Rapid Travel Through New England

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

They say that West Virginia is the shortest state on the trail. Connecticut and Massachusetts seem pretty short, however, if you're asleep in a car doing 70. After my brief trip to one of Long Island's fine medical establishments, we were headed north to rendezvous with our long lost hiking buddies; Dugout, DizzyBat, her dog Boo, and of course the irrepressible Einstein. Gravey's parents were nice enough to jet us up to a little hostel on the border of Conn. and Vermont. We had already accepted that we would be skipping these states due to time, and I still do not regret that decision. This feeling was further reinforced by all the south-bound hikers we met in New york and New Jersey who advised us to skip them, regardless of necessity. And so, after being treated to a lovely dinner by the Muench's, we went to the hostel. While walking to the ply-wood 'cabin', I managed to slip down a grassy incline and land on my tail. This was far superior to landing on my still disabled shoulder, but was both painful and embarrassing. The embarrassment factor was increased by the fiery, five-foot-nothing owner of the farm/hostel, who insisted that I take her arm and have her escort me the rest of the quarter mile to the cabin. A lovely woman, but a somewhat emasculating experience. Ah, well. The cabin was cozy, if sparse, and we awoke feeling refreshed. A few hours later, we were reunited with our tribe and headed off to Vermont. Dug & Dizzy had discovered a great free campground next to a great restaurant and we made it our home for several days. While we were there, waiting for my body to heal enough to carry a backpack, we soaked up the surrounding area. Dugout and I hiked 200 yards to some abandoned cabins nearby, and then later that day, we drove to the top of Mount Washington. There we made our perilous assent to the summit from the parking lot below. The treacherous climb required all of our skill and training, as we scaled no less than 40 feet of elevation. The view of the trail both ways down was incredible, and we vowed to climb this mountain range one day. We then toured the gift shop, passed on the snack bar, and drove back down. The next day, we caught lunch at the Long Trail Brewery. The food was terrific, as was the beer. This stop marked the end of The PHLO's Eastern Brewery Tour, with four stops in total. Sweetwater, Flying Dog, and Long Trail were all excellent. Screw you, Yuengling. I'll still drink your beer, but I hold no love for your operations. Afterward, we climbed to the top of the large mountain near our campsite. As we took in the view, a man came jogging up the trail and ran up to the edge of the cliff facing our campsite some 300 yards below. He marveled for a moment, then turned and asked if we were from around here. We replied no, and explained that we were refugees from the Appalachian Trail. After a bit more conversation, we found out that he was in fact the owner of the Long Trail Brewery and jogged to the top of this mountain every day after work. Small world.
That night, we saw the new Quentin Tarantino movie in the nearby (15 miles) town. As we returned to our campsite, illuminated by the restaurant's security light, we saw a familiar looking tent that had appeared while we were out. It was none other than Chinese Tourist, not seen since the Aqua Blaze. It was a fantastic impromptu reunion, and the next day he was gone, disappeared up the trail. Small World.
We left that day and drove on to New Hampshire. We arrived in Gorham New Hampshire near the border of Maine and took a campsite at The White Birches campground and Hiker Hostel. We were surprised to run in to Lucky Joe and Moe!, still heading North. Moe! had been unfortunate enough to get the Hiker's Triple Crown, or Giardia, Lyme Disease, and a Staph Infection. She seemed ready to be done, but was still glad to be on her journey. They headed back to the trail soon after we arrived. That night we ate brats around a fire and talked long into the night. Dugout and DizzyBat took off the next morning and we bid a sad farewell. We knew it would be a long time until we saw each other, but knew also that we would be reunited again. The trail had blessed us with good company throughout its course, and DizzyBat, Boo, Dugout, and Einstein were chief among these. We packed our belongings slowly, now in the final stretch and feeling alone again. After catching a ride to town, we picked up the last mail drop, sent home everything that was not absolutely essential, and I finally replaced my crappy, heavy headlamp. Better late than never, I guess. A short hitch later, and we were home. After long hiatus, we were back on the White Blazed Trail.