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?
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