Resupply day! I woke up this morning, filtered some water, made some breakfast and coffee, packed my bag, put on some tunes, and got down to business. The miles flew by as the AT/LT uncharacteristically stuck to an old road or railroad bed for a while. The weather was cool and breezy, but sunny, and I was motivated to get my butt to town for my first resupply of the trip.
I paused at Prospect Rock, with its view overlooking Manchester Center, the town in question, and then, true to form, the trail took a 90 degree turn off of the road and got back to the rocks and roots it prefers. I passed Spruce Peak, with its famous no views, then Spruce Peak cabin, where I availed myself of its privy.
Then a German shorthair bounded up the trail and made my acquaintance, followed by its owner, a day hiker who’d previously hiked a 100 mile stretch of the LT and dreamed of doing the whole thing — a common theme among day hikers in these parts, it seems. The day hiker surprised me daydreaming on his way back, and asked if I needed a ride to town, then said he’d wait for me in the parking lot, thus solving my hitchhiking situation in a record negative 30 minutes.
I met Tom, the day hiker, down at the busy highway leading East from town and piled into his truck with his dog, Kopy. Tom is working odd jobs after leaving his 26 year stint working the ski and mountain biking shops at Stratton. He asked where I wanted to go, and I said I needed a burger, some groceries and a fuel canister, not necessarily in that order. He said, ‘nope, you don’t need a fuel canister!’, and magically produced one from underneath the passenger seat, which he happily gave to me. I’d heard of trail magic, but I’d never imagined it manifesting like this. It turns out Tom had had access to a large stock of these fuel canisters which had been decreasing in value until they became free. Thanks, Tom!
He dropped my at the Price Chopper, where I dropped my pack at the service desk and made slow work of assembling my next pile of food and repackaging it into ziplock bags. Then I wandered across the street and ordered a burger with both fries and a side salad and absolutely devoured them. I was tempted by a lunch beer — Lawson’s on tap — but held off because I knew I had a few more miles to put in. Uncommon restraint, I know. I chatted up the woman sitting at the table next to my outside, and ended up donating the rest of my box of ziplocks to her church. She’d watched my pack while I went inside to order, so it seemed only fair.
After I finished up and went to the WC, where I washed my hands — with soap! — I texted Tom, but he’d already taken off back over the hill to where he lives. So I walked a block and experimentally extended my thumb for the first time in my life. And like some perfect fly fishing cast, the second car that passed me put on their blinker and pulled over. There’s no way hitching is meant to be this easy. Especially for a somewhat haggard and not so fresh smelling 6’4″ dude.
Anne, a kind woman some number of years my senior, had classical music playing, so I knew she was good people. She used to pick up hitchhikers all the time, only recently resuming the practice. She asked if I needed to make any more stops in town. Very considerate. Her husband recently had his ankle replaced, but was hoping to get back to skiing this season. He used to work ski patrol for Bromley. Anne regaled me with stories of unfortunate and bedraggled thru-hikers of yore, and we arrived back at the trail altogether too soon, in my opinion. I asked if she or her husband were beer drinkers, and she replied enthusiastically that they were, so I gave her two Focal Bangers from the 4-pack I’d bought and wished her well.
The other two went into my pack as I began the climb up Bromley Mountain to the ski patrol shack there, which is open to hikers during hiking season. It has no water available, so I filtered on the way up, ensuring, with my resupply and beers, that my pack was at its maximum heaviest for the climb. Fortunately, it was only a few miles, and I found myself on top without too much of a struggle.
The top of Bromley is utterly delightful. There is a sturdy viewing tower with two Adirondack chairs placed on top. There is the aforementioned ski patrol shack, with power outlets, cell service and, get this, an operational dryer. There is a privy in the woods across a ski run. And the weather is spectacular — cold and windy, but mostly clear. As I sat atop the tower with one of my favorite beers and took in the 360 degree view of the Vermont mountains, with trees just starting to turn, I couldn’t help but think about how much my outlook has improved since my soggy camp along Black Brook and the tedious slog to my shelter last night. I’m grateful for good people, good weather, good views and good beer.
45 miles to my next resupply.
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