Day 107, 108: Should have brought a portable fan.

107:

Where did these climbs come from? Why is my body so upset with me? Oh yeah, we haven't done any real elevation gain in two or three states. Also, it's about a hundred degrees outside.

Each individual pore is a faucet, and the water is flowing out of me in a steady stream. I'm not sure I've ever sweat this much in my life.

Midday and we're in Stars Hollow-ahem... I mean Kent, Connecticut. Bonus points for whoever gets the Gilmore Girls reference. Guess what Kent has? A motherfreaking coffee shop, but not just any coffee shop, a coffee shop with multiple types of nondairy milk and vegan candy bars.

They also have some sort of chocolate banana vegan protein shake. So I indulge.

Two hours later me and Stevie pass a group of southbounders, one of them is sporting a puffier-than-normal looking face and they politely warn us to watch out for the yellow jackets on the steep descent coming up. Note taken.

We're descending... I'm looking around for these so called yellow jackets and lucky me, I can't find them. In fact, I'm starting to think they don't exist when Stevie suddenly throws his poles down and they come swarming out of a half dead tree. His stings are punctuated by sharp staccato yells and "fuck!"s as he tries to make his way back up the trail, but it's futile, you can't outrun them. Meanwhile, in an act of cowardice, I'm running down the other way, yelling, "Drop your pack! Drop your pack!"

They swarm his pack for a few minutes and we spend the next forty five trying to figure out how to get down the trail and retrieve his pole without being totally annihilated by the bastards.

An hour later I lackadaisically (and accidentally) toss my pole off the trail. It only goes about five feet horizontal... But about ten feet vertical. And the vegetation around it is thick. Thick as all get out. And thorny. So fucking thorny. But I need that thing. So I jump down and get both my arms stuck in vines, vines covered in thorns. Five minutes later I'm back on the trail and bleeding, and I'm wondering how I could have done that differently. Oh well, fuck it, too late now. I'm covered in dirt and sweat and my wounds are not clean at all, so I rub some essential oils and goldenseal in the cuts and suddenly my arms are on fire. Good thing I only have five more miles today...

I'm walking through a field, it's late, I have my headlamp on, and in the distance I see two bouncing lights. Fireflies? Nah... Eyes. I get close enough to make out the silhouette of something big, loping through the tall grass. A deer? No way, wrong body type. It's some sort of cat... But it's really big. My brain freaks, thinking "mountain lion!" but somehow I know that's just not possible. It has to be a bobcat. Regardless, it's too big for my liking and still coming right at me, so I start banging my poles together, yelling, "Hey! Go away! Hey you! Get the fuck away!" It runs off into some bushes making unnatural, guttural noises. Maybe it's injured. 

I eat dinner in my tent, in the dark, buck ass naked. My clothes are soaking wet from all the sweat. It's disgusting, I agree, but if you've made it this far and haven't totally embraced the urine, ammonia-esque smell of stale sweat then you must be doing something wrong.

108:

I wake up, still nude, and it's a struggle to put on my still wet, still disgusting clothes. Yuck.

Lucky for me there's a pretty nice stream in a mile and I take the opportunity to do some laundry. This means soaking an article of clothing and ringing it out until the water that comes out isn't brown. Tah dah, laundry!

I put my still wet clothes back on and immediately drench them in sweat, again. Still worth it.

Hours later I'm staring at a stagnant puddle of water, almost salivating. The last three water sources have been dried up (no thanks to my guide book) and I haven't drank anything in probably five hours. I've never been this thirsty in my life, but I'm not sure if I'm ready to drink from this puddle. A guy did that back in Tennessee and got dysentery. They had to medvac him out after he totally collapsed in the middle of the trail. Not worth it, I'd rather be dehydrated.

I get to a highway and there's a bunch of signs about a detour because of a downed bridge or some shit. Unthinkingly I start to follow the detours, then realize they're taking me around the city I'm trying to get to. God damnit. I turn around, try to hitch back to where I left off, no luck. Add a few extra miles to the day, y'all.

I walk into a weird little town called Falls Village and buy some Gatorade from a liquor store. There's a dog sitting on the counter, her name is Rachel. There's an old man seated in the corner of the shop, in a recliner, just observing things. He's surrounded by stacks of diet coke on either side, and I imagine that he's the diet coke king, sitting on his diet coke throne, long ago dead, but totally preserved by artificial sweeteners. They have a landline that you can order pizza from (no service), and so Stevie does. Cheeseless, lots of veggies. The usual.

It takes three hours to arrive. Ha.

As soon as I can, I eat a shitload of rice noodles and set up my tent behind a cafe, next to a big ass tool shed. The porch light is way too bright, and most people would think this is a weird place to sleep, the delivery driver certainly does, "Do you all just set up your tents wherever?" but not us. We're fucking weirdos now, remember?

Day 105, 106: Jokes y'all.

105:

Three vegans, a boy scout, a teenager, a generic 20 something bearded hiker boy, and a Finn walk into a motel... And promptly get denied a room.

So we go to another motel. This time... We lie! There's only two of us, I swear. Access granted.

What's the difference between a thruhiker and a homeless person?

Version 1) an REI dividend.

Version 2) cell reception.

Version 3) trick question, thruhikers are homeless.

Ba dum CHSHHH.

106:

Serious picture:

Lost our fucking minds picture:

Connecticut. New England. We're here. Time to religiously check myself for ticks.

Over and out.

Day 103, 104:

103:

We wake up early, determined to put miles between us and our ukelele wielding peers.

The trail is relatively easy at this point and I'm cruisin'. With no need to process each individual footstep my mind becomes almost completely occupied by my audiobook.

Late into the afternoon we get to another public beach. These places are so dense with convenience that thruhikers can't escape, much like light can't escape a black hole. I mean, they've got free showers, a concession stand, and power outlets. We literally need nothing else.

Needless to say, we spend way too much time there and suddenly our entire "bubble" shows up, caught in the tractor beam of overpriced Gatorade and potable water from a spigot. Before I know it I'm listening to same three ukelele chords over and over and over. We gotta go.

Our camp this night is a shelter that was once a cabin but has had one wall knocked down and a porch put in its place. This seems like an awesome place to spend the evening, except that everyone else in the world is there already. Oh, and it's literally right next to a road... but this has its benefits. Namely, you can order Chinese food delivered directly to the shelter, and sure enough a laminated menu can be found inside the shelter next to the hiker log.

In an act of extreme self destruction, we all order Chinese food and soda. I fall asleep waiting on dinner to be delivered (what a marvelous luxury!), but before long, Stevie rouses me, a Buddha Delight with garlic sauce (gluten free, duh) in hand. I eat with blatant disregard for my intestinal health and pass out again, letting my cardiovascular system sort out whether sleep or digestion is more important.

104:

We set out early (again), but the motivation is gone (again). What is motivation anyway? At this point I'm finishing this trail for no reason other than that I fucking said I would.

I sit down to wait on Cheyanne and Stevie at an undrinkable water source. It's downstream from a cow pasture, and you can tell, if not by the look then by the smell. A seated hiker always attracts more of our kind and soon enough I'm making fun of Fin's compass. Who uses a compass on the AT?! We only look at elevation maps. At my provocation, Fin shows me that he actually has two compasses, one of which is on his whistle. I give him a look of extreme disapproval and say, "Two? Really? C'mon man."

He replies, "I'm a fucking survivalist man."

This is the funniest thing I've ever heard, and I laugh an inappropriate amount of time. Fin has gotten both norovirus and lyme, his body is literally falling apart on him, and he does very little to stop it from happening. The night prior, Cheyanne witnessed him wake up at 2:00 AM and chug a two liter of Pepsi then promptly fall back asleep. This is why we like Fin. He's dying, just like us, laughing the whole way to hell.

A few hours later, I walk half a mile off trail to a deli that I can't eat anything at to use 1) a water spigot and 2) their bathroom. The spigot is whack, but it's my only option (other than the cow pasture) and there's no bathroom. Shit, literally. It's an emergency. I half run, half power walk into some nearby trees and let loose, keeping an eye on the parking lot and hoping no one witnesses me in my depravity.

If you've been keeping up with me, you know that I've been having intestinal problems for some time. I thought they were over, but either the remnants of giardia are still doing their best to destroy my comfort or something more insidious is going on. At this point I'm convinced that I have some sort of worms living inside my gut.

With this in mind, I continue walking, headphones in, talking to myself. "It's not killing you. You're fine. How bad do you want it? That's what it comes down to. It's not killing you. You can still hike 20 miles a day. You can finish this trail. It's just discomfort. How bad do you want it? How bad? How bad do you want it?"

I turn around to find someone just behind me, discovering that another thruhiker has just borne witness to me in a moment of true and total insanity. That's fine. He knows already. We're all fucking insane. We have to be to still be doing this.

I find a big tree, the largest oak on the AT, and take my first picture in two days (since the pirate ship). I'm always unsatisfied with tree pictures. There's no way to accurately portray how fucking huge these behemoths really are.

It's late evening, I walk over the AT railroad and into a gardening store, Native Landscapes. They have our food boxes and we have to find somewhere to camp. The only problem is that there's only two places to set up tents, by the railroad or by the highway. I choose the highway, but I'm still a dozen feet from the railroad.

We walk over half a mile in the dark along the side of the highway to another deli that we can't eat anything at. I get my usual, some chips. As a child my mom would warn me that consuming too much of any one thing would eventually cause you to morph into that one thing and I start to wonder when I'll turn into a bag of chips. Hopefully I'll be salt and vinegar. I also wonder when the other thruhikers are going to turn into packages of shelf stable spam. Maybe they'll turn into cigarettes. Maybe they're already a combination of the two... They certainly smell like it. And sometimes they look like it.

We walk back to our tents, dressed in dark colors, Stevie flashing his headlamp at incoming cars so they don't kill us.

I fall asleep with my hand in a bag of chips, only to wake up in a panic fifteen minutes later, a train flying by 80 miles per hour, horn blaring. This is a terrifying experience, one that would repeat itself many times. At several points the sound of the incoming train and highway traffic enters my dreams and I'm totally convinced that I'm going to get hit by a train (or semi) in my tent. Afterwards I anxiously pass out, not entirely sure that I won't die a horrible death this night.

Day 99, 100, 101, 102: Losing our minds.

99:

We leave Vernon feeling mediocre at best, hyped up on subpar almond milk lattes.

We walk through a few miles of swamp where the trail turns into a boardwalk and I make bad jokes about being on the Jersey Shore boardwalk.

We climb the "Stairway to Heaven", a series of stone steps ascending about a thousand feet. The water sources are total shit this close to NYC/Newark/Civilization, and I can pretty much constantly hear the drone of traffic a short distance away.

The trail is a little rough around the edges and poorly blazed, but the landscape has noticeably improved since crossing into New York (another state down, put it in the books). There's more and more open space, the trees being replaced by massive boulders, and I suddenly feel a lot less claustrophobic.

We find a shitty campsite by a totally dry water source, add electrolytes to hide the taste of the brown water in our smartwater bottles, and pass out to the sound of mosquitoes furiously swarming outside our tents.

100:

Wake up, walk, go to sleep, repeat.

The days begin to blur and I have trouble recalling what happened on what day, then I realize nothing happened.

What happened to the sense of adventure? I think Pennsylvania killed it. And now I fantasize in earnest about getting to Vermont.

101:

We walk by, over, and even through huge boulders. I mean, these are big ass boulders y'all. The trail goes through a crack in such a boulder, "the lemon squeeze", and we take our packs off, throwing them on the ledge above us to retrieve once we're effectively squeezed.

We find a public beach on a lake and like always spend way too much time hanging out there.

It's late when we arrive at our camping destination, but it turns out that Bear Mountain is hugely popular and very civilized, being the closest real mountain to New York City. There's vending machines and a couple hundred people milling about. At 9:00 the park closes and a cop drives around on a loud speaker ushering people out of the park. He does a few rounds looking for stragglers but we avoid notice. He leaves and we lay out tyvek and emergency blankets on concrete, blow up our pads, and stare at the NYC skyline about thirty miles distant. It reminds me of a scene from The Wizard of Oz. The one where they glimpse the Emerald City floating just above the horizon. 

Except our yellow brick road doesn't go to a city. It goes to Katahdin.

I fall asleep listening to a Terry Pratchett audio book, my stomach full of powerade and chips, cursing a culture that doesn't put better vegan options in their vending machines. Very irrational of me, I know, but life on the trail is anything but rational.

102:

We're losing our minds and we know it. 

I watch Stevie eat a somewhat large potato chip and laugh about it for several minutes, my abdominals straining with the workout, knowing that there is nothing funny about the situation, but I am delirious and unable to stop. The trail has made me this way. Or maybe the mosquitoes. Maybe I have lyme and this is a side effect. Who knows, who cares? Not me. I only care about getting to Katahdin.

I received some tinctures from my mom today, and I think I may be able to restore my gut health to normal (finally). If not then having them available to me will at least give me peace of mind seeing as how I don't believe in pharmaceuticals.

Oh, we walked across the Hudson River today and saw a pirate ship.

Yeah. I took pictures. I told y'all already, I'm losing my mind.

I lay in my tent in extreme frustration. It's dark outside. Even though it's only 9:20, it's twenty minutes past "hiker midnight". For some reason, some turds are about ten feet away playing ukeleles and singing their own rendition of Lil Jon's "Get Low" to the tune of Frozen's "Let It Go". Unfortunately I threw my nasty earplugs away about five hundred miles away. I don't think I will get to sleep anytime soon.

Flashback to Day 32, 33: Sunshine Willis and the Damascathon.

The Day is Thursday, May 14th:

Kincora Hostel (besides being just a totally badass hiker hangout) is a donation based Hostel run by Bob Peoples. Bob Peoples is a trail legend. His name is graffitied into literally every single shelter south (and possibly north) of Damascus, where he's spoken of as a tongue-in-cheek kind of legend, a la Chuck Norris. The graffiti reads something along the lines of "Bob Peoples once rode a bear the entire length of the AT in less than a week" or "Bob Peoples climbed Katahdin barefoot after eating seventeen bowls of spaghetti". 

Also currently at this hostel is Baltimore Jack, whom we've seen several times since beginning the trail. You can basically find him anywhere that hikers are hanging out, as he spends most of his time trying to feed us and advise us. He's hiked the trail nine or so times (or some other equally ridiculous number), but his glory days are behind him and he's settled into the role of the Wise Elder... or to some he's probably more like a Watch Out This Could Be Your Future type dude.

Kincora Hostel conjures a strange sense of nostalgia in me. You see, it parallels the crusty dwellings that I used to frequent as a member of a touring hardcore band. It's notoriously dirty, there's about a dozen basically homeless people just hanging out eating ambiguous food that probably came from a dumpster (or a hiker box), and there's not one but two litters of kittens living inside a boxspring mattress in the bunk room. That last part needs repeating: there are not one BUT TWO litters of KITTENS living inside a BOXSPRING MATTRESS. How this came to be, I just simply do not know, but just let it be known that feral cats are in abundance.

Needless to say, we don't sleep much this night. Allergies, kittens mewling, and rambunctious hikers keep me awake most of the night. As I groggily gather my things and take them downstairs to reassemble my backpack in a less chaotic fashion, I dodge Baltimore Jack and Sunshine Willis, another thruhiker, making what I think is supposed to be chocolate chip pancakes. Unfortunately, Sunshine Willis (although kind and generous) is unable to make these pancakes, even though they came from a box and nothing could be simpler than making pancakes from a box. It seems to me that maybe Sunshine isn't the brightest bulb in the bunch, but that's okay, because he's seriously a super nice dude.

We try to dip out early-ish so as to avoid having to decline the polite offers of breakfast that our host, Baltimore Jack, has so graciously assembled for us. It is a reoccurring theme of the trail that I must decline food from Baltimore Jack, just the day before he handed me a tuna sandwich, compelling me "eat, eat!" to which I ashamedly explained, "I'm so sorry, I just can't eat that". I honestly hate when this happens. I cannot stand turning down food from people, but the Way of the Vegan determines that it must be so.

Before leaving, Jack decides to give us some last minute advice (about hitchhiking) and we listen attentively, eager to be on the road. Somehow he ends up saying that we'll be fine because we're with Cheyanne (who he refers to as "that" rather than as a person) because she's a girl and girls have a much easier time hitchhiking. Okay, enough of this, we have to leave.

We've decide on doing a relatively big day, around 24 miles, but we're off to a slow start and the distractions keep piling up. About an hour into the hike, we get passed by Sunshine Willis, who is wearing cargo shorts, a sleeveless cotton shirt, and a bandana wrapped around his forehead... and no backpack. I'm super confused. He explains that he's slackpacking all the way to Damascus. Damascus is 50 miles from Kincora Hostel. Bob Peoples drove his bag up to Damascus and is going to drop it off there for him to get this evening. So basically he's going to do 50 miles in one day because it's do or die, he has no shelter or sleep system... or water filter... or anything really. What he does have is two chocolate chip clif bars contained within his cargo shorts and a 32 ounce nalgene bottle that he's holding in his hand. I'm confused, but whatever, let him do his thing.

Early on in the day we hike into a beach, a beach with trail magic. As we dip our potato chips into mustard and ketchup (standard fare for us at most trail magic), Cheyanne explains that her ankle is in bad shape. It's swollen to all hell and is just barely able to fit into her still laced up shoes. But whatever, she'll walk it off, right?

Wrong. At the next road crossing it's decided that Cheyanne has to part ways with us. We'll meet back up in Damascus. Cheyanne finds a hitch with a paranoid forest service agent, I take pictures of his license on my phone and text them to Cheyanne, a not so subtle warning that I'll come find him if he turns out to be a sketchy asshole. 

Me and Stevie continue on, and I guess Stevie is feeling froggy because he suddenly proposes that we do a huge day, 32 miles total. It's around 4:00 PM and we've only done 12 at this point. That means 20 more miles before sleep. A lofty goal, but I'm a masochistic weirdo and agree that yeah, 32 miles sounds good.

We're moving fast, but the day is waning and the water sources totally suck. As we break for dinner, Sunshine Willis passes us... again. I'm confused by this again, but he explains again. He got caught at the trail magic for way too long, but he plans on making it to Damascus by 11 or 12. "Tomorrow morning?" I ask. "No, tonight," he replies. It's 7:00 PM and we're still at least 30 miles from Damascus. What the hell is this dude thinking?

At some point me and Stevie split ways, deciding to meet back up at the shelter. It's dark by the time we get to the 24 mile marker (our original goal) and the other hikers at this shelter, Gelati (comedy relief bro-dude) and TNT (6'7" German hiking machine), yell at me as I walk off into the darkness, "You're fucking crazy dude!"

I think to myself, "At least I'm not as crazy as Sunshine."

It's not long before I run into Sunshine again. I see a headlight in the distance, a little bit off trail in the woods. It freaks me out some so I call out to whoever is creeping around in the trees. Of course it's Sunshine. He's looking for water. But there's no water to be had for at least three miles, I tell him. Of course he doesn't know that, he doesn't have a guide book because he doesn't have ANYTHING AT ALL WITH HIM. I look up where the next water source is and he decides to hike with me there. We get there and he asks to borrow my filter. He doesn't know how to use it. I get water for him and filter it into his absurb Nalgene bottle. We continue hiking, and my efforts to communicate with him aren't so hot, but he tells me a little bit about himself and I can't tell if he's telling the truth about any of it. It's obvious to be that Sunshine is a supremely weird dude.

We get to a road crossing where the AT goes onto private property and crosses several cow fields. The only problem here is that the cows are all in the middle of the trail and they aren't too happy about our headlamps or our nearness. Sunshine demands I take some pictures of him with the cows, they turn out awful.

We get to the shelter at about 11:00 PM and there's only one other person there. I start to lay my things out to promptly go to sleep and Sunshine informs me that he thinks he'll have a nap. But he doesn't have a sleeping pad... or bag... or even warmer clothes. I don't have much to offer him, but I give him a tyvek groundsheet, an emergency blanket, and my rain jacket. He uses the first two as blankets and the rain jacket as a pillow.

He rolls around all night, making insanely loud trash bag noises with the tyvek, and I barely sleep at all. But it's whatever, I don't blame him, it's cold as hell and he's definitely not asleep or even warm. I finally pass out, glad to be done with my 32 miles and ready to do the remaining 18 into Damascus early tomorrow.

The Day is Friday, May 15th:

I wake up at 7:00 AM. A relatively late start, but whatever. Sunshine is also getting up and about, explaining to me that he still plans on making it to Damascus by 8:00 AM in order to maintain his original goal of 50 miles in 24 hours... but he's still 18 miles away. There is literally no way he'll make it, not even if he has Usain Bolt's speed and Kilian Jornet's trail running skills. At this point I don't give a shit about any of the wild crap that comes out of this kid's mouth and I let him go, wishing him luck and somewhat hoping that he doesn't break his ankle trying to run 18 miles per hour.

Stevie never shows up to the shelter and I'm a little worried, so I decide to hang around for a bit, hoping that he'll appear. He doesn't, so I push forward.

I'm tired, so tired. High mileage and very little sleep has done me a disservice and I'm insanely exhausted. I go slow, real slow, and eventually Stevie shows up. He tells me that he ended up cowboy camping in the cow pasture. I tell him what has just occurred with Sunshine Willis, and we laugh because what the hell, the last day has just been so profoundly weird.

We make our way into Damascus, and although the elevation gain and loss is mild and the terrain is forgiving, we hate every second of it. But Trail Days! Damascus! Imaginary state lines! Pseudo progress! We're almost there! My real motivation is the rumor of a cafe in Damascus. Maybe they have espresso, maybe they have soy milk! Maybe I can get a soy latte! AHHH!

A couple of minutes after taking shitty pictures of the Virginia border, me and Stevie run into some of the hikers who were with Bob Peoples and Sunshine Willis's backpack. Well, Sunshine never showed up to Damascus and they're a little worried. I relay my story and we're all equally baffled. We shrug and move on.

As we approach Damascus, I hear music. Loud, bad music, and I realize that I hate festivals. Oh no, is Trail Days going to be a massive, nasty hiker festival? Yes, it is. I sort of already know this, but I want to witness it anyhow.

We walk through town, observing the spectacle that is trail days, making our way towards this so-called cafe (where I think we'll find Cheyanne). Behold, it is a real cafe! And behold, Cheyanne is there! The trail gods have smiled upon us on this day.

I sip on a soy latte as we try to find a place to eat and sleep. Preferably a place that isn't Tent City (the massive field of tents where thruhikers perform acts of extreme debauchery late into the night). We find a church hostel and they explain to me that quiet time begins at 10:00 PM. Awesome. I set up my tent outside, determined to sleep well this night.

I go to get my food box from the outfitters, only to find that it's not there. It's nowhere to be found, and I discarded the tracking number a month ago. God damnit.

Dismayed, I eat a veggie burrito from an in town restaurant and check out the Food City, then climb into my tent and pass the freak out.

Day 96, 97: How we learned not to give a shit.

Day 96:

I wake up about an hour before sunrise because everyone else on the observation deck has decided to do the same (and the stirring of other hikers is almost impossible to sleep through). So I force myself to get up and watch the damn thing, remembering a post that Swami (www.thehikinglife.com) made about never missing a sunset or sunrise. As a side note, my favorite fictional character of all time (Drizzt Do'Urden) never misses a sunrise either. I realize that I rarely get to see a sunset or sunrise unobstructed by innumerable trees and vegetation and am extremely bummed by this fact. After taking the obligatory sunrise pictures, we all go back to sleep in a monumental feat of pure, unadulterated laziness.

It's now almost noon and we're laying out in the sun by a public beach. This particular beach happens to have been 0.3 miles from where we slept. The old me would be freaking out about mileage and not being able to finish by a certain date and blahblahblah, but the new me is eating cookies and trying to take a nap on a bench whilst my phone charges inside the concession building.

This new found disregard for putting in miles isn't entirely motivated by sloth. Stevie's been having some bowel issues similar to my experiences with giardia and so we're moving slower than normal (and we like to hang out around real-people toilets for extended periods of time to help negate the indignity of spraying shit on your heels whilst squatting in the woods).

Regardless, we can't stop. We must always move forward. The need (aka anxiety) to move from point A to point B still rattles my subconscious, but I'm learning how to make myself temporarily deaf to it. The Pull of Katahdin eventually pushes its way to the surface and threatens to overwhelm my sense of purpose and well being, but I'm getting better and better at combating this inevitability.

It's not all about the miles, right?

The hike today is weird. We go through a lot of backyards, over a lot of roads, and walk a few miles next to a straight up nasty ass swamp. The mosquitoes are perpetually out in force and Cheyanne's lemon eucalyptus bug spray is proving itself not to be strong enough to repel the legions of vampiric little fuckers.

We fill up our water for the rest of the day at a spigot on the side of an abandoned house just off the side of the trail and gulp it down silently hoping that it didn't need to be treated (it came from a spigot, right? right?). Oh well, it's at least better than drinking from the swamp.

The shelter this night has a few familiar faces including Fin, Tumbles, and Scout. Tumbles and Scout are a teenage brother/sister combo and Fin is the thruhiker with the Worst Luck Ever. He got norovirus around Waynesboro and shortly after got lyme disease. Yeah, that's right, I said lyme. But he's still out here, albeit with a much more morbid sense of humor. Fin's motto is Death or Katahdin, and I honestly think there's a reason that Death comes before Katahdin within the sentence structure.

Day 97:

We sleep in the shelter. This is a horrible, terrible idea, and I know it.

All of my exposed skin is relentlessly assaulted by mosquitoes (duh) and so I try to contain myself wholly within my quilt... which isn't a solution because then my body is on fire and it's way too hot to sleep anyhow.

So I let myself get bit by mosquitoes (and probably ticks) all night. Bring it on West Nile, I ain't scared.

Stevie informs me that there's blood in his poopoo shortly after I wake. This is a game changer. You can't ignore something like that. So we make new plans, we can hitch to an urgent care in six miles and spend the night at a free (read: donation based) hiker hostel in Vernon, NJ.

So this is where I am, right at this moment, listening to Leann Womack's I Hope You Dance (because I'm a total weirdo) on repeat whilst typing this blog on the community computer. And god dang it's way easier to type these entries out on a keyboard rather than a phone.

Today wasn't a total waste, besides all the boring shit like laundry, shower, pharmacy, and hitching, we also found a health food store for the first time since forever ago and got to indulge ourselves. I got some root beers and coconut milk ice cream to make root beer floats on account of it being my birthday in approximately two hours.

What do I plan on doing for my birthday? Well, I'll do what I always do, spend the day in an existential stupor, thinking about the abstract but profound psychological impact that changing an integer can have. I know that tomorrow, in all reality, I'll be one day older, but my age will change to 27, forever altering my perception of how long I've been alive... that much closer to thirty... that much closer to forty... that much closer to death.

Yeah, age is an abstraction and a social construct and all that bullshit. But the health of my body and the health of my mind have very real limitations and I'm getting closer to reaching those limitations every day. And birthdays are a reminder of the finite reality of our lives. 

But it's not growing older that bothers me, it's looking back on my life and seeing that I've wasted so much of it. So much time, so much energy, and what I come to regret most is not what I've done, but what I didn't do.

However, I have one strong ally on my side. That ally being less of a physical entity and more of the fact that I'm in the middle of a 2200 mile journey through the fucking mountains.

So maybe it's way past time I kicked this self destructive birthday tradition to the curb. Death is inevitable and all that shit, but fuck it, right now, right this moment, I'm alive and vigorous, and I can't reiterate it enough... I will not squander my life.

"Cause I don't want to have to look back and say... 'Make me young, make me young!'"

- Blue Monday & Kilgore Trout

Day 95: High Point State Park.

It's cold, way too cold to wake up early.

Sleep was bad, again. We shared the shelter with a dog. A dog who decided to  eat its feet all night. By "eat its feet" I mean "loudly slurp and smack and make horrendously disgusting noises". I try to sleep with headphones, but anyone who does this often knows that it sucks ass and hurts one's ears crazy bad. I surrender to the sound of feet eating rather than kill my phone battery attempting to drown the sound out.

We walk. 

Me and Stevie spend most of the day talking about the years we spent in a touring band. Parts of it were dope, parts of it were stressful. We relive the dope parts; we laugh about the stressful parts. We fantasize about what our lives would be like if it never came to an end.

We get our drop boxes at High Point State Park just before it closes. I quickly figure out that I don't have anywhere near enough food, this informs our decision to hitch into Port Jervis. Hitching eats most of our day. It's hard to hitchhike in states that have made it illegal (like New Jersey).

After getting back to the trail we don't make it far before deciding to cowboy camp on a wooden observation deck. Unfortunately nine other thruhikers have the same idea. So now there are twelve of us up here.

We watch the sunset and I can't get a good picture because everyone is in the way. Someone plays Mumford and Sons on their phone for all of us to listen to (whether or not we want to), and I listen to the other hikers make stupid offensive normal people jokes about things that aren't funny. 

I try to tune them out but can't help but overhear them talk shit about Scott Jurek and his decision to bring champagne to the top of Katahdin for his dramatic finish.

For those who don't know, Scott Jurek is a vegan ultramarathon runner who just set the record for the Fastest Known Time on the Appalachian Trail. I have mad respect for this dude.

Also for those who don't know, Baxter State Park (which contains Katahdin, the northern terminus of the AT) is incredibly irritated with thruhikers and their disrespect for park policies and rules.

Yes, taking alcohol up Katahdin is against park policies, and yes, Scott got fined for this. What frustrates me is not this fact, but the fact that the hikers talking shit are currently in a state park that bans alcohol (and other substances) whilst drinking alcohol and smoking weed.

But enough complaining about other hikers.

At this moment I'm laying on my sleeping pad on the observation deck, spooning chocolate peanut butter onto gluten free sandwich cookies, not a cloud above me in the sky, feeling very enthusiastic about observing the rotation of the earth in the movement of the stars.

I feel good. It feels good. To sleep under a clear sky, to adhere to no schedule, to see both sunset and sunrise.

And just like that, the Long Suffering of the Times That Came Before is worth it. 

All of it is worth it.

Day 94: Jersey Devil... Or maybe just a bear.

Mile 1324.8: Gren Anderson Shelter.

Slept terrible. Interruptions include: thunder, wind, screaming children (from a nearby camp), and a drunk hiker with a super bright headlamp.

Regardless, I wake up feeling awesome.

Shortly into the day, a russle in the brush about fifteen feet away startled me and I look up to see a big black blob slowly galloping away. It's a super fuzzy bear.

It stops about fifty feet into its lackadaisical jog and turns around to spy on us, obviously not worried about our presence, but wary enough to keep a close watch.

We continue forward, noticing that Mr. (Or Ms., gender is hard to pin on creatures covered in fur) Bear is walking parallel to us, continuing their curious (and hopefully not hungry) observation. Now I start yelling, somewhat cartoonishly, "Get away bear! I don't like you! Go away! Hey!"

The bear is not dissuaded. I am just a little bit nervous.

We put some distance between us and the bear and it reluctantly goes back to the place it was rummaging near the trail before I blundered into its territory, probably ready to ambush another hiker.

Hours later the mosquitoes are attacking me with fervor, it's so bad that I skip a water source to avoid becoming lunch for another fifty or so mosquitoes.

It begins to rain, but I've made it to a road with some businesses. The businesses are weird but one is a bar with a covered patio next to a lake. I drink a long forgotten flavor of gatorade and try to figure out how to use my 500 milliliter pot to make gluten free spaghetti (it isn't easy). I add some powdered marinara and the mixture tastes like shit, but I'm hungry and it's what I have. Stevie and Cheyanne are eating huge pretzels with mustard and like always, I am jealous of the ability to consume wheat gluten.

Cheyanne makes a visit to a nearby game/fishing shop and comes back with eucalyptus/lemon oil insent repellant. 

Salvation at last.

After lunch we play a few rounds of pool, waiting on the rain to subside. I charge my phone, download some podcasts, and stare absently at the pictures on the wall. Most are hunters posing with dead deer or embroidered cop badges from different counties. I'm ready to leave.

We're lazy, we only do another three miles to the nearest shelter. Dinner is bland and unappetizing but necessary. If I don't eat enough I wake up nauseous in the dead of the night. The mosquitoes are having a better time of things with the exposed parts of my skin. I cover myself liberally with bug spray and crawl into my quilt, dreading the bugs.

Day 92, 93: The dramatic comeback.

Day 92:

We did our final miles into Delaware Water Gap (and our final miles in Pennsylvania) whilst being eaten alive by mosquitoes.

The trail got noticeably better (and prettier) the closer we got to New Jersey, and even the mosquitoes gave us a brief reprieve.

We arrived earlyish into the gap and after running errands (post office, outfitters, drop boxes, etc.) we discovered that it was at least a two mile hitch to anything worthwhile.

So we hitched to a Thai restaurant and I got my curry on. I've been fiendin' for some green curry for about a thousand miles.

Appetites satiated, we roadwalked the two miles back into town and spent the night at the (donation based) church hostel. Every other hiker in our bubble was there, including Fin, who (after getting norovirus and lyme's disease) coined what is now my motto, "Death or Katahdin". Why death is the former option and not the latter is a little confusing but hey, English is his second language and honestly Katahdin or Death doesn't sound as good in his Finnish accent.

So now we sleep in our non air conditioned "bunks" (I use this term loosely) and dream about leaving this god forsaken state tomorrow.

Day 93:

I feel good. Wonderful, in fact.

Hiking is fun again.

The trail isn't nearly as strenuous or difficult, it's maintained and although rocky at times, still fun. The landscapes offer variety and views (yes, views! even a fire tower!).

Variety like ponds, lakes, clearings, swamps, ascents, descents. A gobble (a gobble, you know, like a group) of turkeys running down the trail, jumping up and down and beating inadequate wings in half flight. Many stacks of cairns on the side of the lake, the work of dutiful hikers. Frogs leaping off into the pond just beside the trail. Fields of black eyed susans.

It's almost like some indifferent diety in charge of our well being flipped a switch as we entered New Jersey. The "Misery Switch", if you will. I imagine them sitting there on a throne of clouds, looking down on us slogging through the rain and bugs and shit and suddenly feeling a pang of sympathy, thinking to themselves with fingers hovering over The Misery Switch, "Well, maybe they've suffered enough", and finally releasing us from our mortal suffering.

But of course what actually happened was that we crossed into New Jersey and let's be honest, it's just better here.

Highlights of the day:

Sitting for about an hour on top of a ridge with a 360 view, lazily watching the scattered showers drift across the valleys and hills below, hawks and swallows circling in the turbulent air above.

Reading my book (The Republic of Thieves) on a plush couch at the Mohican Outdoor Center, sippin' on soda and waiting out the afternoon storm. Laughing to myself at the witty banter of fictional characters and being so absorbed in this story that I forget momentarily that I'm supposed to be hiking.

Literally running down the trail to catch Stevie and Cheyanne (who passed me in my reading stupor) and are a few miles ahead, now listening to the Rich Roll podcast, now 80s dance hits, now climbing a fire tower, now running downhill and twirling one pole as if a baton, the other occupied as a pretend microphone.