C’est fin.

We’re in a car. On the way into NYC. It’s over.

New England Extravaganza and the End of an Era

We are now on a whirlwind tour of New England. On foot, subways, in cars. Jenn has never been here, so I’m trying to do it justice. Sort of.

The adventure, in this form, has ended. But it’s not compartmentalized; it’s not a badge or an anecdote. Every part if it is in me, all at once. Every mountain, every ache, every person, every surprise. I will be better now – for you, to you, with me – having done this.

I was a zombie yesterday in New York City. Like the first of December, putting on a coat you haven’t seen in a year and finding it a little stiff, foreign smelling and with a phone number in the pocket that brings you back to an altogether vivid and forgotten night. New York challenges all my insecurities. The streets – on any given day, on one singular block, on just one street corner – are filled with thin, attractive, talented, hungry, and well researched young adults that will all eat me alive in the rat cage of New York Employment. I don’t have a one word definition. I cannot sum up my skill set on a cookie’s fortune. That does not fly at parties, that does not fly on resumes. But my hope is that someone out there needs someone who does a little bit of everything, and does it with gusto.

We are in Boston today. The city I moved to Austin from at the tender and quietly pivotal age of 25. And, for me, I feel like the last 6 1/2 years has come full circle. Being back where I came from when I took the first true leap of fear. I wouldn’t call it faith. I don’t feel any epiphany. Only that I trust more. I trust that things will be, and are, right. And I don’t always feel that way, but I don’t let it get in my way anymore. We went to the famous Union Oyster House. The food was over priced and the waitress was evil, but it had the requisite dark, wooden interior and the food was pretty good. Jenn had her first chowdah.

I already miss every person we met on the trail. Valderie, Duchess, Spaceman, Birch, Crazy Horse, Thunder Chubbs, Bad Idea, Dos XX, 7 Dwarves, Boston Bones. The biggest difference between that life and now, is that on the trail we talked to each and every person we came across. We can’t do that anymore. It’s quite the opposite. Well, at least in the city.

Today we are on our way to my hometown, Spencer, MA. We’ll do laundry and probably take the scenic route out to Western Mass to show Jenn the Amherst/North Hampton area. Tomorrow, we are off to the Cape. Cape Cod, all the way to the tip, Provincetown, where my family is vacationing. I’ll probably post some photos from New England Mega Tour.

Final Countdown: 2 days left

Wait. Don’t go.

This is our last full hiking day, ending, in fact, at a deli. If only every hiking day ended at a deli.

Yesterday, the trail was…uhhh…on fire about 3 miles from our destination. This is the second fire we’ve passed in a week. The first was at Sunfish Pond. We were relaxing in a patch of grass, ignorant of the danger, commenting that someone’s going to get a fine for lighting a fire. Meanwhile, it closed the trail down immediately after.

Okay, my organic friends, Dr. Bronners can get your body clean, if you scrub for a long time. However, it is not a proper replacement for shampoo. I took a shower yesterday, but I woke up this morning and my hair looked like a Barbie doll’s that has been found under the bed. Complete with debris tangled in it. Dr. B’s puts this greasy, sticky finish on your hair.

We’re currently at Fahenstock State Park. They typically let hikers stay in the campground free of charge, but it was full, so they let us stay at the picnic pavillion. I realized that we’ve gotten quite comfortable with our “where I lay my head’s my home,” i.e. homeless, lifestyle when I chose the corner of the concrete pavillion to lay down my sleeping mat without a second thought. Three months ago, if you pointed at a concrete floor of a covered pavillion and said “this is where you are sleeping tonight,” my prompt response would’ve been, “Go fuck yourself.”

Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I can say that: tomorrow. (tomorrow!) Tomorrow, our friend and trail mascot, Ryan will be picking us up in Pawling, NY at the Appalachian Trail Metro North platform. Tomorrow.

The Final Countdown: 3 days left

We’re sitting in the pavilion at the Graymoor friary, dicking around, if you will, trying to put off the inevitable. Jenn’s dancing and cranking the radio. I’m taking pictures of the pony.

I don’t want it to end. Guys! I’m serious! I mean, the hiking part, sure. But where else can I have a completely unironic sing-a-long with grown men to “Country Roads?” The boys made a fire last night and we listened to Boston Bones tell stories about motorcycles and getting drunk. That doesn’t sound fun to you, though, does it? We are easy to entertain these days.

Well, I guess we’d better get out there.

The Final Countdown: 4 days left

Knee update, Day Two:
Thank you to everyone who sent love to my poor knee! The swelling has gone down and Boston Dave kindly supplied me with some wonderful painkillers, so I’m gonna make this happen.

We’re taking it slow though. From-the-bed-at-a-holiday-inn slow. We’ll get out there eventually…check-out’s at noon. And we only have 45 miles left. No sweat.

Quote of the day:
Jenn: So, what’s it like having sex with a really tall dude?
Tara: No problem. It’s like climbing a jungle-gym!

Oh! And we found a My Little Pony in a bush on the side of the trail the other day. We named her “Stevie.” She’s our new mascot.

Fate crackers and knees

Okay, don’t anyone freak out(Peggy, that means you). Jenn tripped on a rock today and landed on some other rocks…on her knees. Her right knee is scraped up, but the left one is pretty banged up. She’s okay, but she’s hobbling. She’s going to take tomorrow off and hopefully it’s not too bad.

I’m going to go it alone and Jenn will meet up with me the next day, if all goes well. Send her some love, directly to the knee area.

The Final Countdown: 6 days left

The promise of good things can get you through a lot. Yesterday was really hard for me for many reasons, but when we finally reached the farm–sitting in the shade of the porch, drinking ice-cold tea, eating ice cream and watching the sun set–the overwhelming relief of not moving washed everything else away. And all that was left was a stirring sense of accomplishment and a so-this-is-what-I’m-made-of moment of feeling washing over me with the breeze.

We stayed at the hostel in the St. Thomas Episcopal church, where we showered, laundered, and watched cheesy movies with four delightful south-bound boys. It’s amazing how quickly one’s perspective can change in the span of a day.

This morning we coffeed at Dunkin’ Donuts and breakfasted at a local diner. Now we’re restoring our souls with music before we head out to a hot and rainy seventeen-mile day. I guess this is what some dreams are made of.