Long Trail Junction
Less than 500 miles to go.
The night before, Shelterboy and his ladyfriend Cathy showed up about 9 and whisked us off from the clutches of the Inn. It was great meeting the locals there. We headed into Rutland and a bit of a mini hiker reunion. At Cathy's were Tortoise and Hare, Daredevil Dave, Pigpen, Snowman and Sundown. Food and the 'Fisher King' on video, all made for a packed little apartment with all those hikers and gear. Made shelters look positively shipshape.
They drove us up the hill back to the Inn this morning. Everyone else elected to slackpack and stay another night, but I played Accidental Purist with hopes still of Hanover by Friday at 5.
Oh, I thought my guts were going to burst. All of that town food at the Inn and in Rutland, or maybe the beer and the coffee, were going through me awfully quick. Everyone else took their water, fanny pack or makeshift toppack and walking on up the Trail. The Inn wasn't yet open, and I had to go in a most immediate way. The body gains a different timing out on Trail, and that ability to hold certain necessities back until a time and place of ones chosing seems to tighten up from hours to minutes. Particularly in the waking morning. My gut didn't care that I was in a car, or walking around trying to find an unlocked door to a public bathroom at the Inn. Stymied, I donned pack and headed up Trail. Once out of sight of the Inn, no slackers in sight, I dropped pack and raced downhill a bit. Here. Here's a fallen tree and some rocks I could shift. Quickly.
So there I squat, leaning against a tree, thinking I've barely avoided a bit of a mess. Thinking in my hast I must be a few hundred feet from Trail. Surely must be. Can't see a blaze in either direction. I can hear the rare early morning car on the road and barely make out the roof of the Inn. But I'm not. Out of nowhere, a section hiker walks by twenty feet away. He waves, kinda. I sort of wave back. Oh, man. How humiliating.