#179 Telephone Pioneers Shelter to Ten Mile River - Day 104: MM1448.6-MM1461.4
Goodbye New York, Hello Connecticut
4-30-2023
It’s still raining. It’s always raining.
The Boy Scout Troop is packing up and hitting the trail early.
On their way out of camp, one of them lays a box with three donuts in it inside the shelter for Batman, Ranger, and I.
Along with the loss of body fat, I’m noticing a loss of upper body muscle mass. I add push-ups to my morning stretches routine. Legs get most of the workouts out here, barring the occasional rock climb, so I’ll start doing one set of push-ups each morning.
Batman likes the idea and adopts it for himself. So here we are on the platform of the shelter, two section-hikers doing push-ups together. Let’s see who can do the most.
A long wooden walkway across Swamp River and Marsh lands at the base of the mountain.
The Appalachian Trail & MNRR Station lies just beyond that. I’ve been debating all morning about whether or not to go into New York City (NYC) for the day or not.
Even now, I’m standing on the track debating.
Hikers often take the commuter train into NYC for a couple of days. If I were to go into New York City, it would be to visit the 9/11 Memorial Museum and maybe look out across the bay at the Statue of Liberty.
Thinking of my finances and the time commitment involved, I decide against it. It’s a two-hour ride one-way, possibly becoming an overnight excursion in the Big Apple - no thank you.
I stay with the Big Apple-achian Trail instead.
Posted on the marque between the Hwy 22 and the train station I see a sign for Segundo’s Taxi, who I called last night to meet me here in a few minutes from now. Batman walks into the parking lot. I ask if he needs to run to town. He doesn’t.
From my FaceBook Post on 4-30-2023-
Creature comforts are the enemy of success out here.
How easily I could have ended my hike today:
The Appalachian Trail crosses this train track, which runs into New York. The commuter trains run all day and all night.
I could have easily hopped on a train bound for NY, then another to DC, then another one home.
But what of all of the stories that will not be written if I did - though the money is nearly all run out.
It is not my time to go home.
I will push though on a bootstring budget.
Segundo pulls up in his van. I pull my foam sitting pad from my pack and lay it in the seat in the middle row seat. My clothes are very damp and smelly, and I don’t want to leave that scent in his seat. I pulled off my boots earlier on the bench at the station, strapped them to my pack, and put on my camp shoes so I don’t mess up his floorboard.
Apparently, when I said supermarket, what Segundo heard was Mexican Restaurant. We pull up to a restaurant and says, “Here you go.” I say again, “Grocery Store”.
Five minutes later at the front door of the store, I hand Segundo three five-dollar bills for the ride. I accidentally leave my pad in the seat, but he notices it before leaving the parking lot and circles back around before I go inside.
Plugging my electronics into an outlet in the pharmacy department, I hide them behind a chair and lay my sitting pad over them. I slide my pack into the bottom level of the shopping cart and start looking for everything on the two lists I made last night in the shelter - one list is for trail supplies and the other for lunch supplies.
I can’t believe the prices of groceries. I didn’t buy any, but I was looking at dry cereal. What I’d would have bought two years ago for $2.79 at the same kind of store at home in N.C., is $12.99 today in C.T. Now spread that increase throughout my resupply and we see the influence inflation has, especially in these north-east states.
After checking out I push my cart to the foyer near the recycling machine where I sit on the cooler I grabbed from a nearby display. Noticing a few egg boxes in the corner, I grab one of them to use as a table.
I tear open all the packages and dump all the trail food into my food bag. On my makeshift cardboard box-table, I spread out the tortillas, meat, cheese, fresh spinach (thanks Faze), banana, yogurt, chocolate milk, and cookies.
The rain continues falling outside. I’m sitting in the foyer of a grocery store on a cooler with my lunch spread out cardboard box-table. I’m still damp, I stink, I’m unshaven. I watch shoppers feed aluminum cans and plastic bottles into the recycle machine and receive lose change in return. It’s like dinner and a show in my dirty little corner. It doesn’t get much better than this. Life is good - I’m living the dream.
When it’s time to leave I decide to try hitching a ride to the trail to save my money. I stand near the door of the grocery store making eye contact with people as they leave the building. I say little phrases and use body language indicating I need a ride and I’m not a threat. A few people respond to my presence but don’t bite.
Anthony mumbles something as he passes by, then stops in the parking lot after a couple of steps, turns, and says, “Sorry about that, I’ll get you to the trailhead.”
In the car he tells me about is career as a postmaster, his interest in hiking and weightlifting, and that the nasty divorce he’s going through. Fortunately, there’s no kids involved. I tell him what it’s like when there are kids involved, that he should be thankful there aren’t any in his case. He asks what to do to get past the stress and sadness of it all. My advice is to keep doing the things he enjoys doing, and that time will take care of a lot of it.
