Overview:
Mileage-
Total: 1923.7 Miles
This Section: 31 Miles
Daily Averages-
Total: 12.2 Miles
This Section: 10.3 Miles
July 24, 2018- Day 156 (7.4 Miles):
Early Bird, Quesadilla, Overdrive, and I slept in after our long, wet slackpack the previous day which wore us all out. My knee and rib hurt even more than they had the previous day. I could hardly get out of bed, let alone carry my fully loaded pack. My phone had not dried out overnight, so I decided I needed to buy a cheap replacement before leaving Gorham. I walked to Dunkin Donuts and ate, where I met back up with a friend from North Carolina (3 months ago!) named Ringo. I planned to go into this sketchy consignment shop that advertised "Guns! Gold! Jewelry!" in the hopes of buying a stolen phone or something. There were some ragged looking old men loitering outside of the laundromat next door, so I assumed they were hikers and went over to talk to them. I explained my dilemma and as it turned out, one of the guys, Larry, was not in fact a hiker, but just a hippie townie. He offered me a ride to the Walmart, along with Quesadilla and Overdrive who wanted food resupply, and so we all loaded into his bright yellow car once his laundry was done. We learned that Larry was into trail maintenance and taking pictures of moose- real or fake. He also doesn't have a computer or a phone because he likes to be "unplugged"- overall a weird guy, but also very nice to us- he even waited for us and gave us a ride back to our hotel room from Walmart. Right before getting out, he gave us all his "business card" which was about the size of a quarter and contained no actual contact info.
The others left Gorham via group hitch around noon, but I loitered in the local McDonalds to wait for my 1:30 college advising call, which ended up being 2:30 thanks to time zones. I hung out with Lost Boy for a while, poached more charge for my new cheap-o "Huawei" phone, and paid for only a 1 dollar drink. Hiker trash. After a while, I left the restaurant and ate my leftover pizza in the parking lot, then crossed the street to be on the appropriate side to hitch.
I stood by the side of the road outside of the Burger King in Gorham with my thumb up trying to hitch a ride. I got several dubious looks from old women, after about half an hour standing in the sun, a red jeep pulled off for me. He asked me if I wanted a ride to Maine, and when I explained that I was just trying to get back to the trail and would WALK into Maine, he almost drove off cause he didn't want to give me a ride. I explained that the trail was on the way, and he begrudgingly let me into his Jeep. The whole way back to the trailhead he lectured me on how I shouldn't hitchhike because it is "dangerous" and that it "might be illegal here" (Note: it's not). I was not really listening to him and was instead trying to locate the pull-off for the parking lot so I wouldn't accidentally end up in Maine with this guy and have to hitch back. He asked me about my personal life and I fed him a few lies. Finally we arrived, and I thanked him and then walked far enough up trail so I couldn't be seen before sitting down on a rock to wait for my Rice transfer advisor's call. Right before he called I realized I really had to pee, but I was also in sight of the road, but I didn't want to have to wait 30 minutes so I stealth peed by the highway and then I began my call.
Brad, my advisor was surprised to learn I was calling him from the forest, but we still had a fairly productive conversation despite my not having a computer or having read any recent emails from him. After the call, I walked close to a road for a while and then walked over a big dam. My rib was killing me, and especially as I began climbing back up mountains, though they were small and less steep than the Whites. I took a break every 30 minutes and laid on the ground, winded. As expected based on this, it was slow going and it was demoralizing to know all my friends were so far ahead. An hour in, my new phone stopped playing music, which really killed the day's vibe.
Right after I passed the 1900 mile marker the sky began to grow dark- it was the forecasted 7pm rain storm. I threw my pack off and started trying to set up my tent as fast as possible before it began to pour. I had staked the corners and as I went to unfold the tent poles there one of the poles snapped in half. I still wanted to stay dry so I still set it up, though the sharp edge of the pole was cutting through the rainfly and the rain was leaking through without the fly being held taught. I was particularly angry at REI since the previous day REI had rejected my request for a replacement tent since I had continued to use it though it broke- WTF kind of policy is that? What was a I supposed to do sleep in the rain? Grrr. As expected, it began to pour after I was in my tent and so I decided to take the risk of getting eaten by a bear and kept my food bag in my tent. I ate as many Rice Krispie treats as I could manage and then passed out on a trash bag, trying to stay dry.
July 25, 2018- Day 157 (13.9 Miles):
When I woke up the next morning I was relieved to discover I had not in fact been eaten by a bear looking for the URsak full of Rice Krispie treats I had fallen asleep holding. Honestly I'd rather fight a bear than have wet snacks, which probably sounds crazy to normal people but goddam Rice Krispie treats were the only things carrying me the past thousand miles. Unfortunately, though my snacks remained dry, little else was, even though I had spread out all the trash bags I owned to try and prevent this from happening. I rolled up my damp belongings into my pack, cringing a little with every moment as it still felt like someone was stabbing me in the ribs. I put on my knee brace which significantly helped my knee which by now had swollen considerably. I briefly considered turning back and walking into town for medical help, but then decided I'd rather die in the woods than back track.
Mid morning I passed by this scenic lake which was pretty, but after all the lakes in Massachusetts and Vermont was not nearly as impressive because it was a cloudy day, I still took a picture with Huawei's shitty camera. I proceeded to get lost trying to find where the trail continued and walked a couple a laps before crashing through the bushes to a clearing where I could see the trail pick back up. It kind of looked like it might start pouring at any second, which to be fair, it is Maine, so is pretty universally true. My new phone wasn't connected to the app store so I didn't have access to guthook, so it was quite frustrating not knowing if I was on trail at any given time.
Eventually I reached the border of Maine and stopped to take a picture. There was another man and woman crossing at the same time as I and they offered to take my picture, but I felt like I was dying so I didn't take them up on their offer and instead sat on a damp rock and binge ate Cheeto puffs while watching them retake a photo of the man jumping in the air to try and simulate him flying over the border on his trekking pole like a witch on a broomstick. I thought he would most likely fall on a slippery log and die, but he did not.
As the miles passed, the whether worsened, and eventually it began to rain. Unfortunately there are a lot of balds and rocky mountain tops in Southern Maine, and so when it began thundering, I questioned how safe continuing on would be, but again, there is no way but forward on a long hike, and so I kept walking forward. Amidst the falling rain I caught sight of a family of pheasants, but my Huawei phone could not handle taking pictures in the rain so I had no way to document the pheasant chicks to assure myself I wasn't hallucinating.
By the last few miles everything I owned was soaking wet as I no longer had a rain jacket or rain pants (I had mailed them home in Virginia), and my umbrella was doing little in the extreme weather. The trail was lined with these wooden planks that would sink into the mud whenever you stepped on them, so I had reached the point of no return where you stop trying to avoid stepping in puddles and mud because you can't possibly get more wet. In fact, there was a part of me that believed that the puddles might even be drier than my shoes somehow.
As I splashed along, the thunder got worse, and flashes of lightning started lighting up the sky. Unfortunately I had just entered into a huge balded area and so was trying my best to hustle on to the next treeline so as to not get struck by lightning since I was carrying 2 wet large metal poles/ lightning rods (ie my trekking poles). I stepped onto a wooden plank and my foot started to sink into the mud, and so I sidestepped onto the plank next to it. Big mistake. As it turned out there was in fact no plank next to it, just 3 feet of thick mud which I fell sideways into when I stepped off the plank. As my body sunk into the sticky mud, the lightning continued to flash around me, and in a panic I struggled my way over the plank, sort of swim crawling across the surface. As I pulled myself out one of my shoes suctioned off, and as I was not about to leave my only pair of shoes, I then had to reach my entire arm into the mud up to where the side of my face was touching the mud to fish out my shoe, which by now the mud had mostly swallowed and which was FULL of the stuff. Now mind you all this bending and twisting was made extra difficult by the fact that 1) I had 30 pounds of stuff strapped to my bag and 2) every slight movement of my torso felt like someone had replace all of my internal with shards of glass. By the time I had retrieved my shoe, I was covered from head to toe in muck and quite frankly dared the lightning to strike me. In fact, I believe I yelled such things, as well as a slew of obscenities uttered at the mountain such as "F*$% YOU MAINE AND YOUR GODDAM RAIN AND ROCKS."
Conveniently it continued to pour rain as I passed over the bald and so (most) of the mud was washed off my body and clothes by the time I reached the shelter that night. It was a depressing 13.9 miles as it took me a full day of hiking- morning to night and yet I was only making a fraction of the miles I had managed before. I slept that night sandwiched between a bunch of older men who were also seeking refuge in the shelter. One man, Tray, who thought he was Hot Stuff (TM) was running out of food, and as I had super resupplied in Gorham and could hardly carry my pack weight under the crushing pain of my rib injury, I shared some of my supply of cosmic brownies and peanut butter cups with him after I had eaten a dinner's share. It poured rain all night and I felt so bad for all the tenters out there. I also wondered how far the Birds had gotten since they left me in Gorham. I missed having a tramily to make sucky days like this worth hiking.
July 26, 2018- Day 158 (9.7 Miles):
I woke up to more rain, more mud, and more Maine. I hiked on. Pretty soon I had reached the famous Mahoosuc Notch- the most difficult mile of the AT. This section is full of enormous boulders which you must climb over, through, and in some places, take off your pack and crawl through tight spots under boulders. I was always told never to go it alone, but instead to find a friend to help you scramble, so of course I did the only logical thing, and went it alone, in the rain, with an injured rib. All the rain had flooded many areas, so if you fell through the crevasses you would find yourself in cold water as the snow in the crevasses remained even in July. Every movement felt horrible, particularly the crawling parts, but I persevered, determined to finish the section faster than the two hours I was told to alot for this section. I fell a number of times on the slippery rocks, and was wedged in a number of drop-offs between boulders, but I did not die.
After the Notch I ran into a couple men sitting in some wet grass beside the trail. I asked where the trail continued on and they pointed through a small pond that appeared to be about waist deep. I looked at them in disbelief, apparently the trail had flooded. At this point I had given up hope ever being dry again, so I didn't hesitate to wade through in my clothes and shoes. It was cold, but it was kind of nice as it was like icing my now extremely swollen knee.
Going up the mountain after the notch I waded through a number of small waterfalls and at this point the pain overcame me and I began tearing up. One of the men, who turned out to be a NOBO named "The Professor" passed me with his friend "Moose" a section hiker and asked how I was. I burst into tears and he asked what was wrong. I sat down and explained it felt like my rib had snapped in half. He explained that that had happened to him years before and that it then pierced his lung and he almost died, so he advised me to keep my Delorme on hand and call for help if I stopped being able to breathe. This made me cry more.
As I watched them walk away I considered the possibility that my rib might puncture a vital organ and decided I should probably stop into the next town for help. Unfortunately there was only one way out thanks to the Mahoosuc Notch blocking my retreat- forward. The next town, Bethel was about 25 miles ahead, but there was a parking lot in about 5 miles where I could hopefully get a hitch if it wasn't too late and there were cars there. I had little hope for this however, as it continued to rain as I walked on.
Continuing on, I passed a SOBO who was hobbling as though his knee was dislocated and I mentally wished him good luck in Mahoosuc. At a pond I stopped to eat some candy to fuel myself and met back up with The Professor who suggested I look for a park ranger at a campsite a half mile off trail and get airlifted out. I waited for him to get ahead and then walked on. Rule number 1: never let a situation get so bad that you have to get airlifted out. Beyond the pond, I passed by a huge waterfall. I wasn't sure where I was exactly as it was too rainy to risk getting my paper map out to check it. Around 4 or 5pm, I made it over the mountain and began seeing signs for Grafton Notch. Thank god.
Despite the fact that I 100% thought I was going to die at this point, the "Eyebrow is a sensitive area" sign still made me laugh out loud to myself like someone who had lost their mind in the woods, ie. exactly what I was. I even expended the effort to remove Huawei from its Ziplock bag in my pack to photograph it, fully intending to do a side by side with some rock climbers photoshopped onto my own eyebrows later on, if I survived, that is. When I walked out to the Grafton Notch Parking lot I saw Quesadilla and Overdrive standing by the sign post looking wet and miserable and I've never been more glad to see people in my life. I thought they would be miles and miles ahead given my slow pace with my internal organs and knee screaming and all. In shock and excited that there were other human beings to call 911 if I keeled over and died at any moment, I asked them why they were there and where they were going.
As it turned out, there days on trail had been just as rough as mine including Overdrive slipping and almost getting swept away by a waterfall, and them accidentally setting up their tents in a flood plain and waking up to a foot of standing water covering their belongings. They couldn't deal with the trail anymore and Quesadilla (aka Dayze) was having her grandparents who lived about an hour away in rural Maine come and pick them up. They invited me and I accepted, asking if they could also drop me off at an ER as I thought I might die. They agreed in the nonchalant way that only a thru hiker could.
There was no cell service in the parking area, so we didn't know when to expect Quesadilla's grandfather to arrive. We sat under the sign waiting, changing into the driest things we owned, which for me consisted of some damp gym shorts, a t-shirt, and my signature crocs. When he finally arrived, Quesadilla, who had not informed her grandfather that some rando she only knew as "Pizza" needed a ride too, explained the situation to him, who immediately became concerned about my inability to lift anything or walk or even really sit upright without crying out in pain.
On the way to the ER we stopped at a McDonalds because trashy food will always be more important to me than health or safety and anyone who doubts me will always find themselves proven wrong. I ate my 20 nuggets and 5 cheeseburgers in the back seat of Quesadilla's grandfather's car while trying not to think about the unsettling painful popping feeling I felt in my right side when I got out of the car to go into the restaurant. Nevertheless, we made it to the Augusta ER, and after pretending like I had not just walked 31 miles on my injury for the sake of getting seen with some urgency, we all waited in the waiting room, reveling in the wonders of electric lighting and running water coming out of the fountains and bathroom sinks. And oh the toilets. I could go on all day.
I had not showered in a few days and was visibly dirty relative to the other people in the ER, but at least I was with Quesadilla and Overdrive so we could be gross together. After they called me back into the back of the ER, I got an x-ray of my ribcage and learned I had in fact bruised my rib and my liver and was told if I started throwing up to come back because that would mean I was going into liver failure (note: I did in fact start throwing up later, but did not return to the ER, and I live to tell this tale). They gave me an ice pack and told me not to hike for a while. We all returned to Quesadilla's grandparents house on their cute little Maine farm and we all showered and played with Quesadilla's dog before heading to bed. We weren't sure if we would return to the trail, nor if I physically could, so we just enjoyed being in civilization once again.