Hello loves.
Okay, this one is part rehash... because I started writing it two weeks ago and it got erased and I gave up (wohh wohhh). But anyways.

[back in time]
Surprise, surprise, it's raining again. We must be setting some kind of record. Or, at the very least, we must be giving 2003 ("the rain year") a run for their title. However, good news: I am not outside today, nor do I plan to be for longer than it takes to run from a car (a car!) to a store and/or restaurant. You see, mom and dad have come to visit the fair hamlet of Delaware Water Gap, PA (mile 1,283.6). We are in the Poconos. We are also just short of the border of Jersey. You can tell because last night when we went for a beer at an Irish pub in adjacent Stroudsburg, "Jager bomb" was on the Happy Hour drink menu. True story.

"What is a Jager bomb?" Mom asks.

Don't ask, mom. And better yet, don't order. None of us have the proper haircut.

I have already regailed my parents with the unabridged version of the bear story that accompanies the allusion ending the enormous post I dropped on you all last week. I'm not the family story teller by any means, but this one deserves some attention. Right then, here we go.

On the day before we made it to Duncannon, PA, home of the historical and hiker-friendly but potentially haunted Doyle hotel, Saint and Hermes hiked 23 miles to the shelter nearest town. At 18 miles, I had had enough for the day, and decided to camp by myself and hike the extra miles in the morning. The trail, as I'm sure one can gather from all the tales included herein, teems with friendly faces and amazing hiker friends. However, because of this, we are rarely alone at night. I usually hike in solitude during the day, occasionally bumping into a friend or other random hiker. But nights pass in commune at the shelters. And even when we tent, we usually elect to tent together. But, I didn't feel like going to the shelter with the boys, and I had been separated from Gangsta and Wags since Pine Grove Furnace State Park, where they got off the trail to spend time with their families. So, for the first time in nearly three months, I had a solo camp site. I chose a wonderful little spot, just past a small wooden bridge over a stream. Saint, who was behind me, passed by as I pitched my tent. I explained that I was tired and would be staying here. He wished me good night, and I him, and he left.

As I finished setting up camp, I attempted to build myself a fire. I was all set for a night of hanging out and reading and relaxing by myself. As I crouched over the smoking pile of kindling, a man approached my campsite. We started the usual round of questioning: "Oh are you hiking the trail? Are you doing the whole thing? When did you start? Where are you from?" etc etc etc. He explained that he was a section hiker [a section hiker is someone who tries to complete the entire Appalachian Trail, but in chunks over multiple years, as opposed to all at once]. He had completed from south of Shenandoah up to Kent, CT, approximately one quarter. Hey, alright, that's pretty good! I said. Then he told me that on his very first day of section hiking the AT, he had camped out at this exact campsite. Really? That's funny. THEN he told me that when he had stopped hiking, his dog had collapsed and died on this very spot. Well, I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that except to express my condolences and share that I was sure that must have been horrible. It was, he said. He still stopped by to pay his respects whenever he was in the area. THEN he said, "this was many years ago, but I'm sure I can still find the rock pile." So, though this man was extremely nice and we had a very pleasant conversation, he left me alone and pretty creeped out that the ghost of his dead dog was going to be rising up from under my tent in the night. I hoped it didn't bite.

After he left and I tried not to let my eyes wander too far, lest I discover the site of entombment, I continued to build up my fire. The duration of the evening passed peacefully. I cooked dinner, read, journaled, brushed my teeth, hung up my food in a tree... all that good camp stuff. And then I went to bed at about 9:15.

Between 9:30 and 9:45 I started to hear all this commotion-- rustling leaves, breaking branches, the works. Oh, what on earth? I wondered. I unzipped my tent groggily, poking my head out (sans glasses). Some giant shadow obscured what little vision I had at the time. Holy crap. I went back into my tent to grab my glasses and headlamp. I put both on my head, and looked back out. As I shined my headlamp toward the noises, two large green orbs glowed back at me from just under my food bag. It was a bear. Not only was it a bear, but it was a bear who was actively trying to get my food bag down from the tree. I dropped back into my tent, as if some paper-thin synthetic material would save me if it decided to come for a closer look. My heart was pounding. I stuck my head back out one more time, and the bear stared right at me. He didn't seem very concerned that a strange nighttime light source had him in its sights. He started to pad off into the woods, seemingly not from fright but from annoyance.

My mind and heart raced in tandem. There's a bear! Did it get my food? Should I try to scare it away? Should I stay here? Are there more, like cubs with an aggressive mother? How hungry is it? And somewhere in there was a, "honestly the first night I spend alone!? What the heck." I had flashes replaying a conversation with a Ridgerunner in Shenandoah National Park... he told us he once watched a bear try to climb a bear pole [pole used for hanging food at shelters in SNP] for 2 hours before it finally gave up. They can be relentless.

I thought I ought to check out the situation. I cautiously padded out of the tent. I grabbed my trekking poles and started acting like an idiot, banging them around and yelling. I made my way over to the hanging food bag, playing percussion on my trekking poles and hoping the bear had gone off somewhere. I journeyed over to the tree, and, low and behold, my food bag remained. Score one for a decent bearbagging job. I thought, should I move it? If the bear knows there's food here, it'll probably come back. So I looked at the food bag, and I thought, well, it's not going to make the cover of Bearbagging magazine or anything, but it's pretty good and I think it'll be alright. I decided to have a little faith in my food hanging job and leave it there. I decided also that if the bear came back, I didn't want to hear it. So, I put in my earplugs and went back to sleep.

About half an hour later, I started to hear branches cracking, through my earplugs, in the same area near my food bag. Oh no. The bear's back! I thought, is this going to go on all night? What should I do? I started yelling from my tent and making noises, trying to frighten the bear away. I yelled something ridiculous like, "Get away from my food bag or I'll skin you and make a pelt from your fur!" Generally, I was just hoping it would get the idea.

All of a sudden, I hear this voice: "Uhhh... what's up?" It was a young man, coming into the woods to make a bonfire and hang out with his friends. Awkward.
"Oh!" I started, "I'm sorry! I thought you were a bear!"
"A bear?" he asked, confused. "You scared the crap out of me!"
"Yeah, there was just a bear here... it tried to get my food! Eh, sorry."
"There's a bear!?"
"Well, this was a half hour ago, I think it's gone now."
We chatted through the dark, yelling back and forth, I from my tent and he from the A.T. He asked what I was doing, and where I was from, and how old I was, etc. etc. etc., the usual hiker conversation. His name was Rushka; he was 20; he lived half an hour away. He sometimes came there to hang out with friends, and he had seen my bright orange food bag (ah, the bright orange again!) hanging in the tree and decided to investigate. Hence the breaking branches under the tree again. He then got on the phone to call his friends: "Hey, I just met this chick named 'WindUp' in the woods, and she said there was a bear, so be careful when you come in!" I imagine that was a very interesting phone call to receive. The young man expressed some fear that they might keep me up, as apparently I had bedded down about 50 yards from an enormous fire pit and hangout spot. I assured him that I would put my earplugs back in, since I had been using them to ignore the bear in the first place. I assured him also that, far from being concerned about the noise level, I was very glad that: one, he was not a bear, and two, that his friends would probably keep it from coming back anyways.

Well, long story short, I put my earplugs back in and I heard some kids coming in at around 11 and leaving again at about 2:30, but that was it. And I was certainly glad to hear the sounds of merriment over the sounds of a bear munching away on my granola bars. In the morning, my food was still hanging (yay!), but the small branches had been broken off the bottom of the tree where the large critter had tried to climb up. Yipes. All in all: crisis averted.

The above story happened practically ages and ages ago, and true to trail form, much has happened since then. [fast forward]

Saint and I spent a wonderful weekend with my parents, who spoiled us rotten for a few days in Delaware Water Gap, PA, just short of the Jersey border. I gave a big shout when I crossed into Jersey, you know, for the Jersey kids. No one could understand why I was so excited about New Jersey. Oh, you don't even know, I told them.

In Vernon, New Jersey, B came to visit. It was so wonderful to see her and have her in front of me and catch up and give her a hug. We swapped stories and anecdotes and talked about the ginormous projects that we have both undertaken, I on the trail and she about to leave for the Peace Corps. True to form with the two of us, what we had initially intended as a lunch meeting turned into an all-afternoon and evening affair including Thirsty Thursday: New Jersey Edition, at what I assure you was an appropriate venue. It was a priceless memorable fantastic evening.

Since, we have plowed through New York (which hit us like a rock!) and just entered Connecticut. New York, unexpectedly(?), abounded with hospitality. We spent one night at "The Mayor's House" in Unionville. This locale was the private residence of the former mayor, who now just takes care of hikers. Three men, who swore profusely and taunted all, did so only to cover that they had the biggest hearts I have ever encountered. The Mayor, simply in awe of our attempted journey, opens his home to dirty, smelly hikers purely on the good faith that we live up to the opportunity we have been given. He was truly a Trail Angel, and an inspiration.

Saint and I have taken on a new leisurely pace, where we seize every opportunity for off-trail adventures. Resultantly, we have had some good ones. We spent much time hiking with our friends Double Vision and Jukebox Hero, who are wonderful. We four, along with Loon and Hot Sauce, spent a night being adopted by some wonderful trail angels named John and Susan, whose number we found taped into a cooler full of donated water they had placed beside a road crossing. Calling the number resulted in one of my favorite nights so far on the trail. These amazing amazing people fed us twice (well, more like three times if we count 2nd dinner), let us shower and do laundry, bought us beer, gave us beds, made us breakfast, and allowed us to hang out in their house all night. Having a home environment was an immense morale booster for all. We sat on the floor in their spare room watching the VH1 Michael Jackson video tribute for three hours. Literally. It was amazing. It felt like we were just hanging out all together at a friend's house. We laughed and bonded and relaxed, and I am immensely grateful to John and Susan for providing us with the venue and opportunity to do so.

Two days after, we ran into a man named John in Fort Montgomery, New York, outside of a mini-mart. He expressed interest in our trip after we struck up a conversation. He offered us a ride to go get some pizza in the adjacent town, which apparently was right outside the gates of West Point. We sat down with John, and after much chatting, learned that he was a West Point grad who had lived on the installation for much of his life. His father was a West Point legend: a one-star general, designer of the West Point curriculum, and one of only about 5 men to ever graduate #1 both academically and militarily in the history of the institution. Well, one thing led to another, and John ended up getting Double Vision, Jukebox Hero, Saint and myself through West Point security (on the pretenses that 'Uncle John' used to live there and we were going to visit Col. SoandSo, head of the Social Sciences department) and taking us on a personal tour of the installation for about three hours. He drove us around, telling us about the statues, fields, buildings, history, rules, and providing legends and personal anecdotes along the way. We got out to tour the shore, the chapel (which holds one of the world's largest organs, boasting over 18,000 pipes), the dining hall, the cemetery (where his sister is buried), and some of the main campus. And, to top it all off, it was "R Day," which is the first day the new cadets arrive at West Point. So, there were basically a bunch of scared shitless freshman with shaved heads being yelled at and learning to salute and march and standing with packs as big as ours, not allowed to move while they memorized the cadet manual. John told us all about how horrible that first day was. And we were able to bear witness. He kept saying, "I can't believe it's R Day!" The four of us would just laugh at random points throughout the day... "We're at West Point! Hahahaha!" Double Vision and I repeatedly remarked at how this further cemented that we were not cut out for lives in the military. I admire those young men and women tremendously, but NO THANK YOU. "But," John said, "I'm not sure how many of them would want to be doing what you're doing either." Haha, thank you, John. True. So, at the end of the afternoon, John took us to a grocery store and drove us back to the trail after wasting an entire day touring some hikers around West Point for no reason other than he wanted to share a place that clearly meant a lot to him. And I, for one, was eternally grateful.

I reiterate in every post how many unbelievable experiences I have encountered on the trail, but they keep coming and coming and coming. I'll mention also that it never stops raining and so many days are horrible and miserable, and that, after being caught in another thunderstorm three days ago, my clothes are still wet. But I have a feeling that when this is all over, those days won't be as firmly cemented into my memory. What has already been cemented into my memory are all the positive interactions with people willing to shower us with their time, money, affection, good will, and resources, all because we have committed ourselves to undertaking a crazy mission. I regret that with all that happens on my journey I cannot give them all the attention they deserve. These people have forever changed what it means to be strangers, for me. I devote only a few sentences to them when I blog, though their benevolent deeds are a constant in my mind. Above all, I hope that I have the strength to keep that gift with me, even when I return to the bustle of working and city life. They deserve that.

Today I'm in Kent, Connecticut. I can't believe we're in New England. Saint and I are getting a rescue from the weather from Hermes, who lives about 40 minutes away. Teenie and Moon and MK are coming to visit tomorrow. And though I had a terrible couple of days (but I won't go on and on about it!), there are many gorgeous experiences that enable us to press on. I cannot believe all the people we have met and the generosity they have bestowed upon us. I feel so fortunate to have my eyes opened (or reopened) to all the goodness that one person can offer another. I'll have to work on paying it forward when I get home.

During the many terrible trail moments (poor Teenie listened to me complain endlessly on the phone about how it rains every single day, and practically try to dissuade her from our trail date... Why do you want to come hike with me!? Do you watch the weather!?), I often say to myself, "Hey, I'm in [insert state here], chasing down my dream." Now, I get to say, "Connecticut." And next week, in only 47ish miles, I'll be in that gorgeous state with the long, funny Indian name and all the really badass people.

You're in my thoughts, friends.

All my love,
Windup

The halfway point in PA (referenced last post)... the weather + Bon Jovi = NOT ENTHUSED: