The Unforgiving, Never-ending Grind (May 23-June 11, 2011)

"I've come to barely regard expansive views any longer, I pass them quickly with a simple glance, yet I take great care choosing the stump I wish to sit on during lunch." Mancub, 4/23/11, Hightop Hut

Everyone at the RPH shelter in New York State (June 3, 2011)

In the mid-atlantic all optimism ceased. We found ourselves in a vast stretch of trail with
no real goals. We were too far from Maine and incredulous about the miles ahead of us. Before I might sweat hard to go over a mountain but now I just got mad that it was there. I wanted runways, not mountains.

We all needed a break and got off the trail in New Jersey, Spam, Sensei and I. My parents picked us up Memorial Day weekend and took us to my aunt's house in Long Island, New York. The visit was incredible and we enjoyed everything until by Saturday we started itching to get back to the hike. It wasn't a joyful itch, but the painful acknowledgement of duty. It felt more like waking up early to take a family member to the hospital. Don't let anyone fool you into thinking the AT is some sort of vacation. It is a job, only without showers and good food.

Pennsylvania confirmed that it was the worst state on the trail. New York was surprisingly enjoyable given that it has no towering mountains for views. But at that point views and pleasure become secondary to making miles and scurrying ahead to some far-reaching shelter. Sensei and I become really annoyed with each other. Everything out of his mouth was annoying me. Spam could sense the insanity.

After we returned from Long Island, Sensei got Lyme's disease and we had to stop again for a visit to the clinic. Whenever people talk about the clinic, things aren't good. Going to the doctor is just fine, going to the clinic sounds like you need to get rid of that bit of the clap you picked at the Doyle in Duncannon. Not good times.

The heat reached insane levels in Connecticut and we kept pushing further and further. I didn't shower between New Jersey and Massachusetts. Once we reached New England the towns became quainter and more frequent. We snuck into a few bars to watch NBA Finals games. Spam is a Bruins fan, so we also caught NHL games in between.

By the time we reached Massachusetts it felt like we were on a death march. The hot weather had been blown away by incoming storms, so it became rainy and miserable. I could smell the wet, mildewed, sweaty socks "drying" on the back of my backpack. The misery was too much.

We finally rolled into Dalton, MA just shy of the Vermont border and stayed at Tom Laverdi's house. He might have been the nicest guy we encountered on the trail. He let us stay two nights and made dinner for all the hikers. He drove us to the store. The whole thing was amazing.

Were we close now? We wouldn't dare risk getting proud of ourselves again by admiring fleeting progress. But things were looking up now being so close to Vermont.

619.8 miles remaining. Too much gone now to feel fresh but too far away to feel comfortable.