Where are we?

Pictures: http://picasaweb.google.com/jkmuench

Graveyard is busy helping at her church's fundraising fair, so I will do my best to pick up where we left off. I hope people have noticed that there was a post just before "What's in a name," which was just a brief aside to anyone who was curious. I also hope someone is still reading these, as there have been no comments on the four previous posts over the last 2 months.

So we hiked late into the evening for a view of NYC. The trail was long and made longer by the multiple trails running on the same trail. There was the blue blazed trail, which was almost impossible to see in the dark, but also a yellow reflective trail that we could see. The reflectors were a blessing except for the points where they joined and left the blue trail, plus we constantly worried that the trails had parted without our knowledge. They hadn't, and we finally reached our destination. There were no clear skylines or tall buildings poking up as we had expected, but instead a huge dark valley and lights of various concentrations all around it. As we made dinner, we watched flashes of lightning in the distant clouds. After dinner, the storm had intensified and to our right (west) the flashes of lightning were leaving their cloudy birthplace and crashing down in spectacular arcs. The lightning came at shorter intervals as it moved to the east across our vista. These bolts came from far up in the atmosphere, but were so far removed from us that these enormous static discharges made not a sound to our ears. This surreal silent lightshow moved until it was across the darkened valley, and then a monstrous bolt amongst giants flashed down, while an opposing streak shot up through the valley. It was then that we could see that the valley was in fact the Hudson River, reflecting the sky's own fury back at it. These two immortal elements exchanged volley upon volley while two fragile mortals could do naught but gaze in wonder. Meanwhile, in the city, millions of mortals sought shelter from a storm that ravaged Manhattan and dropped countless trees through Central Park. The devastation would later be compared to tornadoes, but on that silent hill, we watched in awe as blinding white bolts flashed earthward and turned rusty red as they broke through the dense atmospheric bubble that surrounds all cities of that size. As we sat, watching hundreds of dichromatic flares flash downward with icy silence, we could not avoid a thought. If we had hiked at any different pace, taken one more or one less shortcut, or given up entirely, we would not have been the trail's only witnesses to what Gravey described as,"The most awesome thing I have ever seen in my life, ever." So I suppose there is a reason for everything, though often not apparent. Even now that it has ended, I believe we hiked our trail and I would not take back a single step. Well, maybe the step that broke Julia's toe, but even that put us on top of that great beast of a mountain on the only 'good' day in to weeks of 'bad' days. And when a good day involves 15 ft. visibility and thick ice formations in a man's beard, it makes a person thankful to not find out what a bad day is. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

We were awakened by day hikers out for a jaunt, but they did not linger at the shelter once they realized it was occupied. Thank you. As I looked around this shelter so far off the beaten path, I recognized familiar designs on the wall. Shelters often bear graffiti, but it's usually crap like: 'Bobby luvs Susie', 'Jordan was here', or 'Troop 25 was here' a dozen times (nice LNT skills, guys) but almost every shelter has a few gems. There was an '08er named The Treat who drew landscapes and cartoons from NC to mid-Virginia. My personal favorite,though, were a pair of NOBOs from our year called UFO and Droid. They were some of the first to set out this year and they were from Brooklyn. That's about all I know. They also built mouse exclusion devices (string hung with a can preventing mice from crawling down to protect food bags) with their personal designs, which were quite cool. This morning, though, I noticed an entire wall covered by UFO. Same design, but instead of 'UFO NOBO 09' there were UFO 01 through 08 plus this years. So this was our artistic trail-brother's (or sister's) hang out. Good choice, UFO.

We made good time that day and in the days following. We kept a good pace because, for the first time in a long time, we had an appointment. The Metro North line has a train stop on the trail that only runs on weekends and we were determined to reach it on time. Of course, things are never as easy as you would think. Thursday signaled the death knell of my hiking pants. Coming around a rock that morning, I ripped a hole in the one pocket that was still intact. Fearing for our valuables, I gave my 12 cents and our $9 Walmart watch to Gravey for safe keeping. (The watch band had broken in Southern Virginia) Two hours later, the watch was gone. I blame the tiny pockets on girls pants, even the outdoor brands. In the woods, form should always follow function. So for the first time since my Dad visited, we needed to know what time it was. Of course the trail gremlins would take our watch. The next day we got an unfortunate late start. A passing hiker told us it was about noon. That meant we had 31 miles to hike in 34 hours. No problem, right? So we set off. The next 20 miles were a blur, but a good-natured one. We reached the shelter before the train station around 3 am, having hiked 21.5 miles. It was destined to be our only 20+ miler, though we would come close in the later part of Maine. Ours was not to be a hike of high mileage days; I have no regrets. Somehow we woke up the next day and hoofed it the last 10 miles through rain showers to a wooden bench by the tracks and huddled under a tarp to stay dry. We had made it our 31 miles in a day and a half with an hour to spare. A cold, wet hour, but excellent for its sheer ridiculousness.
When the train came, we boarded, along with three day hikers from the city. We were not prepared for the air conditioning on board, however, and we immediately put on all our dry warm clothes over our cold, wet ones. We were entertained for this leg of our journey by the conductor ragging on the ticket taker for being Australian over the intercom. "Here comes Crocodile Dundee to take your tickets. Hey, what's a roo-burger taste like?" Hilarious. When we got to Grand Central Station, we were, well, a little overwhelmed. There we stood, in jackets and beanie hats in a 90 degree building, backpacks hung with dirty socks, and me gripping a large wooden walking stick. A young girl of about 14 with braces approached us and asked politely if we needed help. Julia answered in a thick NY accent that we were trying to find the transfer to Penn Station. The girl seemed surprised that we spoke English and said that there was an information kiosk right behind us. Thanks. At least she meant well. I guess she thought we were from the 1600's. As we walked towards the transfer train, people continued to stare at us, even when walking behind a man in a wheelchair with no legs and a bag of golf clubs in his lap. And we're the weird ones. When we got on the sweltering subway train, everyone immediately backed up about five feet. I'm assuming the smell had something to do with it. A girl next to Graveyard asked if we were skiing in the summer. We were as confused as she was, until we realized she was looking at Gravey's trekking poles. "Oh, no. These are for hiking. We walked here from Georgia." A double blink and many turned heads. "You what?!?" So we explained that we had been backpacking for the last 4 and a half months. I overhear a girl say, "That must be why he has a beard." The fact that I have it because it grows out of my face obviously was lost on her. I later realized that her ignorance to men's general ability to do this was not unfounded. No one from Westchester east has a speck of facial hair except for Arabics and some (but not all) homeless people. As we rode the train, I looked out the window and saw a huge alien face on the side of a buiding staring at the train. Underneath was the familiar script: UFO. Good show.

We intended to stay on Long Island for a short time, but a dislocated shoulder interceded. The first time in three years and inflicted very benignly. Ah well...an extended vacation was perfectly acceptable, sling and all.