Post AT 2015 Gear Review.

Here is a link to my original post about the gear I took (or more accurately, planned to take) on my thruhike of the Appalachian Trail. Don't get me wrong, I still used most of that same gear, but I made some changes just before and during the trail. Check it out.

The hexamid in all its glory and some asshole posing.

Zpacks Hexamid Solo.

Pros: This tent weighs like 12 ounces all things included. It takes all of two minutes to set up (once you know what you're doing). It's made from cuben fiber so it doesn't retain moisture like silnylon, so it won't weigh you down if it gets wet (and it will). Easy to repair with cuben fiber tape.

Cons: Cost. This thing costs a buttload, but I bought a slighter older, well loved model from somebody on the Gear Swap at backpackinglight.com. Unfortunately, this means it wasn't seamsealed, so halfway through our hike I had to "re-seamseal" all of the stitching with cuben fiber tape, which actually turned out to be inexpensive and easy. It rains a lot on the AT, and it sucks to get rained on in this thing. Or at least it did for me. Why? I didn't have the "bathtub floor" and I took a lot of splash damage through the mesh bottom.  Trust me, it sucks to have residual splash damage hit you in the face all night. I used my own polycro or emergency blanket groundsheet most of the time, and eventually I figured out how to rig my groundsheet and various stuff sacks to block most of the splash. In addition, there's no way this thing will make it through another thruhike, as of right now I have parts of the mesh duct taped and lots of small damage taped up on the cuben fiber top.

Bottom line: It got the job done and weighed jack shit. Anyone who has thruhiked with Zpacks gear will tell you that it's the way to go. Did I mention that Zpacks has great customer service? I was having trouble with my zipper and they offered to have me send it in to get fixed, free of charge. I didn't take them up on the offer since I was using it literally every day at the time, but the fact is that they are willing to help thruhikers pretty much without fail. Regardless, I was pretty envious of anyone with a Zpacks Solplex, which seems to be made more for AT-like climates with its large bathtub floor and . If I was going to do the AT again, I would use a solplex, but since I'm doing the PCT this year, I'll be using the Hexamid Tarp, which is the same tent but with no mesh.

After 2189.2 miles of rain, dirt, and giardia.

Looks pretty good before it turns the color of rusted robot shit.

Hyperlite Mountain Gear Windrider 3400.

Pros: Waterproofish. Would definitely last another thruhike. Carries weight well. No frills, easy to use. Turns brown after hiking with it for too long. Amazing customer service. Offered to send me a loaner pack whilst they fixed mine up and then send it back to me once done. Turns out I can fix the problem myself so it wasn't necessary, but I'd put HMG service on par with Zpacks.

Cons: Waterproofish. Somehow water gets inside and soaks your quilt, unbeknownst to you. The brown stain will never go away, forever turning your 300 dollar NASA gear into a turd colored piece of shit that normal people sneer at whilst in town. Retains a smell... a bad smell, kind of like ammonia. Allows for absolutely no ventilation, this in turn makes you sweat profusely, this in turn warms your back up considerably, this warm sensation turns from uncomfortable to horrible pain when the heat becomes a thousand tiny stabbing needles. Way, way, way too big. Should have got a 2400, what the hell was I thinking? The only times I used the entire collar was when Cheyanne was dying and I carried most of her gear to halfassedly slack pack her for awhile.

Bottom line: I like this pack. I wish it was smaller. I'm going to keep it around in the hopes that I will one day get into packrafting or ice climbing (ha), but I don't plan on using it on the PCT or even CDT for that matter.

A very rare specimen, the giant slug with the head of a Cheyanne.

Enlightened Equipment Prodigy 30 Degree.

Pros: Synthetic, won't lose warmth when wet. And trust me, you'll get wet, and you'll stay wet, for days, for weeks, for months, you will forget what it's like to be anything but damp and clammy and eventually you'll start to seriously worry about trench foot, but don't worry, it's all apart of the AT experience. Easy to wash. If it's hot (and it will be), you can drape that shit over you like a blanket. Tight. Did I mention that by using synthetics rather than down you're not contributing to one of the most despicable and morally reprehensible industries to ever exist? 

Cons: Quilts can be drafty. That's why I got a wide. I didn't really need a wide, but this was my first thruhike, and I can be a baby if I want to, so ha.

Bottom line: I will be using this same quilt on the PCT... it's only a 30 degree so we'll see how that turns out.

Way, way, way too big/wide, to the point of being an inconvenience.

Thermarest Neoair Xlite Large.

Pros: Huge. So comfortable. Amazing. Luxurious. King in the castle.

Cons: Too big. Seriously, so freaking big. Barely fits in my tent/shelters. Also I've had this asshole for like five years and have entirely compromised its R-value (ability to reflect heat) by blowing moisture inside of it.

Bottom line: Don't buy the lie. Neoairs don't pop for no freaking reason. Trust me. I've had this one literally forever and have seriously manhandled it, and it's never freaking popped. I'll be using a neoair size small on the PCT.

Little rusted droid dude.

Soto Microregular Stove.

Pros: Super easy. Reliable. Light weight. Can simmer (kind of). I've had this thing for a million years and I've never had a problem.

Cons: Doesn't do great in wind, canisters cost a bunch of money and weigh more.

Bottom line: A canister stove is a canister stove is a canister stove. If the PCT bans alcohol stoves, I'll bring a canister stove. It might be the Soto, it might be a Snowpeak, it might be something else, but I don't think it really matters.

Only about an ounce of difference. Don't use the mini!

Sawyer Squeeze and Sawyer Squeeze Mini.

Pros: Easy to use. Decent flow. Immediate satisfaction.

Cons: Probably will break. The flow on the mini is total shit. I filtered all of my water the entire trail and somehow got a bacterial infection in my gut that I still haven't quite figured out, so I guess I kind of hate these filters.

Bottom line: I'll end up using a Sawyer Squeeze on the PCT because aquamira scares me more than most waterborne illness and it weighs jack shit, plus it's just so damn easy to use.

Looking like a total doofus with my O2 rain jacket in The Smokies.

O2 Rain Jacket.

Pros: Costs almost nothing and actually works. Plus it's an obnoxious yellow color so you're sure to never get shot by a hunter.

Cons: Obnoxious yellow color. Can't wash. Disposable. Fragile.

Bottom line: I didn't have any problems with this jacket, and honestly I'd recommend them to just about anyone, but I think it's time for me to upgrade a bit. I won't be using this on the PCT, instead, I'll be opting for the Ultimate Direction Ultra Jacket.

"Quick, look like a model."

Montbell Thermawrap.

Pros: Really light. Synthetic. Doesn't lose warmth when wet. Handy dandy pockets for keeping fickle things like your phone close to your body heat so that the cold doesn't destroy them.

Cons: None, really.

Bottom line: I'll use the no frills UL version of the thermawrap on the PCT.

"What are you doing?"

Patagonia Houdini.

Pros: Nice to have on laundry day. Versatile.

Cons: Stays wet when it gets wet. Honestly couldn't find very many practical applications for this particular piece of clothing.

Bottom line: I won't be using a windshirt on the PCT, instead I'll have a more functional rain jacket that I'll use for both rain and wind.

Not as uncomfortable as you might think.

Injinji Toe Socks.

Pros: No blisters.

Cons: Get "stale" easily. Don't last long before the toes start busting through the fabric, probably 300 or 400 miles each.

Bottom line: I'll probably use these again. I hate blisters and I can always "layer" injinji liners with more durable darn toughs to get the most bang for my buck.

Pack down small. Especially handy for hitchhiking purposes.

Rusted hardware. However, probably a universal screw that can be found at any hardware store.

Locus Gear CP3 Poles.

Pros: Very light. Very compact. Easy flick lock mechanism. Fairly inexpensive.

Cons: Annoying rattle. Didn't bother me much but is super noticeable after using another person's poles. Several obnoxious, albeit easy, repairs had to be made whilst hiking. My hardware kept coming loose on one of the sections and I had to find a super strong adhesive to bring it back to life. Locus Gear assisted me with this, emailing me all the necessary information and handy pictures to guide me in repairing my poles.

Bottom line: I'd use these again, and I will if my Gossamer Gear LT4s break, but until then the LT4s are my go to.

Not looking too bad after 500+ miles.

The most noticeable damage.

Lugs still looking pretty decent at the end of their life.

Altra Lone Peaks.

Pros: Very light. Wide toebox, No blisters. Zero drop. Very comfortable. Somewhat aggressive lugs.

Cons: So slippery. I don't know what the fuck it is about Altras but their soles are insane slippery. It's unfortunate because I'll literally only use Altras. The Lone Peaks had a tendency to "pancake out" after about 400 miles, which is what I'd expect from them realistically.

Bottom line: I will only wear Altras. Lone Peaks or Olympus.

First pair of Olympus. Brand new at the time of this picture.

First pair, end of their life. Most noticeable damage. Sole was coming detached from upper.

Pretty much no tread left after 700 miles. Pennsylvania will do that to you. 

Second pair at the end of their 1100+ mile life. The tread was smooth as a baby's bottom.

Altra Olympus.

Pros: So much cushion. Wide toebox, No blisters. Very comfortable. Got 1100 miles out of a pair of these, that's half the AT fools. And it weren't no easy sections neither. They went through Pennsylvania, The Whites, Maine, and up Katahdin.

Cons: Again, so slippery. But Altra has fixed this problem with more current models. They teamed up with Vibram and now have not just nice soles, but the best soles in the biz. It's too bad they cost 150 bucks a pair now, oh well.

Bottom line: You bet I'll be using these on the PCT.

Use this book. It's the AT thruhiking bible.

AWOL's Guide to the AT.

Pros: Pretty much tells you everything you need to know. Mostly just an elevation map so you can look ahead and laugh at how much your life sucks in the days to come. Also has detailed information and maps for trail towns. Comes with a nice little pdf document to save to your smartphone.

Cons: Sometimes just flat out wrong, in which case you're fucked. Seems to omit some really important information sometimes, like WATER SOURCES.

Bottom line: This is the most reliable guide for the AT regardless of its problems, I'd use it again and so should you. Guthook's app is good too, but it costs quite a bit.

What I would have done differently:

I would have used a Zpacks Solplex rather than a Hexamid. I would have taken a real rain jacket like an Outdoor Research Helium II and ditched the windshirt. I would have used the 2400 version of the HMG Windrider, or I would have used a ULA Ohm 2.0. I would have taken a small external battery for emergency phone charges... Other than that, I think I'm aces.

That about wraps it up. Obviously I used other random shit like water bottles, stuff sacks, electronics, etc., but I don't think I need to tell you how well a stuff sack worked... right? Maybe you disagree, if so, shoot me an email or leave a comment.

Not an epilogue...

It's been over a month since we finished the trail. I'm having trouble processing this fact.

At some point on the trail I began to think that nothing else existed. There was only walking. There was only constant forward movement. But the movement came to an end. Honestly, it was anticlimactic, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

I don't want to talk about the trail right this moment. I want to talk about life as of right now. Why? Because I still intend on talking about the trail, but later. I still have yet to write about any of Maine, and man is there some stuff to say about that section of the trail.

So right now. Let's talk about that.

It's been over a month, I got that far right? I'm currently in Eugene, Oregon. All of us are. It came to attention just recently that no one really knows a whole lot about us, and that's my fault. We're from Oklahoma... well, kind of. We're kind of nomadic. Me and Stevie were born in Oklahoma, and that's where we met Cheyanne, so let's say we're from Oklahoma. But we tend to seek out mountains, so here we are in Eugene.

Me and Cheyanne are working at a vegan greasy spoon joint called Cornbread Cafe (which gained some notoriety when it was featured on a famous television show hosted by Guy Fieri). If you're ever in Eugene you should probably check it out. Words can't express how relieving it is to work at an all vegan restaurant, but regardless, it's still work. And god damn have I been working. So I apologize for the fact that I've basically abandoned my internet pursuits for the moment.

You see, I'm in debt. All of us are. Mostly from hospital bills. And yet I'm still suffering, from what? I'm still not sure, but I got diagnosed with "post infection IBS", whatever the fuck that means. But hope is on the horizon, I should have health insurance soon and with that as my catalyst I think I'll finally be on the path to convalescence. That whole debt thing though, well it's got me working overtime every week trying to unbury myself.

The "real world" beckons with responsibilities and is not-so-slowly crushing me under the weight of its terrible burdens. As much as I suffered on the trail, I look back at that time with nostalgia and longing, often finding myself on the trail again at night in my dreams, only to wake and discover that I'm back inside the confines of a house, in a city, listening to the sounds of traffic.

And I despair.

Anyhow, my intention for this blog was to be informative. Ha, I didn't really accomplish that. But I guess it was at least moderately entertaining. So I just went with it. I find that I enjoy this whole memoiresque writing thing, especially about things worthy of writing about (like living in the forest for five months). So I'll continue to do that, but in the meantime, I still need to heal, and that's going to take some time. Regardless, I have some plans for the future.

That whole informative side to the blog? It's coming, I promise. You see I have this idea that I'm going to write a "Vegan's Guide to the AT". It's going to exist in three parts, ONE) thruhiking gear, what's vegan and why it's worth having, TWO) resupplies, what we used, what worked for us, and where you'll absolutely need to send dropboxes, and THREE) a comprehensively list of every grocery store along the trail and what they have to offer in the way of vegan goodies. It'll be available for free on this blog, and hopefully I can get it organized into a nice little PDF that peeps can maybe put on their smartphones. So you see, it won't be too much information, but it should at least help to educate anyone who might be interested in doing the trail, and doesn't necessarily apply only to vegans.

Also, gear and food reviews are going to be abundant in the near future, so watch out for those.

As for the name of this blog... well, it's got to change. You see, I'm not on the AT anymore, and I plan on going on other adventures, so I need a name that's more comprehensive... maybe Vegan On The Trail? Nah that sucks, but whatever, I'll figure it out sooner or later.

That's all for now.

Still not dead, still not giving up, still (and forever) vegan,
Colton

Day 141: I stand in awe of my body.

We're officially out of the Whites. It feels weird to be so stoked about that statement, considering how long I desired to finally be in the Whites. But they were hard as all get out, and I can't wait to have more control over where we camp.

The Yellow Deli drops us off at Rattlesnake River at about noon. We want to make it 17 miles to a shelter that we believe will be uninhabited by other thruhikers. The shelter is just beyond the border of Maine, and making it into our final state is another huge motivation.

The first ten miles are easy cruisin' and even though we're not in Maine yet I start thinking, "Ha, everyone says Maine is hard, and this is eeeasy!" Before long though, the climbs start, the trail gets relatively shittier, and I know that we're in for a struggle.

There's one major difference in this day though, and it's not the trail. It's how I feel. You see, for the last few days I've been doing a pretty significant diet change. That is, I have pretty much limited my sugar intake to less than 20 grams a day. No small feat for the real world, and an incredibly enormous feat for the trail. This means my diet is pretty restricted, and I find myself eating mostly rice, rice noodles, potato chips, and peanut butter. I know that I can't do this for the long term (because of obvious nutritional concerns), but right now I feel awesome. Awesome as in no abdominal pain, no need to evacuate, no constant threat of shitting my pants, no pressure on my intestines, no microscopic goblins hacking up the inside of my stomach with rusty pickaxes (that's how I envision my problems at this point). So I'm flying up and down mountains. I'm literally skipping down the trail listening to a playlist I made with nothing but nostalgic high school era jams. The songs are embarrassing, but I don't care. I'm dancing and singing with complete disregard for the fact that someone might hear me. It's as if an invisible force has hijacked my brain and exterminated by ability to worry and all that's left is pure undulated bliss.

This is how I feel as I make my ascent of Mount Success, the final mountain top in New Hampshire.

I'm charging up the mountain, literally yelling the words to my favorite high school jams, using my poles like drumsticks to emphasize the rhythm, and as I make my final climb, I took and look back at the sun throwing rays of light through the clouds.

Awesome. I feel awesome. Life is good. God damn.

The wind speeds on top of the mountain are crazy and they're tossing me around like a rag doll, and my sudden change in mindset interprets this as fun rather than annoying. So I do what anyone would do. I drop my bag and have an impromptu single person dance party as the sun sets on the Whites in the distance.

Before long Cheyanne catches up, gives me an eyebrow raised look as if to say, "What did I just catch you doing?" Unashamed, I run off across the bald peak still singing like a total idiot.

Before going back down into the trees, or what we affectionately call "Tree Mile" rather than "Tree Line" because of a speaking error on the part of Cheyanne, I pause.

I turn around, take one last look at the Ghost of Mountains Past. I hold my finger up in front of me, putting it on top of Mount Washington and slowly trace it over the peaks of the Presidentials and down the ridge that brought us into Pinkham Notch, then along the Wildcats and down into Rattlesnake River. I turn back around, looking off into the distance or, "The Mountains Yet to Come". Beyond them somewhere is Katahdin. I feel its presence pulsing gently in my chest, pulling me like a magnet.

Here, on this peak, looking back at where we've been and where we're going, a warmth pushes the anxiety inducing pull of Katahdin to the side and I realize the warmth is pride. We walked here. Over those mountains, over mountains beyond those, over mountains beyond those! And I can physically see what we've done! A sentiment comes to mind, one that would echo in my subconscious for many days to come. Henry David Thoreau, in describing his ascent of Katahdin, once said, "I stand in awe of my body."

Sometimes it feels like it's killing me. Sometimes it feels like I can spread wings and fly to the fucking moon. Sometimes it's eh. But always, it is there, taking punishment and providing me with input. It's always there. And it's a beautiful feeling, the feeling of  BEING a BODY. I am my body, and my body is capable of so much. And so in this moment that I realize what I've subjected myself to and survived, I take a step back (metaphorically) and just cherish the vehicle that allows me to experience. 

My body, and all of its amazing abilities. The ability to see, and feel, and run, and climb, and move, and maybe most importantly, to suffer.

I stand in awe of my body.

And like that, we're in Maine.

Day 139: Meese is plural for moose.

I sleep poorly because I never closed up the footbox on my quilt and my body heat escaped all night. The nights are getting noticeably more chill. Not chill as in Mathew McConaughey but chill as in my face is frozen so I cover it with a bandana.

The first four miles down into the notch are smooth sailing, a little victory lap for jumping up and down treacherous, sharp boulders for the last week.

Along the way I run into Haulin' Oats, a quirky thruhiker with strange mannerisms who I honestly like a lot more than most. She's standing down the way exaggeratedly mouthing "MOOSE" at me.

Oh dang, I pause my Neil Degrasse Tyson podcast and sneak forward, and sure enough, a moose momma and baby, meese if you will, are basically eating trees. It's mega loud which makes sense since they're megafauna. I mutter a silent prayer for all of the megafauna that humans have forced into extinction, take a few blurry pictures, and head out before momma moose decides I'm too close to baby.

Out of the notch is our last section of the Whites, referred to as the Wildcats. Why? I don't really know, but the first climb out is mean as hell. Sometimes "rock scramble" just doesn't cut it. The trail is, at times, a straight up hand over hand, pull your body weight up with your arms, rock climb. But I love it.

I'm feeling pretty good and I've learned to really appreciate these moments. I just want to be healthy and injury free, I could give a damn how hard the trail is, just get me back to 100 percent and I'll crush anything you put in my way.

Obviously whatever is going on with my stomach isn't affecting my athleticism too much because I literally run up the side of the mountain, and all the way up I'm wondering if there's a foot race like this somewhere in the world, more vertical than horizontal. That'd be fun. I should look into it.

I get to the top and find a bunch of tourists just milling around. God damnit. There's a gondola ride to the top, and I'm actually standing at the top of a ski resort. Ugh.

I wait around on top, listen to the soothing narration of Neil Degrasse Tyson talk about science and science related humor and at some point, I fall asleep.

Hours later I wake up to find Stevie standing over me. Shit, it's already 3:00 and we've got a ways to go.

We make it another five miles, the trail never lets up on us, and it doesn't look like we're gonna make it much father than the next the hut. So we hobble in wondering whether or not we should try to stealth or do work for stay. Then they feed us potato dill soup and it's decided. Y'all got some more of that? We'll definitely do work for stay.

This time though we actually have do some real work. Dun dun dun! So what do we do? Clean the range. Well shit, I've only been a line cook for most of my adult life. I'm so pro at cleaning commercial stoves that I actually enjoy it. So we go beast mode on the range, steel wool held akimbo before me and the process is therapeutic. I miss the rituals of real life, especially those related to food.

After, we go beast mode on some soup, broccoli, and salad. The black bean soup isn't as good as the potato dill, and the broccoli is half steamed/half raw, but I can't say anything bad about the salad and regardless of whatever, real food is tasty.

Turns out the dudes working this hut just finished the trail and they shoot the shit with us for a little bit about AT related crap. How hard the trail is in Maine, how the hell did Scott Jurek hike on two hours of sleep every night, never listen to a southbounder, etc.

Then, we sleep, once again blowing up our pads between the dining room tables, swearing that tomorrow we'll make up for our "low" mileage today.

Day 138: Presidential tint.

The Yellow Deli drives us back over to Pinkham Notch the following morning and it's up to us to figure out how to make it back up to the top of Washington.

The bad news is that we're going to have to attempt to hitch which is still hella illegal (because then the AMC won't make any money off of us, big freakin' whoop). So we sneakily walk past the auto road gate and over to a convenience store where Stevie starts slyly soliciting rides from people who literally just paid at least 30 dollars to drive seven miles on a road.

A nice older couple has a pick up and we explain our situation to them, to which they decide, yes, they will give a ride. But first they have to ask permission from the Gatekeeper. Oh no, we're so gonna get in trouble. But luck is smiling on us this day, and the old man says, "Oh no, they aren't soliciting rides, I just offered to help them out" and then we're in the back of a truck on a dirt road climbing about five thousand feet.

The weather is perfect. It's super clear and this is quite possibly the most badass way to ride up to the top of Mount Washington.

At the top the couple takes pictures with us, gives us a business card, and tells us to stay in touch. Damn, sometimes people are just insane nice.

Back to business. It's time to do the Presidential Peaks, and I'm hella stoked.

The trail is a hellish haphazard piecing together of sharp jagged boulders and talus, but I ignore that. I'm too busy thinking about how much better it is to be above tree line than it is to be below it.

The day is beautiful and we can see about seventy miles in all directions and as we go I frequently turn back and trace our path with my finger.

The real challenge is Mount Madison, a steep poorly blazed boulder scramble and I begin to think of it as a "choose your own adventure" trail since I can't really follow a nonexistent blaze. We up and over and just like that, we're done with the Presidentials. Unfortunately the downhill is wicked steep, a field of massive boulders that seem sturdy enough until you put your full body weight on one, only to feel its 20,000 pounds of mass rock beneath your feet. It was scary y'all.

After going back down thousands of feet in a real short amount of time, we decide to cowboy camp on a tent platform since there's not really any good place to stay. The Whites never have any good places to camp, in all honestly. It's either do work for stay at a hut or pay eight bucks to sleep in a shelter that "maybe leaks" the caretaker tells us. Sweet.

But the weather seems like it's going to hold up through the night, so we take our chances, lay our pads out sardine style on a pad, and hope that moose don't trample us to death in our sleep.

Day 136, 137: Dodgin' rain.

136: 

Our hitch out of Conway is a former thruhiker (AT twice, PCT once). He lives out of his van and I can't help but think my future will be extremely similar to his.

My dad gets off before us to make his way up to Tuckerman Ravine, a shorter, albeit very steep hike to Mount Washington out of Pinkham Notch (4000 feet in 4 miles). We have an unceremonious goodbye, as all goodbyes end up being on the trail even though I haven't seen my dad in over a year and potentially that could happen again. But the trail does that to you. You never know when you'll see another hiker again, so goodbyes are almost nonexistent. It's grown on me.

Regardless, my dad has been a pillar throughout my life. An immutable source of strength, the foundation on which I build all my endeavors. Beyond being intelligent, athletic, and above all capable, he's always been there to instill that same wealth of confidence in me. Having him around for a few days allowed me to silence the anxiety surrounding my unknown illness and just put faith in my own abilities. Abilities that my dad has never doubted, even if I have. So it feels like a loss, but the recoil of the loss will propel me forward these last few weeks.

A few hours later and we're making our way up the not-so-gradual climb to Mount Washington. We've been trying to play the weather, and it seems like it might be in our favor, but with very few options of where to camp, we end up doing work for stay at the Mizpah Hut.

The AMC allows thruhikers to do work for stay on a hut to hut basis, and so you're kind of at the mercy of the employees at a particular hut. This particular hut ends up being very amiable and they have us sweep the basement, which we make quick work of. They attempt to feed us, but we're vegan and I'm gluten free so I basically just end up eating salad with no dressing. Cheyanne and Stevie get some minestrone soup and some bread. Sometimes I'm really jealous of stupid things like this (hiker hunger is real y'all) but the soup is from a bag and the bread was made by some chump with no baking experience, so I'm not so disappointed.

The employees end up trying to talk to us all freaking night (or you know, past 9:00) and I'm falling asleep standing up. They take a hint and we blow up our sleeping pads and lay them down between the tables in the dining room. The cook bangs around in the kitchen until almost midnight with the lights on, and I mostly regret my decision to stay here... But at least we didn't have to pay anything.

137:

It's almost 5:00 in the morning. The cook is back and they sound like they're throwing pots and pans around. I ignore it as long as I can but before long patrons start to wander down to the dining room and I'm forced to break down my "camp" on the floor between tables.

The kids workin' the hut want us to stay and help clean up bunks after breakfast, and that sucks because it means we won't be hiking until after 9:00. Oh well, the chores end up being easy and the forecast says Mount Washington will be clear and almost no chance of precipitation.

They were wrong.

Right about the time we get to Lakes of the Clouds Huts (plural on huts because I think the plural use of lakes is redundant as all get out and it becomes a running joke for us), we're totally immersed in a really dense, really wet cloud. Seriously, the wind is crazy and it's basically sleeting on us. I can only see about 30 feet in front of me as I make the final ascent up to Washington and I hear the tourists before I see them. Wow, what a fucking zoo.

I really wish they'd stop building roads to the tops of mountains. I seriously hate it. Nothing like hiking 1800 miles through "wilderness" to emerge into a faux Disneyland where they sell four ounces of lentil soup for $4. I hate this place, but outside is worse. It's sleeting and feels like it's below freezing.

Clear?! 4 percent chance of precipitation?! What the hell AMC!

We know that the next eight miles are on a really unforgiving, exposed ridge above tree line, so we ask the "rangers" at the "state park" what our best option is. 

We can either hike back to Lakes of(s) the(s) Clouds Hut(s) or pay 40 dollars (each) for a shuttle down to the notch. There's no hitchhiking down the Mt W auto road... But who's going to stop us?

It takes a surprisingly long time to find a ride, but when we make it down we get in touch with a bunch of the others hikers who made the same decision as us. Seems like no one wanted to hike over Madison in sleet today.

So we call up The Yellow Deli (hurrah hurrah!) and they assure us they'll be through the notch later to take us to their "hostel" in Lancaster. In the meantime we hangout at the AMC center in Pinkham Notch and teach all the hikers to play a charades-like game called "poop smoothie". The game basically forces you to guess whatever gibberish someone else wrote down and most of the cards end up being poop humor (hence the name) with a Slender Mane reference or two thrown in. Much fun is had by all and even though I feel like shit and go to the bathroom to sit on the toilet once every 5 minutes, making someone else guess "Stream Clean's naked body" is satisfying.

My best homies in the Twelve Tribes show up late... With lots of other hikers... And what looks like a truck designed to carry hay bales. Dang. Me and Stevie hop in the back of the truck and tuck ourselves under a giant tarp to block the wind then just try to zen out for the long ass drive to Lancaster.

At the Deli we grab some bunks, eat some shitty grocery store food, and pass out with our electronics plugged in to an outlet (what a luxury!).

131 - I don't even freaking know: The Whites with my dad.

First day is a zero in North Woodstock/Lincoln. The weather is shitty and there's no way I'm going above treeline again, so me and my dad hang out in town and he listens to me talk shit on section hikers for most of the day.

Day two is Kinsman Notch to Franconia Notch. Not a whole lot of pay off for a whole freaking lot of really difficult hiking. Probably 4000 to 5000 feet of ascent and descent and the trail is once again, massive boulders. This will be a reoccurring theme for the rest of the trail. My dad quickly realizes that despite his ironman status, this trail is no fucking joke. This will also be the day that my dad gets to witness how bad my stomach problems have become. Although we only do 16 miles, it takes us eleven hours and we end up in Franconia Notch with nowhere to camp. So we head back into Lincoln to camp at "Chet's". Chet is a trail angel with no desire to be in the AWOL guide, so instead there's a secret black dot on the map of Lincoln where Chet's house is. He lets hikers stay, but first he grills the shit out of them about the trail, just to make sure they're true thruhikers.

Day three. Franconia Ridge. God damn. I don't have anything to say really, I've been dreaming of this moment for the last year. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

Day four. We each paid eight dollars to stay in a shelter. This will be the beginning of my disappointment with the AMC (Appalachian Trail Club), they maintain (profit off of) the trail in the Whites. On this day we walk through more massive boulder laden trails, slowing us down to less than a mile per hour at times, and end up back at another shelter (where we pay more money to sleep... in the woods).

Day five. Near-o into Crawford Notch. Get our boxes from the AMC highland center, hitch waaaay too far away into North Conway, hit up an awesome natural foods store, eat Thai food, watch Friends at the Quality Inn, and decide that tomorrow we must part with my dad. His schedule won't allow him to make it the full distance back down into the next notch with us, and so he decides that he'll take a side trail up to Mount Washington, just to tag the summit.

Hopefully this adventure has dissuaded him from ever attempting the entirety of the Appalachian Trail.

127: All the errands.

We aren't hiking, so I'll keep it brief.

We go get groceries (several miles from our hotel). 30 days worth of groceries. This is an incredibly hard task. Can you imagine planning everything you'll eat for the next month in one hour? 

We hitch back to the hotel, each with 30 days worth of groceries, laughing at our own stupidity and the absurd notion that we were somehow going to walk back with all these damn groceries.

A few hours later the hotel room is covered in grocery bags and discarded pieces of cardboard. Repackaging this much food is a total fucking pain but necessary.

Then we have to figure out how many days worth of food to put in what boxes. Much math, calorie counting, and generally boring stuff ensues.

But wait, Rush Hour is on?! Damn this movie is great, I forgot how funny Chris Tucker is. I'll just finish watching this and get back to my boxes later...

Two hours later, oh shit, Just Friends? This movie sucks but is hilarious in my calorie counting delirium! The boxes can wait.

Two hours later... What's this movie called? Something with Cameron Diaz. It's not funny but I'm busy eating this vegan gluten free pumpkin coffee cake with cream cheeze. Might as well be watching tv as well.

Two hours later. Damn, I really need to finish these boxes.

They aren't done until late at night, and by that time it's decided that I'll get very little sleep.

128, 129, 130: Prelude to the Whites.

There's about three days worth of hiking until we hit the Whites (the promised land) and these days are filled with insanely huge elevation gains and losses, 90 degree weather, 100 percent humidity, night hiking, episodes of intestinal distress, and in one case, a wild college party that kept me up all night (shouldn't have slept so close to the road).

But on the third day, I feel pretty decent and we get to climb Mount Moosilauke, the first of our challenges in the Whites. I'm supposed to meet my dad at the top at 4:00 pm (weird I know, but he's hiking through the Whites with us), but there's seventeen miles of ups and downs before I can even start my 4000 foot ascent, so I'm honestly pretty concerned that I won't make it.

But like always, I remember that I'm a total badass and basically run to the top, passing northbounders all the way, yelling, "The promised land! We did it! We made it!"

I'm so enthusiastic that I don't really notice the time passing and I'm up at summit by 1:30. I feel so good that I even summit the south peak, just for the heck of it.

The weather wasn't the greatness. The visibility was total shit and the wind gusts were insane, strong enough to knock me over even. So I headed back down into treeline on the other side.

Round about 4:00 my dad still hasn't showed up and the weather is becoming increasingly bad, so before we get rained on at 5000 feet, I decide to head down and see if I can find my dad. At the very best he got lost, at the very worst he's dead.

Little did I know that the descent would be twenty thousand times worse than the climb.

Let me paint you a picture, 2000 feet down in less than a mile down wet boulders with rebar and wooden steps (also wet) hammered into the sides of them. Why is everything wet? Oh, the trail goes down the side of a massive cascade called "Beaver Brook". Ask anyone in New Hampshire, they'll tell you how scary that shit is.

It takes us more than two hours to go the one mile, wow, but my dad is just chillin' at the bottom, smiling all crazy with a brand new set of super white veneers (we Bransons have bad teeth, my future is in veneers as well). I'm relieved to see him, on the way down I had decided that he for sure was dead. Lo and behold, he found us a hitch into town, a nice older lady that was slack packing her daughter (also a nouthbounder), and I have more than a small inkling as to why she's willing to drive all us smelly hikers in to town (and it has to do with bright white veneers and my dad's ironman triathlete status).

We end up at a really nice hostel (where they force you to take a shower before you can do anything else) and pass out thinking that tomorrow will probably be a zero.

Day 123, 124, 125, 126: The beginning of the end.

123:

The day starts with a climb. A long, moderate ascent up Mount Killington. I excel at these types of things and honestly, I'm looking forward to it.

My stomach still churns and bubbles and I feel pretty shitty, but the cadence of my feet quickly lulls me into a sort of reverie, and I can ignore the serpent in my intestines.

Before long I'm at the top, and I feel like the climb was total chump change. I forget that I'm a total badass hiker sometimes. The mountain is covered in fog or mist or clouds or whatever it is that literally every mountain with a "good view" on the AT is consumed by.

Regardless, the alpine vegetation is pretty awesome, a nice change from the constant suffocating feel of dense forest at lower elevations.

The rest of the day is a race to our "last box". What I mean is that it's the last box we sent ourselves before our hike, but we have to make a bunch more once we get into Hanover, New Hampshire.

By late afternoon we pick up our boxes at a lodge literally right off the trail, and without having anything better to do, decide to hitch into Rutland to stay at The Yellow Deli.

I'd heard a lot of rumors about this particular place and the Twelve Tribes people who run it ("it's a cult! don't drink the punch!"), but honestly, to me, it was a sort of sanctuary.

Yeah, it's run by a religious group, and yeah, they seem a bit weird in the way they dress and act, but in all seriousness, I would trade every baptist in the world for a twelve tribes member. I don't claim to know everything about their religion, but I do know several things. One, they never ministered to me. Two, they were insanely nice and accommodating. And three, they want almost nothing in return.

I'm getting ahead of myself.

Our hitch into Rutland is weird and our driver says some weird borderline racist stuff and I'm more uncomfortable hitching than I have been this entire hike, but he drops us off right at the hostel and I never have to speak to him again. Awesome.

Upon arrival at the hostel we're immediately approached by a girl with her hair tied back tight wearing what I can only call "pantaloons". She looks as if she's a big fan of Little House on the Prairie. She offers us mate and we decline after finding out that they add honey to almost everything. The hostel is upstairs and the deli is downstairs, but there's no distinction between the two.

Turns out that the "punch" here is actually mate. You know, the really strong South American tea that you drink out of a gourd? I'm not real sure why, but all of the other hikers act like they don't know what mate is and think it's gross. Also turns out that the Twelve Tribes own their own mate company, Mate Factor, and in addition to tea they make a variety of other mate products.

I digress. The point is, I order a mate latte with almond milk from their deli and it blows my mind. Maybe it's just been awhile since I've had some good mate but damn it's good. I understand why they basically worship this stuff now.

After consuming too much caffeine, I shower and put on the loaner clothes provided by the deli so we can do laundry. They're at least three sizes too big and so I roll my cuffs up, feeling a lot like a hobbit.

There's an overwhelming amount of hikers at the deli at this point, much too many to fit practically anywhere, so I end up sleeping in an overflow room behind the deli. Me and Stevie have to walk through their kitchen to get in and out of the room, and you'd think this would irritate or annoy employees, but they have a seemingly endless amount of patience for us.

I can't eat anything at the deli (vegan, gluten free, ya know), so I end up getting a frozen pizza from the grocery store, popping it into a microwave (sacreligious, I know), and scarfing it in my secret room behind the kitchen. Content and comfortable, I pass out still wearing my Frodo clothes.

124:

It's morning and the hostel providers have been up since probably 4:00 am making food for all 47 hikers.

We take over their entire restaurant and they literally serve us hand and food. Knowing that they won't have food for me and not wanting to be difficult I try to get some coffee without making a fuss, but of course one of the Twelve Tribes members notices me bumbling about without any food and makes it his personal mission to find something for me to eat. It takes him awhile and I feel awful, this man running around on my behalf, and he produces a vegan gluten free cereal and almond milk and bananas. Wow, he did it.

I get sucked into the vortex of town easily, spending way too long at the health food store down the street, and miss the first bus back out to the trail. Eventually though, we make it back, but it's already afternoon and we know we don't have much time to do huge miles, so we stop early at a place ambiguously named The Lookout.

The Lookout turns out to be a fully enclosed cabin with a rooftop deck. It's crazy badass and privately owned, and once again I wonder what kind of people spend this much time and money just for dirty hiker scum like us.

Some other hikers are already milling about, most of whom we know. It's very apparent that the hiker herds are thinning out quite dramatically. Which is nice. Not because I relish in others' failure, but because I value solitude and I'm not crazy stoked on trails and shelters filled to the brim with "hiker trash". A term that I don't really find endearing.

125:

As we near New Hampshire, the trail becomes increasingly difficult, and it's obvious. The elevation profile looks like a stegosaurus's spine, perhaps a small taste of what's to come.

There's also a lot of this:

Which can slow you down pretty dramatically.

Regardless, we march forward, pausing only to eat some snacks from a nearby farm (blueberries, rhubarb soda, pickles) and dodge some afternoon storms. Unfortunately the afternoon storms turn into evening storms and instead of hiking in the rain (which is complete and total misery) we wait it out, opting to night hike (which isn't much better when your headlamp totally sucks and you're in a crazy dark forest on a trail filled with roots and rocks).

Ghost pipe, a parasitic plant with no chlorophyll:

In the aftermath of the rain, me and Stevie trudge forward through trails completely covered in rain soaked vegetation, and quickly become just as soaked (negating our efforts to stay dry). 

It's not all bad though. We're walking towards a massive rainbow, unobscured by foliage. It arcs into the ground somewhere in the distance, vivid and sharp, and I can't help but think the end is somewhere in New Hampshire, our metaphorical pot of gold. Some deer lope by through the dense, tall grass, and seem more like unicorns from Fantasia in the rainbow strewn gathering orange of evening.

Soon enough it's night, and an hour or two later we arrive in a small town on the edge of Vermont. There's literally nothing there except a place to tent and a water spigot. On the roadwalk in, however, Hollywood (fellow hiker) runs up on me and Stevie from a nearby house. She says the locals are having a party and there's food and beer and... Wait a minute, you guys can't eat any of it and you don't drink huh?

So we move on. 

In town we find that Cheyanne somehow found a free "hostel" for AT hikers (aka garage apartment with some old beds) and better yet, there's a tv, VCR, and seemingly endless supply of VHSes (seriously, this place must also be a museum of bad 90s movies). She's already watching Jurassic Park, so we join in and fall asleep long before the plot even gets anywhere.

126:

Ten miles into Hanover. A good chunk is a roadwalk. Supposedly there's lots of trail magic to be found on the way in, but I don't see much of that. Must be because it's crazy early on Sunday. The only trail "magic" we get is an old man on a front porch yelling at us, "God bless Oklahoma!" he exclaims when we announce where we're from.

So just like that, we're in New Hampshire. The next two days will be full of errands, buying groceries, building boxes, and mailing ourselves the rest of our resupplies.

We picked Hanover for this endeavor because it has a lot of stores (including a coop), and is a "real" town.

First things first though. Thai food and espresso.

Afterwards we hitch into West Lebanon (where our hotel is) and spend the rest of the night watching bad movies on HBO, a favorite past time of ours when in town.