Happy birthday!
Undeterred, we exposed ourselves to the miserable Franconian weather.
Up there it was one of those classic situations we've all been in where one person knows quantum mechanics and the other is into quantum mysticism and popsci and vibrations and a very profoundly edifying discussion ensues.
Easy uses the word "atypical" a lot.
On the way down we rested at a canine feline banjine shelter containing some subboes performing a trail caligula (traligula).
Then after a rumored fordage which turned out to be more of a waterfoot rocklehop (zero fordage so far in foremoste state Main), we arrived here wet and done for today at this waterfall adjacent nightsite.
And that is basically all.
My poncho only barely survived in one piece, it will need to be replaced just like after Franconia.
I hate warm fronts.
8 = 2*4
15:18- That's all the walking for today everybody.
This morning I encountered OBX and crew and Green Machine and Hummingbird and that's about all there is to say.
Toon in soon when I get picked up by my shuddle flyer for the day and fly into town and eat a great deal of food.
17:30- I am about to get Shed faced!
Pun of a lifetime, great branding pun!
The flight was uneventful, though with a substitute pilot--the original one had so much gall that they put her in a facility.
Accommodations this evening are lakely.
Sea planes abound.
We must all sit together and enjoy the weather while it lasts because it's gonna rain all fucking day tomorrow while I'm above treeline (Franconia ridge 2 Saddleback boogaloo).
18:06- A stranger just tossed me $2 on his way out of the bar.
This is the third time I have had individuals not associated with the magician's alliance give me an unsolicited donation of some kind.
All three have been since the whitemen;
I suspect this is not a coincidence.
8 = 2^3
12:57- Haha Bemis.
I am now racing for five miles because the action adventure duo informed me there is barbecue to be had.
Saw Green Machine and Firefly (I think, the German one anyway) too.
Nothing else to report this morning, go back to your trinkets and playgames.
17:24- What a big old magical-industrial operation it was o friends!
And all the individuals were there together, Wingus, Keys, Max, Green Machine, Hummingbird (not firefly, a different sparkly winged insect), and even the action adventure duo made it in time.
I recieved a sum total of tortilla chips and bean salad, a red cane, two bakincheen boirghurs, three watermelon slices, two root beers, one Moxie, and two whooping pies (one packed for a later sweet treat).
The trueberries on the way down were unbelievably numerous.
I had so many that I am physiologically incapable of lying for the next 24 hours (the Appalachian Trail is nowhere near the hardest thing I've ever done, and anybody who says it is for them either is lying or had an even more privileged upbringing than me).
In order to make it down the mountain in time I had to put on the trueberry trinders (trail blueberry trail blinders).
But now I am climbing again, and at some point in the future time I expect to arrive at a destination.
Please be there promptly.
17:47- And just at the top of the climb, yet another smallmagic dropbox!
A blueberry pie!
Main (certainly the moste importante state) is remarkable.
23:49- I stopped just a tiny smidgin smudge short of my plan today thanks to the enticement of a splendid and highly premium campingsite.
I hiked most of the way here with Keys, Wingus, and Max, but they elected to nighttravel a few more miles (they are planning to finish a day or so before me, so that may have been the last time I will ever see them).
Alas, what luxury they are missing!
Beautiful lake, lake sunset, small sandy beach scenic, moon over lake, loon over lake, stars over lake, entire crisp milky way.
Ideal hammock nook just in the woods.
And not another soul is here to disrupt my personal enjoyment.
A loon calls as I type and tap on the screen it is telling me to go to bed!
Stop using the device please right now!
You should heed this advice too, the loon speaks to us all.
8/22, Just Ten More Months Until 18/22!
11:01- Coiling my twines and folding my fabrics just several few minutes ago, I was surprised to see OBX and company pass by (Boss on paid medical leave).
Perhaps I will be seeing more of them in the near furure.
But for that I must get stomping!
It is a blue day for a blue hill.
11:16- And as I roll up my sleeves good old Max walks by!
It's sure been a while hasn't it indeed.
All these long while people back in the same spot.
16:30- Wow, I sure have gone up, down, up, and down again today!
Shortly I will go up again.
But first, I must consume a magicianal lemon pie and arizona tea found on the grassy ground.
18:40- The early evening on Old Blue brings us a stunningly clear obliquely lit landscape, with nearly the whole White Mountain range on display beneath sparse wisps of cloud, azure sky, and a waxing crescent moon.
23:09- Wacky hang tonight.
I am above a disappearing stream, and one of the trees bends like a twig despite not being that small.
Max arrived after me and almost stopped but reconsidered when he saw how bad the site was.
A bit later Wings and Haverford (who calls himself Keys as I now remember) did the same.
Perhaps I should have tried to find a spot near the action adventure duo up top.
But you get what you get and you don't get upset as they say, what a truism.
I like truisms.
August Wontief Erst
12:06- Strange morning.
It began with a trip to le petit grocier, which had a rather poor selection of selectables, so this leg will once again be a culinary exploration (though not as bold and innovative as last time).
Then I paid for my NASA tickets and boarded my shuttle.
Usually I can tell if a piloteerer is a kook after one shuttle, but this guy held out on me until the return trip.
He began rambling about growing up poor in Boston, doing well in catholic school, and going to Deerfield;
then the topic of monologue became somewhat racial as he explained that in order for it to work, we have to break down the color barrier, blacks and whites have to start breeding and reproducing and changing the color of the country.
King started to realize this before he was assassinated.
He made some nods to Jews controlling public perception by portraying interracial couples in the media and then recounted a time (must have been in the '50s or '60s) when he was on the train and kept brushing against and pressing into a girl who "happened to be a negro.
And years of prejudice went out the window."
They never spoke, but he seems to think they both enjoyed the experience.
"It was neat."
Arriving at the lothead, I encountered an elderly witchwoman from whom I accepted a donut and some dew of the hills.
She talked at me and another wizardlad about a number of things including her hike in 1978.
Then I started across the street and up the hill.
Rejoice now: the Mahoosucklers are over, and I have at last excaped the AMC!
So far it has been dainty matsy trail, though still uphill.
We shall see what Mt. Male Pattern Baldness has in store in the next few brief moments.
13:42- Great mountain!
I enjoyed this mountain.
Best one in a while.
Very bald, no hair on the rocks, alpine rocks, summit view.
Wide view all around.
19:50- I am sitting at the edge of a large pond eating mint chocolate milano cookies and watching for moose.
10/10 evening.
Not mutch to report from the second half of the day because the trail was so dainty (alas, still tiring because I am carrying four days of provisions for the first time since the last time I carried four days of provisions).
Though there is cell coverage very nearby, I appear to be in a dead spot right where I am camped.
You all people reading all this will have to sit tightly and be patient until tomorow probably to find out about the moose spotting.
20:52- For the first time on trail I am eating tuna in my dinner.
I feel like a cat, and not in a good way.
820 Miles (Times 2.346)
9:59- Getting up, getting bright and out, getting on wet clothes.
Shortly I will fetch the notchwater.
O hooray for the sun today!
11:41- After a longer than expected elixir pilgrimage, I am starting on my way up the armclimb.
Get you arms ready.
15:25- I am on the fayatawa atop the elder spectacle, from which all three eyes of the goose can be spectated.
The arm was not written in as obsolete a vernacular as certain other climbs, though it was somewhat obsolete.
From here it's all downhill into the shuttleflight notch.
19:46- I am currently at Butcher Burger, a burger dining establishment!
The great pilot of grafton was kind and entertaining and had an ice cold root beer for me when I entered the capsule.
I would describe the accommodations as a quaint, slightly upscale motel.
Now I await my poutine, not to be confused with putain.
I have always been struck by the similarity of these words.
Got bless napoleon!
20:49- An orange crescent moon sets over my plump belly on this calm early night.
Great helpings were had, and I am satisfied.
I have unfinished business with the grocer, but it will have to wait until morning.
The queen mattress beckons me, sink deep, envelop, be absorbed into the cloud of the sheet.
8+1 = 9, The Mahoosuccessor Function Keeps Us Moving Up
8:34- O it was a late one last night, jesus crust!
I already do not enjoy night hiking in the fog, and the situation was not helped by the fact that the whole trail yesterday, while neither extraordinarily technical nor strenuous, was so poorly maintained that it still took me 12 hours to go 15.6 miles.
Probably the worst maintenance I have seen in my life.
At one point I literally could not tell where the trail was for several minutes and almost wound up climbing down the wrong section of a hazardous boulder jumble (no blazes either, paint is just too expensive these days!).
But you ask and inquire then why did I not stop earlier, why the big rushing push for a big day?
What is it?
Well indeed the big news of the night is that I have at last escaped the AMC by departing the estado basado of New Hampshire and entering Main, the foremoste state of the country.
No more states after this one folks.
I have done with states.
14:44- I had a leisurely morning but have now been hiking for about 2 hours.
Upsetting research discovery: I have not yet escaped the AMC.
They also "maintain" the first 14 something miles of Main (the chiefe state).
I am in the first eye of the goose right now, enjoying the fog spectacular;
getting here has been slow, boggy, scrambly, and somewhat wet.
I expect these trends to continue seteris pearibus, extrapolating from the known sample.
17:20- At a shelter.
You know what that means!
Shortly I will be embarking on what is allegedly the most difficalt mile on the whole trail, very hard very slow, can I finish before dark?
Can I?
18:36- It is now time to Mahoosuckle my Notch.
GO GO GO!
20:49- The thing that I have to say right now is wOwEE!
I mahoosuckled that notch as hard as I possibly could;
my time to completion was one hour and 19 minutes.
I'm pretty happy with that time given that I was solo, it was raining, it started to get dark 2/3 of the way in, and the blazes were so scant and faded that I had to guess the trail route several times with varying degrees of success.
The words of the guardian from Viermont come to mind: "Don't do Mahoosuc(kle) Notch in the rain."
Overly cautious advice, but still good to follow.
In the same vein I would say you should not start less than three full hours before sundown and you should hike with a partner or be prepared to lift your pack one-handed while crawling out of a cave multiple times.
I am presently half naked, trying to remove mud from my feet, hanging a few tenthies past the end of the notch proper as the rain pours down.
I have not yet indulged in the famed notch water--that will be my treat in the morning when the rain has hopefully maybe stopped.
An elixir for the coming big arm climb.
Every great feat must be rewarded with an elixir.
00:00- I did not feel like cooking, let alone experimental cooking, in this weather, so I just scrounged together leftover bits and nubs and blocks of nutrient of an appropriate total caloric content.
While I was eating, the very bold Mahoosuckle Mouse climbed up on my pack twice to sniff around and stare at me blankly.
As long as it doesn't chew on anything this is acceptable behavior.
Now I am going to sleep!
I believe I pulled my calf lightly yesterday during one of my many wetwood slips, but the discomfort is not substantial enough to impede my hammock enjoyment.
The enjoyment shall be great.
8*1 = 8. Perform An Action And Achieve No Result.
8:42- A whirlwind of erranda last night.
The dairy gueen had some handwritten special hours, so I was forced to cobble together three days of food from an Indian beer cave and a circle k.
Some of this food is highly experimental, so I need to cross my fingers and keep them crossed until dinner tomorrow.
At dinner last night, a remarkable stroke of magical whim caused the table over to pay for my meal--splendiferonious!
And just now as I am waiting for my shuttle to land (which is getting to be concerningly late) a sorceress conjured $40 and handed it to me for no particular reason.
What a mixed bag of generosity and dysfuction this stay has been.
9:38- Hiking at last!
Somebody's alarm didn't go off.
Fate is against me.
11:15- Welcome everybody who is with me right now in the same location to the Mahoosucklers!
Great timing that I am entering this challengeng and dificult range section on a day of widespread rain.
How badly will it Mahoosuck?
14:08- Fat gardier snake among the bushes by the pond.
Watch out for it as you go by.
17:14- I enjoyed a sheltapitstop (scenic view edition) for a short while as the rain ended for the second time, completing my first graffito in a fair while, but now I am pressing forward.
Haverford appeared as I was leaving.
There are several places I might could stop this evening;
with the sky dry, how far will I fly?
19:32- I am presently standing several tenths of a mile off trail on the slopes of Mt. Mahoosuccess, at the exact spot that a pilot mahoosuccessfully crashed a plane in 1954, killing two onboard.
The back of the fuselage is fully intact at the end of the debris field.
Airplane toilets looked different in the '50s.
8-1 = 7
10:49- I was so exhausted last night that I fell asleep almost as soon as I got into my hammock.
I broke my record for steepest day yet with a 15.4% total grade;
it took me 9.5 hours to go 10.4 miles.
But nevertheless I am about to get moving again, shaking those joints and ligaments, stretching the will.
As of today there are no more known locations left.
There are also no more plans to see family or friends.
The rest of the trail is unknown and alone.
14:12- I touched Mr. Moriah top of his head (side trip)!
This is the last white person top of his head.
Very sad.
I met a sobon and a peakbagman on the top, who were pleasant locutors and dealers of infomashun.
Now it's all downhill to accommodationland.
16:37- After some usual whitman descent and several miles of the nicest, flattest trail I have seen in weeks for which I was able to enjoy my breeze-generating 3+ mph flat ground saunter, I have just crossed the 1900 mile mark.
Gee whiz!
That is a fair to middling number of miles!
A brief roadstroll shall carry me to the launchpad.
8:16 Was A Nice Time To Wake Up
8:47- Breakfast success!
I will eat until I cannot eat, then I will arrange, organize, pack, and load, then I will embark up the next mountain.
It was written in a sort of obsolete vernacular, and it is steep if the public is to be believed.
How slow and how far are the questions.
Also when will I get enough coverage to plan my next townstop.
9:31- Homemeade has reappeared!
He went 1300 miles in a patchwork jumping distribution and then called it quits after 180 days.
Now he is looking for people to shuttle.
We discussed and collocuted for a short while, and I scored a piece of bonus toast.
Time to go back to the room.
10:29- Omens upon starting: a murder of crows and a roadkill weasel.
This should be a great day!
10:43- A frog just tried to jump on my shoe.
Not a smart frog.
13:36- I have finished the steepest part of the day, where things are very steep as opposed to moderately steep, which they are often but not mostly for that part of the day.
It took me about 2.5 hours to go 2 miles.
I sure do hope that the rest of the day is faster!
15:56- It is the final hutstop o brethren, the last of the huts on my way to places without huts.
I think in honor of the hut I will eat a hut baked good.
The cRoO member inside is less immediately distasteful to me than those at the other huts.
Despite my remarkable slowness today I should be able to make it to at least the first of the spots I had in mind and heart and deep desire soul of the id.
17:48- I am touching Mr. Carder top of his dome.
3 or so miles to go before my first stoption.
Fog!
18:17- I am standing atop one of the best views in the whitemen.
It sure is a great view of the fog, so much fog to see!
Even mist!
Beautiful cloudy mist fog.
I wonder what is beyond it.
19:29- The site is inhabited, alas!
Jai ya!
How much farther I ask you will I have to go before I can find a suitable spot?
8:15 Would Have Been A Nicer Time To Wake Up
6:37- The demon witches have woken us with a song followed by yelling!
Making me want to kill myself!
I would have paid a substantial fraction of the cost of this stay for them not to do that.
Also I am fairly certain that the blankets and pillowcases on these bunks (no sheets) are infrequently changed at best.
If breakfast fails to redeem the card, I will have to go to the store and buy another.
7:55- The food was once again only barely acceptable.
I could taste that the oatmeal had burned in the bottom of the pot.
But it did have calories, so I ate as much as I could.
Our communal family style breakfast was concluded by a fun goofy croo skit!
Different birds!
One bird stays on the trail (good bird), one bird litters (bad bird), one bird picks up the litter (good bird), and one bird folds its blankets once lengthwise and twice widthwise and stacks them three high at the end of the bunk (best bird).
Yes indeed, friends, that is exactly how all the blankets were when I arrived yesterday!
I now know for sure that they do not get changed.
Soon I will make my way out of this insane money pit and up to the next money pit on the mountaintop.
9:20- I have touched Mr. Washeton top of his head for the third time tiis week, but this time is for real.
The rain cannot stop me today because I'm walkin!
The first train of fat tourists has yet to arrive, so I am enjoying a cold sody beverage (for me it's bang's) and lemon cake in relative peace in the main food court.
Gonna get my things dry so they can get wet again.
That's all keep reading and reloading to see the next words!
10:10- I chatted for a bit with some fellow hutdwellers, but now I must get it going and started.
Time to leave subpatch alpha of the eighth known location and return to the newly known bonus buffer zone.
It is miraculously clear at the moment with views and dry sky, but that will not last long.
13:54- Another hut, another bowel movement.
I will perhaps be acquiring foodgoods here as well if they do not look foul.
Then I must climb over the final white person before ending my last presidential day of play!
It is a tough!
one!
so they say.
Steep down, slow going, slippy slippy.
Can I do it quickly enough to get dinner at the bottom this evening?
14:44- Touched Mr. Maddiesen!
He has bugs on his head!
16:34- And the most fearmongered descent of the entire Residential Prange turns out to be: Not Particularly Difficult!
48 minutes to treeline, then 62 to the bottom (this includes a break to expel some Lakes Of The Clouds Brand Bum Broth in the woods--the AMC brought that gift on themselves).
Not sure what people have so much trouble with there.
Now I am back in the soppy lowlands for another 4.8 miles.
17:40- A red squirrel just performed quite the routine for me, running up to me and then immediately away and onto a tree several times, looking at me intently and spastically hopping from stick to stick as red squirrels do.
2.6 to go.
19:23- I am eating a substantial portion of a cow.
Hooret for buffay!
Tonight's Joe Dodge Lodge (real name) accommodations are much less questionable than last night's.
I suppose that is perhaps the difference between a hut and a lodge.
Once I finish eating and showering and sorting the items in my special boy box, I will likely collapse from exhaustion.
I am looking forward to collapsing from exhaustion.
20:25- I just discovered that I broke my personal descent record today, dropping an accumulated 6,679.1 feet.
No wonder my legs feel like I dropped 6,679.1 feet!
Five Months On Trail: By The Grace Of God May It Not Become Six
10:07- Back to the tralehead, the crawford notch (crotch), the road where it crosses, have to climb it finally for a third time this week.
Second to last presidential day of play.
How many will I bag and tag and touch the top of his head?
12:42- Steep start, slow and scrambly.
I can see where I began this earlier day.
Cliffs and views up high.
13:24- Mr. Wepster has been topped and tapped.
Onwardsly to the next white man of the day.
15:01- I have given Mr. Jackson a touch, gotten my feet wet in a bog, walked all over the AMC's precious vegetables (maintain the trail properly and I will stop), and now I am colo-voiding in their facility.
I must be quick!
4.7 more miles before dinner at 6 sharp.
17:23- I have made it in ample time.
It is a big fogged in packed bunkhut of wood and shingles.
Dinner will include challah among other things--the jews have made it to hampshire!
A familiar individual may be working for stay here.
We shall see if my workless stay was worth the $170.
20:34- The food was not particularly impressive.
Dry and dense challah, underseasoned chicken, weird fried dough things (not puffy and deep fried, more like pancake bits with no baking soda and cooked in way too much oil) with dysfunctional dips.
That being said, I did clean all of my plates completely.
The demon witches of the Texas void made another appearance, this time with a different decaf punchline and a different goofy fun question for each other, impromptu handshake invention time!
I also attended a Naturalist Talk (Nalk) about the geology of white people.
Bedtime for me is fast approaching.
Was this actually worth giving $170 to the "non-profit" AMC?
Probably not.
But when you can't guarantee a weather window, sometimes you have to make a sizable donation to support a public service mission.
8 13 21 34 55 89 And So Forth, You Know How It Goes
0:31- O what shall I tell today trail muse (truse), what shall I tell these poor people at home without things to make themselves not poor like privilege and intelligence?
The crumb of the evening, so she says, will be a light treflection.
What of the Yeller Deller?
What of his thoughts and sayings?
He was surely very tired when I spoke with him.
And overworked, and I think in poor health due to some kind of eating disorder and maybe other conditions.
He is a thin birdlike man.
He said their life is not particularly religious to assuage any fear of worship I may have.
The tribes' economy is very incestuous, and he analogized this to trade protectionism and the myth of the promised great American wealth.
He has to do all kinds of things in his role, and sometimes God asks you to do three things at once.
The tribe in France is being moved--homeschooling laws that force kids to get a government-approved indoctrination do not mesh well with parallel structures.
He would love to work in South America some day.
But he is still trying to purge the selfishness out of himself.
God has a perfect plan for all of us.
August Wealth
9:29- Haha that was all the crumbs from yesterday, no other crumbs!
Here's a crumb from today: I was just awoken by a small child violently assaulting my hammock.
Maybe there will be more crumbs.
Check repeatedly like a compulsive junkie just in case.
3:15- A tad few of crumbles (small crumbs, a diminuitive): we are Warhol Superstars, we witnessed a rat dog attack, drunken people, one perseid, rain bed.
8/11, Just One More Month Until 9/11!
16:25- Today you get crumbs again, you absolute crumbgobbling parasite.
Crumber number 1: we just speedran Mr. Monannick.
52 minutes up, 5 minute break on the summit, 42 minutes down (slightly longer for White Boy, which is surprising).
The discovery of the day is that for the first time in my life I think I am in good enough shape to start running.
Stay tuned for the next crumb, which may be a treflection!
8/10, Very Nice Morning, But Two Points Deducted For A Worst-Case Scenario Scheduling Clusterfuck
8:50- Looks like we've got another caligula on our hands friends and acquaintances.
It is beautiful, clear, calm, and sunny right now, but all forecasts show thunderstorms in the early afternoon.
This precludes any attempt to summit after 1 pm or so.
So we will once again climb the mountain via a different route to keep ourselves occupied.
Today it's the Ammonoosucc ravine.
13:03- We ammonoosuckled that trail so hard its capillaries burst.
2:42 to the summit including a side trip to bonus peak Mr. Munro.
And as a reward for our efforts, we caught it in a rare moment of clear skies!
Several miles of the trail can be seen in either direction from here, which gives me useful picture informations for my coming journey in just a few short days.
We will descend after resting via our fourth route in two days.
16:48- Back in the hot lot.
We hit Mr. Cley via a traverse on the way down, and he demonstrated his stone demeanor by neither flinching not crying out at the abuse.
Contrary to the weatherman's folly, skies were clear for the whole descent, which would be great if it didn't mean that we could have climbed as planned after all.
I will not make this mistake again.
17:15- Some rain has occurred, which makes me slightly less violently angry at the forecast.
I'm still pretty violent though.
89 Mile Per Hour Gusts Are Not Out Of The Question Today
11:09- Too much goshdang wind!
Can't climb washeton today.
So as a consolation prize we are climbing washeton.
One of the ravines it will be, pending on how wet it is there.
Should be a fun little stint to keep in shape on this active moving forced caligula.
12:51- Dry ground begets steep mound.
Huntington it is!
White Boy is leaving the AMC another gift just past the junction.
We are making good time on the approach I believe;
hiking with a day pack and two poles is a bionic experience for me.
Akin perhaps to winged flight or levitiation.
The borderline illiterate meteorologists uphill tell us the gusts are still getting well into the 70s if not 80s occasionally, so perhaps one of those two things will actually happen.
13:55- Reached the headwall after a number of water crossings.
Poles are going away, bye bye Poles!
1930s moment!
16:27- We have sommited!
The headwall had some proper third grade pitches requiring the limits of my current climbing skility.
And the higher we clumb, the harder the wind did come.
Once we got up to the exposed ridge we were hit with full continuous 70 mph wind the whole way up to the summit, gusting as high as 89 mph (exactly as I foretold you).
This made it very difficult to walk and at times difficult to breathe.
We did some crawling, shuffling, leaning at precarious angles, and what I can only describe as leg sailing.
And then we arrived here!
We touched the top of Mr. Washeton's head, a 90 mph gust almost blew me over, and we came inside the food court (food tragically closed).
I would say as my final verdict that this is without a doubt the tallest white person I have ever climbed.
18:41- White Boy is leaving another gift.
We ran into Worm & father while leaving the food court--apparently they pushed through the traverse despite the hurricane-force winds.
And they are presumably finishing it this evening.
Good on them.
Dropping off the summit, we repeated last year's encounter with a large group in cotton, each of whom wanted to know how close they were.
First it was 10, then 15, then 20, then 25, a brilliant White Boy ploy.
The head of the lion afforded us excellent views of the wildcat and Mr. Carter, which are my next destinations after I traverse over Mr. Washeton via the proper trail.
Soon we hope to be back in the vehicle and on our way to acquire food and launder our items.
20:57- Gualmar run, time to buy some guals from the mar.
1:35- Fed time bed time!
Conditions are looking good for the morning at the moment.
Do NOT jinx it.
If things do not go well I will know you jinxed it.
Gr8 B8 M8 I R8 8/8
9:23- I awoke a little bit ago to find that the bizarre bug net condensation problem from back in Virginia is for Waters is happening again, on both sides of the net this time, dripping on me and my quilt.
Under normal circumstances I would be freaking out right now, but I sort of knew this was coming because I could feel it getting damp last night, and I don't even care at this point if my stuff gets wet.
Everything else is already wet and I am in a hotel tonight anyway.
13.4 miles to go before the car.
14:19- We are 4.8 miles in.
White Boy is leaving the AMC a gift in the woods.
The awful weather forecast for today that was pushing us to go as far as possible yesterday has not materialized;
don't get me wrong, it's still wet and fogged in and gross, but far nicer than what we've been dealing with.
We will stop in at another hut shortly to observe the undoubtedly genderific "croo" in their natural habitat before zooming along railgrade into the notch.
2:52- Alas only one crooperson was in, but I did get to see the free breakfast generous special prepared in the hut kitchen: a badly burned attempt at focaccia (?) which people had torn pieces from by hand, leaving a misshapen and curling mass that is for free just for you, thank you AMC.
The rest of the trail was gentle indeed but still very very wet.
We did manage to get one single view for this whole two day stretch into a valley during a short break in the fog, but soon afterward it began to precipitate.
Returning at last to the vehicle was a great relief.
The kind misspeller at the hotel desk redeemed us into the wrong building, which we had to correct with ingenuity before scrubbing in the showertub.
Chipotle then failed us due to the incompetence and laziness of its staff;
White Boy committed himself to trail slop while I sought and found a 2000-salary callid courtesy of apfelbehen.
I am now on the verge of shut-eye surrounded by my hanging wets.
Morning will bring weather will bring forecast will bring knowledge to me and you, that is the way.
1.142857
7:40- We are on our way there.
We have to be there.
When do we have to be there?
He says 8:05, go go go go go now immediately.
When we get there we will go back to here.
Then we will go back to there.
How far how fast?
Wouldn't you like to know but sadly we also do not yet know!
Two choices: the Impossible Whopper or the Wet Slopper.
23:14- One big update for one big day!
(I could not spare any time, mental energy, or finger dexterity for the whole goddamn hike.)
Our piloteer was the same in person as he was on the phone.
Talk talk talk for the whole ride, that's the way he does things, that's what he tells people, one time he shuttled somebody and you won't believe what happened!
Make sure you have your keys or you will die!
Then the climb started and reminded White Boy what humidity is.
It began to rain;
the caretaker helpfully informed us that it was raining.
By the time we ridged the line it was all fog and cloud and mist and drizzle and wind and penetrating wet cold.
The whole day, really, was just a sequence of differend kinds of wet:
sweat wet, fog wet, drizzle wet, wind wet, mud wet, stream wet, wet with every different configuration of rain gear we could think to try, tree wet, slip-and-fall wet.
And the ground terrain shape kept being slicky and tricky and steep as a genuine headwall.
Ten miles felt like twenty.
We were very done.
Pulling us forward through the absolute lasagna monday was the promise of a warm, dry rest, dinner food, temporary break, savior presence, shining golden hall.
But instead our galehead respite was loud, feminized, unpleasant, and summer camp choreographed.
We wished quite a lot to just camp nearby, but oh my goodness don't you know the FPA regulation where the government forbids you from doing that?
So we were forced to headlamp hike up a very steep 1200 footer in wind and moderate sky piss after an already grueling day to find even a nook (no brook).
It is a shitty nook.
Arriving here we were very, very wet, maybe the wettest I have ever been.
You probably think that the wettest you can be is in the pool or the shower or something--this tells me you do not know the first thing about being truly wet.
Everything was soaked.
But by the grace of some entity governing the ebbs and flows of all water, the things in our inner bags within our sopping dripping backpacks remained dry, and we kept them dry while hanging them beneath each fly, and once I stripped completely naked and entered my bed I was met with the indescribable elation of no longer being wet.
My soaking clothes and pack and everything else will be tomorrow's problem.
Together in sum, we took 11 hours (including our respite break) to go just 14.2 miles (plus 0.8 on the stupid approach trail for a total of 15), climbing 7,266.4 feet to surpass my previous record of 7,006.2 (which took 20.8 miles).
The overall grade of these 14.2 miles was an absolutely whopping 15.1%.
I can't be totally sure, but after a scrolling overview of other notoriously steep sections, I think this is actually the steepest 14.2 miles on the entire trail.
Forget hiking out of Roan Moantain;
today was absolutely the worst so far.
But, if I am correct, nothing from here on will be as bad.
Now I'm gonna sleep like a corpse and hope nothing gets wet overnight and no thunderstorms roll through and my stakes do not pull out and the trees I am hanging from do not fall over and maybe the morning is not quite as wet as the night.
16/12
11:26- About to get on going up there!
Get up there and get going to there to go there.
Going and walking, that's the way up.
12:51- Oh I'm some of the way up for sure don't you forget it, but the damn feet are wet again!
Again!
Please maintain the trail if you want me to stay on it.
I'm fuccin incovenienced right now in the approach to this good old scrambleclimb.
13:51- This here is a bangin summit.
Much preferred by me to the big moose from yesterday.
And the climb even was a good and fun one to get here from below here.
That is how you get on a mountain, you go up to it from below over many rocks and stones and other woods items.
Go do it too, you can try this one at home!
14:50- We on the fishin jimmy trail boys, get out your fish and your jimmies.
Absolutely splendid.
16:15- Poking into an AMC hut for a dump and maybe some food.
I have discovered another reason to hate this organization: they call their crew "croo."
Absolutely infantile.
Also it turns out that the LNTCfOE holds literal copyright on their seven comically long-winded "principles" that get plastered everywhere.
Both the AMC and LNTCfOE could use a good mass tragedy or two to harden them back up and make them less insufferable.
18:43- Hanging out here in the lot, just standing around.
The shuttle is flying its way in I'm told.
I paid a whopping $4 for a small cup of lemonade and slice of vegan chocolate cake back at the hut;
as its veganity has worked its way into my bloodstream, I've felt increasingly like suckling on a pacifier and merging all liquid consonants into a labial approximant.
I will have to think hard about whether I want to give any more business to future huts to come.
2:40- Logistic arrival shuttleperson kook timing.
Consumption purchasables arrangement exchange detergent operation closure hour.
Impaction, beverage, carload box bun, suicide ideation.
Sandwich film raincoat stroll golf products.
Jetlag route delay, taxi shower smell;
eternity identity existentialism tea bang.
Ridge push climb conditions: weather daylight boulder water mess.
Sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep sl
White Day
8:42- I cannot ignore the morning any longer.
There is stuff to do, actions to perform, effort to exert.
It is a big day, but just how big will it be?
8:56- Surreal, inexplicable, and slightly concerning experience: I just took my clean socks out of my clothing bag and unfolded them to discover that they contained a small needle.
I do not carry a needle.
I am choosing to interpret this as some kind of omen to be fully understood later in the day.
10:15- And now the great climb commences!
The target is a mountain whose name I have seen people attempt to spell Mooselauki, Mousilake, and Mousalaukie, each of which is wrong in a different revealing way.
11:32- A little over halfway up the up, I have encountered High Route and Pork Chop zippin southerly in slacks.
I expect to see them tomorrow as well also.
12:22- South peak zenithed!
Boss and obx and their other two people are also running around the mountain today.
Now on to the north peak.
12:52- North zenith ascended!
This is a zoo of infidels.
The climb was easier than expected, but the way down is said to be the tough one.
Judgement shall be cast in just a few brief moments.
15:25- The widely feared descent was in fact gentle and amusing.
Slow, perhaps, but unworthy in my estimation of a cautionary warning.
Now I will fill my vessels and continue up the next hill.
I suspect I may go farther than planned today.
21:14- Well my friends camp is upon me!
And it came just in time for nightfall.
I ultimately went about three miles farther than intended.
I encountered a trail maintainer (traintainer) and some soboi on the way here;
I also encountered a lot of mud.
Who knew mud and steepness could coexist in such an ungodly phase-separated grain structure?
Dinner is cooking, and I will be very happy to eat it after this great big day.
Lots of climbing.
23:04- Though I have had many white blaze nights, this is my first white night.
It feels suspiciously similar to the last several nights.
I may have been scammed.
8 4 2 1, The Exponential Decay Of Novelty After Initial Exposure
11:30- I managed to pack up my back during a gap in the rain, but as soon as I got moving the real storm blew threw and wetted me in its customary way.
There is mud everywhere.
The rain itself seems to have lightened;
the trees, however, can't accept that it's over and continue to necessitate water clothes.
As soon as I get covered in cells I will check the reighdaur to see what level of wetness is in store for me next.
15:09- I never used to know the call of a broad-winged hawk, but now I do, thanks to Merlin Berd ID!
Buy it now.
15:42- 400 miles to go.
Boy howdy th at's a long way aint it joseph.
16:34- I am at a hôtel.
But I will not stay!
Instead I will merely extract food and knowledge, those parts of the establishment which are most useful to me, as I move on towards a brighter future.
Also it is dry here.
17:27- I have spotted my first black through hiker!
He calls himself Worm, and he is hiking with his white father.
It took me nearly 1800 miles to make this extremely rare sighting.
Both of them think the Key and Peele continental breakfast sketch is the funniest thing since sliced bread;
I will allow you to make your own judgements based on that information.
19:16- Heading back to the trail after a magic meal: 3 burgher, 1 cane, 1 melon slice, and 2 docter peppors.
Very worthwhile stop.
21:02- Wound up hiking to the shelter with a woman who calls herself Thorn (the other from the blue barn).
As soon as we entered the woods there was a wetfoot crossing to make sure we remain wet for tomorrow.
Then we crossed the 1800*5280*12 inch threshold, a lot of inches!
Then we stopped.
There is a southerman here who calls himself Robin Hood with whom we exchanged mental gold before camping and retiring.
We shall see if the man who calls himself Sweet Tea (the other other from the blue barn) escapes the vortex.
I chanced to make use of the privy just a few minutes ago;
I cannot possibly describe to you how strange its design was and how difficult it was to use as a result.
Human proportions are clearly not common knowledge among members of the Dartmouth Outdoor Club.
If you wish to see the fecal wonder for yourself, either click the Contact Me link on my main page and follow the instructions therein, or click the Watch Me link and wait six to eight weeks for an official video review.
And now as I type here he is!
It is Sweet Tea!
Say hello everybody!
Breaking: 83-Year-Old Man Experiences Symptoms Of Aging
8:50- Well I woke up this morning, and the laundry wasn't done.
I said I woke up this morning, and my laundry wasn't done.
Where is my laundry?
I will have to ask someone.
[envision in your minds a small modicum of time elapsing during which certain pertinent details are communicated]
Apparently it is in the dryer.
I don't even feel bad pushing back my shuttle because that delay is on the in.
I am now awaiting my breakfast in the breakfast room, after which I will arrange for a package mailing to occur, then flee town.
10:39- All of the tasks were completed in a manner befitting them.
You don't need to know the details.
I am now treading the way again;
I just paid a visit to the porch of the late Bill Ackerly, who serves postmortem frozen delicacies.
An ice cream sandwich and a popsicle were my allotment.
That's all for now, but I'll be sure to update you again the very moment something happens other than walking, climbing, peeing, eating, or drinking.
13:48- Here up here, I can now see my first good view of all the Whites in New Hampshire (very white state).
It is hazy but I can confirm that they are there.
If you can just please give me a few more days I promise I'll have on-site reports of their conditions.
I'm doing my best.
Please don't be upset.
18:11- Hello all, since my tongue last had you in thrall I have gone down, gone back up again, and gone back down again.
This is where I intended to stop, but as it is yet early I think I will instead continue to some alleged nice spots in a bit over a mile.
This will shorten up tomorrow nicely when the weather may be foul.
20:55- My nightsite is quite alright, featuring a stellar nook and an acceptable brook.
I do wish there were a cook, but sometimes that's too much to ask.
The screams of children have been clearly audible in the middle distance all evening.
They comfort me.
There are mosquitos here in large numbers, but the nice thing about carrying offspray is that I can have my ass deeten before I take a poo, so the parasitic assaults on my delicates come less frequently.
In other update news, I learned today that our beloved Papa Bear trail bailed (trailed) around mile 1400.
He will be missed.
Everybody, give yourselves a round of applause on the back for him!
What an achievement!
And it doesn't bother me that he didn't finish, because what he accomplished is still incredible.
He did what he came out here to do.
Who will be next?
21:45- Rain is falling, and Mr. Salamander is on the move.
4
12:32- Today is a gloriously short one (there have been a lot of those recently) so I got a little sleeping in in and rolled out around noontime.
Terrain has been mild so far.
I am presently standing in front of the most phallic mushroom I've ever seen;
anybody who can correctly identify the species from that description alone will immediately receive a degree in mycology summa cum laude, phi beta kappa (phallos biou kybernetes), from a participating institution.
12:58- There is a Maraland vehicle at this trailhead claiming to belong to a couple "Just Married! Mrs. Herman."
Why did they come here of all places after getting married?
This is a bad spot to come.
At least pick a scenic mountain or something.
I foresee divorce.
16:35- I would like to do a visualization exercise with you.
Close your eyes.
Tightly, so you can't see anything, not even your screen.
Are they closed?
Good job!
Now imagine what you think my hike has been like today.
Get creative imaginitive and really envision it in vivid detail.
Are you picturing trees, leaves, the ground, rocks, and hills, with the occasional patch of jellylike mud?
Congratulations, this is correct, you are a competent certified visualizer!
Definitely mention this on your next job application.
Apart from the sights and sounds you so aptly visualized, I have had two chances to see things farther than 100 feet away, which was mildly interesting.
I have also hiked fast enough that I get to be picked up slightly early; in just a few brief miles I will be flown off and cleaned thoroughly.
16:48- There is a family of thanksgivings nearby.
18:01- I got picked up earlier than early because the shuttle was already idling on the launch pad when I arrived.
This afforded me the opportunity to pop by the country store and acquire maple soft serve, a sandwidge, and a tall pink arnald polmer.
Once I finish all that I will probably have a second dinner at the eatalian place next door.
I am a simple man: I eat, I shit, and I walk.
3:19- Naughty boy up late, no second dinner, was preoccupied with organization among other things.
But that is all done.
Now bed.
Octavian Shall Rise
10:02- An interstate underpass is about to get the day officially going after a cool leisurely morning in the upper backyard.
We must all savor these steps together, because they are the last of Viermont!
Soon I will be in a state with more mountains.
12:58- After 6.5 miles of unremarkable wooded hills, I am back on roads.
I will be on roads for a while.
Everybody of you should pray for me that I do not get asphalt foot!
14:01- Never have I seen a general store a whit as truly general as this one!
It is vast and labyrinthine in layout, even Ikean at times, and offers all those feeds I need.
I acquired sody, cream novelty, and a free piping cane from the delly, plus some goodies for later.
I may even be able to acquire a free mackincheen shortly.
While eating I watched a very rough looking man use a hand pump on some manholes in the parking lot while being directed by a one-armed man who described himself as the other man's "handler."
Also there are some newenglandese accent men working on the roofing next door in a very This Old House way.
It's a fun spot.
14:19- Not just a mackincheen bowl, but another piping cane was gifted!
And another newenglandese speaker in a cowboy hat told me about elk hunting in Colorado.
What strange event will befall me next?
15:01- The only thing better than hiking with soft serve in hand is hiking under I-91 with soft serve in hand.
15:12- Friendship ended with Viermont, now New Hampshire is my best friend!
New Hampshire has the best state motto, so it gets the distinct privilege of being referred to by its actual name.
First order of business: get educated.
15:53- It was a magnificent education.
In another league entirely.
Both my tummy and my bummy are overflowing with the hot sticky knowledge of my professors, and I can barely think or walk straight with all these new ideas swirling in my head.
Statistical models for intersectionality, markets emerging from the demographic transition in Africa, bioethics, popular misunderstandings of human evolutionary history, queer code-switching in Latin America, One Plus One Equals Two (O POET, an invocation of the muse), the list goes on.
But even though I am stuffed I'm still eating a slice at the slice dispensary.
The world's leading experts are still unsure exactly how far I'm hiking today, but they will definitely issue a press release when they figure it out.
16:45- A third round of ice cream is finishing off this day of roads.
I may still pop into the cooperative in case they have bug spray, since I have been warned that the mosquitos north of here are ungodly, but I'm equally willing to gamble and suffer.
Still not sure where I will stop.
17:17- Bug spray acquired, roads abandoned and left in the past for a triumfant return to the woods!
Or at least to the athletic fields.
Maybe I can manage to pee on the ivy league somewhere back here.
17:22- Pulled it off, thrilled with the result.
21:47- My camp tonight is a good one, featuring both a brook and a nook.
I knew it was the right spot for me when I arrived and a small mole scuttled across the ground before disappearing into the duff and soil (after consulting the literature, I believe it was a hairy-tailed mole, but the mole enthusiasts among you are invited to demonstrate your superior intellect and reproductive fitness by publicly proving me wrong).
The evening was spent in leisure and consumption.
A few minutes ago a band of coyotes had an animated conversation involving squeals, howls, yaps, and other canine noises you may be familiar with, which I am going to interpret as a bedtime reminder.
When the evening chores and duties are complete I shall endeavor to retire and fall into a deep New Hampshire sleep.
Caesar Shall Perish
12:03- Ah yes, I suppose you might like to know what things are happening to satisfy your strange curiosity.
Today I woke up and decided it was another day of hiking!
"Why does the young man keep hiking?
Hasn't he done a lot of that?"
Shhhhhhh.
I had the squelchy pleasure of walking through a comically overgrown meadow where large portions of the soil were completely saturated if not actually flowing waterways.
And then I crossed a severely damaged bridge.
And now I am about to climb 666 feet.
Soon you shall see what enticement is making me do this.
12:34- Guarding snake, in the field, wild spotted highly novel item of the woods/field edge.
13:40- It was a full mile off trail to get here, but I am currently enjoying a sambwich at the local general store.
Another one will go in the pack for later.
I have heard that ice cream is also available;
if I find it I will make sure to inform you immediately.
13:54- Success, the local maple cream bar has been acquired.
Unfortunately it seems that some rain has also rolled in.
I have a crisp fifty waiting for anyone who calls the National Weather Service on my behalf and gets them to reschedule the storm.
14:16- Thank you very much!
The storm was rescheduled and I am able to continue the walk in clear weather.
Your award monies will appear in one of your next three stools.
15:12- Just got to break out the old shake rattle and roll down a hill for the first time in several hundred miles.
And now I am in a field of quee nan's lace.
The exquisition is unparalleled.
16:02- I managed to complete a rather challenging brook crossing without getting my feet wet, but then heavy rain came through the hills and made my efforts pointless.
At least it cleared up for a little hill view here in the grasses at the top of the clinb.
17:03- In an unexpected twist, I just saw a bear from afar while crossing underneath some power lines.
Hopefully there will be more in the days to come.
I have missed them since Jew Jersey.
18:43- So many goddamn tapped maples everywhere.
Conspiracy: the Forest Service produces all Viermont maple syrup.
The brands are lies.
21:04- I am very quite set up and configured at the blue barn establishment.
Despite this being apparently a popular place to camp, only two other hikers are here--I do believe I have nestled into the crack between bubbles.
I talked to them for a bit when I arrived, then we ate dinner (I my sandwich and they domino pie) while watching eleven oceans (that's a lot of oceans! more than earth even!), and then I strung my dangles between two small apple trees (Linda confirmed it wouldn't hurt them).
I am now using the generously provided port-a-potty (yes, I am writing this on the toilet, seethe all you like) and will shortly return to the good old fashioned CRT with deinterlacing artifacts to see if the film is still on.
It is a blessed night.
Also free soda.
22:07- The film is rewinding.
One of the others went to bed, the other other is on Discord (zoomer moment).
I think something was lost when DVDs eliminated rewinding;
both an insight into narrative that comes from seeing what you just watched in reverse, and an appreciation for how much time you just spent watching it.
Next time you watch a movie, play it backwards at 4x speed afterward and see how it changes your experience and memory.
23:36- When the train goes by, the train says hi.
7:30 Complimentary Breakfast
8:51- What a warm, welcoming, wholesome, nutritious meal I and the other hikers were just provided!
As we ate we were joined by many Brothers and Sisters, who told us about the wonderful farm we could go to if we stayed here for a day.
But alas, I am on a schedule and cannot spare the time.
Next time I am here I will go to the farm.
My shuttle is imminent;
the Brother I talked to last night is sleeping on the bunk right in front of me like a rock, so I will not be able to say farewell.
At least I was able to fill my water bottles with cult water to take with me.
I will be drinking cult water all day!
9:32- And the hike begins.
Mr. Pilot was delightful as usual, talking about dust storms and cosmology and the Yellow Deli picking a few kids off trail every year.
It is a cool day today, which combined with the superpowers I get from my sweet, refreshing cult water should make this first climb a piece of absolute cake, or pie, depending on your dessert preference.
12:05- Unexpected trail ladder (tradder), thank you Viermont!
Even in the steep hill interlude between Green Christmas and White Christmas, there are still plenty of novelties to keep me distracted.
12:20- I'm here at the death zone to report that water levels during Eddie's final ford were easily up to the abdomen, probably the chest.
And the brook was clearly raging at the time, judging from the violence done to the banks.
No intelligent person would attempt to cross in those conditions.
I'm not surprised he was found 1.5 miles downstream.
Tough luck, Eddie!
Hope you have an easier time fording the Lethe!
15:46- Nothing interesting is occurring right now.
16:13- We have here among the mosquitos a helpful handwritten birchbark sign listing driving times to the southern and northern termini of the trail.
Why walk when you can drive there faster along a more scenic route and have more time left over to pursue worthwhile goals and projects?
That is the question of the day.
16:57- I have reached my intended destination, but with so much time left in the day why not go further?
I have heard rumours of suitable brooks and nooks.
We shall see what I can find.
00:21- Finding a brook was easy, but a nook was a bit harder, and the mosquitos were entirely unhelpful.
I spent much of the evening playing bug sports with them.
My palms are stained.
But I am fed and in bed, and they are out and about, so I would say we learned how to coexist.
On an unrelated note, my mom wants me to tone down the Eddie commentary because it is "harsh" and "disrespectful."
While this is true, I will not obey unquestioningly like my usual spineless self;
instead, this can be a teaching moment about tolerance!
You will simply have to tolerate the fact that your friend/relative (if I am not one of those things to you then go away, what the fuck are you even reading this for?) made fun of a 67-year-old who was killed in a flood.
I bet this feels similar to times you have had to tolerate people with political beliefs very different from your own:
an uneasy anger, a pit in your stomach that you choose to ignore because directly confronting me is not worth the potential discomfort or damage to our relationship.
Lucky for you, I am a generous man.
I am willing to act as a projective vessel not just for your anger at my actions, but for all the intolerant anger you have ever experienced towards anybody who violated a social norm you enforce.
Think of all the deplorable people you've had to be nice to, all the unaccaptable remarks you have overheard, all the times you wanted to beat someone to a pulp but couldn't.
The next time you see me, I give you permission to let it out and sucker punch me right in the face!
I am serious, do it!
I hereby waive any and all right to press charges against you for assault, battery, or any other crime our joke of a legal system could construe a punch as.
7+2 = 9
10:34- The view from Urbicide this morning is Fun and Cool, some fog and cloud drifting over the landscape, some sun, some great large hills in the distants.
Even some gondolae and skee slopes.
It would be lovely to sit and laze all day on these rock crags and other pieces of rock enjoying the altitude and its associated boons, but I alas have a place to be
This evening will be a unique one to which I do not wish to be late.
11:07- "The mountains will be just as cold and lonely tonight as they were 200 years ago.
Point of no return."
Thank you signage!
12:10- A soubou that I am choosing to assume was very stoned just passed me.
He was singing (?) as he approached, then stopped when he saw me, and when I said hello he took a very long time to respond and slowly nodded for a while.
Now again his vocalizations echo through the woods.
13:49- That's all for the seventh known location, the critical reevaluation of which in a new paradigm light has been a year's agenda.
My verdict: it is a section of the ablation trail for sure.
14:22- I have passed the main junction of the trail!
Of all the trail junctions (trunctions) this one is the most primary.
I paused to appreciate the moment with a man who took the other fork.
From here on the trail returns to being much shorter.
15:59- I was very very close to missing the rain today, but tragically it started just before I finished hiking.
For now it is light and intermittent, but it probably won't be that way for long.
Let us all come together and pray that my shuttle lands soon to fly me to the evening's excitement.
16:04- A mixed-race man with Indiana plates who has "never been here before" just drove by and told me that "it's a pretty cool trail."
Indeed.
16:52- My shuttle pilot was a very nice man.
He knew about Feynman and friends, was currently reading one of Hawking's books, and turned out to be conservative, which made for some fun conversation about the hunters and fetters of our government.
But I am no longer in the shuttle--I am in the Yellow Deli Hiker Hôtel, run by none other than the Twelve Tribes, a literal cult.
Great people here, very calm and welcoming energy.
Also a great location.
So far everything about this place is great.
If there is enough interest, they can run a shuttle to their farm for the day, where there is a swimming hole among other pastoral activities to partake in.
Very tempting.
The man currently managing the hôtel periodically walks into each room to ensure our continued safety and wellness, which I find very sweet and comforting.
The next step for me is a shower.
18:35- Evening errands to be completed before the 10 pm cult curfew: dinner and resupply.
First up is dinner at the corner with the masala, very atmospheric.
Hopefully the food won't suck.
19:43- My wonderful meal has concluded with an evening-angle double rainbow all the way across the sky!
And a drug woman making noises.
What a beautiful town with a beautiful walmart sky.
20:30- Back in the culthouse.
Walmart was a bit disappointing this time around, and Viermont's non-plastic bag policy has stuck me with a big blue and yellow reusable monster that definitely took more resources to manufacture and will probably just be disposed of anyway.
Good one, lawmakers!
Laundry is next on the agenda.
With luck this will be a quick process with little wait time.
22:53- The laundry is done, and while it was doing I was able to slide into a long conversation with the Brother manning the joint.
I learned a great deal about the ways of the Twelve Tribes, the highlights of which I will attempt to condense and relate in the future, but more saliently I was reminded of how much better I am at getting along with extremely eccentric cultish types than normal people.
Whether this is a good thing or a bad thing is not clear to me, though I fear the latter.
Now off come the snazzy semi-formal loaner clothes and on go the sleep clothes.
23:31- Or rather, off come the sleep clothes!
It is warm.
But all the agenda are facta, and all the facienda are acta, and top bunk sopor beckons.
So now I bid you good nighttime.
Remember to tune in first thing in the crisp new daylight when I experence a cult breakfast.
7 To 8 To 9 To 11, Haha Got You With An Unexpected!
12:02- A late start to a long day.
This is a recipe for: displeasure!
13:05- That pointless 1000 foot climb was not as soul-crushing as last time.
Still pretty bad though.
The Claritin Gorgeous is coming up, and that will be the real test of time's great passage and healing talent.
14:17- The trail has been very bouncy today, up and down, no purpose, bounce bounce bounce over the little hills and hops in the woods.
But it is about to become downcy, down down down into steep deep Claritin.
Will the knees be pleesed?
15:32- The knees are pleesed, and so are the intestines, because way down at the bottom the magi had assembled with food products!
Grilled Cheen, Hot Sausage Dog, Coca, Sport Water, and a Werther
Splendit!
Soon shortly I will reclimb to the top.
17:37- I have just caught my first view of Viermont's final mountain, my destination this evening.
It's a big old son of a bitch.
Tune in continuously as I climb so you do not miss the highly anticipated reveal of its identity!
17:58- Red squirrel, very loud.
18:57- Passed the Mayor Inclement shelter, whete the Cheese Foot Ensemble (who back at the magus gathering shared their day's nudes with the hosts, who shared their nudes in return, I am not making this up) plans to stay tonight.
But not I.
I long for the sky.
I will be experiencing summit sleep even if it takes night climbing to get it.
19:31- I have now traveled one thousand and seven hundred big millies--a long way for such a short man!
I determined this fact no thanks to any sign, sigil, indicator, or marker of any accuracy (as I type, I have come across one that is simply too far up the trail to be considered correct).
This also means that just before the shelter I crossed the threshold of five hundred to go.
There was no sign proclaiming this.
I suppose proclemptions are likited to the forward direction.
20:40- Darkness has fallen and the headlamp has been asked to kindly share some of its lumens with the other children.
This will be an interesting climb of the steep summit spur.
21:00- The summit spur begins.
Expect an update from me in the time to come if I do not suffer a traumatic injury and live up to my TrAiL nAmE.
21:48- My diligent lectors, I am now camping atop Urbicide Peak!
I bet I had you in a little suspension there, didn't I?
The spur was as steep as I remembered, and having a plump, full Center Nantahala Outdoor Center in the top of my pack did not help.
But here I am nevertheless persisting.
This is the closest I have gotten to the lime trees so far, and it shows;
the wind is whipping and swirling, the trees I am on are swaying, and the big towers keep making whistling noises.
There better not be any severe weather while I am up here or it would be pretty severe.
Boeing 727
13:06- I am back in a returned place here to the woods.
The mood of the morning was set by a small subtle Pabst Blue Ribbon stickel illustration, and as such I have packed out a number of high end consumption goodies for later.
I have reached microlith pool;
on my journey here I encountered another red squirrel and several clusters of children, all unsupervised until the last, acting strangely like adults.
A golden retriever was also present.
I expect the dayremainder to be highly abridged and non-lengthend.
13:34- Passed a sutherbund wearing what looked like safety glasses over regular glasses.
Fashion or mental illness?
14:59- What a lovely refreshing downpour that was among the rock gnomes and treetrunks!
But now it is over and the sun and sky are doing bright things again.
15:35- I have learned from experience and am now passing the Greenlaw-Scully by without even a hello.
I will not repeat that mistake.
17:04- The ancestral homeland has been located and fashioned into a camp.
Contrary to the claims of certain memory men, the forest makeup here is roughly 90% conifer, which is extraordinarily good for the ablation trale.
I am not accustomed to this much free time in the evening, so I will have to get creative with leisure activities beyond eating and sleeping.
18:08- We've got another downpour everybody, very much rain!
It is running off my rain fly like I've never seen it before.
What a fun way to spend several minutes of this excess of time watching the lots of rain.
22:32- A great feast was had (not great enough apparently because I could have eaten much more) and a tall can was emptied, but now Mr. Night has crepten over.
It is time I think to retire in advance of the big day and the fourth of the vier.
7 To 6 To 5 To 4 To 3 To 2 To 1 To 0, A Numerical Sequence Representing The Decline Of Society
8:31- Last night I enjoyed the use of my warmth devices for the first time since the last time I was in a worthwhile state.
If I were to do another through hike
(which I will not, this is purely a hypothetical for the sake of setting up a joke which you are about to read, get ready for the joke)
it would be a flip flop from Harple's Fairy south, then from Cheshire Cat north.
I already heard Boss pass by this morning, and I think OBX is not far behind.
In just a few short moments I will begin my munching routine.
13:13- Shelter rest stop water break!
I have hiked thus far today with a slackarbacker surface nobo deep sobo throughlad who calls himself Gazoo.
We've exchanged complementary directional advice and knowledge and trail tales (trales).
Boss and semicompany were also resting at this shelter until moments ago.
Just a little more stint of a go down the hill to the Road of the Forest.
21:05- You are now asking amongst yourself, Dimwit, where are all the little words and frases of the day that you are accustomed to giving us for entertainment?
Well there are fewer of them today for a number of two reasons.
Let me explain you to these reason factors:
first on the list is that this was indeed a short day!
Very short, not very long by any means.
The second is that I have been once again abducted by the usual culprits.
As an abductee I am treated well and pampered with great foods of substance and sights and lights and sounds.
And the sighting of the night, by any means, is a big honkin can of Pabst Blue Ribbon on the table behind my newly reincapacitated mother.
And that is the end of your information privilege today at this time by any means.
5+2 / 5^2
12:45- Boy, I sure am walking right now.
"What was your morning like?" you ask.
Mosquitos.
"What is the walking like?"
Mud.
And mosquitos.
12:53- Guartelsnake spotted slithering off the path.
It too knows than no good can come of remaining on such a muddy trail.
13:25- I decided to check on my prospects.
Definitely not much there;
the drop is precipitous, and it's a long way through tiny sprawling nonsense before the next worthwhile activity.
I am most likely doomed.
14:01- Another gardler.
What are they guardling, I wonder.
16:02- I have crossed into the seventh known location, that which is the oldest and most deeply rooted.
A year's agenda has been its critical reevaluation in a new paradigm light.
The guardian of the crossing was a slow talking weed man who does not believe slackpackers are through hikers;
through hiking builds a different mentality.
This is his fourth one.
When he determined that I had never slackpacked, he tossed me a poptart and had me sign his umbrella.
His parting advice: do not do Mahoosuc Notch in the rain.
Duly noted, Mr. Weed.
Now the retreading begins at the start of the ascent of the third of the vier.
16:55- Paused for water collection.
If it turns out that was unnecessary I will be personally contaminating all the water sources in the state.
18:03- I am atop Broccoli Mountain.
Kids, eat your broccoli!
I don't care how overboiled and limp it is, or how soggy, or that it's falling apart because it was reheated after being frozen.
It is nutritious.
The climb here was fairly gentle, and as a grand old finale to end it off I ran into Boss and OBX campin on the summit.
Story's story has ended.
Just one more clime left before I reach my peak abode.
19:19- A dark eft begins the fimal climb.
Perhaps it is not to be an eft very much longer.
19:40- Dimwit's wisdom of the evening: a little trickle is all it takes.
00:40- Sleep is almost inside me.
Camping area very stylish, nobody here, just me to enjoy the altitude cold and fog of the night.
The earth beckons me from below, I sink into it, it swallows me, nothing can get me from deep in here.
The wind swirls.
724 Miles Ago It Was A Wet Day
10:40- Lots of gnats and flies this morning.
They don't seem to be penetrating my skin, though they are a nuisance.
We shall see if they lose interest once I am packed up.
12:50- Cellularity has just now given up on eluding me further!
It has been a generally calm noonmorning;
two middle aged men were breaking at the shelter by the time I left, and one of them had to call his mom about her paying his phone bill.
Infantile regression, he got it!
Hoopla!
Push one is done, push two will eventually have begun, and push three is the big one.
It will take me up the second of the vier.
15:14- The magic man gave me an ice cream sandwich and a powerade in a dirt parking lot.
He says the nukes will fly in September;
he can feel it.
Every one of us has a sixth sense.
I, personally, am more worried about the looming thunder.
Now begins push number 3.
16:30- It was a rather rainy halfclimb.
A crisp armond snickles propelled me up through the water like a coating of oil to the mixed forest layer.
And now the sun is peeking around!
A view may follow the remaining 700 verts.
17:14- I am standing in a fire tower atop Exercittum Mountain.
Quite a view!
Lots of trees on hills.
Also lots of wind.
The rest of the day is almost entirely downhill, so as long as Mr. Rain has not begotten Mr. Mud all over the trail, I should be done well before scunset.
Perhaps I will even go further than planned.
18:30- Back down in the lowlands, got that humidity, got that god light through the trees of the evening.
And next up very special is an exciting surprise moment coming at you LIVE milestone announcement, tune in immediately.
18:51- O readers dear and small, clap hands loudly:
I have passed the triple quarter res gesta marker!
(There is no marker; much like the two out of three extravaganza a short while ago, no authority or independed actor deemed it important enough for a material representation.)
18:56- On the contrary, folks, I have just come across such a collection of stones and sticks to function as a marker, but it is tragically in slightly the wrong location.
I would destroy it, but the stones are large enough that I don't want to waste that much time, so let all who come after me be fooled!
20:27- I am all camped up and getting dinner ready at this early hour, an unusual accomplishment for me.
I am joined here by the family from a few days ago who are hiking the long part of the trail.
I will report any juicy details I ascertain via eavesdropping.
22:06- Thunder thunder storm and crackle, lightning flash and treetops waggle.
This is my poem for the evening.
7 Seas, 2 Poles, 3 Races, A Worldy Man Has Seen All These Places
15:02- Stip step stip step stip step...
you know what that sound means!
That's right, indeed, you are correct.
I'm back out climbin those hills.
Out in the woods walking north.
I'm almost done the first push, and then there are just two more big squeezes until I crown out the top of the day.
You must keep updated and reading in order for the plot to move forward.
Do not hold me in a stasis of unread purgatory!
15:46- The second push is about to begin.
Please help me push by pushing on something nearby you;
choose a nice fat inertial mass and give it a shove with meaning.
Together we can overcome gravity.
17:11- That's push two all wrapped in a bun and taken care of the old fashioned way.
There is simply now one to go until I reach the tiptop of Viermont's first altitudinal offering!
Get anticipatory and excitable for the big reveal of what it is today.
18:36- Ladys and gentelmen, it is the final push of the final push!
Just that little bit more to go!
Clench your sphincters, flex your muscles, force things where God did not intend for them to go that I may reach the top.
19:03- I have just summited the first of the vier, Blastin' Bernie Mountain, atop which it is said that Bernie Sanders was first fingerblasted as a young man.
Just before the top I passed the Cheese Foot ensembe complete with some guitar singing; it is a relief to know that I am still in their vicinity but also slightly ahead of them.
Now all that remains is the desinence of the day, the ringdown, the tail wobble and jobble.
19:20- Dead rabbit on trail.
An omen?
Of what?
23:24- I'm hung, I'm fed, and I'm eager for bed.
One of my greater fortunes this evening is that this shelter is empty, so I don't have to worry about waking people up.
I can think of two possible reasons:
one, the shelter itself is small and there are no tent sites;
and two, it is literally called "Kid Gore."
Nice!
Also contributing to the aesthetic is a nice view of the starry night sky, in which I saw two satellites just in the time it took me to eat.
Thank you, Yilong Ma!
Alas, the one downside is an acute lack of visible cell towers, which means you will have to read this in just a few brief moments.
7/11+11, It's Sort Of Like A Regular 7/11 Convenience Store But Twice As Convenient
2:53- Crumb of the day:
I was about to spend some time thinking of a funny haha item to gag you with, but I think my dad just hooted in his sleep?
Or some kind of high-pitched vocalization.
It sounded like his voice.
I am now slightly concerned to leave the bathroom lest I provoke another strange somnululation.
Fucking weird.
7->21 Triple Map There Are Three Maps
10:24- I awoke this morning to rain, then I awoke to more rain, then yet again several times I awoke to even more rain.
I resolved that this was enough awaking and began to pack my things from inside of my hammock until the rain stopped.
I scrounged together a breakfast from leftover snacks and discovered a strange patch of dense, thick, white hair seeming to grow out of the forest floor.
Then now at this time I have made my way to the privy for use.
I am light as a feather!
12:27- I have just now, my deerest accomplicements, exited Mass Of Chewed Bits and entered Viermont, the Four Mountain State, which contains four mountains.
Look forward and get excited to learning what those mountains are!
With this crossing, the nature of the trail has also changed somewhat;
while most of the trail is long, this section in particular is especially long.
We will see how long it lasts.
14:27- Just passed a family (?) hiking the really long section of the trail--I believe they were the noisemakers late last night at camp.
I expect to encounter them again up the way after another distance further along the trail.
15:18- I have passed the sheeter.
15:58- Mud!
16:11- Yellow watergrowth in the mud!
Also lots of thunder.
16:52- Garner snake on the board, everyone.
That's right, we have a snake on the board of our company.
What are his motives and how will this affect our bottom line as consumers?
17:26- Benman's at Congdon for the night, in case you were wondering.
But I am not.
I am getting my way made to the head of trail for a paterpaternal evening.
19:36- I have been abducted!
I bet you would very much like to know what happens next, but you will have to remain in questioning until such time as I am adducted.
Don't worry, I'll keep you strung along with little crumbs for you to lick up off the floor like the spineless groveler you are.
Far Less Than 720 Miles To Go
10:54- About to begin for the day.
There is a man on the picnic table.
12:29- O Cheshire Cat, please make me fat!
Diane's getting me all twisted up with a grind and shake.
Lovely little establishment.
13:25- I am satisfied with this meal.
I even got to watch a millennial mom film her young daughter trying some ice cream.
What message does it send to the child when every important moment involves the phone held between her and her mom?
14:05- It was a brief, omenly, and productive trip to the general dollar--total $4.20--but now I am at the time to clime.
Help me clime and find the grail my texting me or sending me words of support in the mail!
(Do not actually do this.)
15:55- There is a very small mammal in my vicinity.
16:44- New sorrel, brand new sorrel variety.
Not previously known to me.
17:27- Boys and girls, we did it!
We have done with the small hills and reached back to the big hills!
I want to thank you all for walking every step of the way with me, for physically exerting yourself just as much as me, and getting us here together in an equal partnership.
And the grail locked up here, that which we seeked, it was not a physical objict, but rather the journey that surrounds us, the lofty air which we breathe, the mountain mama holding us in her bosom.
Drink from the glass.
It is sweet.
20:13- Down down down down down I have hiked since we last spoke.
The long descent was without event until just now, when I was taken by surprise by the the 1600 milepoint marculation!
Rejoice for the squares!
20:37- Road walk done hill climb begun
00:09- Ran into others on the way up, which was very surprising given that the time of day was a time of night.
I hiked behind them to steal their luminance until we arrived at camp and set up.
A while later, as I ate my trail slop like a good little hiker, even more nightwalkers rolled in and pitched a retirement.
That's a lot of nightwalkers in total, people.
Tonight is actually cold;
I think the last time that happened was in Virginia is for Sleepers.
I can feel a new state coming.
(Also I have no cellnet connection here, so you will have to read this on a somewhat delay.)
Why Was Six Envious Of Seven? Because Seven Won Nine!
11:28- What a beautiful day to go out and play!
I'm typing, and I'm walking, and there's nothing else I'd rather do except roll up my sleeves because I'm getting a bit warm.
12:14- Some bewitched juices have provided me the will I need to march on over to the local woman's abode and eat.
12:29- Two baked disks, one squeezed cup.
My great stick could be construed as a wand, so all that's missing from the day is a sword.
What will it be?
14:12- Sorcery!
A bottled gated beverage, three pink oreal disks, and frozened fruit.
If this keeps up I may not need any snacks today.
14:30- A view I do behold in view.
Sighted amongst the peaks and trees is Mount Grail Lock, upon the summit of which it is rumored that the Holy Grail is locked away.
Tomorrow I intend to steal it.
14:46- This just in: mama deer has an ambulatory youngster!
15:19- I enjoy snails.
17:00- Dalton Dalton give me food,
Dalton Dalton soothe my mood.
Dalton Dalton fill my gut,
so that I can hike 8.5 more miles without getting cut.
High Route is hanging around.
I am fixing to eat at a local joint before pressing on and performing a hammock gamble.
I intend to pack out the good stuff for the late night.
18:07- Now back to our regularly scheduled programming.
You are being programmed to read about me walking aimlessly through the woods every day as though it somehow mattered to you.
20:37- No gambling required, as it happens.
I decided to exchange some milage between today and tomorrow in a sort of bartering or trading operation.
I am now in the privy at camp, and I have the esteemed and joyous company of a small mouse.
Somehow this is the first privy mouse I have personally encountered on the trail despite the numerous signs and traces of them in almost every fully enclosed privy (stop building fully enclosed privies. I literally preferred the one that was just a toilet seat in the woods).
We will have to see what the mouse thinks of my impending graffito.
20:55- It squeaked in approval when I began to work on the graffito, but yawned when I finished.
We're going to call this "mixed reviews."
23:41- The turkey is consumed, and I'm switching off the part of my brain that allows me to be awake.
Sayonara sedentaries!
7+1 = 8, This Is Your Monthly Reminder To Do Your Math Homework
11:45- Camp was crowded last night, but I found a spot uphill and secluded myself from the hubub and bustle commoture.
Now I have gathered my effects to begin the day at nearly the ripe noontime.
12:50- The trail stand provides, everyone.
It provides quite a lot because it can't make change!
13:17- I just love a nice long sketchy boardwalk that's all crooked and moves around under my weight.
16:36- My friends, this is an exceptionally boring hike, even for the Appalachian trail.
For miles I have been going vaguely up and down hills in forest that looks exactly the same in every direction with no landmarks, features, novelties, or discernible goals.
Only patches of mud segment the drudgery.
21:37- I am cambed for the night.
Today was devoid of anything worth reporting, except perhaps that I pooped twice, and the mosquitos took enthusiastic advantage of both opportunities to violate me.
Others are nearby, though I'm not sure how many because I cannot see.
There are some mosquitos tonight, not nearly as bad as previous nights, and they seem to be joined by a harmless drosophile variety.
As an ally and champion of insect diversity, I fully support this development and am excited to see how the cultural exchange between mosquitos and drosophiles might lead to new ideas before I genocide all the mosquitos.
00:25- Discovery of the late night: a small blister has formed on one of my toes.
This is only blister number 3 for the whole trip, amd it took over a week of wet muddy feet to cause it.
If that's not a great testimonial for the La Sportiva Wildcat, I don't know what is.
For me it's the La Sportiva Wildcat.
The La Sportiva Wildcat shoe is the shoe for me and you!
Boeing 717
9:09- The distension feast continues this morning in a race to eat as much as possible before I must return to hiking.
Challenge obstical of the race: getting shoes and clothes as dry as possible.
10:09- Looks like I won't be able to guzzle down quite everything.
But what can you do?
The Appalachain Trail is a trail of waste.
I pushed back my flight slightly to allow things to dry more, but I doubt it made a difference.
The shoes are still wet.
10:57- The day has begun in the heat of the sun.
Mosquitos are active.
11:28- Just ate a big spellbound slice of wet melon under the log tent, courtesy of the kirk.
Very nicw arrangement, very professional.
Very shaded.
11:39- Small aggressive turtle on the trail, strange charging behavior for a turtle.
Might have been a young snapper but didn't look like it and didn't do any snapping.
Couldn't stop to examine it because of the mosquitos.
13:31- Peppermint oil is a certified winner on the trail.
I can't believe I hadn't tried slathering myself in it like an anointed beach bimbo before.
Events that transpired while I was incapacitated by mosquito assault include the climmer clammer of the day and a brief chat with Ranger and friend.
The big rock upon which I stand (there are many big rocks, but this one is the one upon which I stand) has a spectacular view of the vague gray hazy outline of something probably in the distance, I can't really tell.
15:36- Just had a nice sheltarest and graffito moment.
I am now staring down into the folds of Mother Nature's gulch.
There is no ice there;
I guess the heat of Mother Nature is too great at the moment.
15:42- Red squirrel!
17:07- Pausing again for pie number 2.
Cherry this time.
May wind up hiking in the dark a bit if the trail doesn't stop being flooded.
17:53- Had a brief exchange from afar with Bittersweet and High Route.
Somehow they recognized me through the trees.
Probably my collar and cuff.
19:03- There is a tin bottle of Stillhouse apple crisp whiskey stashed behind a tree next to a dirt road.
If anyone has information on the origin of the bottle, please contact the national guard so that its owner can be swiftly eliminated without trial.
20:19- Spring water just up the road, flowing cold and clear.
Crystal!
Cold and delicious.
Amazing flow, chilled and yummy.
716 Bottles Of Rain In The Sky
9:46- It's a rainy sunday again, maybe they should rename it to rainday am I right audience?
There was some concern over the safety caution of hiking today, but after discussioning of the relative merits and demerits of scheduling considerationals, it was decided that I will zip all the way to Great Britain today and inhabit another hotel to dry out.
How fast can I do the climbs do you think?
10:42- The walk has begun with stop number one: a surprising but conveniently located privy just up the hill from the road.
13:24- A forest calling and a wet barefoot crossing have ferried me up Mt. Bear.
What a beautiful view of fog, rain, damp air, mist, and cloud.
Now I must begin the descent I have been warned about, the big slip-n-slide rockslide bedrock in the slick.
13:59- Very easy scramble even in the rain, contrary to rumour.
But there is new excitement!
Gather round everyone in your own spaces and join me on your feet, with a big celebratory step, as I cross the border from Conneticut...
14:00- to Mass Of Chewed Bits!
14:18- What a lovely coniferous ravine to welcome in the new state to the union.
Allsorts of tributaries and gushing cascades for you to listen and look and write about in your gratitude diary.
And from the reports of Ranger and friend, deep nestled in the nooks and crooks and crannies of this dep crag is a whole nother barefoot crossing to ford.
Truly a forest treat.
16:45- The crossing was easy, the scenic climb was downright straightforward, and the descent was a goddam succulent mud pie.
Very good Trail Lucke (Truck).
But now I face agnother climb, a steep one this time.
17:03- Cathole in the mushroom patch!
I would rate this a 7/10 cathole, comfortablee but a little buggy.
17:31- What a cute 700 foot hill!
There was trail water, and sloped bedrock, and even some quaint wooden steps bolted into the rock face.
And as a reward, I get another spectacular 360 degree view of gray fog.
19:33- Owl owl owl overhead--coloration makes me think Great Horned but I can't be sure.
Was running slightly behind so we moved my pickup location back about 2 miles.
Now we shall see indeed the timing.
22:54- Yum Yum Yum Velveeta shells and cheese, my dear friends.
I am having a motel feast.
The timing was perfectly on time, and my shuttle flight operator was a joy with whom to converse.
I got the rundown of recent shuttle events and worldly happenings and people places, then we swung by to pick up two other homeless vagrant athletes, then I continued to get the rundown of all the useful details.
In a beautiful coincidence alignment, after checking into my lodge box, the sky began to soak everything aggressively right when I was about to stroll over to the local fooder.
Under different circumstances I mighy have made a worse choice and waited for dryer conditions, but after walking through mudflood all day, I decided to send it to hell and walk through the big water with my little umbrellus.
This was a severe novelty, michelin five star rating!
Many goods were acquired, and now many goods are being consumed.
I will not cease eating until I am as distended as a starving child.
Those of you with a distension fetish (statistically there is probably at least one of you) are welcome to watch for a small good faith donation.
Julides
9:23- The slummer is over.
It was a pretty good slummer, if a little warm.
Now I must be look forward and motivated to the cafe breakfast, from which I may also purchase a lunch which to pack out and carry for later eating.
11:06- What an ample and splendiferous high-end grass fed meal!
I ran into the British couple again, and they are hiking the same distance as me today.
This is called a coincidental.
11:26- Stopped briefly for an enchanted jelly donut.
Now I am off to revisit yesterday's flood from a brand new perspective.
11:37- Reached the flooded section, and contrary to both expectation and forecast the water level has dropped significantly!
I hopped across to the other side, meaning I truly have missed zero steps of the trail.
Very odd hydrology here in Conneticut.
11:54- Rejoice, O brethren!
For the wit of the luminiferous ether doth proclaim that I have walked 1500 miles.
To my knowledge this has never been proclaimed before.
12:08- The state of Conneticus has asked me to inform you all that, unlike most things in life, the Great Falls live up to their name.
14:59- Just hiked the majority of the day with a pleasant man who calls himself Chief Frodo: hiked in '98, came back to lap up some more of that sweet trail goodness from the DWG to Bennytown.
Good conversation to liven up an otherwise totally unremarkable section of trail.
Now I'm walkin down the avenue boulevard for a rendezvous in Saltburg with the progenitors.
16:55- Papa is clean.
This was my first shower in exactly one week, which is about one week too long with all the heat, mud, flood, and rainstorm out in this neck of the backwoods.
Foul!
00:24- What a wonderful evening and night spent with family about which I will share no details with you grovelers.
Want to know?
Do you just have to know it?
Text or call me within the next five femtoseconds and I will share with you the evening's delightment.
Four Months On Trail, What Am I Hoping To Gain From This That I Have Not Already Gotten?
10:12- Rain this morning.
I ate breakfast hoping it might clear up, but no sign of that, so it's time to get soggy I suppose!
Also I'm getting started far too late at this point to make the reservation I had for this evening, so I will not be able to escape the weather today.
10:35- I decided to put on my dry underwear so that I had at least one article of clothing that isn't wet to start the day.
Perhaps I will regret this tomorrow morning when I have nothing at all dry.
But on the bright side, a moth has deposited an egg mass on my backpack and I have to remove it with a stick!
11:37- Hiking finally.
The sun is out and the insects are keeping me company.
12:09- The shoes are coming off everybody!
The creek will have to try harder than this to gain access to my shoes.
12:22- The shoes are back on everybody!
The soil will have to try harder than this to gain access to my soles.
13:02- Just chose not to take another one of these classic Conneticut detours and discovered that "washed out" actually means "fun."
13:52- Stopped to collect water, which always takes at least 10 minutes for some reason.
But that's the quotidian water labor we all have to perform.
I need to replace my water bottles soon because the caps in particular are about to turn into biohazards.
15:13- Had to climb through the messiest multi-treefall tangulary zone I have encountered to date.
Hiking is very slow today;
it's either steep, muddy, or something like this.
16:29- I am workin on a little logistical puzzle here!
Where do I stay tonight and how do I get food?
This is made a puzzle by the fact that Conneticut prohibits camping outside of their special designated locations.
Fortunately Navigatrix is on the case.
18:38- The conundrum has found its happy hopeful resolution in an alleged hammock site behind a former cafe.
And there is a non-former cafe right by it too!
I shall be there soon.
I also just passed a lovely sea-foam green Conneticut signage treeplaque informing me that I am 700 miles from the big finale.
Huzzah!
19:18- I am seated at the cafe, which is a welcome change from being not seated in the cafe.
But the road here was not a trail, it was a road!
That's right disciples, I had to turn around and detour for the first time on trail.
Woodland ponds, raging torrents, wading barefoot over beaver dams, and even "washed-out" mudslide slopes couldn't stop me, but the murky, heavy metal laden Housatonic flooding over knee deep into a confusing and completely unnecessary dip in the trail was where I drew the line.
Fortunately, thanks to the timing and location of the detour, I will be able to go back and hike the section on the other side of the flood in the morning, thereby missing zero steps.
Maybe one step.
I probably could have gotten across the flooded 5 feet in one step if it were dry.
21:28- My scrungtious burgher meal was augmented by eavesdropping on some very worldly people;
their pretention stank worse than my unwashed clothes.
Now I am hammocked in the backyard of a lovely elderly couple who failed to hear my knocks at the door for well over 15 minutes despite my call to them letting them know I was arriving.
Ultimately my mom had to call them and tell them I was outside for them to come to the door.
Their hosewater tastes strangely good.
Upload Day
17:52- It is here.
At long long fucking last my work is done.
All of the entries for the middle third of the trail should be reaching you very shortly.
If you are an astute and careful reader, you will find remnants of other times I was almost able to upload the blog before accumulating another few days of unedited drafts.
But those days are over.
In order to get this done for all of youtoday I have had to sit around camp and do nothing but type from the moment I woke up until right now (the plot cannot progress if you do nothing, Harold).
I still have to hike 17 miles through relatively challenging terrain;
some day one of you will pay for this somehow.
Be prepared.
Since this snowballing delay has wound up covering exactly 1/3 of the trail, I have decided to call it an artistic choice and deliver each third in a different format: first daily posts, then one gargantuan batch, then minute-by-minute updates.
That's right!
Get ready for constant updates all day every day (cell coverage permitting)!
Also in the spirit of pretending accidents were deliberate, I am calling today an experiment in night hiking to beat the summer heat.
It is actually much cooler now.
Hopefully it goes well.
In other news, I used the privy this morning and discovered that it is completely unenclosed, just a toilet seat in the woods.
I suppose that's what I get for complaining about all the enclosed privies.
Now it's time for me to pack up and get fucking moving as fast as I can dear god I'm gonna be hiking past midnight
19:02- I have begun hiking.
The drawstring on my head net somehow broke, so let's hope I don't need it.
Daylight is waning, and with it my ability to pretend this was in any way a good idea.
20:02- One hour milage check: 2.3.
If I can maintain this pace, which may be possible thanks to an upcoming flat section, I should finish by 2:30 am.
The sun is setting and the air is cooling.
Rain may be on its way.
This will be my longest wver night walk by far.
20:19- Just passed the last camping location for the next 7 miles, so I am now committed to the night, it has claimed me.
20:32- The crossing of a recently damaged footbridge for which Conneticut advises a detour was not nearly as dangerous as I had feared.
It was still a little dangerous, though, so be careful!
20:50- The headlamp is on and the night walk has begun.
21:33- Just had a little drizzle.
Seems to be minor, but if more follows I may have to do a very steep descent on wet rock in a few miles.
That would be pretty slick!
22:10- Just reached the peak for the first half of the night.
There is tons of lightning, both of the insect and atmospheric varieties, but I think the latter is moving away from me.
That's good, because I have reached The Descent, 35% Grade Special.
22:24- I would like to publicly apologize to the impressively huge spider for what I am about to do to its web.
22:56- I am still alive!
More rain did come through, but not enough to really slicken up the rocks like a good lubricating thunderstorm.
Unfortunately, my headlamp is already growing dim.
If you ever have a choice of whether to use Powercell brand batteries, don't.
2:07- The flat section did gain me some time, but between the intensifying rain, my level of general exhaustion, and the upcoming steepnesses, I decided to call it a night about 3.5 miles early.
I managed to set everything up without getting too wet or waking people up (I think).
Dinner is cooking.
3:23- And that's a wrap, folks!
I will be sleeping imminently.
As far as experiments go, I would say today was extremely unpleasant and should never be replicated.
May the rain wash away my sorrows and the thunder lull me to sleep.
Jew Lie 12: Larry David Survived The Holocaust, Final Opus T-1
A swarm of easily 30 mosquitos emerged from my underquilt protector today when I unclipped it.
Evidently they had congregated there overnight in a futile attempt to access my tight, juicy ass from below.
The bugs continued to be remarkably numerous all the way down the hill, then cleared up immediately when I entered a swamp.
Counterintuitive!
Passing the notable novelty Appalacian Station, I arrived at the native planters (confusingly located in puritan territory) and an authentic outpost of Malaysian cuisine, whic fueled and fed me as all great fueling and feeding occurs.
Subsequent pastures delighted me with actual, honest-to-god quicksand (fluidized by groundwater flow, capable of sucking you in) and a handful of monarch butterflies, which would not have been particularly remarkable even 15 years ago, but now are so rare that they have been documented to trigger physiological arousal in nature folx.
I wound up leapfrogging for the next part of the day with part of the Cheese Foot ensemble;
we forded a creek whose bridge had been completely fucked by the flood,
recieved a wizardly coke and fruit puree from a supportress, and crossed the border from Jew York into Conneticut!
Then I pulled ahead of them.
On the next descent I encountered a very sweaty man who told me the upcoming trail is "nice but rugged, but nice."
Then I passed by Bittersweet and a ridgerunner down by the river, and then crossed the two thirds point, where there was no marker or indicator or signage of any kind!
This is a Trail First (Trirst)!
But I assure you, for every three of them, I've done two of them.
I then crossed an historic bridge of importance and refinement and grabbed dinner and resupply at a small store before climbing up the final hill, havin a little chat with the alpinist, and arriving at camp.
No cooking required, so it's straight to bed for me!
Jew Lie 11 (Just Two More Months To 9/11!): Larry Was Very Lucky, Final Opus T-2
An early climb of the day was blessed by a magic gaderade.
I spotted a notoriously small stormville snake of the gardle variety past the stormville great divide, "From here north all water flows downhill," then one of the ringle variety.
Some voice memoing brought me down the next segment of trail and past a chafe-wiper.
I then spent a resting break period at a local fraternally operated pizzeria-deli combo, where I was able to consume a nice big sangwich and soda.
After a bit mor voice memoing I had another rest, this time standing and longer than intended, at a shelter with some familiars and an unfamiliar.
But I had to continue, because there was something I simply could not miss: Nucular Lake!
So named because you are encouraged to swim in it with your entire nucular family!
Alas, I did not have time to bathe in or drink the water, but I assure you it's a good idea.
Then a short climb brough me to a truly pioneering shelter, very groundbreaking.
I quickly discovered that now, two days after the great flood, the bloodlust of the local mosquitos was revved up harder than Pope Francis at a preschool.
We're talking about a hundred of them swarming around my hammock.
I had to take refuge inside it and very carefully extend one limb at a time out of the bug net to cook dinner, which was a painful and slow process for a hungry growing boy!
But I did it, and you should be proud.
Jew Lie 10: Jews Can Part Any Body Of Water If They Carry A Stick Like Moses, Final Opus T-3
Finding transportation back to the trail was a challenge.
Our intended shuttler was unable to reach us due to road closures;
I deigned to install Uber, but at the last minute it refused to verify my state ID;
my mom attempted to order me an Uber, but the app kept crashing when she tried to log in;
and the first number for a shuttle that the hotel gave me reached a completely unintelligible Latin American (?) man.
At last my dad was able to successfully order an Uber remotely.
The Winnie the Poohvoo Javer seemed to speak no English and failed to respond to any of my attempts at small talk, but he was at least able to drive correctly.
I at last began to hike after 1:30 pm.
Very very late!
A great deal of the trail was still severely flooded, which ate more time from the day.
With every descent, I was greeted by the roar of water and a brand new creek, bog, pond, or waterfall to ford.
Lots of bushwhacking was required, and lots of impressively large slugs were seen.
The worst crossing was a beaver pond outlet that probably would have killed me if I had tried to wade through where the trail was;
I spent a few minutes wondering whether I'd be able to cross at all, then discovered that the water was only knee-deep where it flowed over the beaver dam.
I encountered a water snake at the other side.
After all was said and done and thoroughly wetted, I rolled into camp just before dark.
There is one other person in a nearby field.
Stopping here puts me one full day behind my original plan, but given the reports I've heard from the sections of trail just behind me, I think I got off relatively easy.
What a weather novelty tale for the ages!
Jew Lie 9: The Jews Control The Weather, Final Opus T-4
It was a reluctant morning to be sure.
But one must do what one must do in these times, so we headed back to the deli, purchased a few items, then waited in the car as I fueled my tools.
It was drizzling at this point.
Once I had summoned sufficient will,
I said goodbye and walked over to the spot on the trail that I stopped yesterday, and it was at this instant, this very instant I tell you, that the heavens opened.
Still I pressed on, but within a few minutes I was basically hiking in a stream.
I became concerned about water sources being sedimented, and also about the fact it was raining so hard that water was splashing through my umbrella, so I decided I would go five miles and then stay in a hotel again.
This was a good call, because as I continued to hike the trail only got more flooded;
at one point, I was standing on top of a narrow peak, and there was well over an inch of water covering the trail.
There was nowhere for that water to have flown from!
It turns out that I was hiking right next to the center of a 1000 year storm that dropped seven inches of rain in three hours.
Yes, I verified those numbers.
No, I still can't picture that much rain even having hiked through it.
We picked up some food on the way to the hotel, which was spacious and dry, and then my parents left and I holed up for the evening.
Calls, blogwork, hot pockets, ice cream--it was a good night.
Jew Lie 8: Jews Are More Physically and Mentally Capable Than People Of Other Ethnicities, Final Opus T-5
Despite the somewhat late night, I was able to get going at a fairly reasonable time.
Returning to the trail, it became clear that this last segment of Detour Hell was the most egregious:
maintainers had taken a literal angle grinder to both rocks and trees, stripping blazes down to unweathered stone (which ironically makes better blazes than the often faded original paint) and removing bark from trees.
And then they just reblazed the trail in a different color!
And the replacement blazes on the trees were nailed deep into the heartwood!
What the actual fuck?
Fortunately it was not long before the "temporary detour" rejoined the trail and everything was back to relatively normal.
The climb up Bear Mountain was easy and uneventful;
I patronized some vending machines and a portable potty at the top, encountered Bittersweet, met a man who calls himself Heimlich, and spoke briefly to some Elite bikers:
one expat who lives in northern Thailand (we all know what he's doing there), and two profusely sweating Spanish men clad entirely in Rapha gear.
Only in Jew York, my friends.
The descent turned into a complete zoo of dayhikers, then a literal zoo of animals, and a small sign marked the lowest point of the trail.
It's all uphill from here!
I crossed the HUD sin (a sin of Housing and Urban Development) on a very log bridge, then intersected with Ma and Da up for a visit.
I retrieved water and dropped off my aquafucked phone.
In a miraculous conincidence, the phone came back to life in Ma's hand just as I began hiking the last stretch of trail for the day (if that hadn't happened you might not be reading this right now).
It was a pretty uneventful stretch, though there were some comedic dayhiker conversations that could only happen in Jew York.
You know the type.
Then I arrived at the deli destination, got picked up, showered at the hotel, went to dinner, and spent a few hours transferring all of my data and configurations to a new phone.
No more aquafuckening!
Jew Lie 7: Jews Have Higher Rates Of Certain Congenital Disorders As A Result Of Endogamy, Final Opus T-6
An Aldian resupply courtesy of Mr. Driver began my day.
Packing the necessary goods, armed with a paper map, and fueled by a sprite, I hit the trail hot.
Still hot!
It has not cooled.
After getting lemonsqueezed, I found myself to be immediately hiking through mothland like I have never seen before, those lil guys were everywhere.
Hundreds.
Then it was fungusland, where there were all kinds of fungaloids I have never seen in my life before.
Then it was mothland again.
I passed by a shelter with a family that kept switching (not code switching, this was above the utterance level) between English and some other language;
I think it might have been Hebrew, but I'm not Jewish enough to be sure.
A short while later I came to the beginning of what I will call Detour Hell.
Apparently the Jew York state parks decided that a fairly easy road crossing was "unsafe" and constructed a long and annoying "temporary detour" for the trail to avoid it.
Remember: when the government of Jew York decides something is in your best interest, you have no say.
You must obey.
Of course, I did not obey.
As far as I'm concerned, a section of trail only becomes official when blazes are painted on trees and rocks, and the maintainers of this section had only bothered to staple temporary plastic plazes to indicate the route.
No thank you!
So I continued on the true path.
The blazes for the first stretch had been sloppily covered in brown paint, but were still easy to follow.
Then they switched back to white, but had strange orange squares in the middle of them, evidently to make it appear as though they are for some other trail--this did not fool me.
I am an archaeology minor!
I picked at the paint of the blazes and determined that the orange paint was applied after the reflective plastic beads that the Jew York maintainers seem so fond of, meaning that the blazes were originally white and only later were defiled by orange.
On the way up the hill I also spotted a pure white blaze on a fallen tree, confirming my suspicions.
Then at last I reached the trail to the shelter.
The rest of Detour Hell will have to wait for the morning.
I had been warned that my eyes may be violently assaulted in this area by the Jew York Shitty skyline, but fortunately the entire metropolitan area had shot itself in the foot and produced so much smog that it was completely invisible.
At the shelter I met a man who calls himself Mr. T, his girlfriend (?), and their family friend (?) engaged in the most impressive Trail Cooking (Trooking) operation I have ever seen.
I wound up spending a couple hours with them, and got to partake in spiced popcorn, jalapeño hush puppies, and cinnamon donuts.
Stories and other pleasantry informations were exchanged.
Then, growing tired amid the heat lightning, I took my leave and retired for the evening.
Jew Lie 6: The Talmud Prohibits Jews From Making Switchbacks, Final Opus Part T-7
It was a very hot day, probably the hottest on trail so far. Fortunately, it started out with a continuation of yesterday's easy ridgewalk, but despite this I must have produced enough sweat to cause my phone to become aquafucked once again.
I took an extended break at a hot dog stand and a creamery while trying to dry it in the sun, and I did manage to resurrect it for a few minutes, but as soon as I got back to exerting myself in the upper 80s it fell into a serious coma.
Then I dropped off the ridge for the last time, marking my official physiographic entrance into England 2: The Purity Spiral.
Immediately the trail became vastly more difficult, with steep, abrupt scrambling climbs and very high grades;
most of the climbing would have been quite enjoyable if not for the heat and sparse tree cover.
I plowed on through mild heat exhaustion, relieved only by the occasional icy water cache, because on this day of all days I had a shuttle scheduled to pick me up at a perhaps too ambitious time and take me to a hotel.
By some miracle I actually made it just 8 minutes late (if it had been a degree hotter or there hadn't been as many water caches, the situation could have easily turned medical. we were very very lucky).
The driver was not accustomed to picking hikers, but he seemed more fascinated and entertained than disturbed, which I suppose is a good thing in this context, but the frequency with which I get that same response from people concerns me.
At the hotel I immediately showered, then did laundry while communicating via a somewhat unreliable landline.
Erroneous information about restaurant hours caused me to miss my chance for a proper dinner, so I had to make do with leftover snacks.
And despite my best efforts I failed to revive the phone.
Is this hotel stay beginning to sound familiar?
Jew Lie 5: Andrew Cuomo Is Jewish, Itchy Scratchy Sticky Wet Oozy Night
Thanks to the end of the hollyday at midnight hour, all of the places and locations reopened!
So I was able to grab a big ol breakfast meal and resupply my supplies before heading outatown.
Early in the day I grabbed myself an icy chilled sodus at a magical trailside fridgerator unit.
There was also Pabst Blue Ribbon available;
by remarkable coincidence, another hiker arrived right behind me wearing a Pabst Blue Ribbon hat.
Then I walked through the wallmurder national bird marshes, which reminded me of New Jersey.
After some climbing, I and several others stopped to recieve blessings from a magic man with magic nesquik, which I drank nesquikly.
He was a resident of either Jew Jersey or Jew York, though I'm not sure which one.
He was very political; his wife and he were doing this magical act on their way down to our nachin's great capitol to campaign for statehood for DC.
He wanted to make sure that all the Ohiodwellers present were prepared to vote by mail in the August election to stop the conservatives.
Over the conversation it came up that one of the hikers had done campaign work for Gretchen Whitmer.
How serendipitous--he has met Gretchen Whitmer!
And loves her!
"My ideal ticket is her and Pete Buttigieg, either way around, doesn't matter who's vice."
I swear on my mother's calcaneus I'm not making this up.
"We need her."
I collected myself quickly after hearing that and embarked on into another curiously New Jerseyesque marsh, this time fitted with a boardwalk.
Then I made a side detour to a lovely little farming establishment for an extended break involving ice cream, water ice, and fresh squished lemonade.
That's how you keep cool and beat the heat with something refreshing!
When the time came for me to stop stopping and start starting, I reluctantly began my ascent to heaven via the stairs.
Some dayhikers spotted a bear resting on the sunny rocks uphill, but even this novelty item in the woods failed to arrest the climb.
I crested the hill, came to a road, and discovered a magicianal cooler with frozen potions to keep the other potions cold.
I chose to imbibe a spriting potion, which made me very spritish.
Then I passed a shelta and took a sheltashit as usual, customary, and expected.
As dusk began to approach nearing an arrival, I encountered a mother bear with two very young cubs.
They startled and scattered; as the cubs hastily scaled nearby trees, I loudly announced that I do not diddle kids.
I am not a diddler.
The mother seemed to be relieved by this news and moved far enough off the trail to allow me passage.
The day was finaled by a scrampling segment containing the Jew Jersey-Jew York border, which means I can now say "Ayyyyyy Vinnie Alfredo I'm walkin here pizza cawfee shalom" with a whole new level of meaning.
Camp found me just a smidge after dark.
Now I shall hasten to slumber.
Jew Lie 4: Palestinians Watch Iron Dome Missiles Like Fireworks, Park After Dark
Miraculously, I got up early enough to make the big day today.
But alas!
I was waylaid after an hour!
An unexpectedly long magic show on top of a mountain enticed me to rest.
It involved root beer, fresh pizza cooked to order, fresh smoothies blended to order, and one lemonade flavor packet.
Bittersweet and the shifty cryptographer were also present.
When I finally got up moving and stepping again, I encountered a triple bear combo (the first two startled, but the last one was just sauntering).
I passed through the state high point area, which I would describe as a very low high point.
Jew Jersey is a small state.
Then I was rushin' and rushin' to town;
around this time I was informed that the store I intended to resupply at is probably closed for the hollyday.
Also the ice cream vendor.
At least there was a tavern open.
On my way I spotted bear number 7, look at him there he goes!
As soon as I got to town I visually confirmed that I could not purchase any resupply, then meandered over to the single open establishment to at least eat something.
As I sat at the bar and saw the number of other hikers evidently staying in town, I began to reconsider camping in a nearby town park that I had ruled out earlier because it seemed bad for hammocks.
But satellite images actually did show trees, so I decided to just call it a day.
As soon as I got to the park I regretted this decision.
There were no options, and the only thing vaguely resembling an option between a tree and a fencepost was already taken.
I wound up hanging from the weakest tree yet, which required a creative but questionable engineering stunt with two trunks to not dip all the way to the ground.
Cheese Foot is also among the company, which is not strictly a bad thing but definitely not a plus.
The night is hot, muggy, and buggy, extremely loud fireworks are being set off all around us, a bright floodlight is illuminating the whole park, and the bell tower next door rings every hour on the hour.
I have a headache.
Will I sleep?
Place a bet for the number of hours I will sleep by banging your head into a metal pole that number of times.
I will join you using the swingset pole.
Jew Lie 3: Jews Control The Media, Bearwaiting
I woke up to confirmation that my mom has a stress fracture, and that signs of the fracture were visible on her x-ray from all the way back on June 2nd.
Thank you, Dr. Chidester!
I didn't get going until 11:48, which I have to stop doing.
It is simply too late.
Then I saw a big black snake with a black back growth.
What could it be?
A tumor?
A pea?
As soon as I moved my pole near it it slithered up the hill.
Then I saw a big black bear with no growths that I could discern.
As soon as I moved within sight of it it ran up the hill.
It continued to stare down at me for a few minutes, sniffing the air as I passed, and then got bored and wandered off.
Then I saw two thanksgivings with the usual red neck growths.
By the time I spotted them they were on their way slowly down the hill.
I had now come to a road where I was faced with a decision: plod on as planned and have a normal day tomorrow, or detour for dinner and have a very big day tomorrow.
I chose the latter, which was a mistake.
The parking lot of the "restaurant" was full; signs out front (?) instructed patrons to pay with cash and biker gangs not to wear colors.
Entering the establishment, I found it to have so little structure that I couldn't even tell who the employees were.
The back (?) door was no better, though I managed to find a small paper stapled to the wall inside a display cabinet instructing hikers to have their bartender purchase items for them from the "hiker bin" (where is the hiker bin? what is the hiker bin? who are the bartenders?).
Still unable to discern after about ten minutes how any of the dozens of people there had ordered their food or drink, or even what foods or drinks were available, I cut my losses and walked back to the trail.
I saw two actual frogs, not toads, on my way up the hill, which is a first.
I suppose that's mildly interesting.
I took an extended break at a firetower due to general malaise, then at last reached shelter, where there was a very loud group of what turned out to be Jew York children chaperoned by young adults, perhaps from some kind of camp, who had already had food stolen by a bear this evening.
A british couple and a ridgerunner both informed me of this situation.
I did my best to camp away from where the bear was last seen, then began a war on some of the worst mosquitos I've ever had to deal with.
I killed easily 50 in the time it took me to set up, make dinner, and get in the hammock pod, which I really hope is thick enough to stop them from biting me.
Jew Lie 2: Jews Are Greedy, Very Wet Hour
The trail reentered me around 2:45 pm today.
A gross road tangle led me transfluminally into Jew Jersey, where I exited the sixth known location.
As usual, there was a swarm of dayhikers extending from the parking lot, but they thinned out and dissapeared as soon as I got through the first vaguely strenuous section.
I skirted baby's first glacial lake, which is home to a great deal of insect breeding--turns out glaciers are actually bad!
Several miles later I did lots of walking to reach the KMOCK for a poo and some potable water, but a recent notice indicated that the water was non-potable and I had wasted my valuable time.
By then it was evening, and some early fileworks were visible from the scenic ridge views;
I had a a small slip on a wet rock, but it was no match for my big boy bones.
Then the daylight dimmed and the fog blew in.
A magnificent luna moth took a piss right next to me, which was unexpected but pretty cool.
At last I reached my restingplace, but right as I was about to set up my rain fly it started to downpour quite hard.
So much for dry clothes!
A hasty late dinner transpired and gave way to imminent sleep.
Jew Lie 1: Jews Have Big Noses, Questioning And Answering Time
Welcome to the month of July, or, as some people pronounce it, Jew Lie!
In honor of the two very Jewish states I will be hiking through for the next several days, we will be listing some antisemitic lies that are frequently told about Jews.
Next time you hear one of these lies, you can shout, "That's a Jew Lie!" and know you're doing the right thing.
Now it's time for some Trail Q&A, or TrQ&A, where I ask myself questions and then answer them!
So, Dimwit, what is your trail name?
My trail name is Dimwit.
Wow, how did you get that trail name?
Well, Dimwit, I went to college.
Haha, Dimwit, you're a hoot!
Gee thanks!
Dimwit, where are you from?
I'm from near Philadelphia.
Does the trail go very close to your house?
Well, Dimwit, it goes a little less than an hour and a half from my house, but I did get to spend a couple days at home when I passed by.
Wow, that must have been really great!
Yeah, it sure was.
So Dimwit, why are you hiking the trail, why are you out here?
Well, there are a number of reasons.
Could you share please a couple handful?
Sure, one is to waste a huge amount of time, and to know what it feels like to waste that much time, and to get so sick of it that I never waste time again; another is to train for more worthwhile hikes; and another is to study the sociology and anthropology of the people who hike the trail.
Wow, that's a fascinating thank you handful!
I know!
What is your favorite part of the trail so far?
Being over 6000 feet.
And what's your least favorite?
Deciduous forest.
There's a lot of that, isn't there?
Yes.
Dimwit, what's your biggest fear on trail?
I would say it's getting sick from eating other people's poop, but so far I've been able to avoid eating poop, so I'm hoping that can continue.
What's your biggest hope?
That I do not come out of the trail with any lasting or debilitating psychological damage.
That's a good hope!
Thank you!
Dimwit, here's my last question for you tonight: what's the biggest thing you've seen on trail?
Well, I saw a bear that was pretty big, and also some big mountains, and big people.
Thank you Dimwit that's all the time we have goodbye!
6:30 Is Too Damn Early For Me, Metallic Breath Recovery
I got going late at 11:48!
But I was so speedy to start that I did 3.6 miles in the first hour.
This suggested an idea to me.
There were watacaches galore, which was a great boon and convenience for my pace.
I ran into a known person with an unknown name, stopped at a shelter to relieve myself, and then became saddled with spectacles all in rapid succession.
Then I ducked beneath the wind to visit Satish, a native of the Oksir region, who wanted everybody to buy the soda.
$3 for the soda.
The rocks after the subsequent climb were not nearly as bad as rumored, and that was all the info intel data I needed to decide to pull a long one: 27.2 miles.
The arrangements were put in place.
I crosssed the great LGM delineation without fanfare (further evidence that yesterday's observations were genuine insights).
I found more relief and gathered yet more potable water at the final shelter for the day, then began the final push to zip through the darkening dark up and down the PENNSYLVANIA 6500 Finale Extraordinaire.
The haze immersed me in a placeless dark void illuminated only by the snaking interstate in the valley below, showing itself for moments at a time as I hastened down the rocky trail.
Just as my headlamp was dying and the hiketimer struck 9:58, I approached the low oblique shine of a car in stasis, and you are an incorrigible little scrunt!
Get out of here, this is not for you!
629 Is A Great Example Of A Small Integer Sundering Comedy, Post-Musical Dark
I exited the fifth known location after a few minutes this morning and continued through the usual rockle scrambs that I have come to expect.
But then, just past a road crossing, I accidentally stumbled through a magical portal into a disorientingly foreign landscape.
Am I in California?
Am I in Arizona?
Am I in New York?
I later discovered that, while the last big ice never made it this far, I was very close to the southernmost extent of any glaciation in the past feew hundred thousand years.
I believe you can feel the glaciers.
The landscape, their vibe, echoes through the vibrations, the massive ice moving rock, deep ice, it feels the cold, like the north.
I passed the men who call themselves Bittersweet and Zen tasting a lunchy break before intersecting with them again on the downslope at a sheltry rest.
At the hazy deepest bottom of the ridgebreak slopes, I crossed the haut river and began the fabled climb.
It was easily the best climb on trail so far and required some actual climbing, as in with your hands and not your feet;
my only complaint is that due to the unavailability of swich licour in the area I was forced to carry four liters of water up the whole thing.
The strange, out of place feeling from the other side picked up again at the top for a while and was synergized by my mild backtracking confusion in a segment where FarOut had completely the wrong route marked.
I passed ski resort and took a secret trail to acquire a burger and fries, and as it turns out they have a big cooler of water for hikers, so the four liter carry was completely unnecessary.
But when I went to fill up my water, the cooler was nearly empty, so it was actually somewhat useful but definitely overkill.
By that point a white man had begun performing very black music and making me racially uncomfortable, so I called it a night and went back to trail.
Darkwalking brought me to the place I am now, which I would say is a suitable one.
It will do.
6 To 8 To 10 To 12, That's A Less Common Way To Count To 12, Flat Ground Sleeping
No sooner had I gotten down the hill this morning than I recieved a magicnificent crisp and chilly route bier from a Doyler.
I paid a brief visity to Mr. Eckles down the street, then up and across, my boy! That is the way!
I stopped to examine and soak up the shelter that Billy Joel lives in.
Unfortunately, all the nearby factories have been shut down, so it's getting very hard for him to stay.
I then met the materpaterquefamilias on schedule at a trailside eatery, where I observed my mother to be wearing a large medical boot.
This is because (drumroll, dumdumdumdumdumdumdumdumdum) she almost certainly has a stress fracture.
"But Dimwit," you ask, "didn't she recently see a licensed physician at Rothman who told her she has 'overuse-itis'?
Shouldn't he have caught a stress fracture easily?"
Yes, my little baby girl, he should have.
But he instead refused to order an MRI.
His name is John H. Chidester IV;
if you would like to send him a
token of appreciation
for his very helpful diagnosis and medical advice and his insistance on always following the Hippocratic oath, his office is at 650 Carnegie Blvd, 2nd Floor, Malvern, PA 19355.
When the meal came to an end, I selected some provisions from the traveling stock and hiked on over Sharp Rock, which is as dull as I remember it.
I am now camped in a bingo patch.
6 To 7 To 8 To 9, That's The Way To Count To 9, Daddy Longlegs Dance Party
Shoe visitors this morning: one daddy longlegs, one American giant millipede, one baby snail, and one baby salamander.
More impressive than yesterday.
By the time I woke up, my mom had decided to turn around and go home due to new and improved shooting pain in her same old ankle.
It is once again unclear whether or when she will be able to rejoin me.
I pressed on unexpectedly solo for the second time, passing a turtle as I sought to gain covert entry to the Clintons' compound and steal their secrets.
It was a fairly steep descent, so I took the opportunity to produce a helpful lesson elucidating proper scree technique for less confident screeers.
I then crossed a timid but murderous river and paid a very reasonably priced visit to the local sweetmonger (nominally nutmonger).
Another scarlid tanagerial showed itself back in the woods, and a brief rain fell as I reached the Fifth Known Location.
But up on top of there all my friendly amicable coppleheads were nowhere to be found!
Where did they all go?
This defeats the whole purpose.
Nevertheless, I got to camp and swung myself near a German yoga woman with very colorful hair who I believe callse herself Firefly.
Now it is darktime, and the daddy longlegs are bouncing and jouncing like never before!
Will you join them?
6 To 6 = 1 To 1 (It Is Bijection Day), Lightningfest (Not The Bug Variety, We're Talking Genuine Voltage)
Shoe visitors this morning: one American giant millipede, two daddy longlegs, and two camel crickets.
A decent haul.
After a short duration of time had passed during which I was walking, I paid a visit to a strange caretaken accommodation for water and a nearly full port of potty which nonetheless managed to do the job.
Around noon I heard the first claps of thunder in the distance.
Within a few minutes, it grew to a constant, low, crackling rumble;
sure enough, radar showed a powerful supercell moving in from the southwest.
This continued nonstop for over an hour, easily the most impressive thunder I have ever heard, growing only louder as the storm neared.
By the time I passed the special homonumeral ambuland award announcement marker, the noise was so loud and so close that it seemed to be enveloping me from behind.
Then the rain began.
And the hail.
I munched on some fresh-caught hailstones--very refreshing!
Within a few short moments the trail was a stream, and my feet were in the stream, and the stream and my feet were wet.
And it was good.
Eventually the storm died down, and I caught up with my mom after being mildly slowed by my efting responsibilities.
We very gradually made our way to our destination;
the evening brought food and a facingtime skyper chat with Whitney Houston in the chute.
Then the night brough another thunderstorm.
Still as I write the little benny franklins in the sky keep discharging their leiden jars between cloud and ground and illuminating the air with an impressive whoomph to rival even the volume and efficacy of a barking dog.
Six To Five, It's Dropping! It's Gonna Go To Four! Overlooking
Your view of our view begins at 13:05 today.
Be thankful you get one at all!
We started with a climb, then there was a turtle at the top of the climb.
Very nice.
We reached a shelter and ate our hulking hogans at the picnic table there, but the day was still young, or at least not old, probably, and so we continued to hike.
We passed by your standard triple purple blaze followed by a single purple blaze to indicate a marking signal.
Then we set up camp at an overlook.
As you can tell, it was a relatively uneventful day.
Or rather, all of the eventfuls were in the morning before this entry begins!
Haha you will never know!
2*3/2*2*2*3, This Is a Veritable Factor Orgy, Right After The Dehydrator Unfucked My Phone
The morning was gentle, and the rain was kind enough to clear.
We passed through Eftburg: population 34, in which we spotted yet more yellow water (yeah, it's probably mine drainage. Pray for us).
The shelter we chose to rest at turned out to have one of the grossest privies so far on trail.
Why does everybody north of Roanoke build fully enclosed privies?
As we neared our destination, my phone became momentarily aquafucked, but it was no great hindrance to me because we were nearing our destination.
Then we got to the road, and then what do you think you're doing?
We have discussed this issue before, you have no right to spy on me!
I am a free man, free of your constant gaze when I am not on trail.
Off with you, go back to whatever you were doing before.
What were you doing before?
6=2*3, Calm Midnight Drizzle
It was a hungry morning of on and off rain.
I started 2 hours after my mom.
At an early shelter stop for ingestion and expulsion, I noticed a curious linguistic oddity that I had heard only once before.
Perhaps it is some kind of omen.
Then the trail passed through Efterville.
I caught up on a descent, and then we climbed to some very orange water which is probably hopefully not mine drainage because we drank some.
But regardless of its origin, it was suited to one of my purposes, so I collected a big bag of the surrounding mud.
The shifty cryptographer passed again while I did this.
Up the trail a bit we managed to collect better water, which was a relief (you should try tasting mine drainage sometime).
Then we reached our current campsite, where one other guest is joining us.
Strange music is emanating from deep in the woods.
Concerning!
100 Days On Trail, That's A Lot Of Days! Late On The Ridge
Rain all night and rain all morning, that's what I was treated with today.
I finally got going about an hour after my mom, then walked for a while alone.
The shifty cryptographer from all
the way back at the KNOCK passed me as I trudged up a climb;
fortunately he seemed not to recognize me.
Then I caught up with her, then we walked for a while together (a very typical schedule, expect more schedule of this variety).
A ridgedrop and pavementation came to dominate the midday, punctuated by a lunchbreaking and the crossings of various shallow waters.
Then it was up again.
While climbing, I discovered that betta fish, contrary to established dogma, are capable of achieving true comfort and deep luxury on land.
At the top we traversed a genuine scranble and paid a brief visit to a shelter.
Then the terrain mellowed a bit, and we encountered a confused father and son, a water cache, and a confused mother and son (us) about the location of our campsite.
Fortunately we managed to find the right spot and hang our jimmies aloft.
Nudist Solstice, Chilling Under The Great Waterfall Of Life
The shuttle back from our hôtel dropped us by the introductory Mexican cafeteria from last night for a big breakfast.
Then, after a bit of gas station shopping, we hiked out through alternating woods and non-woods.
In some crisp edge habitat we enjoyed our first Trail Black Raspberries or Black Trail Raspberries, depending on your internal portmanteau morphology (Track Raspberries or Black Traspberries, respectively), and Trail Mulberries (Trulberries).
At a road crossing we encoutered some magicians from whom I procured an ice pop and saw the cobbles in their scantly clad glory.
A cemetery lunchtime (only a non-cobb heminudist present) and ritual soilcasting followed.
Yet further along, we had the distinct pleasure of purchasing ice cream from religious people!
Then we reentered the forest proper and passed a water source known to the very clever and funny comments section as "WAP."
A few more hops and we pitched our pitches just in time for the rain.
Cheese Foot and his noisy dairy companions are unfortunately camped only a short distance away;
we can hear them "singing" Les Miserables, which is turning us into les miserables.
It may be a challenging evening.
6/20, Two Months After The Tragic Events Of 4/20, Yardly Polehang
I got started about 2 hours after mamma this morning.
It was a short walk to a glorious foodplace, where I acquired a sody and sammich and briefly met an Irish man.
Then I hiked on, and nothing notable occurred for most of the day.
I caught up with M on the last climb before dropping into the Cuke Lowlands, where we found there to be disgusting things called plants growing everywhere.
I stole some cereal grain for a little grainberry taste test.
It was bland.
We got into town, then went out to dinner in town with Zen and the Cobbers, then got picked up and driven out of town by the owner of tonight's hôtel (only mildly afflicted, very pragmatic middle Americans run this spiffy bunkjoint).
We hung around for a but while taking turns in the shower;
Hillsmasher talked our ear off about one time he had a ton of diarrhoea all night and another time he talked some guy's ear off.
When we had heard enough of these fascinating ironies, we hung our gear from some creative spots in the front lawn (a telephone pole was involved!) and called it a night.
And it is now very late, hooray! I am tired!
Juneteenth Black Monday Special 50% Off On Select Blog Post Entries, Reunion Dusk
Hello and welcome back to the trail, my online friends whom I see and hear!
Today is the day you have been waiting for, I know because I see and hear you, online friends, it is the day of the big batch upload.
You may refer to this set of posts, if you wish to refer to them collectively, as a unit, rather than individually or with a plural construction, as "The Solo Saga."
Notice how you feel when reading these posts on a delay, as opposed to in real time.
Is it as exciting?
Do you feel as much parasocial agency?
Are you as compelled to read delayed posts?
How might these quirks of human psychology be exploited by the journalism-entertainment complex to extract your cash and libido?
Today is the High Holiday of Juneteenth, and to celebrate I would like to inform everybody that we have yet to see a single Black through-hiker.
It's not that all through-hikers are white;
on the contrary, we have met folx who are Asian, Arab, Australian, Latinx, First Nations Injun, et cetera et cetera and various mixtures thereof, and also many people visiting from foreign countries on visas of various levels of permissiveness and obtainability.
Just no Black people.
The closest we came was crossing paths with a single Black backpacker in the Smokers, but he was on some kind of guided section hike led by none other than a white woman.
Clearly something about the trail is exclusionary specifically to Bs and not IPOCs.
If you think you know the answer, please inform the nearest tenured professor, and they will make sure your hypothesis gets to me.
In non-racial news, your Private Life Blinders were removed this morning!
As soon as your eyes adjusted to their first sunlight in days, you witnessed us hike forward from the place I was before towards the other place I was before.
And yes, yes indeed, this is no typographical oversight!
This is no gag of the mind or joke of the soul!
After lots of ample rest and PlenTy of PT, my mother has decided to rejoin the iter pseudotelicum!
Much is still uncertain, including even a rough estimate of the pace we will be making, but we've all got our fingers crossed, don't we?
Thank you all for crossing your fingers when asked.
Upon reaching the place I was before, we took a long foodful rest and caught up with those who caught up with us.
Great merriment was had over most every tub.
Then we continued until reaching the place I am now.
And that's basically more or less it, essentially.
That's how it goes out here on the Eighty.
You know the drill.
Jieune A-Teenth, Treflecting Again Again Again: Parasocial Will Is The Next Evolution Of Black Magic
You have probably heard of parasocial relationships, a phenomenon where people feel a personal connection with someone they've never met: celebrities, characters, vloggers, news anchors, etc.
This is a perverse and damaging analog of a normal social relationship.
But what you may not know is that other social phenomena also have parasocial analogs.
One example, first described by Chris Gabriel and Blair Chapman, is parasocial agency.
Social agency is the secondhand feeling of accomplishment you get when someone you know achieves something, e.g. a friend running a marathon or building a birdhouse.
In a parasocial context, all that is needed to induce this feeling is the depiction of an action in media, like a documentary about someone running a marathon or a video of someone building a birdhouse.
Though not as satisfying as actually conpleting a task, parasocial agency from watching media of the task being completed is often enough to satiate people and prevent them from taking any action.
In black magic, this can be used to pacify a population and render them irrelevant at best, or submissive at worst, to the magician's agenda.
But there is another even more powerful parasocial tool available.
I have named it parasocial will.
Social will is the normal transmission of desires between acquaintances, e.g. getting into running while your friend is training for a marathon, or getting into woodworking when your friend starts building birdhouses.
This drives social cohesion and helps people find things in common.
But parasocially, all that you need to generate a desire in someone is a simple depiction of somebody being interested in something.
A vlogger who runs, for instance.
Or a youtube channel dedicated to woodworking "tutorials."
How many hobbies have you picked up from the internet or other media?
I discovered the existence of this phenomenon because about one in two people on the trail decided to hike it because they read Bill Bryson's book or started watching hiking vlogs.
The content infected them with a foreign will, and actually got them to act on that will, generating consequences in the physical world.
This is about as close as you can get to mind control on a population level.
Imagine if a magician had an agenda that required a large group to do their bidding.
They could simply spin up some algorithm-optimized social media content depicting the activities in a positive light, with enthusiastic participants, and immediately the algorithm would pick out all the people who have an inclination towards those activities and push them over the line into action.
That action could be anything: purchasing a product, engaging in activism for a cause, pursuing a certain career.
Think about where you've already seen prasocial will exploited maliciously, and where you haven't seen it exploited yet but need to be looking.
Joon Cevantine, Treflecting Again Again: I Have Learned Very Little From Hiking The Trail
People seem to have an expectation that hiking the Appalachian Trail is some kind of profound experience.
I'm not sure where this comes from, but it's definitely not true.
It's just a lot of walking and some camping.
So if you ever ask me what I've learned about myself, or about anything, be aware that the answer I give you will be completely fabricated on the spot.
I will still answer, because I understand that you're not asking the question to get a real answer, you just want more tidfacts to add to your mental fantasy of hiking the trail.
For that matter, if you ask me how I'm liking the trail, I will say something like, "It's hard but it's fun, I'd highly recommend it if you ever have a chance."
This is a lie.
The trail is neither particularly hard nor particularly fun;
most of it is completely neutral.
I also have no reason to recommend it to anyone.
But once again, people don't ask these things because they want a real answer.
So I give them what they do want.
Juñe Sinksteenth, Treflecting Again: People Are Far Dumber Than You Think
My whole life has been marked and delineated by new waves of this same realization.
The most recent phase was triggered my discovery that many--perhaps most--people do not know what "average" means.
Now, to be clear, it is possible to have a mistaken definition of average, such as confusing mean with median, or failing to understand the linearity and non-robustness of the mean as a measure of central tendency.
This is not what I mean (heehee).
I have observed through conversations over the last several months several individuals who have no definition of average.
When these people hear a statement like, "I need to average 13 miles a day," they make no attempt to access or reason about any deninition of average.
It never even crosses their mind that "average" might have a specific, concrete meaning.
They just understand it to mean, "I need to go 13 miles a day," or "I need to go about 13 miles a day," or "I need to do 13 mile days," or something intermediate between these.
As children, they seem to have acquired the word "average" (and other similar terms) like you or I acquired words like "cool" or "nice," that is to say with a very loose meaning that depends somewhat on the social context.
It's very difficult to identify these people because they are able to use the word in ways that sound correct to the rest of us, but in occasional contexts when the exact meaning is important, it becomes immediately clear that something is amiss.
I think the covertness of the heterogeneity makes it nearly inpossible to communicate with these people, and that the widespreadness of the heterogeneity underlies a great deal of the major worldview disagreements between political tribes.
So remember: even if you think you're talking to a fellow human being, you might not be.
Jume Fipteenth, Trail Reflecting (Treflecting): Hiking The Appalachian Trail Is Like Going To College
If you are unfortunate enough to be currently enrolled at a university, or have ever been that unfortunate, you will be intimately familiar with the process of earning a degree.
People from all over the world congregate to attept it, it is extremely tedious, it takes a substantial chunk of one's life, everyone strives for a single goal at the end from which they derive no real benefit, and everyone is responsible for planning their own work schedule to reach that goal.
All these facts are also true of hiking the AT.
This deep structural similarity begets similar social environments:
a large cohort begins the task around the same time, forced in to close contact while performing difficult tasks, and everyone spends a few weeks meeting new people and asking the same three questions (what is your (trail) name, where are you from, what are you majoring in/why are you hiking the AT).
The borderlines, histrionics, and approval-seekers force unnaturally close relationships with people they've just met, ostensibly to cope with the unfamiliar environment, and these performative friendships gradually collapse as real ones form over normal durations.
Various non-standard participants exist in both contexts as well.
In college you have transfer students, exchange students, eternal students, wacky multi-degree coordinating students, etc.
On the trail you have section hikers, long section hikers, flip-floppers, supported hikers, repeat hikers, etc.
The relationships between these individuals and the main groups have the same feeling.
Even the psychology is similar.
Everyone on the trail and in college is constantly looking for shortcuts and cheats and other ways to minimize the work they have to do;
you may never take them, but you're thinking of them.
The whole waste of time ahead of you is so dauntingly huge that you need to break it up into a series of smaller wastes of time to approach it--this is what self-help authors call "setting manageable goals."
College does this for you through years, semesters, periods between major assessments, weeks, days, and individual assignments.
The trail doesn't divide quite as naturally, but you've still got the big fractions, legs between towns, days, and individual climbs.
The question never leaves your mind, "how much longer do I have to do this?"
You may now find you understand why my attempt at a change from school has in fact made me more sick of school than ever.
Three Months On Trail, That's Three More Than You! Third Order Of Business After The Phone Resurrection
The day's hike was a short one, just as I had schemed and planned it to be.
I caught up to SBO (Story Boss OBX (Outer BanX)) at the halfway mark!
Half of the way, that's how much is behind me!
And also ahead!
What a coincidence!
At Boss's orders we filmed a short unintentional comedy special at the 1100 mile stone indicational.
Then I sat a sit for a bit and got picked up by Mama Fets and surprise guest Alcide!
I was not told to expect this!
We got ice cream with the other recordsetting creamgoers, examined some museum-bound Trail Memorabilia, or Tremorabilia, and I bet you were expecting this sentence to continue with further events of the day at home, but oh noh noh!
You are not privy to those details of my personal life, those are personal details!
Get, scram!
Shoo fly shoo!
Tuesday the 13th OMG Scary!!!!1!! Second Order Of Business After The Phone Resurrection
I returned to the trail at what I would say is a very civilized hour, armed with select foreknowledge courtesy of curated garmein chats from mother.
Entering a small park realm, I and others encountered a local plant lady who explained some local plants and what they were.
Also mushrooms.
When her insights ran dry, I continued towards a potable water source rumored in my foreknowledge.
Upon a common tree was gnailed a papier sign advertising a magic show today (really today) which I almost missed in search of the spigot.
The man behind the curtain called himself Tycoon, and seemed to me extremely Jewish, though I'm not sure if he actually was a jew or was just as concerned about my nutrition as one would be.
Also in attendance were those who call themselves Fuel Rod, Cruise Control, Story, Boss, OBX, Fire, and Mayhem (certified Aussie who looks exactly like
this).
I consumed a total of four piping canes, two packets of butterscottish crimbids, and one pepsis.
During this time my phone flickered to life very briefly, only to sink back beneath the stygian wave when I tried to do anything with it.
Reluctantly I pushed on.
Another park realm, a bit larger than the last, granted me more water to pote, and a big box at the most comically overdecorated shelter in modern history granted me some pop tarts and muffin bites.
The last stretch of the day sported just the right soil conditions for me to have my first two Trail Blueberries, or Trueberries (they make you speak the truth, the trail is a lie help I am being held captive by Willy W)))]].
My intended campsite was already occupied by Lava Girl and her orbiters, so I now have to listen to them discuss when they plan to hike 24 miles and drink 24 beers in 24 hours, which they call the "24 24 24 challenge."
I hope they are not loud sleepers.
6/12 = 1/2 Of A Joke, But I Am Missing A Second Half To Make This Funny, First Order Of Business After The Phone Resurrection
You can call me the Marython Man because I Marython can!
(Now you see that my peculiar orthographic choice was actually a very subtle use of foreshadowing (not to be confused with foreshortening (what do I look like, a visual artist? (my art is in the craft of words.))).)
In a desparate ploy to escape Maraland as quickly as physically possible, I hiked 26.6 miles today, reaching Wayne's World in 9:51 for an overall pace of just over 2.7 miles per episode of Sixty Minutes.
While this may not sound particularly impressive, note that the time includes one stop to poo and many to pee, I gained 4849.4 feet over the hike, and I was burdened with roughly 30 pounds.
I am content with these results for my first ever Marython.
To perform such a feat, I was forced to make an early risal, blowing my personal record out of the water and beginning to hike at 7:40 am.
Very shortly after this time it began to rain.
I passed within an IED's throw of the Washeton Monument (the original one, not the National Park Service's ripoff), but did not bother to make physical contact with it on account of the rain.
Down the trail I continued at the fastest pace I could muster in the rain.
I encountered Lava Girl for the first time in months, though we exchanged no words while leapfrogging because of the rain.
After many miles I passed through the creatively named Pen-Mar county (how quaint!) park, which had a nice view apart from the rain.
Just north was an official marking obelisk situated on the Macy-Dixie, an exciting and spantacular milestone achievement;
I may have considered putting a wry quip to pen and paper in the provided log book if not for the rain.
Then after one last hill I arrived at the trailhead, but my conservatively scheduled shuttle was not due for rather a while longer, so I stepped under a kiosk to take shelter from the rain.
While waiting I took a mighty fall when I tried walking over to read a sign and stupidly stepped on a slanted log that had become slick in the rain.
Some familiar ol' pals passed through and said hello, then at last there was a landing in the rain.
My NASA-appointed shuttle pilot was a bearded man in his late 50s. Within 3 minutes of my entering the vehicle he was already talking about how sometimes you just have to adapt, that's what you have to do to keep going with your body, you know?
And his generation is still out there paving the way, they're the ones doing it.
He's proud of his generation.
Then we arrived at the hotel, where two misfortunate befallments turned what should have been a revelrous relaxation into a stressful and hasselsome mitigation.
First I left my phone on the counter while scrubbing my nubs, which in accumulation with a full day of rain was enough to cause it to become aquafucked, looping its boots and depriving me of any means of navigation.
Then I made a pilgrimage to the walmark-plus-subwey for reprovisions and dinnerfood, but I dimly decided to shop first and order second, and by the time I was done metal grates were already drawn over the windows.
So I was forced to scrounge a dinner from snacks while my phone rested on the heater.
Between these poor choices and some landline chats, the night grew late, and I grew tired enough to retire.
6/11, Just Three More Months To 9/11! Maraland Nighttime
It was a very late morning, even by my standards;
the big clock in God's sky eye had struck 11:45 by the time I began making my way down to the Eau de Chiennandeaux.
A loop-de-bridge and some steppy rockwork brought me near the heart of the harp.
Then the Palinurian moment was upon me, so I took a very steep side trail to the friendly and progressive ATC, where I made a big fecal donation and tried to bust their balls a bit about herbicide and GPS data.
Unfortunately, Dave was out to lunch, and the woman at the desk was so clueless that I'm not even sure she knew what herbicide was.
Satisfied with my dissatisfaction, I made motion to leave, but a very nice man outside who promises he's not in a cult enticed me with food to perform favors for him:
specifically, to have my picture taken and do a short video interview.
This delayed my exit from town by a while, but it was worth the sandwich and two sprites.
Finally I got going and crossed the Potatomac into Maraland, home of the blue crabs and people who descend from them.
I realized immediately I had made a huge mistake.
The trail was hot, flat, wide, dusty, unshaded, and swarmed by dayhikers and daybikers.
A disgusting algal smell wafted over me from the stagnant excuse of a canal to my left.
I had to endure literally three miles of this before finally turning off and regaining the ridgeline for a very boring hike with little to see.
At one time moment, I passed a small memorial for a man who was born in 1955 and died in 1971 and watched a fellow backpacker struggle out loud to compute his age at death.
Fearing his disability to be transmissible, I walked away quickly as he muttered numbers to himself.
I rested for a bit when I reached Gathland (another real name of an actual Maraland state park, look it up) and recieved two creamy iced confections from a pleasant couple of wandwielders.
More boring woods followed until I arrived at my destination, a campground containing several familiar faces;
but with little time to chat and an early morning on the rise, I quickly cooked dinner, secluded myself for some coordination, and got to bed.
Junetenth, Not To Be Confused With Juneteenth Which Is Yet To Have Come, The Final Virginia is for Evening
My alarm did the fun gag where it doesn't sound this morning, so by the time I woke up the day hikers had begun to flow past me like the viscous liquid they are.
Once I started hiking the trail turned into a genuine zoo.
I got to overhear all kinds of fascinating conversations from fascinating people.
Two loud and poorly kempt young men accompanied by one quiet and poorly kempt young man:
"So there are the three worries.
I'm worried about the singularity."
"So you're worried about superintelligence."
"Yes, where we create god, and then god says, 'Eric, you're not allowed to buy bacon anymore.'"
A well-off man to his friend:
"There's this place that I want to go--it didn't work out this year, but I'm hoping next year--it's called the Isle of Man."
A large man to a woman of uncertain relation:
"In reality, our faith is supposed to *transform* the culture."
A backpacker even chimed in:
"Coming up these hills, these 500-footers, I kept thinking, you know, this is how they climbed Everest."
When I'd eaten my fill of these insights, I left Virginia is for Coasters for a bit, which gave me my first tastes and flavors of West Virginia is for Masticators.
Delicious!
Then back across the borderer border for the rest of the evening.
I encountered another adult thanksgiving with at least one baby thanksgiving,
a deer fawn,
some kind of shrew docile enough to sniff at my walking stick for a minute before squeaking off into the weeds,
a pleasant family with a young son and daughter who unlike most children could actually speak,
and enough squirrels to take me down if they banded together, but alas!
They lack the social technology of coercion and will therefore remain an inferior species.
There was also a black squirrel!
All this excitement plus my longest milage yet made me mighty tired, so I pitched camp and got right to Virginia is for Snoozing.
Juneth, Time O'clock
After finally waking up today, I finished packing my sack and discovered that it weighs 35 pounds;
I'm about ready to stab myself in the face.
Also contributing to my suicidal ideation were the following Trail Issues, or Trissues: most overgrown I've seen, too little shade despite being in woods with no view, poison ivy absolutely everywhere, mildly dangerous highway crossings, alarming number of dead moles and shrews right in the middle of the trail, and herbicide applicatioon notices from the patsy.
At least there were some discouraging remarks written on the trail signage.
"You'll never make it."
"Quit now, loser!
At one point I began to detect an enchanting floral aroma wafting through the understory; upon closer inspection it turned out to be the blue herbicide I was warned about earlier covering the plants on either side of the trail.
Very cool, thank you patsy.
Then I reached the Vekoma, where according to every available source of information these issues were to be surpassed by some of the most infamously hostile routing of the whole trail, second only to perhaps the steep unblazed grades of the nahampsha whities.
Instead I found that the trail improved substantially and resembled sections of Georga, making for a pleasant and easy hike.
Say it with me: "Always ignore what others tell you, because they are almost certainly wrong."
I encountered a wacky old man who
described himself as "one of the overseers" and was thrilled to run into someone else unhappy with the use of herbicide.
He strongly encouraged me to hassle the ATC about it when I get to Harple's Fairy, which I intend to do, since I already had other things I wanted to hassle them about.
Moments later I passed a sign proclaiming that I had walked another 500 miles, making me a man who walked 1000 miles.
I had a fun little fall right on my ass, then the 1000 mile turtle greeted me at a brook.
My campsite is excellent, so of course nobody else is here, because most backpackers are really bad at backpacking.
June Ate A Lot So June Is Fat, Come On Everyone Guess The Time Of Day What Time Could It Be
Get up and go go go, can't let the days of haze stop you!
After just a few brief steps (well probably more than a few but I certainly don't remember them) I exited the Chiennandeaux Eminent Domain and stowed my permit away in one of my stow places.
I then exited the third known location.
It's all unknowns from here until the knext nown location!
While stopped briefly at a crossing I learned that Pony Boy is 30 (what the fuck? Hiking associate moment) and Buzzsaw's street name is Wade (that one actually fits).
Cresting a hillpeak, I passed by the Mecca of America, the Bethlehem of the West, which boasted a very fancy and unique solar shower, what a unique primitive tool idea!
The next few miles were spent walking next to property, fences, government property fences, and overgrown meadows until I crossed under I-66 and got picked up for my first solo hôtel stay.
This stay was made genuinely solo because I am the only one here--and of course, as with any location nobody bothers to come to, it is better than all the others I have been to.
The couple manning the joint are pleasant and easygoing, and despite being vegetarian they cook a solid burger and tater tots.
After an evening of conversation and mineralization, I availed myself of the luggage scale in the basement and discovered that my base weight 20 pounds; I have no idea how it got this high, but something must be done soon or I will collapse from exasperation.
Foam calls ended my night.
Six Afraid Of Seven, Familiar Nighthang
In what I know will be a great and shocking surprise to all you feeble hearts and naive weak souls, I had a late morning again.
Fortunally, I needed only go a short distace before taking a break to wallow with the elk for a while.
While doing so I spotted a fascinating wildlife:
a very large female part-time ranger shout-speaking informational factoids about bear safety at everyone who happened to be sitting in earshot.
Pony Boy was also witness to this rare specimen.
An even rarer and more captivating natural phenomenon graced only my lucky eyes once I once again began again to walk:
a horriffic lucanian writhing inchworm concentration camp.
For, you see, when inchworms climb up trunks of trees, they eat on limbs and hang from silk;
but when they climb up poles of signs, they dry and die in thick black mats.
This blank verse was brought to you by the National Park Service, Dedicated to Installing Signs Without Thinking and Preserving Everything but the Inchworm Population.
Sated with death, I walked on, and by 1900 hours I had reached the third known location.
I saw my first ever wooden cock hopping and gliding through the underbrush as the golden daddy sunk out of view (sadly no meeps from it, but, startled as it was, I can hardly fault it for neglecting to greet me formally).
A hill brought me to the ancestral bislectus, at which one other lad was present.
He warned me of a lurking cervid as I set up my bed between the good old trees--just as I remembered them!
What a great personality!
Six Six (Third Six Stuck In Purgatory), Bugwatching
I woke up with fecal pellets all over my rain fly.
I feel about this probably the same way you would feel about it.
Nevertheless, I persisted, and packed up my geer, poop fly and all, in order that I might get going.
A short milewhile into the day I chanced upon a very close encounter with one adult thanksgiving and about 20 baby thanksgivings (bad at flying and therefore easy to observe in detail).
Mere feet later I was reminded of the opposite end of the animal spectrum by passing several sad looking horses imprisoned in stables.
Tough luck, Chance!
Then it was a meal at Skyland Resort, Where Fancy Names Meet High Prices;
the waitstaff were very well trained, probably by César Millán, and the food was ample.
Pony Boy materialized again to unnerve me.
Hiking on through the hills and holes, the usual hazy overlooks and views, the trees and other trees, I sure did see them.
At a later time I received chirping word that my mother has been very helpfully dignosed with "overuse-itis," inflammation of the overuse muscle, by an actual licensed medical doctor at Rothman.
This is the state of healthcare.
Later still I engaged in some more complicated musical chirpings before encountering my first sign for DC, a sure sign that I am indeed moving northward, and simultaneously eastward, that is to say northeasterly.
Camp required a bit of muscle lifting sport action and ivydodging to configure and arrange to my liking.
But now the hard work is done and the easy work is begun!
(The easy work is sleep.)
6/5 Stars, Incredible Reviews! Time Has No Meaning I Am Shrouded In Void
Not far into the day's daily quotidian labor, I reached a glorious campstore at which I was able to acquire food (note that this is the first event worthy of mention).
As I sat and filled my gut, a surprising number of passersby stopped to ask me about the trail and congratulate me for doing such a "great thing."
Apparently the kind of people who would drive to a federal tourist trap and then pay money to sleep on the ground next to their car are also the kind of people who fetishize the trail--who could have guessed this surprising fact?
But don't worry, I haven't fallen for all the positive reinforcement.
Just down the trail from this rest I encountered a fawn cum matre who was so young it couldn't run faster than I was hiking;
this necessitated the classic deer ruse in which the fawn lies down in the grass and the mother noisily runs away to distract me.
Indeed, my attention was completely and involuntarily diverted to the mother deer, and the fawn was so well camoflaged that I could not see it right next to me despite its white spots moving with respect to the forest floor every time it took a breath.
The pair had successfully outsmarted me as a predator.
But don't worry, I didn't go hungry.
Thanks to a second wayside I managed to eat no snacks, though their makeshake machine was tragically down, forcing me to settle for solid cream.
Novelty item of the day: black aphids suckling on a plant.
What a fascinating form of parasitism to observe.
I soon encountered in reasonably quick succession a daywalker throughhiker gingerfruit fella who calls himself Pony Boy and an accidentally southbound thirtysomething who calls himself Poop Spoon.
This part of the day consisted of dodging and ditching hitchworms, hitching inchworms, and hitchworm shit made more difficult by the beetle romance covering the trail.
I made it to my campsite without too much poop in my hair, but alas, some crooked fucker had left surface poop behind a nearby snag.
Accepting feces as an inevitable part of life, I designated that snag the human bathroom zone and set up my hammock a comfortable distance away in the insect bathroom zone.
The shit rained down on me from a great height all evening.
2^6, Itchy Night
Thick fog permeated the air both inside and outside our wheeled accommodations this morning.
I had a fitful and inadequate slumber, but we quickly resigned ourselves to wakefulness and began to hike.
Talking was once again our primary activity.
Topics varied widely enough to keep us entertained through a veritable drought of anything at all interesting or noteworthy about the trail.
You will be unsurprised to hear that we made it to our pickup location early and the shuttle landed late;
we used the extra time to continue talking (what else?) about the warhola boy and his factory toys.
Right as we began to grow concerned that nasa's notoriously fluid schedule had postponed our rendezvous, the pilot reentered the atmosphere and touched down mere feet from our waiting spot.
Excruciating minutes passed in the ephemeral company of a scarlid tanagerial while waiting for miss visitor to swing back around with the automobile.
Vroom vroom vroom, what a novelty it was to ride along into town to get a classic ihopping meal to fill us up after a long hard day of walking and talking!
Eventually, however, it was time for me to bid adieu and reenter the woods, which was probably my biggest "what the fuck are we doing out here" moment so far.
After a bit of hiking the existential dread subsided and left in its wake a desire to camp once again--or was the dread masked by a desire to camp?
Let me know your guess while i enjoy my stealth site (shhh).
111111, Car Camping
The visitor recieved a morning landing and arrival from a pilot who is alleged to have very acute hearing.
Then I packed up and we got walking.
Talk talk talk was the talk of the day!
Many things were said, and nearly as many were heard.
A few miles in, we scrambled to see a blackrock novelty item in the woods, which was probably worthwhile but only by a slim margin.
After a few more miles we indulged in a trailmagical detour;
I watched my acquaintance worlds collide uneventfully as I consumed a chili dog, a sprite, and a slice of watermelon.
More walking and talking brought us to a shelter, where we observed steaks to be in the future but nevertheless opted to press on to the vehicle.
This enabled us to enjoy a wayside dinner with the famous Chiennandeaux Eminent Domain blackberry milkshilks and some Nevada Saucemerica.
We autoloitered at an overlook to watch a storm roll in while engaging in compositional critique and review, then motored back to gap and performed an evening walk (the irony of this has not escaped my notice).
The night latened; the sky darkened; I transfered notes from one phone to another phone; we went to bed.
6/2 = 3/1 (I bet you thought I was done with this gag), So I'm Marching Like A Fool Again, Accompanied Whipping Hour
I got too little sleep last night.
Who could have foreseen this?
Who could have caused it?
Who could have prevented it?
Ponder that while I continue.
I packed quick to buy us enough time for a diner munch before I returned to the woods and my mom returned home for an extended healing retreat.
Then it was time at long last to enter the federally delineated boundaries of the Chiennandeaux Eminent Domain and fill out a permit to be authorized to breathe the air here.
Feeling no pressure other than between my sole and mother earth, I paced myself to hike at a leisurely 176 feet per minute, causing me to leapfrog all day with Buzzsaw and Indy, as in climb on each others backs and jump over each others heads, a fun novelty game in the woods for the whole family, only ¥999,999 per participant!
Now I'll hand it over to me for today's wildlife tally.
Thanks, me.
Wildlife today included: two big old black snakes, one small young black snake, and several deer, both buck and doe and fawn.
Now back to you, me.
Thanks, me, those sound like some great wildlives!
I chose to inhabit a stealth site this evening, but apparently it wasn't stealthy enough, because a short while after I arrived a quiet couple came to keep me company.
You can't win them all, that's what I say.
Now I retire with optimism and anxious anticipation in my heart.
Tomorrow begins the great visitation.
June 1, The First Of Many Junes To Come, I Forgot To Write This Last Night So I'm Doing It Tonight
Not much actually happened today on account of it being my first true caligula electiva, so I'm going to use a bunch of action zinger words to keep you engaged.
POW! Wakey wakey, I wakey latey!
Lying down, rolling around, throwing ideas and other heavy objects all over the place at high speed.
High speed action.
Walking on the side, crossing without a walk, dodging the automobiles like an expert pro.
Subway's got ladies for all your prostitution solutions, just walk right up and order order order you sub!
Buy buy buy!
They are inch-addled and subbed a six for a twelve.
Solution man stages a food rescue: Tulsey Town Two: the CreamSwap.
Superdad swings around the bend for a brave hôtel stay.
Triple Crowner Gamer God back in the vicinity.
A run, a run, a provision run at the good old DG for me!
Burger dinner with double dessert!
Back to base, back to basics, the provision partition has begun.
And so too the NASAbooking.
Map and schedule and coordinate like a madman!
iCloud is no match for my violent wrath.
Last but not fast, the usual call with the usual subject till the usual time in the morning winds it down and puts it to bed.
The Final Day Of 400 Mile May, Hot Bed (over 70 degrees, very unpleasant)
I had hoped to announce this evening that I had just completed my first marathon and my first 140 mile week.
But alas!
The hôtel in Wayne’s World that my mom has been staying at refuses to launch spacecraft past 6:30 pm, so I was forced to cut the day short after completing 20 miles in a record 7 hours and 15 minutes.
I passed Gieffe and the man who calls himself Buzzsaw in the morning, then spotted a bear cubble and a baby black snake (not to be confused with baby black ribs, baby back ribs, or baby back snakes).
Beyond that I was too "In-the-Zone" to notice or remember exciting novelty details.
This hôtel is quite afflicted;
a very fat man, and I mean extraordinarily, frighteningly fat, cooked some pretty good chicken and mackincheese for dinner.
He allegedly hiked the trail in the ‘90s and plans to do so again next year.
I will believe it when I see it.
I then took a stroll down the road to the Tulsey Town and grabbed scrumptious frozen dessert pastes for us to enjoy while planning for the coming Visitation.
And now here we are trying to sleep, just like all of you!
In that way we have this in common.
Come, I invite you to sleep along with me.
Do not wake.
Mayth Irty, Late Camp
We gotty keep this one short because I’m getting up early as a worm tomorrow for reasons I hope to reveal in the time to come.
I was woken at around 5:45 this morning by two drops of water hitting my face;
I spent the next few hours battling the strangest condensation (?) problem I have seen in my life.
By the time I was all strapped up and ready to rumble nearly the whole morning was lost.
The early afternoon might as well have been lost too, since I was wet and fogged in at some places with allegedly spectacular views along the back of the Bishop.
When at last the relative humidity dropped below 100%, I wrote, recorded, and released my first episode of Trail Voicemail and embarked on a 3000 foot rocky descent followed by a 3000 foot even rockier ascent up Tres Reches.
I took my evening meal on a scenic rock, a decision which afforded me a pleasant sunset but forced me to hike three miles during and after darkfall as a thick, soupy fog rolled back in and made my personal illumination accessories somewhat unhelpful.
I even had to navigate unfamiliar sheltagrounds by only a dim red light to use the privy and collect water without stirring the sleeple from their slumber.
But these hassel obsticals proved insufficient to force error, and I completed the big boy hike with ample time to settle down before my brain shut off for sleep phase 1.
Antepenultimate Mayday, Splitter Splatter Showertime
No sooner had I woken this morning than I was presented with a SIMulation card for the spare glass brick my dad brought down.
After all, you've got to have a glass brick to be in the woods alone!
What should have been an easy-peasy-quick-and-squeazy buttonpress setup operation slowly unfurlded into a multi-hour bureaucratic nightmare involving phone calls to multiple organizations and several accented folks working in call centers near the equator.
After the several dozenth time one of them began a sentence with "in this case," I came to understand that I had no chance at all of leaving at a reasonable time for a big day.
Mr. Noon was dead by the time I returned to the trailhead.
I climbed for a few hours in fog and rain while vaguely needing to take a shit;
then Wingus, Haverford, and Padraig materialized once again and engaged me in a brief but cordial discussion.
Some time later, atop my mountain, I performed an efter welfare intervention.
Some time later still, the WHP (the hiking trio has partnered with the UN to replace the WHO with brand new World Health Police) appeared yet another time, now awaiting a shuttle while engaging in brief but cordial discussion.
At a third and even later time, I passed through some sheltagrounds and was disappointed to discover other people there, forcing me to move on, lest I have to be quiet after they go to sleep.
I made use of the privy before leaving and had somebody open the door on me without knocking for the first time.
Very cool.
Darkness and rain began to fall as I reached a suitable stealth sleeping spot and fiddled my fabrics into a suitable stealth sleeping setup, wherein I now lie
(a polysemous verb!
Which meaning do I intend?
Am I truthful and reclined, or dishonest and upright?).
May Two Ate Nine! Nine Named Cline! Unanswered Sleep
A plaque atop my first climb today informed me of an exciting factoid: I was standing in the "exact spot" that a four-year-old's corpse was found!
I would rate this a sensational must-see attraction, though you should be aware that the plaque unfortunately does not have any pictures the corpse to ogle at.
I spoke some words at the men who call themselves Hollywood, Homemade, and GI Joe before sliding down off trail to the punchbowl to collect some yummy brown water from a rusted pipe.
Then I slid down some more.
The rain that was supposed to come last night finally unleashed itself down on me from a great height;
I would rate this a genuine downpour.
Amidst the drips and drobbles, some pinecones had spontaneously arranged themselves into the number 800 right at the 800 mile mark.
I would rate this a fascinating miracle.
It rained for the rest of walktime, during which I encountered a big orange salamander with black spots blocking my path and some fascinating signage with oral history exerpts about mama's ash cakes, they were so good, they were sweeter than if you cooked them in a regular oven.
I wished I had one right now.
My pace was slowed because I chose to ensure the continued safety and wellness of many li'l efters along the trail (I am a good social planner, and you should trust me), but eventually I reached my spot.
My pope came down to drive mom around, so I got the full pickup luxury service complete with food items and breaking news updates from all fronts.
Breaking news: now the other leg is fucked!
A waffle-adjacent subparate is accommodating us tonight, so we are well fed.
More rain is forecastled.
Mate Wundeece Evan, Rain Fly Dinner
Packing the bag this morning I was visited by the Hiking Stick Man, Mr. Hiking Stick himself with his Hiking Stick.
We talked briefly a few times;
he wondered if I knew anything about the chicken of the woods.
I did not.
It then arose through monologue that the small hummingbird painted on the Hiking Stick was his late wife's soul, the enormous and haggled bird making up the top third of the Hiking Stick was Bernadette from The Big Bang Theory, and the snake spiraling around the bottom third of the Hiking Stick was Sylvia (?).
You should be as disturbed as I am by the fact that a character from one of the worst ever catastrophes of television featured more prominently on this man's stick than his wife's soul.
While we were leapfrogging, I had an inevitable chance encounter with our neighborhood informant extraordinaire and purveyor of erudition near the guillotine.
Yet even then the day was not yet done speaking through people.
After breaking out my "Shake Rattle and Roll" strut gait coming down from Highcock Knob (another real name I swear) I passed a speedy little confused-looking guy, then he passed me while I snacked, and when I then passed him again, he asked, "Is this the AT?" in a German accent.
I immediately realized this must be Fritz, who is known for causing Disturbances.
I said, "Yes," to which he responded, "If I go north I will see the white blazes?"
I said, "Yeah. It's the AT," and moved swiftly ahead to avoid inviting a Disturbance.
I encountered him once more while resting at a shelter;
he was constantly muttering to himself, wore tight ass shorts and a childish bucket hat, and kept taking pictures of the entirely unremarkable shelter.
My diagnosis: autism made significantly worse by being German.
Having escaped without Outbursts or Molestations, I ran into Wingus, Haverford, and Padraig for the first time in rather a little while!
Trail Reunion (Treunion)!
This marked the trail's closest approach to Lynchburg, the lynching capitol of Virginia is for Lynchers, where in the '20s and '30s they lynched all the normal people, leaving behind only wastoids, dweebs, schizos, manic-depressives, mormons, gutter dwellers, legume farmers, inbred hicks, lynchers, and other subspecies off the deep end of the gene pool.
Across the Jamie I camie to the last shelter for the day, where a group of hammocking local youngins were imbibing the devil's piss and wearing on the patient nerves of the two real hikers staying there.
I then rose up to a big ol beaut of a Jamie overlook;
I considered pitching the fly there, but the walk numbers left me unsatified, so I continued for several minutes to a much worse site that had more satisfactory statistics.
It also had three little yellahs who kept exploring the residues on my equipment as I ate dinner and had a cellular chat about nightmares.
I do believe they are unfairly maligned for a perceived aggressiveness which truly is but a stereotyped narrative crafted to make them a public enemy, i.e. a distraction from the real dangers buzzing all around us.
May Twenty Six Teen Was A Bad Month, Sunset Sans Pommes
Oops, I did it again!
I released an initially popular but ultimately inferior spiritual sequel to my first big hit using the same harmonic vocabulary and vocal production sorcery but lacking a truly strong melody.
I also did another twentymile day.
I started earlier than yesterday but later than I intended because I forgot to set an alarm last night.
I couldn't tell you much about the hike;
I assume I took a fairly large number of steps.
A lizard tried to outrun me along the trail, which was amusing.
I desecrated two shithouses along the way.
On the big clime I passed through some of the lushest hilltops I've ever seen and ran into two section hiking blondes at the watering hole who had fucked their sawyers beyond all hope of a squeeze.
Fortunately Mr. Papa Daddy Man was there to step in and show them some flow.
Not long after, I came to my present location atop Apple Orchid Mountain, which has no apples!
I don't even think it can be called an orchid!
Still, it may be my best camping spot yet for several reasons:
I am right next to one of the FAA's many giant orbs,
I had a great sunset view and can see city lights both north and south,
I am in an optimally placed tiny conifer stand between an open field and the summit rocks,
and the highest tree in reach from the highest reachable rock is decorated with several small necklaces and ornaments which I assume were of great sentimental value to their owners.
My final stats are 20.8 miles and 6386.8 vertical foots, making me a Big Boy once again.
Rejoice!
5->25, A Square Map Just Like The Paper Ones I'm Using, Solo Darker
After some more sleep than intended and the final preparations and arrangements, I got going around 11:30.
The trail crossed several more roads and even tunneled under I-81 again.
Amidst this scenic beauty, I passed a laminated and stapled trinity indicator and thought briefly on what the fuck I'm doing here.
Then I began to climb;
I saw few people and spoke fewer words.
A mother and fawn startled at the sight of me.
In the next creekcrossed lowland I think I encountered our doppelgangers, but I didn't recognize them in time to ask.
I rested in the next shelter's room and left my usual artwork as a token of appreciation, then collected water and spotted an out-of-place upland frog.
Before long I came upon the burp, which I am still next to as I write and can hear now and again.
Between there and here I was surprised to spot a luna moth blowing in the wind near spiderwort and columbine (the flower, not the shooting.
That would be awful.
What's wrong with you?).
Burp crossings abounded, and after the ordained one, I selected the first acceptable treepair and called it a night.
I am pleased to report that I stumbled and trod 20.2 miles in eight hours including stops, slightly exceeding my overall speend goal, though I was a couple hundred upfeet short of a Big Boy award.
Tomorrow I hope to get an earlier start.
524 Probably Has A Lot Of Factors (It Looks Pretty Composite To Me, But I'm No Mathematician), Packing Time
I have very little to report from today;
we are in the same place as yesterday, making this a Caligula Secunda, and the only significant action I performed was a roadwalk to get more krogles.
Beyond that we have been sedentary.
If no great horror smites us in the morning, I plan to skip town and go cowboy mode with five days of food--almost certainly enough to get me to the good view.
Paper maps will be my only companion on this highly experimental avant-garde learning leg.
My blood velveeta concentration is fairly high, and I plan to replenish my cardiac little debbie stores in the morning, which should give me the zoomboost I need to pull consecutive big boy and medium boy hikes.
The downside for all you altricial whelps suckling at the teat of this blog is that I will be temporarily without a traveling publisher to bring my words directly to your internet-connected spyware pleasure boxes.
But even in the absence of BREAKING NEWS FEAR FEAR YOU ABSOLUTELY MUST KNOW THE LATEST DETAILS IN THIS RAPIDLY DEVELOPING STORY, I will thumb-nine some goodies for you and arrange them for the printing press in several days.
Enjoy your break from me.
The Date That Shall Not Be Named, Slumberseeking
Unplanned Caligula: Mama got a fucked leg!
I would say that it is about a six out of ten on the fucked scale.
A TeleHealth Digital Cloud Medicine visit confirmed that it was indeed fucked, so we went to the locle diner and evaluated the sweetness of its tea.
Then we went to urgent care to confirm that it was indeed fucked.
The nice "doctor" confirmed that antibioticles were indeed necessary, then sent the order to the pharmacy, then we went to the pharmacy to pick up the order that he had sent.
Imagine if food worked like this.
You want food.
But you can't just buy food over the counter--you lack the nutritional knowledge to eat correctly!
You are legally required to see a nutritionist to be prescribed food.
You discuss your diet with the nutritionist, and he prescribes you this week's groceries.
But he can't just give them to you--he doesn't have any and can't have them delivered!
You are legally required to go bring the prescription to the grocery store to pick them up.
You wait as the grocer walks around the store and puts all your groceries in a bag to hand to you.
But you can't just pay for them directly--they are too expensive!
You are legally required to confirm with your grocery insurance provider that these groceries are approved for your age, weight, and hunger level.
Your insurance covers most but not all of the cost of the groceries, forcing you to pay a small fee at the grocery store despite the fact that you already pay a monthly insurance bill and the co-pay could easily be added to next month's bill.
At long last, you leave with your groceries, just like we did today after grocery shopping after picking up the prescribed drug pills from the pharmacy.
At least we were helped out by a shuttle angel, a survivor of NASA's ill-fated and irresponsible space shuttle program who is also one of God's messengers from heaven.
Crackle Barrle provided our dinner hash, and some protracted discussion with my partner in rabblerousing wrapped up the evening.
Still no idea what we are doing tomorrow.
If anybody finds out please let me know.
5 = 2+2, Up Late To Computate
I had a pretty typical aphid morning.
My mom left an hour before me again, but this time I broke out a 3.8 mile-per-hour power lank to catch her in about 40 minutes.
The otherwise dull trail was peppered with small scurrying lizarts and augmented by a respectable but not spectacular monolith which I climbed partway in honor of the apes that could not.
As I sat on it, two women walked by having an animated discussion about the 100 mile wilderness in Maine;
they were confused why it was called wilderness if there were trees everywhere (not kidding--your guess is as good as mine what the fuck they think wilderness means).
We then passed under several powerline cut-ins.
Approaching the largest of them, I put up my dainty parisol and discovered the microwave radiation was so strong that it caused the handle shaft to arc gently to my finger.
As I stood there with alarmingly powerful EMF passing through my entire body, I suddenly felt very glad to have voted in the last election.
Even though my preferred candidates didn't win, I understand that the election was fair, and that democratic elections are the only equitable way to structure a government.
I'll vote again next time and hope for a better result.
We left the electrical disturbances behind to visit the Daleville Ditch, then completed our most hazardous road crossing yet (highway no guardrails) and entered the Great Superbate.
As my brother once observed, "It's time for my brother's daily cleaning.
Give him a scrub that has some meaning!
Polish his toes, scrape behind his eyes, and whatever you do, don't touch his thighs."
I did as he commanded.
I also opened my exciting unboxing of new shews, very spiffy clean, very big shews, my feet are growing boys.
A conveniently located and discounted Mexican musclecar meal made a hearty wholesome dinner for us, and then we retired/stayed up until 2:00 am o'clock performing trail calculus.
Will we make it halfway by halfway?
Continue to read this blog to find out, check daily for updates, make it a part of your routine, increase my power as a magician by sacrificing your libido to me, I must consume the souls of others to enact my will.
May 21 become the age of consent, Night Time
Many of you were probably bred to believe that roosters begin crowing at dawn.
But the matter of the fact is, contrary to this popularly misconceived received wisdom, the most precocious roosters endeavor to awaken nearby individuals before any rosy fingers can be seen above the horizon.
And so was our sleep made to end.
Guinea fowl also participated in the commotion, but they failed to become true leaders on account of their meager intellect.
A honey bun breakfast made a quick antidote to these events before T-0 we have liftoff!
Applaud the government!
Following our reentry to the trail, we performed three of the four Virgania is for Walks: a pasturewalk, an upwalk, and a ridgewalk.
These carried us to Dayhiker Mecca, where I was pleasantly surprised to pass a woman sporting a mediocre amateur shirt.
We hit up two shelters for no particular reason and then began a remarkably soft and succulent climb atop which we visited John McAfee in his viewtiful home (he did not kill himself).
A traverse brought us to Tinkerbell's cliffs, which I and Tinker believe to have some of the best views in all of Neverland (the joke is that I am not really Peter Pan--as far as you know).
Our wildlife sighting list for the day includes (among but outstanding from the usual critters of the dirt and soil):
a pileated woodpecker headbanging a log,
a dayhiker who had just lost the use of his left foot,
a pair of sparring salamanders,
one (1) snake of mystery,
one (1) rattlesnake that I failed to notice until it rattled at me from about a foot away,
a berrycollecting African who had just lost the trail,
two (2) black vultures,
a Word Traveler who had just lost his father,
and a fawn with its mother just before our campsite.
And to top the cake all off with a cherry, our dinner was soundtracked by the incessant vocalizations of poor williams being whipped.
What natural splendor this earth holds if only you know where to look and listen and eat!
Mate Wentieth, High Firefly Time
O friends and more peripheral folk, do come gather here around and listen the spell I spin!
For I was fast this morning, less than 0.4 hours per mile up a 13% hill, and so did I catch up to my mom in just an hour after her headstart of nearly as much.
At the monument we convened.
Speed stayed at our feet to the bottom, and, reaching it, we dismayed to find the Bourbon Boys' hearsay out of date (one of you must have uncrossed your fingers).
Alas, so fickle is the giving of men.
But the ground and we went on and up.
Up through strange stands beneath strange clouds, up to rocks that oversee.
Pebbles and cobbles announced the 700 mile threshold;
I kicked aside false pebbles and cobbles once again.
A snake!
A rattletail, the first to join us on the trail.
It did not deign to move as we passed.
Then the time was ripe for an out-and-back with the personality of a detour made official.
The destination: Dragon's Tooth, which was probably named by one of those infantile Harry Potter millennials who withdraw into the comforting embrace of children's media to cope with social failure.
My disgust for the routing choice kept us from stinting out to the "spectacular monolith" (from the view we snatched it seemed like more of a mildly interesting spire).
Then our steps became scrambles, and the trail grew ladders, and we discovered why the day hikers bother.
At last our beat feet reached the street and took a turn.
Four pines, count them: one, two, three, four all here at the night's hôtel.
We still have not learned.
Afflicted?
Very.
This is the most hôtel hôtel I do believe I've seen in my days and nights and twilights walking.
I successfully petitioned to be hung in the chicken coop--the right call.
Bunkhouses Beget Bacchanalia.
The extraordinary high milage hiker-owner as of two weeks ago when The Drama was resolved launched and flew us, as he is NASA-licensed too, to the provision dispensary.
Provisions were purchased and bagged and some eaten.
A modified shower-no-laundry procedure kept us alive and out of the deep fray too long, and apart from a canine explorator we have been undisturbed in our roost.
I do hope that my acquisitions sustain me for the next few famed peaks until we take refuge in another superbate.
Maine Ineteenth (running out of gag ideas for May), Hanging From A Different Tree, But There Are Still Beetles Nearby So It's Okay
The trees I swung from last night wound up being suboptimally proximal, but no matter!
A ridgeline taut is comfort bought.
My mom left a full hour before me this time, which meant it took me three and a half more hours to catch up with her;
I have tried to explain this math many times, yet she still found the result surprising.
All that survives the filter of memory from this part of the day is a snake that I startled in a pasture slithering away with its head raised from the ground.
Eventually I reached the next ridge, and we reconvened for a bedrocky walk complete with glimpses and panoramas of the places to come.
We came to a sign marking the Eastern Continental Divide, where rains west flow via the Mississippi through the heartland of our righteous nation into to the craterzone, and those east are carried by the James out to the shining ocean whence came our ancestors.
Naturally, in a feat of chaos theory, I doused the dividing line with a golden stream.
Which way will it go, Mr. Goldblum?
To which sea will it flow, Mr. Goldblum?
On the way down from that lofty monument we passed a fledgeling chickadee whose parents were having a conniption--I counted at least seven dees on one alarm call, the most alarmed I have ever heard.
The final excitement of the day was our second wading experience.
Unlike our first creek-to-ford, where the bridge had actually washed out, this one was closed by the forest jannies for "public safety" (liability) and then removed, tearing up the area in the process.
Fortunately the crossing was as easy as crossing a creek.
At our chosen camping location we find ourselves in earshot of the Bourbon Boys, who are having a grand old time.
God bless them.
They carried reports to us of a magician about seven miles up trail, whom we hope to see tomorrow.
Please cross your fingers for us and keep them in a crossed position until further notice.
Meighteenth, Hanging From The Beetle Tree
I saw the ISS last night (or some other satellite, you armchair astronomers out in the online can tell me which government was spying on me).
My mom left 45 minutes before me this morning in an effort to ditch me and abscond into the blooming laurels, but her unusually slow pace today allowed me to catch her on the first climb.
She will have to wait until I move out.
I would like to lodge several Trail Complaints (Tromplaints):
we had an inconsistent mix of jagged cobbles, gravel, boulders, and regular dirt which made it impossible to maintain a pacegait;
we were routed parallel to the ridgetop but just far enough downhill to lose the breeze and views;
Virginia is for Tech does not know how to clear fallen trees;
and there was an abundance of muddles despite no rain yesterday.
But that's enough negativity, nobody needs harmful badvibe negativity, that's just no fun!
Negativity get out!
We had a rejoiceful moment when we passed Rue Mont Lac, marking the destination we arrived at several days ago and have now returned to, but not this time as a destination, rather as a passing location, because we already arrived there before we arrived.
We then took lunch on a rock.
We met a young man who calls himself Cheese Foot;
he played us out.
At our final sheltastop we spurred on a war, then rose to our present altitude.
Papa Bear is no longer with us since he has begun his journey to participate in Trays.
We are in a depression--it seems to be blocking some wind, but the night will nonetheless be a chiller.
I'll just have to let you know tomorrow how our hair would fare in a blizzarrrd!!
Mace Eventeen, Dinner Eating On The Wobbly Log
Late to bed and early to rise makes a man tired, tired, and tired (also bloodshot in the eyes).
Papua Bear decided to skip five miles of trail to start out at the same place as us;
he says he will go back and hike that section when he makes his pilgrimage back to The Mascus for Trail Days, or Trays.
We scuttled aboard a shuttle bound to resupply the ISS with honey buns (crucial astronaut food) in which I quickly consumed two tapioca puddings and a disqualified hashbrown.
Then we climed.
Our arrival on the ridgetop began a ten mile stretch along the border between Virgininia is for Clovers and West Virgnia is for Borderers with several views into both states, and the woodsfloor along it was graced by herpetological visitors: four garden guarders, a red eft, and a dead eft.
We came to realize towards the end of the day that this segment of trail is maintained by Virginia is for Tech students at their Outdoor Club.
It shows: a sea of vegetables grew unkempt into the trail, and many large woodens were lying in block of it.
The surface itself was also inconsistent and featured jagged rocks, deep mud, steep gravelscree, and at times literal flowing water.
After a sheltarest, we completed the final stretch of the day's foot torture and set up nightshop by a creekbridge.
I am still eating my dinner as I write, and I am afraid that, while they do constitute an improvement, the special "superfood" broth packets I have been carrying do not transform ramen into food.
The others have already entered their beds.
If the noodles permit, I hope to join them within the hour.
5 + 1 = 6, A Startling Mathematical Insight, At The Time Of Night When I Would Rather Not Be Awake
How do you like this big batch upload!
This happened for a number of reasons, mostly because I had a single drafted entry and for an entire week I was either too buzy or lasy to finish it.
Can't upload juicenuggets of the trail tale out of chronological order!
Today we had a big plan switcheroo moment.
We originally in the beginning wanted to zip through town and pick up provisions on the quick;
but when we reached the rainy top of the Eiffel Tower, our preconceived notions were challenged by global weather experts.
Now properly reeducated on the risks of following our plan, we made some calls to important people and moved things around.
Then we moved ourselves downhill into the capitol of Pennsylvania.
We saw all kinds of beautiful nature:
pavement, litter, a wet bridge with only a small trash-ridden pedestrian walkway, a steaming indistrial plant with magnificent vats of "weak acid" and "methyl ethyl ketone," poison ivy, a stream, and the big fragrant landfill from which it flowed.
It really brought me back to Philadelphia.
We had the privilege of climbing for a couple miles next to the landfill and breathing its rarefied air before catching a NASA transport craft back down to a dive motel we were warned to absolutely not stay at.
With some effort, luck, ingenuity, and unconquerable human spirit, we managed to raid the nearby food lion, eat up at the Mexican joint down the street, and perform a grand laundering of our foul wet clothes.
After several hours of organization, communication, composition, and mental decomposition, I am at last ready to sleep.
Clap for me, I did it!
Clap hands!
5ve/5fteen, Pitter Patter Hour
As I so wittingly foretold, the Father of All Bearkind paid us a good morning hello visit while we rolled, stuffed, inserted, and buckled our gear kits.
We hiked the first several miles of the day with him.
The trail was as flat as Stanley, and a thick damp hung in the forest air.
We reached a shelter and decided to stop for a standard snackbite-poopee-waterbag triple operation.
Then it began to rain (this was like ten hours ago and it still has not stopped completely).
I had the pleasure of introducing myself as Dimwit to a newcomer for the first time;
Bapa Pear then decided to hang back for lunch while we moved on up the hill.
I encountered a large black snake phallically inching itself down a chipmunk burrow and poking its head back out every so often to check the surface situation, which is the last distinct thing I remember from the next several hours because nothing happened to remember.
There was some floral aroma, some rocks, another shelter (a total of two privies artistically elevated today), a guy in front of me singing along to The Lion Sleeps Tonight(?), and so much fog and humidity that my pee steamed.
We reached our chosen campsite and performed the eveningly routine--not much to speak of there.
Everybody place your bets now on how many days it will be until something interesting happens.
May Fort Teen, Two Months On Trail! A Remarkable Feat Worthy Of Your Praise! At Night
Breakfast buffet, breakfast buffet, have it your way at the breakfast buffet!
And this was not any buffet, it was a mother's det buffay (food level: edible).
With our tools fueled we scramblepacked our things and boarded the vehicle.
The Biological Research Science Nature Fact Innovation Station had its gate closed, but we still visited the dust in spirit and snapped a documentary portrait at the sign.
With a vroom and some gas, we drove down from the haze, up a rigdemountain pass, and back to the blaze.
And we were walking once again.
Returning to a full pack stride after three nights of jointlocking bedrest is not without its aches, stiffs, shooting pains, and low-level burning sensations;
I would recommend you avoid it if possible.
Also avoid the section of trail we were on in all seasons but winter, because it has the worst poison ivy from here to Georga.
We have seen greater quantities of the naughty plant elsewhere, but never so evenly and densely distributed right along the edges of the treadway.
We shall see if we escape without an itch.
Beyond the flora our hike was once again completely unremarkable until we reached a suspension bridge on which we discovered our old pal Papa Bear!
He hasn't changed a bit.
We exchanged many friendly utterances, then pressed on past his stopping point for the day.
I expect we will see him in the morning.
Our campsite is flat, grassy, and buggy--a preview of the mid-atlantic.
No further details seem to me to warrant mentioning.
If you disagree, and have a detail you believe I should have mentioned, please tell one of the informants in my goon network and they will pass on the request to me as soon as humanly possible.
Mayth Irteenth, Last Night In A Bed Until I Have Another Night In A Bed
O how I wish to sleep!
To fall under the veil of shadowed dream and be one with the deep for a time.
But that is not yet in the cards this evening, for I must bring you the latest and gratest mind trinkets hot and fresh off the oven.
This task is simply too important (yet still expect a delay in your receipt, since I will probably once again be too lazy to get this composition directly from my lappletop to my servler and will use a roundabout method involving email and my mom's phone).
First and prime on the list of uppledates is the DDD bow shooting experience which sparked off my waking memory.
As a former student of the bowstring, I found the activities to feel comfortable, familiar, and forearm-whippingly nostalgic, though I must admit that my less than stellar aimperformance cannot be blamed 100% on the lack of sights on the cheap compounds provided.
Probably like 85%.
More daily organizationals followed this less-than-lesson, punctuated by a Zume conference, and I took every opportunity to continue my tasks from last night.
I also enjoyed creatively filling out my government scantron for later dropbox deposit.
Then back up to archer field we went for a Thrilling Adventure Recreation Experience!
We hopped, zipped, clipped, tiptoed, and shuffled all around those parts of the trees that are not actually at the top despite the advertising, I would say midway between the genuine understory and the start of the canopy, and this was not a particularly tall forest either.
All in all it was worth my time but not worth my parents' money.
The same can be said of the following buffet dinner.
Night brought with it yet more custodial consultations and pound pondering until I was abandoned to my own devices.
I at last finished reading the Great Epistle, a truly phat work, and completed my pack weigh-in at Too Heavy and my body weigh-in at Lighter Than I Started But Not Yet Dying.
Now only a small number of key tasks remain.
Wish me luck and haste, for I am sure it will make a difference.
2^9, Weemorning After Some Addled Analysis
As of today I have officially adopted the appellation Dimwit.
My tolerance for the concept of trail names has run out, I need to directly antagonize the tradition, and I can't wait any longer to coax someone else into naming me.
If others ask how I got the name I will tell them I went to college.
Fortunately my intellectual disability did not too greatly hinder the point-and-aim instincts mother nature worked so hard to bake into me during the morning's gun shooting.
Them clays didn't stand a chance (even the ones I failed to hit met a fractured fate upon reaching the hard ground).
Following the shotgun fun, we convened to divide the provisions amongst bags in our cans in our packs and generally situate our effects.
I took to my assigned Sontag scripture during this time of relative leisure.
Then the dinner meal was upon us, so we meandered through the former-students-to-be and kin into the buffet zone.
My food was satisfactory, and my sweet tea was frequently replenished--an admirable quality for any dining establishment--though my father did have a hard time settling on a wine that agreed with his delicate sensibilities given that he almost never drinks wine.
After some postmasticatory cabin configulation, I was left alone and could begin the evening's work:
a long consultation with the Camp Counselor, textsetting, trail calculus, a study of the latest from the developing field of memetics, and the composition of this here daily chronicle that your weary screened eyes have come to rest fleetingly on.
What will they be assaulted with next?
When you leave this tab, what will appear on screen?
Are you proud of it?
5/11, Just Four More Months To 9/11! Late Night Lake Night
I do believe the inchworm season is upon us!
From the very momentary instant we set feet forth this sunrich morn, inching little dudes were spitting silk all over us.
We braved their filamentous exudates through a mild stretch of trail until reaching a road, adjacent to which was located a modest outpost featuring deli foods, ice cream foods, resupply foods, cold sody foods, and other foods, the whole of which taken together was enough to entice us inside.
Our purchases totaled: two bielle teas, two crushed strawberries, two plastic satchels of nontraditional skittles, one moose track, and one cotton candy ice cream, a "disgusting flavor" which I enjoyed.
Small talk with some other patrons gave way to the remainder of our roadwalk, this time featuring geology, topography, and civil engineering which melded with the morning morsels into a New York simulator.
I-77 was no match for the bridge we crossed it on.
From there only a sweaty climb and ridgeline rhyme stood between us and our slick awaiting chariot ride.
Nearing the final end, we passed a tasteful 600 milage rock art, then a false impostor art faux pas indicating a 600 milage over a tenth of a milage past the tasteful rock art.
I destroyed this worthless display of innumeracy.
Then out from the trees materialized and formed the shape of papa man!
The roadspot was also occupied by a TrailMagical biker whose small Deborahs I gladly accepted.
We droved to Walmart to stock up on waltons, then drove to Mountain Lake to stock up on mountains and lakes.
Alas!
Alack!
I am bad in the sack!
When we arrived at the check-in station, our friendly attendant discovered that my mother had misremembered our reservational details, and we had in fact only one cabin with a tween and a quin.
We Can't Have That.
Christ fortunately permitted us to acquire another room up in the hotel section;
in all the shuffle and buffle, I somehow wound up with the whole cabin to myself.
I have a list of the remaining transpirations from the evening that I do not feel like elaborating on:
email, shower, Indian dinner, the Great Epistle, long call, and sundry functional works.
Make of those whatever you wish.
Then at last, it was bedtime.
If only it were instead hammocktime.
5/10 Not Good Not Bad, Silhouette Treetime
Today was not as bad as yesterday, but it still involved plenty of hypocaloric suffering.
After my morning millipede check (they like to take up residence seven at a time in my shoes) we hiked across and down to a shelter.
The privy had walls made of some odd fabric material, which I nonetheless marked with my Art.
Up up up!
Straight straight straight!
Down down down!
(This is the way Viagra is for Lovers goes.)
A footbridge deposited us across the creek, where we found a magic styrofoam box full of both consumed and unconsumed beverage bottles and cans in an icewater bath.
We took a swig, which was the right choice--the woods ahead were dry as a rock.
Speaking of rocks, I decided to quicken the inevitable desintegration of my leg joints by carrying some conchoidally-fracturing stones uphill.
We elected to camp at a scenic looking locale with a nice fun raisin woman who calls herself OBX.
The sunset set as we dined, I made a meager effort to knap something, and my mom endured a very long logistical phone conversation before we all ultimately fell under the sandman's spell.
Maynine (like Canine but for matters of permission rather than ability), Hungry Ridgetop Stargazing
Jam toast and a big old honey bun got jammed right down into my face hole for breakfast this morning.
A cart stint took us back up to the domus plebis, and just as we set out it began to rain.
The first part of the day was rain.
Then the second part of the day was not rain.
Instead it was clear, and we had a climb, and I had a very hard time on this climb, not because it was unusually strenuous, but because I ran completely out of calries.
No more in the bank, no more in the tank!
I guess my dinner was not big enough.
After a very bad time we reached a meadow, then a shelter with a clear view of the THUMBPRINT OF GOD.
Divine, fertile inspiration led us down the next segment of hilldrop into a small gap where we encountered Slim Pickins having a blues moment with a local car camper and gathered some water.
On our way to end our day we witnessed a snake which we could not identify (omen? you decide).
Dinner was some unusually wet and brothy slop;
coverage permitted me a cellular consultation before I finally condemned myself to bed.
And as is sometimes the case I have an appendum to yestaday's post:
in the morningtime we passed the smart man's quartertrail marker wrought from stones.
Take 5/8, Lying In A Leopard
Jeffer (who has started calling himself 505) left earlier than we did this morning.
He'll be ahead of us for now, and we will be behind of him, because his head is farther along than our hind.
Nothing interesting happened on the hike--an increasingly frequent occurrence--except that we had to climb a bunch of initially fun but ultimately stupid and hasslesome ladder structures to hop barbed wire fences and we saw a snake in a tree near a rickety crackety crooked old barn.
After tolerating several pastures we arrived at our hôtel.
It seems to be only mildly afflicted, but I can't really tell where it lies on the spectrum because we rented an entire 103-year-old chestnut house down the road for ourselves.
Very spiffy, and the water even comes with free dissolved limestone that smells like Reykjanes!
We spent some time around the bunkhouse where a banjo materialized and Slim Pickins broke out his guitar to jam with it, then took our ride back to the private accommodations in the glorified gentrified gas golf cart.
Pizza, fresh eggs, bacon, toast, my first ever YooHoo, a drumstick, and cream soda constituted my evening meal.
A rain squall passed through around sunset.
More will come tonight.
The age of the building comforts me, and I expect to sleep well.
A Perfect 5/7, The Part Of The Night Where Two Mice Chase Each Other Around The Forest Floor
O how slow, how slow were we!
We were so slow among the trees.
First one, then two, then three, then four or so people passed us before we left the knoll, one of whom was Geoff.
Once we did get going we soon reached a satisfactory view and conversation with Slim Pickins (no, not that one, the other Slim Pickins);
the exchange of pleasantries was interrupted by a brief wash of droppy rain.
Then we performed a long meandering downwalk towards town.
Near the bottom we became temporarily ensnared in the smalltalk web of a spindly section hiker until we broke off by lingering in a sy-gogglin one-room schoolhouse from 1894 (legend says that back in those days children were actually taught things at school, so they didn't need to be kept busy shuffling from room to room).
Upon leaving the building we discovered that we had caught up to Geff, with whom we walked to and dined at an establishment with very slow service (southern speed) but reasonably tasty foodgoods.
Fortunately this delay allowed us to completely miss the afternoon rain which coated others with inferior timing in a thin layer of water.
We crossed the great I-81 autoriver, which is well known to be crucial habitat for barn swallows, and trudged through pastures and woods and campsites and hills and other various features, stopping briefly to collect flavorful water from a deep hole in the ground, then passed the poor man's quartertrail marker nailed to an undeserving tree.
To our pleasant surprisal, we found that the campsite we had been eyeing just up the trail sported a nestladen privy and a picklenick table, yet had no inhabitants.
We colonized it quicker than antibiotic-resistant bacteria colonizing an open wound in a medical facility.
The evening was mellow, though not without rowd or joke, and I proudly contributed my first public artwork to a wall of the privy.
I am just like Banksy now!
How cool, urban, hip, and alternative!
Five Six (Seven Ate Nine!), Duo Dark
A big batch of blind pancakes for breakfast fueled a short shuttular stint back to the head of trail.
We found the trail surface and grade to be gentle, forgiving, kind, and a deeply sensitive person, truly a great friend.
After an uneventful while it swung us down across a river (Freestone or Limestone? Which one is the right answer? You better know) and over to a surprise visit from the Magic Schoolbus!
It has gone grey and found god with age;
Ms. Frizzle (why not Mrs? Give that one a think) has been replaced by a ripe old man with a southern accent he really likes to use.
I masticated, ingested, and/or imbibed off-brand cheez-its, a slice of iced cake, and a cold sody beverage.
From there it was a gradual, supportive, empathetic climb to the impressive Partnership Shelter, where rainbows and sunshine make sharing a fun activity, which is furnished with a rare cinder privy and an in-shelter sink and shower which maybe would have worked if they had handles.
Tantalus must have removed them.
In a surprise action plot twist shocker, Jeffie appeared in the adjacent parking lot after a day trapped in public transit, the worst kind of transit, which set him back to our location.
He remained while we pressed on to higher hills.
Our intended campsite was occupied by a peculiar man who "did not want to scare us off" but strongly encouraged us to try camping just up the trail on a knearby knoll, which we elected to do to because he scared us off.
As we strung up the lines and straps, another wild shocker appearance made an appearance: the corns on the cob walked by!
How did they get back where we are!
They went past us like three peas in a row and camped somewhere just up the trail (maybe on another knearby knoll, who knows?).
With a site to ourselves for somehow the first time on trail, my mom and I enjoyed a very calm evening padded by Thai before I climbed in my swinger and drafted away.
You know what they always say when they say things--the smaller the group the mellower the mealtime and bedtime.
Cinco de Mayonnaise, Arabian Night
At last I have the connectivity I want and need to bring you the latest infostatistics of our walking trip!
Still no cellular coverage, but wifi-fifi is doing the trick.
The trail today did not bring with it many details worth remembering, let alone reporting.
It was short; we were slow.
I hope the situation improves in the time to come.
We passed a small waterfall which is apparently tricky to cross in high water, but the water was not high.
Then we got picked up by our designated spacecraft and performed a reentry maneuver to bring us to tonight's hôtel.
The place has two big Fun Facts: first, the woman who owns it is legally blind but still did all the tile herself somehow, and second, the decor proves almost beyond a shadow of a doubt that one of the two women (surprise surprise) who runs it is a Sufi muslim, despite both of them being white and southern.
Must be one of those covert converts you hear about but never meet.
We nabbed some items from the hôtelshop, then caught the next suborbital flight to the general dollar to round out the purchases, then ate frozen pizza and icingcreem (a superfood).
A mouse appeared in our room while we readied our belongings for the day ahead;
my mom was unhappy with this, but I understood it to be a token of support and solidarity from our comrades in the rodent realm.
As always, we completed only the bare minimum of necessary tasks this evening, yet it is nearly 1 AM (A clock in the Morning) before I get to sleep.
Too much to do and too little time.
Please consider donating time to my gofundme page for this trip where I guilt my family and friends into paying for a six month vacation.
504 Miles (was our milage earlier today when we leapfrogged the date again, the twice and final time this will happen), Fullish Moon at the Gushin' Creek's Edge
Our pace seems to have slowed to a gentle crawl.
Temperatures and general torpor conspired to keep us from starting until 11:15 today, probably our latest start yet.
Nonetheless we shortly reached the makeshift rockmarker proclaiming we had walked 500 miles.
Then we began to encounter the feral poners for which these bald parts are most widely known, the ogling of which knocked another few tenths of a mile per hour off our pace.
All hope of haste was lost during the fatman squeeze (disappointingly easy--people are cowardly and stupid).
Even the gentle descent through our first state park since the approach trail couldn't speed us up.
We rested (how could we possibly need rest at this pace? I need to start hiking in front again) at a shelter, where I used the privy.
An exciting zinger occurred when some late-middle-aged dayhiker with poor powers of observation nearly ripped the door off its hinges;
I would have said something, but I was so shocked by the whole-body force with which this small woman wrenched the locked door that I just shat in silence and waited to see how the situation developed.
Eventually she stood up on her toes to peek over the wall and realized that the structure was in fact what it looked and smelled like, and it was occupied.
That satisfied her curiosity.
The trail ahead was uneventful save for a few cattle closeups, and we paused at yet another shelter before deciding to press on.
Thank Mr. Goodness we did, because waiting at a road crossing was a portly little magician!
He produced some goods for me: a coke, a honey bun, and a juicy morsel of rare steak.
The bank of a nearby creek made for the night's sleep site, and our company, contrary to some roundabout rumour, was fairly considerate and harmless (though a bit stoned out).
Never judge a first impression by the book's cover, that's what I say.
May The Third Time Be The Charm, Drafting In The Gustycold
Chilly chilly brr brr brr!
The high thermodynamic beta slowed our start this morning by about thirty small ones.
Once we got our bones, bursae, sinews, ligaments, and cartilaginous tissues moving in lock and concert, hiking was not too painful;
I pulled the "hike behind my injured mother and match her pace" trick again, so little exertion took place.
We stopped by a shelter to eat and shit, and in the process discovered that some wastrel had taken the time to write the entire text of The Lorax on the walls.
While we were there it began to snow.
The snow was in small pellets, as sometimes happens--the Inuit, who have over 100 different words for snow, call this "lidelstayrofoumbals," which means "pellets."
We hiked on through occasional windy sprinklings of this dandruff of gaia until the chance of precipitation dropped to 0% and the chance of just enough sun to annoy me rose to 100%.
Then we completed the longest uniformly diagonal climb I have seen in my life: 1.5 miles and over 1000 vertical feet obliquely upslope with no turns.
At the top I clambered up Buzzald Rock and leaned into the gale-force wind so hard it made Sheryl Sandberg look vertical.
A parking lot crossing treated us to the use of a rare parking lot toilet complete with a "knock no lock" sign;
there was also a parking lot trash can which we would have used, but the lid needed to be literally fingered in order to open, and I don't like to be that intimate with trash cans before I get to know them.
After a little more climbing I split from the others and dashed up a spur trail to visit Mr. Rogers in his beautiful Merrywood Neighborhood dusted with snow.
For a few minutes he and I enjoyed being the highest lovers in all of Varginia.
Then I gave him a goodbye shower and returned from whence I came.
Our friendly accomplicepeople had pressed on for better tentsites, leaving my mom and me to set up some nice low hangs and brace for the wind, and I was tasked with fingering the nearby bear box (the day wouldn't let us escape without a little dexterity challenge) before entering the hammock zone to warm up for the night.
Winter in May: it could happen to you!
May I Have That T(w)o(o), Calm Falling Twilight By The Rushing Creek
Virgina is for Lovers treated us well today.
We indulged in another calorie load at The Mascus Diner (pork tenderloin moment), paid a visit to the postal outpost, and ate the last of our gas station ice cream before marching towards the hills with Jeff.
On the way we encountered cobweb & co. and witnessed the grandspectacular rearrival of emcee, certified giardia veteran.
Our exit from town thrilled me and filled me with delight, for by crossing out of The official Mascus limits without vomiting we received a provisional initiation to the acoprophagous mysteries.
Since we're curbing our ambition anyway on this leg thanks to my mom's insertional achilles tendonitis, I decided to make today a rest day and walk at the grownups' pace, which is a gentle stroll;
I found myself with enough spare breath and mindroom to maintain a sprawling conversation about memetics, the death of civil discourse, elite tools of social control, and sweet april showers.
This lasted through climb one.
Lunch was taken after the following descent, and then we quieted down as we really dug our feet, meat, and teeth into the hiking dirt of climb two.
Eventually we reached the foretold junction with the Virginia is for Creepers trail, and therefore our intended campsite, but oh sweet heavens to betsy!
Despite being large enough to accommodate probably ten people, all the room was taken by just three poorly placed jumbo hammocks!
Both annoying and impressively inconsiderate.
So we kept on a-walking and a-talking and a-looking for suitable treed groudpatches until we spotted a truly stellar one beneath a large (easily over 30 feet tall, that's like as tall as 30 uncommonly large lobster) footbridge traversed by the trail.
That is where I now sit.
It didn't take long for the cobbies to roll in, filling out the night's crew, plus two new pleasant fellas whose acquaintance I made over a trail slop dinner.
One of them had homebrew strawberry wine with him, which Jeff sipped to his satisfaction and said was just scrumptious.
Not a bad day's events for a first good old day hiking in a new leg of days of this great journey.
Good overall, would definitely rate as a positive.
Ten out of Ten, SPLENDID :)! ;)
Great stuff, thanks everyone, goodbye.
Go away.
May I Please Be First, Way Too Late Because I Am Dim
I put on gloves today for the first time in well over a month.
The trip to get water was as bad as rumored;
I know because I had to be the one to walk it because my mom's foot hurt too much and her drugs hadn't kicked in yet.
Luckily this did not prevent us from setting out at a fairly reasonable time.
My morning excitement came in the form of my first bear sighting: I got about 20 feet away from it before I noticed it and it noticed me and it ran off down the hill like a frightened little wimp.
Haha bear scare!
I stopped walking, pointed directly at it, and said "bear," but even this was not enough for my mother to look in the direction I was pointing before it was out of sight.
Better luck next time, mom.
We treckled on through the hills.
Ninja caught up with us after a while, and we had the pleasure of celebrating with him as we abandoned privyless Tennisy and entered Virginia is for Lovers.
Then he scooted ahead and we completed our descending trajectory into The Mascus to find our scheduled accommodations at a hôtel called Sdandcing Bear.
This hôtel, much like our first one way back in Georga, is actually more on the hotel end of the spectrum, with a hint of bandb thrown in--a relief to us.
We sorted our effects, caught a ride on an existing STS space station resupply mission, then made two (2) walking errands before joining Ninja and Jiffrey at The Mascus Diner.
That's right!
Good ol' Jeff Man is back in the saddle!
After the meal we split off to pick up some gas station ice cream and returned to the suite abode (suite abode sightings for the day include nibbling mallards and a fairly docile stairclimbing raccoon).
My mom went to bed after we called my faraway father, and instead of doing the intelligent thing and writing this immediately, I zoned out for about three hours while scratching the bark on my walking stick.
By the time I regained awareness my fingernails were shorter than I remembered.
Now here I am wasting valuable sleep minutes to bring you the latest and greatest up-to-date hiking news dispatch from the trail field.
That's just the kind of dedication we have to our readers here at the New York Times Washington Post CNN NBC FOX BBC ABC Al Jazeera Reuters Associated Press NPR Buzzfeed Psychomedia Memetic Conglomerate, where "We Tell You What To Think, And You Always Comply!"
The Final Day Of The Month Of Aping, A Drafting Moment On The Final Tennisy Night
The trees' tears and my mother's growing foot pain caused us a late start today (I am absolved for once).
Minutes after beginning to hike, we cane across the famous bone box of Uncle Nick Grindstaff, who "lived alone, suffered alone, and died alone."
It is said that he was a most peculiar man.
If we'd realized how close we were to this Kaufmanesque shrine we would have hammocked there, but alas.
Maybe next time.
Conditions shifted all day between clouds, fog, rain, and sun;
the only constant was cold wind.
About a mile in we encountered Papa Bear slackerpackering backerwards with his new bud Ben, and a few miles later we entered a gated but handicapped accesssible pasture trail segment complete with magical juice boxes of lemon tea.
Even more miles later and we paused for lunch at a shelter where a woman who calls herself Fruit Snack had been waiting six hours for her boyfriend to get the hell out of the tent so they could hike (perhaps their antematrimonial union will dissolve before the hike is through).
Another several miles (our lives are not measured by the breaths we take or the moments that take our breath away but by the number of miles we hike between moments that are worth mentioning in this blog) and we passed what is apparently the oldest remaining shelter on the trail, a crooked little logshack erected in 1934 and flaccid probably since the turn of the millennium.
Then at last we reached the shelter at the end of the day.
We set up, ate food, and crawled into bed, tired but thankful for the lack of any consequential rain during this phase of our evening.
And this, my friends, is the sequence of events.
Tune in next post when we venture down what is reported to be an unreasonably long and steep side trail to the shelter's only water source.
4 To 9 is a difference of 5, Moon and Rain and Owl Hour
After waking this morning, we firstly got our items in a list, and then in the same manner put our boots back on.
(We do not actually wear boots, this is an inside joke for only the people who are inside, not outside like you.
Get on their level.)
Then commenced the flat lake section of the trail, which is a great way to learn really fast why measuring the length of a coastline is not just mathematically challenging but also physically tedious.
Eventually we got to cross Watauga Dan, the little nibling of Fontana Dan and a comparative runt of the Dan family.
When the meandering traversal was over the real hiking began.
Nestled in an early roaded gap was a family of Christian Magicians whom God had granted the ability to turn water into sweet tea.
One of them, a chubby redhead kid, asked me how I keep my hair "so perfect" on trail;
I'm not entirely sure what he meant, since I have not showered in several days nor done anything to manage my hair in months, but I told him we had just been at a hôtel and that seemed to satisfy him.
Perhaps he will grow up to be of a different persusion.
Fueled by the Lord, we continued our ascent, and found the trail to be peppered with some kind of orchid.
Though I've known the etymology of that name since Meryl Streep brought it to my attention, I never understood its aptness until observing the pendulous and veiny petals of this variety.
Another ridgewalk commenced.
Some lakeviews were taken, but the most notable event was my discovery of another Amerindianesque relic in the dirt and rocks of an overlook: a shimmer caught my glance and revealed itself to be a glassknapped arrowhead, clearly produced by a more skilled craftsman than I, perhaps with an ishi stick.
I can tell it was fashioned from a bottle bottom by the curvature along its surface, which makes it a mere showpiece, but it was still worth taking and keeping.
Late in the day we encountered another small colony of the mystery rodents--still no pictures or identifying characteristics.
Then we rolled in to the sheltacommunity.
A few deer were grazing, trotting around, and sprinting down from our fire circle, which featured a half-pagan match of woods chess among other appalachian peculiarities.
We learned that Mont Crush is off trail at the Cobweb household to rest off his malady a few nights.
This was a good choice in my professional medical opinion.
The Rose herself is mad dashing for this here very spot after coordinating the legal guardian handoff.
Very impressive.
Everybody give a round of applause to Rose!
Stand up, it's an ovation!
Keep it going while I catch some shut-eye and maybe one of these hooting bards.
428 Miles (Actually Correct Now, A Twice In A Lifetime Coincidence!), The Time Of Night When Somebody Is Listening To Pandora Too Loud
The rain had chilled out and gone back home for a while by morning, which permitted us to pack our things according to the usual procedure, as opposed to the rain-modified procedure, which involves both more time and more expletives.
I still had to put on a cold wet shirt.
We at the Blogging Incorporation would like you to be informed that the material after this point was only drafted, not fleshed and filled to completion, at the stated time of composition.
We assure you, however, that the drafting took place on a full qwerty keybord and was therefore more full than previous instances of drafting.
We provide this information in the interest of being more transparent than any branch or agency of the federal government.
We began the day's footsteps;
a short ridgewalking stint gave way to glenwise descent along a creek.
A dilapidated old rotting cabin structure ruin passed to our left as we carried on down to a road.
Then we passed some public-friendly signage and the trail became wide, soft, and almost completely flat--these are sure signs that a section of trail was meant for fat people, and any trail that fat people would hike must lead to something very exciting, so I began to suspect we were about to get excited.
My infallible powers of inference proved once again correct.
The roar of falling water (nature's original, not that frank lloyd wright knock-off crap) trickled into our ears as we neared the sight to see.
Then we dropped down big stone steps into a deep gorge, at the bottom of which we found a large, loud, and worthwhile water feature flanked by cliffs.
Exchanging shouts, we agreed that this was a pretty cool spot.
We were even treated to a near-scramble at the water's edge.
As we followed the riparian trail, the sun was obscured and the clouds quivered in anticipation.
Then the sky opened.
Down in gorgebottom it poured; our clothes and skin grew pregnant with Mother Nature's liquid essence as she unleashed her heavenly flow.
It calmed for our climb, where we were visited by our first two trail toads, but still intermittent driplets and sparse dropfuls plopped around us.
The following descent was uneventful save for a few views of the upcoming lake.
Then we arrived at the night's hôtel.
Another hôtel?!?!?
Are we stupid?
Yes!
But at least we had a tiny cramped private cabin to dry off our goods.
All in all it was moderately on the hôtel spectrum, not the most severely afflicted we have seen, but also not without the unmistakable hôtel funk.
NASA's best orbital physicists must have been involved with the shuttle flight plans there, because they were remarkably efficient, despite the late 1980s technology in the shuttles and the strange turbozoomer flying them, who calls himself Voodoo and has very long but very sparse facial hair and a tiny man bun.
I'm sure people at the subway, micky dee's, and redimart were surprised to see astronauts so close up, but they treated us just like regular citizens.
As we ate and organized and listened to peepers in the bedbox, we caught word that Montane Crushling is not well (not norovirus, he had that already, something more serious and possibly waterborne);
after a useless trip to the medical establishment, they came away with only a zofran prescription.
Nurse practitioners are almost as bad as real doctors.
Future time, i.e. the time to come, will yield more news and detail of his condition.
Until yonder morn, o dear compatriot and correspondant, your dear writer author writes with the utmost conviction to you to be well and whole and happy as a clam!
Go forth and be bright!
-Cole Camper
427 Hours Was A Great Film, The Evening Following The Evening
I spent so much time and effort and mental energies getting caught up on bloging entry posts, but in despite of my best efforts the allotment of fate and fortune has cast me slightly behind again.
Vae mihi!
Open your ears to me as I spin the tale as though it were written on time.
Last night was the worst night of sleep I have had since fucking off to the woods.
There were a few reasons for this: a late phone call (you know who you are, you goddamn troublemaker), cold temperatures with no insulation and too few covers, the suboptimal flat shape of beds as opposed to hammocks,
yelling, giggling, vomiting noises, and diarrhoea noises (both bathrooms contaminated).
Still, I managed to arise and shine in time for the fabled fastbreaking.
It was a fairly fabulous feast.
Many many food items were available to be eaten, freshly cooked by three women with relatively short hair who seem to be close (why do groups of women who perform impressive feats always seem to be close?).
I assume all of them were quite good extrapolating from the small sample that I ate.
I would have eaten more, but I had not yet worked up the courage to empty my bowels in the recently contaminated bathrooms, and I dared not go through the buffet again after everyone behind us in line touched the foods and serving utensils with their fecal fingers.
Did the elaborate mealspread absolve the hôtel's other sins?
Though it was better than any food we've had from a restaurant, my mom and I both vote no.
In nonaccommodational news bulletins, my mom finally realized that it does not make sense to shackle ourselves to two sixtysomethings who may want to hike at a different pace than a twentysomething and a fiftysomething.
Today was the first time in a few hundred miles that we did not coordinate our plans directly with Papa Bear and/or Ninja.
Accordingly, when the eating was ate, we walked back off out into the woods with no accompanying party in tow.
After a number of miles between zero and infinity, we passed a set of three de facto user contributed 400 mile indicational markings, each made out of a different material, one pine cones, one sticks, one bark, of which bark was the clear winner, in case you ever want to construct indicational markings and are faced with the same material choices.
The blazes then carried us to a pleasant and fun waterfall;
little did we know, two more waters were to fall later in the day.
The first was called the "hardcore cascades," so clearly some serious naughty had been committed there.
The second was called rain.
It began hesitantly, then built to the threshold between a drizzle and a steady rain, i.e. just enough to be unpleasant and require rain gear.
On our aimless and needlessly undulating route, we passed the tentsite where the cobweps, Ninja, and Papa Bear were staying, then continued hiking.
I did not enjoy this part of the day.
Like a young serial killer-to-be boiling a frog, the man upstairs kept troubling me with more small inconveniences: I had to dig a cathole in the wet, my mom went ahead so I had no means of navigation, the wind began to blow, the woods fogged in so I couldn't see if I was catching up, when I finally got to the shelter we realized there were a huge number of snags and very few safe hammock spots, there was nothing to block the growing winds, the first trees I tried were too close together, and when I finally got a spot the hang wound up being so low that my (mike how's the) quilt was nearly brushing the wet ground.
By the time I was all set up my spiffy hiking clothes were soaking wet and I could barely use my fingers.
The night fast darkened, leaving me with too little time and too much wind to heat my dinner, so I ate cold gruel.
This was by far the worst afternoon and evening we have had.
And the worst part is that you loyal readers for whom I care so dearly didn't get to read about the experience until the next evening!
That is really what made it so awful in the end.
4 + 2 = 6, Or So Says The Math Man, Zany Rainy Evening Wondering When The Sound System Will Be Shut Off
We got going this morning.
My mom reminded me that this did happen, rather than not happening, and I realized she must be right because there was a part of the day when we were already going.
Every action has a start.
In really very little time at all after we got going, we reentered the Official Larry David Monk Ring Bald Zone, where wild bald people are known to breed.
Ninja caught up to us around then and captured some standard framerate video footages of us hiking up the hills and slopes.
Atop the top, I savored a grantacular view of Mound Michelle looming above the string of peaks we climed over before descending from the last great southern massif.
I will miss the big hills while on small hills until returning to big hills.
Our Final Exit from Carolinia injected some excitement into the late morning, as well as some subtly Vermontian outcroppings just over the border into Tennisy.
Then we arrived at the accommodations.
This place is another rarity, this time a unique hybrid between a hôtel and a bandb.
Unfortunately we are stuck in the hôtel portion.
It's a bit wacky, very understaffed, and turns the virus avoidance challenge to extra hard mode (i hate parellel structure, editors come fist fight me).
My mom has deemed it an "affront."
Sitting here in our Semi-Private nook with a low ceiling, concerningly sloped floor, and no insulation whatsoever, I can hear the '80s rock station loudly playing every '80s song that just popped into your head through a cheap PA speaker, punctuated every so often by an announcement that someone's order is ready at the food truck/bar/covered porch.
Someone was bold enough to bring children into this joint, so their occasional outbursts add to the layered lowpass ambience.
Resupply at the "general store" here was slightly challenging, but we scraped together enough edible material to last us until the next hôtel.
The clerk at the time tried to tell us that norovirus is a bacteria (yes, he used bacteria as a singular instead of bacterium), so antibacterial wipes would work against it.
We did not fall for this rustic intelligence.
The establishment was slightly redeemed in my estimation because they carry Pabst Blue Ribbon;
Snapshot enjoyed a can with dinner.
Report and reputation suggest that all the shorcomings I have mentioned will be outweighed and absolved by the veritable cornucopia of a breakfast feast tomorrow morning.
We will be the judge of that.
425 Miles (not our actual milage, but soon it will be), Evening Moon Time
Thanks to my big push yesterday, I got to sleep very late and maximize my summit time before dropping once again below 6000 feet.
I will not return to an altitude that good until we are in New and Improved Hampshire.
A great deal of the day was bald, featuring several balds, each of which has no trees on top and is therefore called a "bald."
We dropped out of the baldzone briefly and visited a condemned shelter fashioned from an old barn;
the latest notice prohibiting entry was posted in 2019 and expired in 2021.
The government never changes.
Papa Bear and Ninja made the barn's vicinity their restingplace while we reelevated ourselves, and a rabbit blessed our path about halfway up.
Then it was bald again.
We spent so much time on the balds that I nearly went bald!
This bald had a good view of Grape and Jundy Mountain in the cloudshadow, making for a very dramatic contrast effect between the sun and shade here and there in the distance.
A brief patch of forest then afforded us an ample but hawthorny hang to squat out our last night in Carolinia.
Yessirree, deerreader, tomorrow will end the Carolinian Reign!
But so too will tomorrow end the reign of sun and begin the reign of rain.
All good things must come at a price to maintain the cosmic equilibrium.
424 Palindrome! Quick, Somebody Run Back! Double Solo Dark Innawoods
The biggest event of the morning (after my mom's delivery of the meal cooking stove to my hammock) was passing an undetermined number of tiny furballs scurrying among the meadowweeds.
I'd try to identify them, but they were so fast I couldn't get a clear look at the damn things.
I did see one leap over a leaf, from which I learned that they have tails.
Their mystique remains unmarred by my prying eyes.
As we walked down the trail to a lower and therefore worse altitude, we passed near a hôtel called Greasy Creek Friendly (not making this one up either, they really chose that name);
in another world, we might have stayed there, but they are closed for the sabbath and still require proof of COUGHID vaccination.
The next hiking segment (as opposed to section, a crucial distinction) was quite easy.
We hoped to press on at least partway up Mount Rone, but sadly Papa Bear had already stopped at an earlier campsite full of yahoos (Ninja's words, not mine).
So naturally I abandoned my mom there and pressed on five more miles to the summit, just uphill from the highest shelta on the whole trail and the highest I have ever camped.
The hike was Vermonty and featured some fun icicles and the site of a former highland hotel.
Sheltasigns informed me that I was in a GLOBALLY RARE ECOSYSTEM home to special species like the Carolinia Norther Flying Squirrel and the Spruce Fir Moss Spider.
Heeding their warnings, I hung myself as high as I could within the demarcated perimiter and enjoyed many hours of Summit Sleep: The Best Sleep A Man Can Get!
4/2=3 Is A False Statement, Solo Dark Solo Dark Solo Dark (drafting disclaimer applies)
As with most mornings after a decadent and idle caligulation, I was awoken before I was awake.
My oatmeal packet was still in hand during the brief shuttle flight to the Trail Head, or Tread.
Fast hike fast hike!
We hiked faster than a clam (the return to chilly weather patterns helped us beat those clams once and for all).
By noon of the hidden sun we were atop Spotty Beaut munching our lunches.
I walked with a slightly odd but good-natured southern man through the following meadows until we began climbing YouNaked Mountain.
The summit was deeply calm and mellow, which seems to be the case with all groves of hemlock;
we took our snack there.
Some sun popped out from behind the tropospheric hydronimbulations as we descended to a shelter.
I wrote yesterday's post as the rest of the crew settled in--but stopping was not an option for me.
I pressed on for about four more miles of pleasant evening trail to achieve a second Big Boy Hike, totaling 21.4 miles with 6144 feet of gain (notice the shallower grade as the terrain becomes gradually more boring).
I finished just in time to set up as the little sun man set the sun down.
Then I crawled into my sleeping sack and curled up for a cold night o' swingin'.
A sliver moon hung above the evening star.
Both shone on me.
April Twenty Two, We Doin' April Twenty Again, The Subsequent Evening After A Pleasant Meal (Oh Dear, I Appear To Be A Day Behind)
It was a very caligulary day.
The errands were as follows:
Haffle Wouse, Good Sporty Dick, WALL-E, the Outside Store, the Hoffee Couse, back to the room and board to get organizized, and the Hibacci House (run by white people).
None of this was particularly notable.
I did have to cough up 130 membership buckaroos for the idle cult that contacted me, which was unfortunate.
We ended the day by calling my paterfamilias while my mom and Deb indulged in some of the red grape liquor.
The shuddle ship was to arrive early in the morning, so early retirement was our weapon of choice.
Want more detail and funny words?
No.
April of Drinking Age, but the Afternoon After
We had a big morphing scuttling planshifting day!
Once upon a time, at the grand old beginning of it all in the morning, we set our sights on campin' and lampin' one more nighttide in the forest realm.
And we hiked and hiked and hiked, and it was hot.
In the afternoon we passed by a shelter where an ill man was lying in discomfort and nausea beneath a large graffito of the poem Invictus (both the clichéd content and ironic circumstance of the graffito amused me).
His affliction was just the latest in a long string of clues to the pathogenic danger that lurks within our peers--over the past few weeks, certain members of our community have been taken by the tummy touch, as they say.
Shortly later, we received notice that the ADL declared norovirus risk on trail to be "high as a fuckin kite" and simultaneously realized our intended campflat was only three big ones from the tiny town of Earwig, Tennisy;
the synergistic fusion genesis of these crucial factoids sparked our change of heart.
With a flick of the wrist and a brief utterance, we convinced our compatriots to press on, dipped out of our informal reservation at Uncle Johnny's (real name) Communal Shitwipe Shack (my addition) for the following night, and confirmed availability at the town-local Hyperoctal establishment.
The descent from heaven back to mundane purgatory was replete with scenic viewing clifftops from
which we could cast judgement on those below us.
Back on the mortal plane, our pilot furnished us with complementary ice-cold NASA Colas as we made the brief Kármán jaunt to the substation-adjacent accommodations.
We ate Italian.
Deb materialized out of the ether with a bottle of wine, and evening conversations were exchanged before we all retired.
Then you probably would expect from past experience that I wrote this composition, wouldn't you!
But no, that had to wait until after sleep, because I had not checked my email since March.
I found all kinds of very important mails in there, some reminding me that I had been alerted that I had received a message advising me that I had been elected to membership, some informing me about ticket availability for in-person events hundreds of miles away from me, and some telling me I am a bad author.
I am so glad I spent my time reading all of those!
Smoke That Smells Like Piss And Skunk Day, Civil Twilight Almost Up
Another solo night, another calm morning.
I readied my goods and slurped up my breakfast nutrients when my mom arrived with the stove.
Then we began ambulating through the forested areas.
We passed under a highway, then began walking along it towards a big howdy Welcome To Tennisy signage board, and right before reaching it the trail made a sharp 180 back towards the heart of Carolinia.
We'll get there next time.
More ambition and ambulation and we came to our meadowy view lunch sitting locale with a big old view of Big Bald (can't afford hair plugs, the poor fucker).
Then down.
Then up--by that point it was hot and umpleasant.
Then up some more.
Eventually we came to the very tippy topp of Big Bald's bald spot;
it had the grandiose three hundred and sixty (360) degree view that our customers have come to expect from a Big Brand Bald.
Mound Michelle could be sighted.
Then we went down again.
Where else is there to go when you're at the top?
We quickly came to tonight's shelter.
There was a kind gift left there in the form of a big poopy right in the middle of the best tent pad.
Papa Bear observed, "you know, that's just the kind of thing a conservative would do out here."
However, I find that the worthless drug-addled twentysomething peons who pull these kinds of stunts tend to be fairly liberal, at least to the extent that they are capable of reading the news in their social media feeds.
Perhaps we will catch the son (or daughter) of a gun and give his (or her) ass a whippin until he (or she) tells us his (or her) voting record.
If anybody has information on the whereabouts of the tent pad shitter, please contact your local militia and initiate a manhunt.
4/19 (this fraction is already simplified), Solo Dark 2: Drafting Boogaloo
I saw a barred owl last night.
I was creeping and crawling amongst the lower brambles to stash my bear-proof canister device when my red headlighter caught the silent wings of a cunning hunter as it swooped to perch on a limb.
It looked around for a minute before deciding that the vicinity was unsuitable for a rodent feast and then flew on.
But this was not to be the final owl!
In the morning, while visiting and paying homage to a small graven site, my mom and I observed another barred owl to be presiding over the restingsouls.
Fitting in-dEEd.
Dropping down a little farther down the hill, we encountered the Triple Crowner Gamer God who calls himself Link at a shelter.
As soon as my mom left to use the privulator, he asked me if I was having fun hanging out with the old slow crowd instead of people my age.
I informed him that everyone my age on the trail seems to be either stoned or drinking, so I prefer the company of people over 40.
Then my mom returned and we began to climb up the hot valley wall.
I would highly not recommend this activity to others; it was hot.
Then we reached the cambp for the night.
Or so they thought!
Jeff moved on immediately, tarjeting the next shelder.
I ate my eats and sat my sits for a while before moving on as well, tarjeting a placement just past the next shelter with a direct line of sight across the valley to the others.
I swung by Jeff's camp on the way for water and a crisp shit, and while I was there Link called me Mary Poppins in reference to my sunbrella (a pretty funny laugh joke, which is now undergoing the three day internal review before public comment in the long vetting process for all potential trappelations).
Then I strolled a teeny lil bit further up to the peak of the hill.
Light signaling between camps was attempted, and I may have seen a faint flicker, but the setting sun washed out most hope of photocommunication.
Fortunately I had excellend cellular coverage, so I was able to hold a meeting with one of my collaborators concerning recent thinkings and doings.
This lasted until Drafting Moment Time!
Time to draft the bloge!
For you readers!
Your Welcome!
Honest Aberil Waneight, Eating Another Long Meal
This morning was the most pleasant one I've had in a while.
I woke up naturally before my alarm, which is a Trail First, or Trirst, and had a calm breakfast absent company.
It took longer than I expected for the slow corps to catch back up, so I packed my things completely as I waited;
not a second after I Garmin GeoSat Messager Texted my mom, "Where the fugg are you," she appeared over the hill.
Try to summon your family members this way and let me know if you get any results.
As everyone rolled in, they showered me with food items carried from a far-away land called "town."
I ate some and stashed some for later.
We moved on through the next few miles of wooded lands, and Jeff told me highly entertaining anecdotes about the unique and superhuman maniac who fathered and raised him.
He had many great attributes, including a characteristic locution "Hey good buddy" as a warning to stop what you're doing immediately because you're doing it wrong, but the greatest detail is that he drank Pabst Blue Ribbon--a man of channeled chaos to the core.
I want to see him used as a character in a work of literature or film (Jeff assures me that he is featured in a future collection of short stories).
We passed a southy man who educated us about the state analogs of the upcoming trail (Vermont and Maine), and pressed up the rocks to emerge on the greatest section we have yet hiked.
Exposed ridgeline, allround views, several seconds of true scrambling (not the one-hand-tap stuff that sometimes gets the designation), and stiff breezes to keep us going.
The fun dumped us out right at the 300 Mile Traversal Congratulatory Rock Art, marking another 100 miles of my life sacrificed to the woods.
Just a bit more regular walking and we reached another shelter featuring the SA-SA from yesterday.
The group decided to stop here.
It was a very short day for me, which I am not thrilled about, but if I continued on my own I would be having a cold breakfast tomorrow, which absolutely cannot happen at all costs.
No No No.
So this sheltaground is my resting place for the night.
What is your resting place for the night, and is it as comfortable as it could be?
How many cumulative days of your life have you spent there?
Is it really worth that much time?
April One Seven, Solo Dark
I can't remember much from the first part of the day because I was so tired that I almost fell asleep several times while actively hiking.
The only interesting detail that made it into my long-term memory was a mild hallucination every time I blinked where the trail in front of me appeared to fall away.
I regained consciousness around when we reached a firetower and had lunch; I don't know how many miles we had gone by that point or even what time it was.
It was then that I set my big skhema ruse into motion and offered to let Ninja return to Deb's in my place and camp out on my own (this may sound generous, but I netted an extra few hours of badly needed sleep from the deal).
To everyone's surprise, he accepted, and my jubilation could be rivaled only by the swagger of a shagbark hickory under which we passed.
We rested briefly at a shelter and spoke to a Southeast Asian-Southeast American before continuing down into Allen Gap.
It took a bit to figure out the exact location of the trail crossing and get Deb's car over to it, but once we did, I extracted my extra food and epistulary goods and bid an afternoon adieu to the slackin' crew.
"Onwards," I said, "to the place I am going!"
And so I went.
The cobweps were camping a bit up the trail.
I spoke words with them at their pleasant site, but it was not far enough for me.
So I went on.
I came to another shelter and quietly contributed to its moldering operation, but it was not far enough for me.
I went on still.
At last, I crossed a small spring, filled my bigmouth squeezy bladder full, and strung up my strings between two suitable treen.
This was far enough.
All told I went 20.8 miles with 7006.2 feet of gain--my first Big Boy Hike of the trip and a personal elevation record for any hike, not just backpacking.
In the wint and colt and senting sunt, I ate a meal and desserted some goomye canedye.
Then I crawled into my sleeper.
With my head in the bag, I wrote a letter and drafted this posting.
Uh Oh!
I clamed and implied that this post was written in Solo Dark, but actually only a draft was produced at that time.
I may be straining my Time Honesty.
If you opine that the meat of the writing is in its contents, then the point of authorship was the point of drafting; however, ei he techne en toi logoi autoi estin, then only just now have I truly authored the piece.
I would like to start a discussion about this.
Click the "Contact Me" link at the bottom of my main page and leave a comment with your views on drafting and authorship.
100/10000, Too Late (there is a sertain amount of lateness i can tolerate, but gosh darn it this is just too much)
I apologize for the tired and schizophrenic nature of this entry.
I know all you eager readers are coming here for clear and cogent writing, but tonight i just canot deliver.
Haha i am joking because i do not applogize.
Comments, cuestions, and concerns may be placed into the nearest funnel spider web.
It was a good ol' day this fine day.
I woke up at a reasonable hour after some strange dreams (nothing unusual for my rapidly decaying mind) and was treated to a scruntious and nummy breakfast that probably everyone else but me helped prepare.
I am a cool rad parasite on my milieu.
Then there was some organization and filing and putting of things into their place and other tasks of relocation while my mom had an appointment with an online hiker physician expert about her ankular nociceptions and oedemas.
After that point in the day was reached, the next thing in the sequence that occurred was that we drove into Ashvill for our Big Caligulation.
I need to sit and think and really thinker it up for a while on my sits bones in proper posture before I have a insight epiphany into the nature of the town, but its poppylation is definitely representative of the New Youth.
Privileged, gentrified, artsy, "quirky," retro vintage, not like other girls, foodie, southern in aesthetics but not politics, subtly infantile, and unnecessarily queer.
We saw a lot of art, some of which was skilled but none of which was actually good or interesting, and then I ate duck at the White Duck.
(I just took a break from writing to speak to a bug.
It is smelling the table and i would gladly help it find what it's looking for if it would just tell me, but I am being given the silent treatment.
Its tiny useless brain is condemned to kinesis.
Fly away you silly fucker.)
We stopped by a waldmart for items of various kinds and shapes before heading back here.
We called my papa dad man, then i assumed control of my mom's phone and called my perennial accomplice and co-conspirator, then we ate burgers for dinner.
Then i worked on a puzzle.
Then an asslet ran around.
Then we ate ice cream and watched one of gary's adventures.
Then I worked on the puzzle more.
Then i came back here and diddled my foods and goods into my bagg.
Then I began writing this entry and using the word "then" to begin a lot of my sentences.
Haha, I just broke the fourth wall by directly referencing the text you are reading!
This is a tecnique to induce wonder, discomfort, and surprise in you, the reader, and cause you to consider explicitly the relationship between the author, the text, and the audience.
You little people don't even know what to think and neither do i.
Is this funny?
I don't think this is very funny because the only real comedy is deliberately overexplaining the fourth wall, which has probably been done by somebody before at some point.
Let me know if you think this is funny word material and i'll keep doing it because i am a pushover writing this blog (can you fucking believe that this word is so accepted that it doesn't even sound stupid to most people anymore) to gain approval from a very small intended audience of family and friends.
I have to go now because the bug is back and it has finally started speaking, it is telling me to go to sleep.
I think it may be related to fireflies based on its body shape but it is less fabulous.
"sleep little darling dont say a word momys gonna buy you a mockingbird if that mocking bird don't sing mommy's gonna hire a vocal coach"
4:15, 10/33
My mom contributed the opening line for this entry, which serves as the nucleation seed site from which a beautiful crystal lattice structure will grow: We started in the woods.
The woods were like most woods you have probably seen, except that they were the woods we were in and not the woods you were in.
We hiked through them.
After some time hiking we reached the town of Hot Springs, "Where the Springs Are Hot and the Women Are Not."
The trail path as laid out and maintained by the maintainers and layers out of the trail passes straight down the main street, which brings in enough captive Leaping Leftish Dollars to finance the operation of several higher-end restaurants and stores.
We convened at one of them along with Papa Bear's main squeeze Deb and Chef Cocoa and her main squeeze Lynn (aute kaleitai Rocky).
The food was well portioned and paired nicely with some creams iced next door.
We also performed a few near-miss flybys of the Cobweb Crew, who were in search of a new packback for Montane Crushling among other goods and services.
They secured a tempus reservatum at the Hot Springs, which we sadly failed to do, though we will be occupied tomorrow anyway with our Caligulary activities in the Ashen Villa.
We poked at the local outfitter with a stick for a few minutes, but it failed to do anything interesting, so we left Ninja to his hôtel accommodations, clowned into the Debmobile, and vroom vroomed out into the glowing countryside.
Deb's house is incredible.
Beaucolic, idyllic, idiosyncratic, oeconomic, and subtly mischevious are just some of the many ways one might describe this grand slam of magna opera.
Its foundation is built from hefty, robust strokes of creative genius, atop which countless gentle and thoughtful details have been laid through many years of joyful habitation.
Even the RV-AirBnB-to-be we are sleeping in is a work of art.
A relaxing afternoon visited by a baby ass and some calves gave way to a pleasantly cool evening of grilled salmon, roasted asparagus, fresh salad, and killer macaroni caseusque.
Two things pushed the day over the threshold from great to superb: the letter which was so terriffically mishandled by Fontana Dan finally made its way into my posession, and a friendly geriatric dog shat on the floor right as a story was being told about it shitting on the floor.
I had not realized canines could develop a sense of comedic timing if left to age.
Go figure.
April Fourteener, One Month On Trail! Congratulations! as the Damp Drizzle Darkens While I Lie Under My Rain Fly
As usual, we were the last two packfolk to leave camp this morning.
Often this is a mild nuisance, but today it allowed us to summit Maximum Patchwork at just the right time for an expansive and weather-filled view.
The coming reign could be seen passing over the lower smokles.
My mother has gradually been accepting the trail appelation, or trappelation, "Navigator" over the past few days (given not because she is uncommonly good at navigating or the only one who navigates but because neither of the sixty-somethings in the group bother to try and I'm not the one who tells them what to do);
with perfectly ironic timing, we became about three minutes lost on our way down thence when we missed a turnblaze.
Once we wrighted our rong, we encountered a string of rootchucks, dirtslingers, and chainsaw berserkers cuttin' and puttin' the footpath ahead.
There was a lot of flowers.
Shortly thereafter our second-shelter lunch rendezvous took place amid drizzle and looming thunder, and I had the pleasure of using a small, crooked privy that made for great sport pissing.
Our compatriots remained near us for the rest of the day.
The rain got us good on the descent to camp, and Mr. God even threw in some sunshowers and a salamander for his and our entertainment.
Since arriving and assembling and hanging, nobody has left their assembly or hang on account of the water.
The thunder has cowered away from us so far.
Perhaps it will man up tonight.
Since my mom's succumption to the trail insanity, or trinsanity, of the trail name, or trame, convention, I have been pondering what my trail fate, or trate, will be.
I've decided that there are only two names I would ever accept: Slow, or preferably Dimwit.
Getting somebody to name me one of these will be my next challenge.
4/13, Oh No It's Thursday The Thirteenth! Early Bed After A Long Day
Our host prepared a veritable smorgasboard of healthy breakfast options for us this morning.
While we enjoyed them, Jephf relayed a story he heard from a shuttle driver about a young(?) woman picked up from Clingman's Dome while having a meltdown;
apparently she intended to quit and was so hysterical that she tried to grab the wrong pack as she left.
We all hope and suspect that it was our Hiking Associate.
An STS mission, a roadwalk, and a short hike later, we passed the HippieZone and began our big day's climb.
It wasn't long before we caught up with our friendly acquaintanceperson who calls himself Ninja and persuaded him to join our mountain troupe, bringing our total ranks to five (probably enough to overthrow a small vassal state).
Up, up, up Alice fell.
It was hot, which I did not like, but it got a little bit cooler as we returned to a more acceptable altitude, which I did like.
We took our lunch basking in the ambient radiation from an FAA radar tower.
To show my appreciation for the federal government and its many agencies, I left a generous donation just inside the fence enclosing it.
Then more hiking.
And some more after that.
And a little bit more at the end.
All told, we scooted a record 13.9 miles with 0.99 miles of gain.
My legs feel leggy, as though they were composed of bone, sinew, and muscle wrapped in skin.
We pitched camp just down the hill from a lovely RV couple who offered us drinks, conversation, and a place to hide our food for the night--I see a letter from Hogwarts in their future.
Tomorrow may be wet, which sometimes happens.
I am told it has to do with the water cycle.
4/12 = 1/3, look at all that divisibility! A Discerning Evening After the Crew has Fallen Asleep
Not long after I finished composing my missive yestereve, as I lay in my hanging quarters, a Bard Owl began to call into the night.
This is not an infrequent occurrence out here in the bush and tangle.
But seldom is it accompanied by what followed: mistaking the owl for a very strange sounding human, Papa Bear shouted out from his tent, "come on man, grow up!"
This was later classified by the NSA as a Minor Camp Disturbance requiring no tactical intervention.
Trail Karma got the best of him when at roughly circa 4:30 in the wee morning a band of daysleeping hooligans rolled into the shelter grounds and woke everyone up; their rowdy, obnoxious, vaguely creepy, and probably drug-fueled behavior continued in the morning after Papa Bear retaliated by waking them up with his pots and pans.
We managed to escape without being harassed or diddled thanks to Jeffica's PR experience and smooth wit.
Down the trail we strolled briskly, propelled by talk of childhood fist fights.
A 1.2 mile extended day choice option traversed us over to Mount Camembert, which boasts an octagonal firetower with a splendid octagonal view.
The dank remains of a latrine can be found in its basement amongst other refuse and debris.
A bit more dreary descent and we reached the famed prison shelter, at which we had arranged to eat lunch.
I dined behind bars.
The farther down we went the more deciduous and disgusting the woods became, until we exited the Great Smoky Mountains and reached a truly abominable power line cut-in baked by unrelenting sun.
I have composed some Delta Verse to convey the vibrational mood, which I call the High Altitude Blues.
Please enjoy: "The wind is hot; the sun is dry; I hear automobiles going by--I'm walking down, and I want to turn around.
The number of day hikers grows as you drop in altitude.
Gnats over here, poison ivy there, warm domestic animal shit everywhere;
fuck the lowlands and flies and midges, I prefer the no man's state border ridges.
Now I have to climb back up to a higher altitude."
The last segment of the day redeemed itself slightly by routing us through an immaculately floral riparian area complete with falls and creek crossings.
We were met at a bridge by our magical and extremely discerning host (hilarious moment when he brought up his conservative politics and everyone else in the car shut up), who piloted us expertly through the Standing Bear Shroomfest Hippie Crisis Commune to extract an important payload and then to our hôtel accommodations.
That's right, those still exist here.
I bet you mentally impaired readers forgot all about my stupid hôtel gags.
This hôtel is by far the most discerning of all the hôtels on the trail.
Only discerning hikers are allowed to stay here.
We performed the usual accommodations dance, donned extra large loaner clothing, and headed back into the NASA rental for a mexican dinner and Premium Walton Experience (we got extra lucky at this one because Once in a Lifetime came on the radio while we were looking for painkillers).
On the way back from town our host-pilot delighted and surprised me by putting on Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers.
I didn't think he could get any better, but later in the night, while we performed some Trail Calculus, or Tralculus, he came in to inform us about a recent Trail Assault, or Trassault, with a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon in his hand.
He has everything I strive for.
4/11, Just 5 More Months to 9/11! Awaiting an Evening Call
A schordt day today, which permitted us a glorious late start.
We ate small foods at various places; one was Ye Olde Helipad, where we encountered The Last of the Slobos, who calls himself No Rush.
He warned us that we were about to enter the section of forest where remains of one of the Air Force's great 450-mile-per-hour fuckups are strewn over 20 acres of mountainside--a teriffically mangled piece of aircraft lay right next to the trail, warning passersby of the dangers of working for the government.
The day's prime lunch locale consisted of a small but ample junction rock where a witful young lady who calls herself Turkey Legs was enjoying her smoke break (in a refreshing and based twist, she was smoking tobacco, not ganja).
We discussed the merits of bluegrass between puffs and bites.
My mom and Gary Beary had both been hobbling on mildy injured feet all day, and by this time I was itching and scratching to boost into another reference frame, so I popped out in front and half-speedwalked, half-jogged the rest of the way to the shelter.
As the evening progressed and Jeffemy rolled in, we found ourselves sat next to each other in a row on a fallen treetrunk like the ants on a log that we are.
Joined by another lil' hikin' trio confederation, we all reveled as Jeph employed his masculine aim to work around a leak in his filter bladder.
What a splendid endid to a Near Nero!
41/0 (do dyslexic people ever mess up punctuation like this? no? sounds like a fake condition to me), Chilly Digit Hour
Despite our longest milage yet, supple trails and mild clines made today a breezy wind.
Two deers and a Hermite thrush graced us early in the morningtime.
We visited Charles' Foot Deformity, where I engaged in some painterly reenactment, and traversed miles of an entertainingly narrow ridge marking the exact Carolinia-Tennisy governance riftline.
Views into the vallies of both formerly self-governing nations abounded.
At one point we came across a perplexing 200 mile marker constructed from sticks at precisely the 219.85 mile mark--no, I know what you're thinking you silly bean, it can't be from a previous year when the milage was different because the sticks wouldn't even have survived a heavy rain.
The source of the error remains mysterious.
Arriving at last at our shelter's vicus, we found it to be unexpectedly teeming with fellow homines; I estimate and reckon that extrapolating from my approximate count there ought to be easily 40 of us in and around the structure.
We managed to secure a plot with suitable trees down here in the urbs, but other less fortunate latecomers were forced to settle for a night up in the suburbs.
My dinner was long, as it always is when a Top Ramen flavor packet is involved.
Now I am resting in the Red Dark.
Looking back over this day and recollecting it in sum on the whole, I would have to conclude that the highlight was hearing a small old lady with a quintessential frail elderly voice say, "would anybody like to smoke some marijuana?"
The people out here are fried.
2squared 3squared, Harvesting Warmth from the Last Hour of Helios
Sunrise Success!
Our morning vista from Mr. Cling's Concrete Cylinder was the perfect remedy for that fateful foggy day two and a half years ago.
The wind and cold made it a little tricky to cook breakfast up there, but we managed anyway and received some magical gifting comestibles in the process.
Then it was back down the ramp to the trail turnoff.
At last we crossed the true 200 mile measurement delineation point and the global trail altitude maximum apex (no hubub or marked indication at either, just the way I like it).
The rest of the day was a bit touristy but nonetheless pleasant.
We encountered more trail magicians in a parking lot that was a bit of a zoo, you're right, it's true.
Many of the daywalkers and foreign nationals peppering the trails gave us funny looks, but at least one Little Miss Maintainer inferred and approved of our pilgrimage.
The sheltacrew tonight is a light and laid back mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces; Pop Ber and Jef are among them.
Our hammocks are swingin' on a splendid overlook.
With luck we'll have another good oriental view tomorrow.
Eighpril Ateth, Lights Out for Jesus
Donuts woke me this morning.
Before I had a chance to say, "mmmm, that's a yummy donut," we were out the door and on our way to Scruby Tuby Warsh House (I didn't make this up either).
I would rate it a perfect 5/7: it's creatively decorated, charges reasonable rates, displays impressively well-kempt houseplants, and is run by Wayne, who has a long white beard almost as thick as his accent and tells some real knee-slappers.
Our pleasantly short wait was made to feel even shorter by the comically propagandistic agitation-entertainment called CBS news playing on the little TV box in the sitting area.
When the clothes came out dry, we zipped down the strip to an IHOP and enjoyed a very traditional and culturally appropriate breakfast meal.
Our Afternoon Excitement neared ever closer.
We popped into a very tourist-oriented outfitter (about at the plush toy level, just below selling you green screen pictures of yourself), then to a Walton Market, and then back to the motel to get ready, get set, and go cross the road.
What lay there?
Chickens, of course, but not just any ol' cocks and hens.
These domestic fowl belonged to the Hatfields and McCoys, and they were about to have a Dinner Feud (2:00 pm showing).
We filtered in through an elaborate plastic Disneylike trinketmonger's quarters and took our seats on the Hatfield's turf.
Food was served and consumed; I could sense and appreciate the immense efforts of the chefs to make it perfectly unobjectionable and universally palatable (no easy task).
As we chewed and waited for the action, a young female cast member whom my mom aptly but confusingly described as "perky" came to recruit us for an Audience Participation Gag near the end of the show.
What luck!
This had a 3% chance of happening.
Then out came the Mayor to introduce the banjo band to introduce the feud.
I cannot properly describe what transpired over the next hour and a half in any reasonable number of words, so I won't try.
Our fifteen seconds of fame involved probing and threading a utensil beneath our garments--we lost, mostly thanks to the dimwit next to me who stood on the line and held up the slack.
He must be college educated.
Suffice it to say that I will be puzzling deeply over the implications of this experience for years to come.
Once Party Time was over, we retired to our rooms and performed various organizational tasks and duties until stopping.
I should sleep now; in several hours we will race the sun up a mountain, and I'm gonna need all the energy I can get.
Aperil Sevength, Late Late Time for Bed
The Clingman Clime was, like most things out here in the backcountry wilderwoods, not as difficult as anticipated.
For the first few miles we hiked through a thunderstorm, which I had not done before and enjoyed greatly.
Then the rain lifted for a time and afforded us some views of the smoky (also known as fogness or cloud material) that the mountains are named for.
We stopped at a shelter with a fire just as driplets began to fall once more, and an hour or so later stopped at another shelter without a fire but with a uniquely bizzarre privy sporting wheelchair instructions
(just across the border into Carolinia of course, but I guess even they have some aggressive ADA lobbyists to contend with).
At this point the forest abruptly became coniferous and began to resemble Cascadia.
The rain made the trees and moss glisten until the clouds miraculously lifted again to reveal one of the most spectacular views I have seen in my life.
As we climbed higher, the view got better.
It could have been a perfect hike, but my mother insisted that we divert from the trail early to reach the summit a few minutes quicker, leaving both the highest point on the whole trail and the 200 mile mark for Sunday.
We passed a false 200 mile sign made of sticks (whoever put it there is an idiot, it's literally on a paved road instead of the trail), and just as we climbed the curvaceous concrete interpretive observational structure ramp the fog blew in and blocked the view.
We began walking down the pavement to the parking lot; within 5 minutes the view was back.
If we had gone my way we would have had the high point, 200 miles, and an incredible 360-degree unobstructed view to end the day.
Sometimes people make bad decisions, and we have to remember that they are only human, and most humans have remarkably feeble minds.
Reaching the tourist- and syllabary-filled parking lot, we were greeted by Papa Bear and Mama Bear, who drove us down the mountain and straight into the next phase of my grandplan scheme: Operation Pigeonhole.
I've been laying the groundwork for this since we decided to hike the trail, and it all came to fruition as we drove down that potently cursed road into the frenetic, cartoonish vacation mecca the people call Pigeon Forge.
We are tourist tourists: not only here to see the garish attractions, but to study the tourism generated by them.
An early dinner at Shoney's gave us time to book accommodations, and--without my input--my mother fell for one of the classic blunders, selecting a delighfully seedy cheap motel based on its appealing name.
It is across the street from an upside-down building.
This was a stretch goal for me, so I am over the moon that we managed to achieve such cultural immersion.
After some showers, Papa Bear suggested we go out for icy cream--no complaints from me.
Back down the main strip we drove in our "pajamas" (laundry is a morning problem) to a bustling joint operated by the friendly local Moldovan immigrants; creams were consumed and fudges were purchased.
With the smile of a kid in a candy store, Papa Bear declared that he needed a half-gallon of chocolate milk.
In its customary way, Publix swooped in from across the street to satisfy his desire and afford us an opportunity to replenish our provisions.
I can now say I have purchased granola bars from the Publix in Pigeon Forge at night while wearing skin-tight patterned thermal leggings.
It is quite late, but there is no need to fret, for we have elected to take a Caligula (appropriate given the decadent insanity) tomorrow.
It ought to be a wild time, but it won't be able to beat this incredible very good excellent day, which I am officially deeming 99% perfect.
April Sixthstsths, Waitin' for Dinner to Soak
The intermittent drizzle began when God and I peed simultaneously this morning.
Over the following few hours He moistened everything and everyone with His gentle spray;
this set the scene for a dreamy, wonderful, madgical day.
We legged ourselves through fairyland forests (the fairies are midges, flies, and gnats), dense laurel thickets, and gentle mountaintop meadows with rocky spots and scenic viewing overlook sights.
After dipping back into Carolinia for a brief privy session we began hiking in the company of Snuggie.
We zenithed Rockletop, from which Mound Springus could be picked out amongst the ridges and peaks, and then traversed to Aunt Jemima's Bisquick Thunderdome.
On the final stretch of the day I managed to spot one of the Ruffled Grousers we have been hearing for about 100 miles:
alerted by the rustling of leaves in time with its usual wing drums, I scrambled up a small mound and spent a good minute staring straight at it before I realized it was perched pensively on a log.
The shelter situation tonight is nearly the same as the last.
A big sloppy meal is in order, for tomorrow we tackle the Dome, rain or shine.
Mr. Clingman ain't even gonna know what even hit him!
4/5 Stars (Pretty Good But I Have Some Constructive Criticism), After Dinner After The Previous Post
Have you heard of stream of consciousness writing?
Pleasant breakfast, still no letter.
We have done our best to forward it.
The shuttle pilot was different today, slightly more competent, but they still didn't understand that when you have multiple destinations you need to load the trunk in reverse order.
Tetris Prank Gone Wrong (Gone Sexual) Police Were Called!
Got back to Fontana Dan eventually.
If anybody has been searching for the whereabouts of the literal gates of hell, we found them there.
It was very hot by the time we started walking.
Crossing Dan was not too bad, nor was the pavement up to the permit box (thank you retiree for telling us where it was in excruciating detail), but as soon as we started climbing I was toast.
Too hot for coal.
I was literally dripping sweat--I cannot remember the last time that happened.
Big beads of sweat rolled down my shining brow as I exerted myself.
I was a sticky wet boy.
A few snakes stopped by to laugh at me (not our first, that was yesterday, forgot to mention it, OOPS HAHA!).
At last we gained the ridgeline, as the mountaineers say, and a stiff Tennisy breeze blew away the North Carolinia heat and hot.
Up shucklestack we went, then up the most sy-gogglin firetower I've climbed in all my days for a nice windy birdeye view of the surrounding mountains and hills and orogenic sceneries.
Down and up again brought us to the fawn fairyland of Yggdrasil, which was pretty cool.
Worth climbing in April.
Not much to speak of until the shelter, which is of stone construction and would be the nicest one we've stayed near if not for the multitude of inconveniences caused by being in Tennisy.
Awful bureacratic stuff.
There are signs saying to boil all the water here.
Leftover signage from the '70s?
Legitimate warning?
Nobody knows.
There are a few mentions that we need to somehow hang our bear canisters--the whole point of those is you don't hang them.
But we must comply, so up go our backpacks to hang in the overnight rain.
And there are no privies at these shelters.
Why?
The really flamboyant one, who calls himself Flowers, very probably has the answer: in Tennisy they would have to be (drumroll) ADA accessible.
Genuine Brazil-tier insanity.
So now we are camping just uphill of the shelter's designated shitfield.
Time's up, mommy wants her phone back.
Goodnight online person!
4/4 = 1 ALERT WE HAVE REACHED UNITY, Late Day After a Dumpster Stay
To our relief, the Turbo-Preschoolers quieted down a little while after I finished writing.
An hour or so later a large pack of coyotes began to howl at the waxing moon--very exciting very cool!
Novelty item in the woods!
(While writing this I was visited by a small bee; I fear he may have misunderstood and thought that the novelty item was on the phonescreen. I greeted him, but he quickly flew away when he ascertained the quality of my prose.)
In a handful of locutionary beats that are still beyond my understanding, the howling initiated a loud Turbo-Conversation about Florida and the housing market.
Eventually my mother activated her maternal discipline and instructed the offenders to "please continue the conversation in the morning."
Sleep soon followed.
The following day started out muggy and buggy with enough haze to wash out our views, but the mood flipped when we descended through an impressively lush slope full of many plant leaves and petals.
Our progress was slowed by at least five individual varieties of trilium among other flora.
Reaching water level, we passed the Fontana Marinara, trotted lakeside to the Fontana Hilton (where I peed in the toilet for more novelty), and roadwalked down to meet Fontana Dan himself.
He is a big ugly concrete structure.
As we understood things, we were to enter the visitors center, which was Built For The People Of The United States, and phone for a shuttle to our accomodational area.
We walked in and asked the retiree at the desk if we could phone for a shuttle.
She said, "yes," then walked us over to the display and began her very gradual lecture on the construction of the Dan.
Father Beowulf wisely slipped out around this time.
After several minutes of useless information about factories that make and roll out aluminum into sheets, do you know what those are called?
Well anyway those kinds of factories, we quietly walked over to ask the other retiree at the desk if we could phone for a shuttle.
He said, "yes," and handed us a phone.
We waited; he spoke at us slowly about the precise layout of the hiking permit box.
The shuttle landed nominally (no damaged foam tiles on this mission--it's always a crapshoot with the management at NASA).
We boarded with tired haste, but our efficiency turned out to be in vain: the pilot went inside and willingly conducted an entire conversation with the retirees about a nearby electric car charger.
When he damn well pleased, he got back into the vehicle, turned on the Grateful Dead, and began flying a circuitous and highly suboptimal route to our destination.
On the way we found Jeffy again.
Landing at the Prime 1970s Dancing Vacation Destination, we picked up our self-care packages, showered immediately, and dressed up in our finest rainy day suits to go walk to the laundromat.
Why walk when it's hot and sunny and we're wearing waterproof clothing?
Well, we tried to phone for the shuttle again, but after waiting over 20 minutes we figured the pilot had found more retirees to discuss car chargers with and took a stroll.
We sat and watched the washers tumble with some other washer watchers;
ice cream would have been next door, but Due to lack of Employees the Ice Cream Shop will not open this season We are sorry for this inconvenience!!
A nearby extortionist gas station satiated my creamlust, and a maintainence magician rolled in shortly after to toss us some Girl Scout Pyramid Scheme Biscuits.
But it was too late--my headache had already begun.
Out came the clothes and up we went to the resturant.
We ate your typical very large meal of large foods for large people; even this failed to quell the headache.
Back up to the lodge, where we learned that general postal incompetence would prevent me from receiving a letter I had been anticipating for over a week.
The headache worsened.
Back to our room for calls, organization, hiker trades, rapid cleaning of pots, using tiny cups to fill our bottles with the worst tap water I have ever tasted, packing.
Too much.
Most of our planned activities would have to wait for yet another town day.
By this point I was in quite some pain and deleriously tired, so I dropped everything and just went to bed while Trail Mom (our Hiking Associate is frighteningly close behind us according to Jiff) attempted to mail a package back home.
I didn't even get to write the bloging post!
Can you believe that reader!
I apologize deeply and profoundly for my severe and continuous lapse of judgement.
Please don't punish me for the delay.
I cannot take any more whippings, beatings, or assaults on my person.
4/3 Is An Improper Fraction So You Need To Split It Into Integral And Fractional Parts, Bedtime Before Sunset
Do not be misled by the whining and complaining of others at our campsite: today was an easy and pleasant hike.
We saw mildly interesting flowers, mildly interesting rocks, and other mildly interesting things that
"MIKE HOWS THE QUILT"
you might see in the woods.
There was a spat of sprinkled drizzle around midday,
"I WAS GETTIN SO MAD AT YOU ALBERT"
but
"I ALMOST HAD TO SWING MY BEAR LINE OVER A TREE AND GO AROUND THE OTHER SIDE"
even that could not break the mildly interesting streak.
"I WAS WAITIN FOR YOU GUYS TO CATCH UP WITH ME"
We waited out out the worst of it while eating lunch in
"A LITTLE ERIC CLAPTON BLUES *loud music*"
a peculiar shelter with a gap in the
"MIKE HOWS THAT QUILT DOIN"
floor.
The rest of the day was smooth sailing, as the sailors say.
Rolling into camp, we were pleased to see a Pencilvania man we have been encountering who calls himself Chex Mix, and while we ate dinner Snuggie joined the party.
Our jubilational good vibe zone was sudddenly
"HOW YOU DOIN SUZIE, WARMIN UP?"
broken, however, when we realized that
"OKAY I THINK IM GETTIN INTO BED NOW"
the shelter's vicinity was populated by the same disgraceful people who wouldn't shut up last night.
The youth crowd spent an infuriatingly long time engaged in loud conversation right by our hammocks (not anywhere near their tents), but the worst offenders tonight are actually some middle- to old-aged siblings.
They're all in their tents and hammocks already, but every few minutes one of them shouts to the others and interrupts my train of thought.
I have no idea what makes them think this is acceptable behavior.
If I hear one more outburst from them I will send them back to Turbo-Preschool, which is a lot like regular preschool (teaching the alphabet, basic manners, which Eric Clapton songs are good and which ones are bad) except instead of being punished with a time out I come piss on your tent.
"TO THINK TOM AND ALBERT YOU GET TO SEE YOUR WIVES TOMORROW"
Looks like the tent pisser will strike for the first time this evening.
April 2: "We Doin' April Again", Calm Early Evening Punctuated by Twenty-Somethings Making Normie-Tier OnlyFans Jokes Three Years After They Stopped Being Funny (Hahahahahahahahaa)
As the suns rise and fall, we creep ever closer to the limits of what I have done.
Today we surpassed the 4000 foot ascent mark for the first time on this trip.
My personal record is over a mile, so I'm not breaking barriers and exploring new horizons of progress and change yet, but this is still respectable.
The climb did not present us with any substantive difficulty.
Still, my knees were not quite entirely satisfied to their utmost and greatest comfort during our meager descent.
Jeffuel decided to stop short and rest up his blistering toeskin, but BearDad is keeping a common schedule with us.
Our campsite was promisingly sparse when we arrived in the afternoon and began to hang our hanging items, but over the next several hours a steady stream of mostly youthful arrivals tiled the narrow gap floor with their tenting arrangements.
Only then did it occur to me how little difference there is between AT campsites and homeless encampments; they definitely have comparable rates of drug posession and use.
Maybe the police will arrive and use their nightsticks to gently remind the youth that others are trying to sleep.
If not, I am equipped with bear spray.
APRIL FOOL! HAHA YOU GO T FOOLED! YOU ARE A GULIBLE PERSON! at Past My Bedtime
We have had a few Nerones already, but today was the first of our unscheduled Caligulae.
The wind forecast worsened overnight to include gusts of over one mile per minute, and with the added water weight from last night's torrent on the limbes and branjes, the mob psyche concluded that hiking out was not a safe option (you will find that the mob psyche is very safety cautious).
A group rationalization followed the decision.
My mother, Papi Oso, our host, and a woman who calls herself Brightside elaborated at some length that this was definitely the right choice, that we were putting safety first and being responsible even if it meant not making progress, and that when hiking the AT&T it's better to avoid injury than push it too far--they were surprisingly full of trail wisdom for never having done this before.
I resigned to the will of the crowd and began killing time by carving.
A woman staying here mounted an expedition to the grocer and provided sandwich fixings and donuts pro bono, which ate another hour or so.
At one point the forest janny came over to check out my stick.
After some conversation we discovered a Big Boy coincidence: he and his brother and me and my brother independently invented the term Big Boy Hike to refer to any hike longer than 20 miles with more than a mile of gain.
He then gifted me a knife, which adds him to the list of people who have gifted me knives.
Not much else happened.
If all goes as planned, we will be on the move again tomorrow, where I am excited to see what may be a truly hellish level of wind damage and trailcrossing treefalls.
The Final Day of the Great Month of Marching, Dimly Trombone-lit Nighttime
Today's allotment of soil was not as deadly dull as yesterday's.
Though others cowered, we found the deep drops, scrams, and screes more amusing than foreboding;
the rest of the trail was graded just shallow enough to be uninteresting and just steep enough to be hard on the knees.
Arriving at the riparian tourist buffer, we exfiltrated our prearranged postal parcel and consumed an ample mid-day-eat before boarding the spacecraft bound for our booked beds.
The place we are staying is very progressive--it deconstructs the hotel-hôtel binary by branding itself a "boutique glamping resort."
It consists of several aggressively themed tiny houses: the Reel-It-Inn, the Red Woof Inn, some kind of yurt, a hairy poder themed one, the Chicken Coop, and a literal schoolbus are among them, but ours is New Orleans Style.
We have old brass wind wallhangers, Louis Armstrong portraits, fleurs-de-lis, and mardi gras paraphernalia.
The whole establishment would be tacky if it weren't so unreasonably well done.
The woman responsible for it all is a genuine hoot and sharp as a whipcrack.
She worked in advertising before typesetting and illustration were digitized, and the meticulous attention to motes of detail cultivated in that field has carried over to her present occupation.
One of the youthful lads she employs also works as a Forest Service janny;
we heard him warn some slackers about naughty homicidal trees at a tentsite down the road, so we decided to consult him on our plan to camp tomorrow in 50 mile-per-hour winds.
When we explained that we were in hammocks, a crazed flash illuminated his face and caused his eyes to widen.
"Oh. OH. I hadn't thought of that... man, that's a hot idea!"
We may be seeing him at camp tomorrow.
I've just enjoyed a little oreo ice cream cup as a late night snack, and once I brush my teeth I'll be gettin in bed with a full tummy.
Full tummy bedtimes are my favorite bedtimes because I am a fat fucking glutton.
Join me on my quest for meaning in this nightmare world of soul-harvesting consumption: eat sweet treats and sleep.
3/30 (A Nice Round Number As You Can See), Dust Time
A late start this morning began a completely uneventful day of hiking.
Nothing of note happened.
The second half of our route was somewhat dead, dusty, and unpleasant;
even climbing a fire tower with a clear view of the smokies was a dry experience.
Camp is run-of-the-mill and lightly populated.
We interacted briefly at dinner with a colorfully dressed man whom Wendy referred to as "the really flamboyant one"--an apt moniker, considering he speaks only in his falsetto range.
I can tell he doesn't just have a high voice both by his strained timbre and because whenever he laughs, makes involuntary vocalizations, or imitates a man, he uses his underlying modal voice, which is alarmingly deep for his affected persona.
Strange people out here in appalachialand.
Tomorrow we descend for six miles straight into the KNOCK--KNantahala Outdoor CenterK--which may be unpleasant on the knees and feets and other parts of the leg device.
If the terrain is as dusty as today I will begin slaying fellow hikers so that their blood wets the earth.
And another addendum: yesterday there was a strange basement alcove in the firetower on the second bald.
Inside it wasa single empty can of Pabst Blue Ribbon.
Have the beerlads been here?
329 4216 5225 6236, The Morning After Because It Was Too Damn Cold
As we gathered our gatherings and assembled our assemblies in preparation for departing the motel, something remarkable happened:
Mark Zuckleman personally delivered us a notice that the government was setting the trail on fire.
This little monkey of a development threw a wrench in our plans to start the big day early.
Jefferald decided to spend another day in town and dip his heel in the stygian waters, while we, Ursus Pater, and Ursa Mater awaited the all-clear go-ahead at a waffle dealer sans waffles.
The meal was full of kindred spirit.
Lacking a status update after billing up, we trucked on into the gap to hobnob with the government arsonists and stooges in hopes of extracting their incendiary intelligence.
They had none.
We sat around for a few hours until the pyropter finally swung by and the ridge began to smoke.
Then, with our Forest Service Detainment over, we began hiking around 3 pm.
An initial climb took us straight through the path of the flames--abundant smoke to inhale, ashen forest floor, burning leaf litter, flaming snags, and even a dud firebomb were among the scenery of the obliquely lit afternoon.
Eventually we reached a bald and climbed to the top through flaming meadows.
I endowed my walking stick with a char feature as we took in the unobstructed 2pi radian view.
A runner's high carried me to the next bald, where we climbed a fire tower and saw the reddest setting sun of my life before descending into camp--a record pace for our trip.
The shelter was unexpectedly packed.
We set up and ate in dark red silence before climbing beneath our quilts.
Despite the freezing temperature, we were warm.
328 4216 5232 6264, Not Sure Exactly What Time It Is (Solar Wise, I Am Typing On A Smardphone With A Clock) Because Of The Blinds
Beggels, yoghurt, creen cheen, garnola, mufflins, granberries, coughee--it was a bekfast of chanpioms.
The hôtel hôts were reserved, yet jovial; calm, yet exuberantly kind.
Fueled and cooled, we made our merry way to the launchpad which costs millions of dollars of taxpayer money, think about that seriously for a moment, and Blasted Off! back to the head of the trail.
Step up, step down.
Step all around!
Step step step.
Coming down the steps we stepped right up to our familymember, who calls herself Chef Cocoa.
She flew us to the resupply, to the motel, to a tasty long lunch, and back to the motel, dishing out tips, wisdom, and gear bits the whole time.
It was a wonderful and generous reunion.
Papa Bear and Jersey Jeff are at the same motel, so we all rounded ourselves up into a round with Papa Bear's Lady Friend in accompaniment and sauntered over to the local latin watering hole to meet some fellow walkers and talkers.
I ate food; others wasted away.
Under unexpectedly smokey skies we now retire in our hopefully bedbugless arrangements.
Marge Twendy Semen, Chica and Well Past Sunsets
The thunderstorms in the forecast unfortunately missed us;
we heard some thunder and saw some lightning, but the meat and potatoes of the real action skirted just to our south.
I was hoping for more hammock-swingin' wind.
My consolation prize was climbing up some fun rock embellishments in the trail to the 100 mile fire tower, marking 100 miles in this 100 mile journey.
I feel so moved, it's almost like I've moved 100 miles.
What an emotional moment for me.
I am a very emotional woman.
In the early afternoon we were picked up by our Exclusive NASACAR Driver and flown by space to the Exclusive Hôtel for Exclusive People.
By coincidence, the only other Exclusive Person staying here is Wendy from Freedom Day.
After cleaning our beans we docked to the ISS and went out on the small town.
We dined at a USDA Forest Service Certified Free-Range Organic Soil Conservation No-Till Permaculture Local GMO-Free Wellness Animal Health Wholesome Farm-to-Table establishment.
I ate a bird, and my mom ate a fish.
FroYo Bro (No Mo' Po' Ho's) stood in for a proper ice creem desert.
We ran into a few highkers on the lil main street of this cute lil village whose economy is completely dependent on AT tourism, making the livelihood of most people here fundamentally at risk, and signed their cute lil AT banner. Now we are going to bed.
My mom is snoring.
Will I be able to fall asleep?
Find out on the next episode of Turn Off The Goddamn Screen You Lazy Piece Of Shit And Go Do Something Productive.
Now.
Marchie 2*13, End of a Hard Day's Workin' Hikin' Excursion'
A brief, light rain woke us this morning.
We took one last view from the summit, complete with about 10 degrees of a rainbow, and then made a slow ridgewise descent.
At several points we caught sight of the fire tower at the 100 Mile Markerino Award Center, which we will be passing tomorrow if tonight's thunderstorms don't kill us.
Lunch was taken at a run-down shelter where a prophecy inscribed on the walls warned us of KGB AI Demon Tech Mind Control.
A mangled bear canister was left there as a warning; fāma fert that a bear successfully broke into it a few nights ago.
We then passed through a very strange section of woods which hinted at some catastrophic event several years in the past--vast stretches of dead understory with only short living plants, an impressive number of wide treefalls, and generally unusual soil.
Eventually it gave way to regular forest, and eventually the regular forest gave way to non-bear-sanctuary regular forest.
Camping with us tonight are Jersey Jeff and Papa Bear, the two most pleasant people we have met who are still on trail, or entraille if you will.
Entraille is spelled as though it were a French word, and would therefore be pronounced similarly to the English phrase "on trail," making this a pun.
And one addend to last night's report: I somehow forgot to mention the crucial fact that the beerlads were drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon.
This beer choice foreshadowed the havoc they wrought when they returned to the shelter at the base of the mountain.
March 25th, A New Holiday Called "Freedom Day," 5450 Feet in the Evening
BIG day. Big League. Bam. BINGO!
The thunderstorm last night was ferocious and thrilling.
If you have never hammocked in a thunderstorm with 40-mile-per-hour winds, I highly recommend it.
You have to try it.
We got a late start in the morning, partly due to the storm, but mostly due to some amazing fantacular news:
through the divine power of elaborate roundabout nepotism, we have been gifted a stay at the most exclusive hôtel on the whole Ablation Trail.
Only exclusive people are allowed to stay there.
We will also have a personal NASA-approved shuttle pilot for our day in town.
After sorting and delivering our thanks to the requisite parties, we set out on our climb.
On the slopes of a mountain, we discovered that we are now within eyeball distance of the Smoking Hills.
Clingman's Dome (real name, I did not make this up) can be faintly made out among the distant ridges.
The mid-after-noon-time brought us to a TrailMagical operation of truly industrial scale.
Paralyzed by the unexpected multitude of choices, I settled on two samoas, a bag of cheez-its, and some Welch's fruit snacks.
A walk up the hill brought us to a very windy shelter inhabited by Wendy and some strange creatures disguized as twentysomethings.
Wendy encouraged us to follow our fears and stay put, but we duly ignored her, and upon the reappearance of our Hiking Associate and Jersey Jeff we resolved to camp atop Standing Indian Mountain.
This was to be a fateful decision.
The walk was relatively easy, and the campsite turned out to be superb, but despite this good fortune, our Hiking Associate began unraveling.
In a manner eerily similar to that of my ex-girlfriend, she threw the most juvenile temper tantrum I have witnessed in several years, deciding quicker than the fickle wind that me, Jersey Jeff, and my mom--whom she has been calling her "trail mom" since day one--are all "assholes."
According to her, this was because we didn't want to cook directly in our campsites in bear territory.
In reality, we suspect she has a touch of some personality disorder, decided a few days ago that she did not want to continue on the trail, and has constructed an internal fantasy to blame her failure on others.
She decided to go back down the mountain to the shelter; she ostensibly intends to leave the trail tomorrow.
I hope she does.
My mom and Jeff tried to convince her to stay, or at least walk back with someone.
I did not.
I knew this was coming thanks to my two and a half years of dreadful, regrettable experience with my ex, and I was happy to let the energy of her explosion carry her far from us.
As she made her final arrangements to depart, my mom and I followed some cheerful beerlads to the summit of the mountain.
We stood and chatted with them and a nice couple camping there as the sun drifted down the open sky.
It shone through wispy clouds and made lakes glow until endless mountains hid it from our view.
I've seen many sunsets;
this one was the most exhilarating.
The lifting of our greatest burden made it that much sweeter.
324 546 768 98A, Windy Starry Twilight of the End of the Day
A breakfast of ice cream marked the start of our loftiest day so far.
We found ourselves intermittently in the company of a Kentucky man who calls himself
Papa Bear;
he comes from a dirt-poor family, but by some fluke of genetics wound up being a leftist, so he is estranged from his siblings and hates his state.
As morning became afternoon, we drew ever closer to the first nation-state border of the trail.
Just before reaching it I had the good fortune to discover a recently felled laurel suitable for use as a walk-mobile device, and with some frantic secret sawing it became mine to keep.
At last, beneath the hot southern sun, we crossed the Official Georga-Carolinia State Limen Marker Plaque, complete with a user-submitted line in the dirt.
Not 30 yards later we came to our campsite.
We consumed some genuine Knorr trail slop with the Ursine Father and his Yale-grad hikin' bud, who calls herself Bluebird.
As we cleaned and wiped our messy slimy food pots, a mother strolled by with 13 of her 15 children.
Don't worry--we captured them on camera.
After a trip to the special tree for sunfall, we retired;
just now BearDad's third ally has arrived at camp.
He ought to stake down his tent well, because this night is foretold to bring with it some foul weather.
3/23/23/23/23/23, The Same Time Of Day As Almost Every Other One Of These Entries
Two bard owls punctuated last night's rainfall with their frenzied song.
Perhaps they were laughing as we slept.
The morning was gloriously dry; a brief jog down the mountain brought us to our NASA-approved transportation device, which swung us Around The Bend to tonight's hôtel.
This hôtel occupies an intermediate position on the hotel-hôtel spectrum.
It's not a crack house, which is a plus, but it is still rather communal and chaotically run.
Our host is John Lennon from circa 1970.
He seems to have acquired some customs on his 1968 Indian Approprition Expedition, in particular the endlessly fascinating diagonal head bobble that accompanies every spoken word.
We managed to hitch a ride on a crewed ISS resupply into town, which ejected us at the least convenient possible location to go shopping.
A couple highway crossings later and we nonetheless had all the nummy munchies we need for the big days ahead.
We gobbled up a geriatrically early supper out on the town, followed by a spot of iced cream, and returned to the hot hôtel, where I bought a carbon fiber compliant-mechanism umbrella (fancy variety).
We also nabbed a couple larger stuffel bags for our hangbeds, which should make packing up less strenuous.
There are promises of a continental breakfast in the morning--very European.
If we survive tomorrow's climb I pinkie swear to write again.
Love, Your Big Wet Teddy Bear
Three Twenty Two, Electric Boogaloo, 6:25 Named Clive
After the sun set last night, I was treated to a view of distant city lights, at once inspiring awe and reminding me of the industrial creep that threatens my future property.
I dreamt about a fictitious episode of Black Mirror, a show I have never seen and know almost nothing about, until my sleep was briefly disrupted by some earlier-than-forecast rain.
It tinkled as we packed our things, as we mudsurfed for miles, and as we arrived at tonight's wooden structure of habitation and erected our flies.
A break in the great drip allowed us to hang the bed bananas without moistening them, but it soon resumed, so we resigned to heating and eating our Trail Slop cuisine with the huddled sleepers-to-be.
More progress was made towards astroturfing that term into the public consciousness.
One of the sheltermen tonight is a familiar face; he is stout and bearded, smokes a pipe, and calls himself Furlong.
He is from "Nahampsha."
The day is not yet waning, but still sleep nears.
Becoming dry will be a puzzle.
If the worst should befall us we will be in another hôtel next afternoon.
3/21 = 1/7 haha fraction gag, the Part of the Day After Dinner but Before You Finish Staking Your Rain Fly
Steep day, very steep.
Steep step.
Down a mountain, up a mountain, down a mountain, up a mountain.
Seedle peeled off after the first descent on account of her fucked leg;
as she did so, we became acquainted with Smoky the Bear, who gave us his number.
Then we carried on.
Several of the strutters we encountered on the way to our destination are holing up next to us tonight--a rowdier bunch than I would have, but hopefully they will shut their holes before too long.
They say little of note anyway, except for a seasoned man who calls himself K-Dog.
He amuses me.
The sun has withdrawn behind the clouds and mountains, but continues to illuminate the sprawling, rolling landscape below our ridge, making it glow as a field of wheat at harvest time.
A blue jay's feather graces our ground.
My name is John Muir, and you're reading Nature Words, Overused Quotes, and Other Forgotten Ramblings, Volume 37.
Springe's Firstest Day, Looming Scungset
You know what they say: after two longs, a short must follow.
Nowhere is this truer than in the backcountry.
We slept in and schlepped out a brief seven mighles at record pace, thanks to the mild terraigne and absence of our burdenous Hiking Associate for most of the trip.
Snacks were eaten.
Our fabric accomodations are strung up this evening on a ridge overlook at the 50 mile increment marking indicator sigil;
we are joined by several surprisingly tolerable people, including two oldies and one mildly injured young lass whom I will call Seedle.
We expect her to join our wayfaring party on the morrow as she fares down the gap to rest up her knee.
Each day now the air warms, and if the big luck dealer stays on our side of the court it should be an easy few stints into the next town.
Threem Nimeteem, the End of a Gentle Pink Sunset
Today was a big day for us.
Not a Big Boy day--that will have to wait a couple months--but still our biggest day so far.
It was also very TrailMagical ;) !
Two separate bands of warlocks assembled to provide us with yummy eatins and a scrumptious dessert treat.
They even gifted us an incantation.
Before, between, and after these lil rests, we went up and down, up and down, lots.
Two more lads entered our orbital periphery: one who calls himself White Oak, and one who I will call Jersey Jeff.
With their unwitting aid, we were able to spend much of the day out of hearing range of our Hiking Associate, who has of late begun calling herself Squeeze.
May tomorrow be similarly quiet.
Near the end of the day, a guardian presented us with a fork in the road.
We took the right path.
Now, with plump tummies and emptied bladders, we hunker down for another bitterly cold night.
3/18 = 1/6, so it is "Insurrection" Day, at It Smells Like Fucking Cigarettes In This Bunk House o'clock
I am in an insane place.
I don't throw that term around willee nillee; people, places, and things have to earn the designation.
This place has done so beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Our hike today was not as difficult as I was anticipating--a recurring trend, it seems, methinks, it would appear.
We found the top of an early hill to be frosted, with ice growing sideways off stems and branches under the force of the wind.
On our approach to Blood Mountain, we came across two middle-aged southbound women warning us that the climb ahead was "a sheet of ice" with winds "easily 20 miles an hour."
They told us we needed to take the bypass trail.
They were "saving lives left and right today."
When I ascertained that they had not in fact been on the mountain, I began to doubt their claims.
We decided to ignore them and pressed on, finding the conditions balmy and whimsical.
Atlantis could be sighted from the summit.
A steep descent carried us to a disgraceful tourist gift shop full of trinkets and useless plastic doodads;
to make matters worse, a group of three inbred hicks who had been harassing our Hiking Associate earlier in the day were sitting outside drinking monster and beer.
Fortunately,we absconded away with our resupply boxes and caught our NASA shuttle to tonight's hôtel.
Arriving, it became immediately clear that last night's hôtel was really more on the hotel end of the spectrum.
This place is a genuine hôtel.
I spent a fair amount of the evening in a loaner shirt with an atomic structure diagram of LSD on it;
my mother, our Hiking Associate, a fellow inhabiter, and one of the owners all donned onezies;
an overweight man in his 50s and a fluorescent yellow beanie would not shut up (he is currently on the bunk below me, finally quiet);
a bearded old smoker in a cowboy hat lurked mute until he finally muttered "that's too funny";
a profoundly, inexplicably, indescribably, frighteningly weird couple(?) from Illinois(?) who we passed on our first day arrived (one is very thin with his(?) long hair in a bun, the other does not talk and turns his head very slowly like the weird kid you saw in gym in high school and can't remember the name of);
the whole house appears normal at first glance, but the longer you spend in it the more it becomes clear that all of the interior decorating and arranging is the product of weed- and shroom-addled minds, slowly infecting you with their cluttered but tasteful psychosis, driving you to dissociation.
I swear to the Anointed Christ Geesus on the Rood that I am not making any of this up.
Which reminds me, the place is Christian.
Christian LSD: the new aesthetic of the southern Appalachians.
I am done for the night.
Kiss an IRA Bomber Day, Lights Out Time for the Kiddos
Today was a wet day, as in there was a lot of water making things wet.
The water was coming from God.
God managed to get many things wet, including my feet, but our UltraTech Synthetic Dyneeema Dry Tarp Rainproof BPA-free* Fly Covers protected the essential goods and services.
After a short jaunt of 4.08 nautical miles, we recruited the remains of NASA's failed Space Shuttle program to ferry us to a hôtel.
Our driver was a congenial and pleasant interlocutor.
At the accommodations we enjoyed Pope John's 16-incher and hung some moist ones in the closet.
And the best part is: we get to stay in a hôtel again tamorrow!
I'm really looking forward to experiencing these back to back new experiences.
There are hôtels all over the fucking place!
I must also make two addenda to yestaday's report.
First, my number one priority goal mission on the trail--astroturfing "trail slop" into an accepted term for trail food--began last night as a beautifully smooth opportunity to "coin" the term was handed to me by Knox.
This gives me hope for the future.
And second, I recieved an ancient First Nations blessing while setting up my hammock in the form of a golden Sacagawea in the dirt.
I may only be $1 richer, but my spiritual wealth has exploded tenfold.
May the good vibes and energy wiggles propagate into the morning, when we shall attempt our biggest day yet and cross Blood Mountain (blood sacrifice optional but strongly encouraged).
16/3, Starry Late Eve
We were generously serenaded last night by a pack of coyotes engaged in spirited debate.
Their vocalizations lulled us into a deep sleep.
After waking this morning and beginning our quotidian labor, we found that our orbit of leapfroggers had at once been sundered and grown.
The Homonyms and The Lovers fell a bit behind our pace, and three lads filled the power vacuum: one who calls himself Chopsticks, and two who I will refer to as Haverford and Knox.
Amidst the echoes of machine gun fire, Chopsticks warned us of the coming storm; we ignored him until the schizophrenic meteorological prognosticators confirmed his fears, then elected to cut tomorrow short and take cover in a hôtel.
Our late afternoon was spent mostly in a dusty forest, where Haverford and Knox made a few stabs at appellating me Stylin' or Einstein--I successfully rebuffed their advances.
We have come to rest a few hundred feet downslope of the communal shelter our Hiking Associate elected to inhabit, so the night is pleasantly calm.
I look forward to a wet morning that should put our gears and cogs to the exam.
Assassination Day, the First White Blaze Nightfall
Our morning began with a climb up Mound Springus to the southerlimost terminad of the trail proper.
I am rapidly coming to understand that the average fitness of Mainewalk attempters is much lower than you might otherwise expect;
the difficulty of trail segments is consistently overreported, and we seem to pass others frequently.
On a brighter side, our Hiking Association has agglomerated two pair of ragtag rapscallions as intermittent stroll buddies.
One I will refer to as The Homonyms, and the other as The Lovers.
We encountered our first Wizard in a parking lot, who called himself Doc Holliday and could conjure food items from an automobile;
permuted amongst ourselves through the length of a lush grove of laurels, rhododendra, and virgin hemlock;
and paused to enjoy the roar of a strange and rare formation in which a creek rapdily changes altitude and the water apears to fall.
We now retire nestled on a sloping but well-constructed series of tent flats and hammock nooks.
Dinner was warm.
Pie in the Calendrical Sky, the Part of the Day When It Is Cold
Reports of Amicalola Stairs' difficulty were greatly exaggerated.
I'm not sure how unfit you'd have to be to struggle with them, but suffice to say you shouldn't be hiking.
We enjoyed a leisurely stroll up them after receiving our TrailSat Wireless Tracking Number Tag Registration Card from the relevant agency, and in the process came to meet our first official Hiking Associate.
She is like a cross between my ex-girlfriend and my best friend's youngest sister, except she's ten years older than them.
We hiked and waddled, climbed and philosophized, tumbled and scrumbled.
This evening we performed an initiatory fire ritual with the sundry hippies, scrappy retirees, vagrants, locutionary wizards, and bona fide trekkers inhabiting our campsite.
It was grand.
As I write now, it is a crispy 34 Fahrenheits, and the ashes of our creation smolder beneath a gently occident sun.
A long night awaits.
three/thirteen, Gettin' Ready for Beddy
I just finished watching an hour-long video on electrolyte balance at the request of my mother.
I gained no significant insight from this experience; I plan to retain my habit of getting electro-lit roughly once a day.
Juice taste good, Cole like juice.
Nothing remains to be done before our departure in the morning.
Our lodge overlooks the falls we will be climbing after completing our pack weigh-in and No Touch Only Look orientation session at the visitor center.
660 stairs are rumored to lie between there and here.
We will do our best, but I cannot guarantee the continued existence of our legs and cardiovascular systems after climbing them.
We plan to trek a leisurely 7 miles to ease us into the groove, or rhythm, also known as habitary custom.
The serene eve bodes well, I think.
Let me know what you think.
What do you think, reading person?
Do you think the serene eve bodes well?
I do.
Twelmar, Post-Supper Stupor
Someone should alert the authorities that France and the Live Oak Militia are launching an all-out assault on the southeastern seaboard.
There's sous vide, crème brûlée, défenêtrations nônchâlântes, waxy green leaves all over our beautiful hardwood floors - this miscarriage of justice cannot stand.
Fortunately, we pooled our meager intellects in the manner of congress and arrived at a plan to retaliate with our mouths and a screened-in porch.
The latest reports from the front indicate that the enemy was successfully neutralized.
We should all take away the following lesson from this experience: the mouth is a powerful and dextrous tool apt for many diverse persuasions and persuasive acts.
Beyond battle, not much happened today.
I self-administered some cognitive evaluations and confimed my longstanding suspicion that I am severely impaired.
Probably there is no hope for me; my mind rots and rots from hour to hour like that of so many men my age.
At least Papa Fed is bailing out all the friendly California executives who have only our best interest in mind.
Thank you, Tim Apple!
Thank you, Algore!
Thank you, Jay Powell!
Say this prayer three times, then take the seed underfoot and shake a twig of birch.
After six days, six hours, and six minutes, the crop will be genetically modified.
3/11, Early Evening as the Pearl-Sun is Weaning
We are atop a large building overlooking town from a distance.
A well-timed jump from this height could take out at least two groundwalkers, maybe three.
The day has been marked by time travel:
we began with a trip to Rhode Island in 1952, where we discovered that Paul McCartney was in a band before Wings;
then we leapfrogged to a near-future hellscape where all manner of goblins, ghouls, "artists," pigs in strollers, dyed-hair agitators, horsecops, and complacent shoppers gather at something called a "farmers' market";
and lastly, craving a return to stately tradition, we transported ourselves back to the good old past and enjoyed some ice cream cones Biden-style.
What the evening will bring is yet to be determined.
I do know that bananas will be involved, at least in spirit.
The spirit of bananas is strong here. Their joy and unreserved expression of self is something rarely seen in people their age.
We should all be more like bananas.
More from me tomorrow, when the crew gets the whole gang together and eats as a team.
10 Marsh 2023hree, late in the late part of the day
Tonight we consulted with a psychic at an old vault.
She had nothing whatsoever of import to say about our trip.
Maybe next time.
There were a number of odd synchronicities, coincidences, and fun little joyous moments, however, which point me to order a taco from a restaurant in Radnor in the fall.
Then the craving shall be quenched, and we shall see what it is all about.
As the day of departure, or d-day as I like to call it, draws nearer to the present moment, in that strange manner in which time draws and creeps and keeps,
I think to myself, as I so often do in these moments and those like them, such as before other major times of departure, movement, or change, for instance my starting collage, or the other time,
that, in this manner and nearing quickly like a freight train, barreling at me like a truck, rushing at me like a large solid object moving at high speed, which frequently happens.
I think those who can will know what a companion this can be for such a man.
This one is a poem: O great spirit in the night, keep the stary sky so bright, like a glowing glitter cup, to distract my grandfather from his dog that will not shut up
Marche the Ninth, Sultry Midafternoon
I am in the middle of a nearly twelve-hour car ride travelling the distance we intend to hike in about 90 days.
Cars are faster than people.
I've just discovered the existence of Arizona Fruit Snacks, the packaging of which will make a fine and dandy addition to my growing Arizona Tarot.
I believe the Snacks are almost three times as expensive as a classic can; they don't taste like it.
The checkerboard motif reoccurs once again on the top of the bag.
I am convinced it is speaking to me.
It is saying, "summersummersummersummersummersummer."
It speaks in whispers and hisses, but I can still hear it if I strain my cochlea.
Summersummersummersummersummersummer.