[at-l] Jan Day 22

[kahley@ptd.net (kahley)]

The wind blew in overnight, and I slept uneasily. Wind was
still roaring when we awoke. Cloudy, and threatening to rain.
I fished around in my food bag. Not much left. I needed
some quad fuel for the 11 miles into Johnson and the maildrop
  tho. Raw pecans and a Oreo cookies would have to do the trick.
Thank goodness we did Manfield YESTERDAY! Little view
up there today, I'll bet, and even less Mr T (traction, dude).
I'll bet a kite would really sail up there now...

We pack up and bid goodbye to the friendly college kids,
their young enthusiasm makes me smile wistfully for those
younger days.  Our first trudge is up Mount Madonna.
Neither Clyde nor I can find our zip drives today. Yesterday's
efforts were hard on the muscles, and they protest in fatigue.
We look at that first big upslope and sigh in unison.

"We can do it," says Clyde.
"Step by step, trudge mode," I agree.
"Like we whupped every other mountain so far," he coaches.
"Like water on stone," I concur.
"Shoot, it ain't nothin' but a THING," he concludes.
This becomes the mantra de jour: "It ain't nothin' but a THING..."

Up on Madonna, we chat with the workmen running big machines.
"Upper Chilcoot" declares the sign, designating this ski run
"More Difficult," marked by a Blue Square. Well, phew, at least
we're not doing Black Diamonds today. Don't have the legs for 'em.
On the open runs are some splendid natural stands of
centenaura and fall asters.

We pause for water, looking up at the Chin, down at the east
flank of Mansfield and Stowe's steep ski runs, and even farther
down, Sterling Pond. Did we walk all that way? It is always a
surprise. The wind is whipping up here, swooshing though the
compact balsam.  We trudge on, smaller rises falling beneath
our boots. On the ascent up Whiteface Mountain, the deep quad
fatigue returns. We take a long break for a nap, water, snack and
coffee at Whiteface Shelter. When we stand up, our legs buckle for
the first few steps. Everything is shortening up.  The final push to
the summit looks very steep. We knew it would.

"It ain't nothin' but a THING," Clyde pep-talks.

"Step by step, like water on stone," I return.

Part way up we meet a birch tree growing at an impossible
angle across the trail. Under is a stretch, over is a stretch.
I begin to laugh.

"Clyde, there is just no way to convey certain aspects of
this Trail," I said. "Even to those who have done it - it's like
childbirth, one forgets."

"Just say it's a sixty degree rock pitch with a damn birch
tree a'crost it," he says.

Many times, when confronted with an upward wall of rock
to climb, there appear to be no toeholds or handholds.
But if one sits still a moment and studies the thing (and
rests the quads) these little spots leap into focus, impossibly
small but somehow they get the job done.  Up we go, topping
Whiteface as we have so many others.  On other side, it
begins to rain. Once again, we are glad we did Mansfield
yesterday.

I am noticing a new lightness of foot. I did not set out to
develop this, it just happened with "practice." I see it
especially on downgrades with loose, cobbled stone. I
plant my pole like a slalom skier, and carve a graceful
arc around the upcoming mogul/rock. There is little
wasted motion.

We run into Melanie of the Long Trail Patrol, they are
replacing the bog bridges.   Large spruce 8x8s have been
airlifted in. Poor kids. The rain comes hard now, and we
stow our cameras in our packs and break out rain gear.
My shoes soak soon and, once again, the Smartwools
bunch under my toes, blistering the snot out of them.
Anyone have any ideas?   Thorlos?

We take a rain break a the lovely Bear Hollow Shelter,
very sweet it is. I check the register and see we are only
a day or less behind Mama Lipton, a comrade from the
Womenhiker List on the internet. Perhaps we can catch
her. I attended her talk on hiking nutrition at the Gathering
last year. Would love to pick her brain some.

After a bit of a road walk, we hit the road and get a hitch
into Johnson on the first thumb lift. He drops us at the
laundromat, and we eat a burger at the Plum and Main
while our clothes cook. I add a huge milkshake, because,
well, because I can.  While there, a man comes up to us
and asks if we are hikers. We haven't showered yet, so it
must be clear we are. Turns out, this is Flatlander, and he
leads us over to Mama Lipton! They are staying at the
Awesome View  Motel, same as we are.  Our hostess
Alice keeps a couple of hikers in her basement,  collects
a modest $13 for the shower and towel and dry roof,
then donates it all back to the GMC. It is cozy sitting here
with Mama Lipton and Flatlander and Clyde, sorting our
maildrops.

Though ML and Flat are only out for two weeks, they have
chosen a tough section to shake down their trail routine.
Next year, they will both turn 65, and they have decided to
hike the Appalachian Trail. So we have had much to talk
about. I tell them about the 2003 HikersRUs group at
Yahoo, and Mama Lipton, a dietician, will add welcome
nutritional expertise.