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By THE REVEREND MARTIN FORS, AKA “RUSTY"
“This is crazy,” I thought. I’d been trying
to hitch a ride for 45 minutes at the Long Trail trailhead
on Route 140, and I didn’t care which direction I went—
either west to Wallingford and Route 7, or east to East Wallingford
— because I needed to use a telephone.
Forty-five minutes! I wondered, “Was it me? Did I look
so decrepit? Or was it that these folks around here just don’t
like old geezers carrying backpacks?” Cars and trucks
whizzed by me with hardly a look and, when they did, it was
with an angry face. Little did I know.
It had started out as a most wonderful day after a restful,
encouraging night at Little Rock Pond shelter. I had arrived
there a bit discouraged because I was trying to catch a fellow
end-to-ender named Woodchuck. He was just ahead of me —
by 45 minutes at one point — but now a thunderstorm
was brewing, and by 4 p.m. it was time to get comfortable
in a shelter. A friendly mouse and I spent a quiet, restful
night together and when morning arrived, I felt refreshed
for an early start — with Minerva Hinchey shelter as
my goal — feeling confident that I would see Woodchuck
at the Whistlestop restaurant or at the Clarendon shelter.
The hiking day was full of surprises, reminding me why a
southbound AT thru-hiker I met near Peru Peak had exclaimed,
“Hiking in Vermont has been the most beautiful experience
of my life!” My first surprise of the day was coming
upon Aldrichville in the midst of nowhere. Aldrichville is
the name of a small village in the woods — now long
departed — but identified by archeologists with a plaque
containing a few artifacts and stone walls. Surprise number
two was in two parts: the incredibly beautiful evergreen forest
at White Rocks Mountain and the one-half acre stone village
that elves had apparently made near the summit!
Which brings me full circle to the beginning of my story.
While descending the steep new gravel reroute of the LT/AT
by the Keewaydin intersection just before Bear Mountain, my
right knee began to bother me and with each step worsened
until I realized that somehow I had seriously re-injured my
knee, which I had first hurt on Mt. Moosilauke. Sadly, I knew
that I had to leave the trail...
“This is crazy,” I thought. I decided to give
up my attempt at hitchhiking and donned my pack, heading west
toward Wallingford, limping along assisted by my hiking poles.
Eventually, I came upon an automobile at an intersection,
stopped at a stop sign, a lady inside. “This is my chance,”
I thought and stood in front of her car pointing to my knee
and asking for a ride. Rolling down her window she said, “Sure,”
and made room for my pack. As I shut her car door I heard
these words, “Our nation is under attack.” It
was September 11 at about noon. Her car radio was tuned to
the worsening news and I listened.
I now knew why the faces had been angry. It was an inexplicable
day.
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