#191 Spruce Peak Shelter to Peru Peak Shelter - Day 116: MM1651.1 - MM1664.0
In true vagabond form, I pull my cart to the shady side of the grocery store and sit on the concrete walkway surrounded by all the newly purchased food that was made possible by the kindness of.......
May 12, 2024
I wake extra early this morning to say goodby to my friend Push. He’s been up since 4:00 a.m. His girlfriend, who he hasn’t seen since he began hiking the trail a few months ago, is picking him up at the trailhead three miles away at 6:00 a.m. It’s still snowing on some of the mountains in New Hampshire, so he needs to slow down to let it melt off.
Our headlamps illuminate the inside of Spruce Peak Shelter. This small cabin is one of the few completely enclosed shelters on the Appalachian Trail, with bunks, a table, and a pot belly stove, in lieu of the usual platforms inside of the standard three-sided shelters.
Darkness presses its face against the glass windows. Rain falls hard outside. I sit on the edge of my bunk talking with him as he puts his rain gear on and adjusts his headlamp in preparation of his hike through the rain and dark.
Our right hands clasp tightly in a final handshake, one accompanied by encouraging words for the future and appreciation for our friendship forged not by length of time but by depth of shared experiences and discussions.
He steps onto the porch, then into the rain and pre-dawn wilderness.
I might as well begin my own morning rituals. After putting away my sleeping gear I eat breakfast and drink my coffee at the table inside the cabin with the door wide open, allowing me to hear that sweet sound of rain hitting the outside world, eventually moving to the porch with the bottom half of my coffee as darkness makes way for the light.
Like an old pioneer, I sit on the cabin porch, scruffy-faces, unbathed, and alone, hunched over the last of the black coffee, eyes peering into the distance, contemplating the day.
The rain disappears just as I leave the shelter. It’s an easy three-mile hike to the VT Hwy 11/30 trailhead where I plan to hitch into Manchester, Vermont, about seven miles down the mountain.
I cross the highway and slip into my help a brother out pose where I collapse my hiking poles and strap them to my pack, then stand behind the pack with it resting against my knees, looking as helpless as possible — you know, without also looking like a lunatic. It helps that I’m standing by the entrance to an Appalachian Trail (A.T.) trailhead parking lot. This is where Push was heading to earlier this morning
Within the first minute, a silver car pulls off the road just beyond me. I grab my pack and toss it into the backseat, then climb into the front seat, apologizing all the while about my appalling smell, as I’ve not bathed in over three weeks.
Sherry, a sixty-yadda-yadda-year-old woman, retired military, says not only is she not offended by my odor, but that it brings back the memory of her own unbathed period, when, as a young Deadhead, she hitchhiked around the country chasing The Grateful Dead.
Sherry drops me off in front of Shaw’s Grocery Store in Manchester. As is my custom, I ask at the front desk if I can charge my phone and battery pack while I shop. With their permission I set my electronics on the counter and put my pack into a small buggy.
In true vagabond form, I pull my cart to the shady side of the grocery store, sit on the concrete walkway, and surround myself with the newly purchased food.
I AM STARVING! I’ve been on trail long enough to experience hiker hunger - a level of ravenous hunger that is never fully satisfied, no matter how much food you devour. When hiking daily for weeks and weeks over mountains with a pack on your back, it’s impossible to consume enough calories to keep up.
I found day-old twelve-piece chicken tray in the store’s meal warmer for a couple of dollars. That, along with milk, cookies, lunch meat and cheese on tortillas, yogurt, bananas, apples, trail mix, M&Ms, Cheese-its, and whatever else in arm’s reach, doesn’t satisfy my hunger, in fact, my stomach is still flat and feels empty.
After loading my trail food into my pack, I walk to down the street to Dunkin’ for donuts and coffee. I sit at a counter facing the window in an extremely hot room, with my phone plugged in to an outlet, devouring donuts and writing in my journal.
Uh-oh, the outlet isn’t working. Neither does this one, or that one as I move around the room in search of a live outlet. The people behind the counter aren’t much help.
I walk to the center of town looking for a good place to sit and finish charging my electronics. When I go back into the woods, I don’t think I’ll come back out until I reach Hanover, NH, my targeted end to this year’s hike.
I see a sign for Hershey’s ice cream at Manchester’s House of Pizza. Drinks are way overpriced in ski towns, so I drink river water from one of my bottles with my large slice of pizza.
In honor of being deep into moose country I order Hershey Moose Tracks Ice Cream - delicious choice.
I run into Weatherman and Heisenberg in front of the pizza joint on my way to where I think I can hitch back to the trailhead.
A couple of blocks away, I set my pack down in front of me and immediately hear a voice from behind, “You need a ride to the trailhead?”
“I do,” I respond, turning to see where the voice came from. Two guys open the doors to a newer Ford F-150 and tell me I can toss my pack in the bed with their golf clubs. I climb into the back seat.