A Living Magazine - Day 338 - Homecoming - Bernardston to Brattleboro

It was a nice night. I had a sneaking suspicion that the morning was about to unleash a deluge from the sky. And, sure enough as I packed the tent poles in Saggy, I felt the first drop hit. I had no plastic bag to put the laptop in, so it was basically the only thing on my mind. I had to make it to Brattleboro before the pack became so drenched that water would leak into that pocket.

As soon as I began walking up Route 5 the rain really started pelting me. I had something like 12 miles to cover. I'd never walked that far and long (three hours and 40 minutes) in the rain, since leaving Boston all those months ago. I steeled myself.

There were a lot of picture worthy things to photograph, but I was fearful about the rain on my camera and resisted the urge. Basically, this walk really, really sucked. There simply is no more uncomfortable thing than hiking in the pouring rain. I've hated it everytime, and I believe I always will. I was changing the old song, "Singin' in the Rain," to the following sarcastic lyrics...

I'm wallkin' in the rain
Just wallkin' in the rain
What glorious pain!
I'm miserable again...

...singing as loudly as I could. Hey, I had to do something to keep my mind off the thought that my laptop might be permanently destroyed. In short order, my shirt was completely sopped. It didn't take long for my shorts to follow suit. My shoes, which were already worn through the treads, soaked up every puddle, and then squished the water out through their tops. My feet were swimming. I felt my socks - which were already in bad shape - wrinkling up as the insoles dissolved and disintegrated around them. It didn't take as long as I thought it would to get across the border. I had camped much closer than I'd planned. And, this was a good thing.

All the while, my laptop was what really concerned me. I could imagine having a little camera in the pack pocket, positioned up at the zipper and seeing a drop slowly get larger and larger, swinging back and forth, just ready to descend onto the computer.

Two and a half hours is a long time. You can drive from Portland to Boston, watch a movie, play a game of cards, do a big crossword puzzle...or, walk six miles in the rain. After that amount of time had gone by, I realizing that I still had another five miles to go--or so I thought. I saw the sign for Brattleboro, and then a little store came into view. I stopped in just to get a break and a snack.

Stepping up to the register with a cheese danish and a small coffee I felt like a scuba diver. The facial expression of the woman behind the counter seemed to confirm that I was indeed an odd sight, worthy of fins and a snorkle. I smiled. She did not--a common reaction for we common rain-walking vagrants. But, she was happy to take my money, did not say thank you, and simply turned around to keep fiddling with the cigarette lighters. My anger rose and then fell again. This was more than just choosing my battles. I instead chose not to ruin her morning. She can thank me some day when I'm rich and famous and come through there in my red convertible BMW coupe. Ha!

I waited a little longer under the overhang of the roof outside, eating my unkind breakfast, before pressing on. Then, I pressed on. I'd only gone another mile, when a black VW Jetta drove up and pulled over beside me. An older gentleman with a young voice asked if I wanted a ride. He was faced the other way, but said that he had passed me and turned around. Throwing my ideals of walking the whole way to the four winds, for the second time on this New England wallk, I accepted--gratefully, I might add.

I apologized after putting my pack on the back seat and in anticipation of getting his passenger's seat all wet. He was one hell of a nice guy and simply said, "No worries. It will dry." As we drove into town, I asked him how close I'd gotten. He told me there were about three miles to go. That would have been another hour. We got the Anna Hunt Marsh Bridge in only five minutes. We talked, and I told him about the project. He said he had a feeling I wasn't the typical hitchhiker. I explained why I don't wear a raincoat (because of sweating so much that I get wet anyway), but to him I still looked unprepared. And, in a sense he was completely right. Had I thought more about it, at least I would have wrapped the blue tarp around the backpack.

His name was Rob. He said he lived just up the road. He and his wife had bought a dairy farm years ago. But, after converting it over to meat farming (chickens, pigs, and lambs), this was the first year he wouldn't be raising the animals. He had a day job as a real estate agent, but was retiring just this year. He wanted to do some fun stuff and travel. His daughter just moved to Colorado a few months ago with her husband and children. He and his wife were planning on visiting them soon. He had (coincidentally) a 47 year old son, who'd attended Hebron Academy (in Hebron, Maine) and had made lifelong friends from Maine. He told me that every single year for the last 20 years these guys have gotten together for a big party at his farm. He said, "I always leave that weekend." Ha!

He asked where I wanted to be dropped off, and I told him my friend had reserved a room at the Motel 6. We pulled into the parking lot and I gave him a business card. I really hoped that he would read this blog or friend me. He is the kind of guy I could really hang out with; easy to talk to, smart, easy going and his son is my age. While writing this post I tried to find him on Facebook and tried searching Google for a good long time, with no definite results. I would say that easily 90% of the people I give cards to, and have passed through my life, never get around to contacting me again. Not their fault. I totally understand. I just hope that if this project is ever more widely recognized, they will remember meeting me and will try to get in touch.

I shook his hand, and grabbed the pack from the back seat. As he drove off, I thanked the Spark for sending him my way. Then, I went into the Motel 6 office and got the key. All went well until I mentioned my expired ID. I explained my project and she said, "Well, I'll accept it this one time, but we do require a valid ID for the future." This has been the major thorn in my side (besides rain) for these last two years. I hadn't reminded Jeff (the friend who offered to pay for the room--buying three days) of the situation, and usually I have my manager Joyce call ahead to introduce it all. Something to keep in mind as all of this wraps up. We need a tighter system for folks who are generous enough to buy rooms third party. Anyway, it all worked out.

Speaking of Jeff, I needed to contact him right away, because he wanted to meet up on this day. As soon as I got into the room I took off all my wet clothes, removed everything from the pack, and took a shower. Then I got online and noticed Jeff had left a Facebook message wondering if I was there yet. I pinged back. Unfortunately, I had no clothes left to wear; all of them being wet or dirty. But, once he arrived, I realized that wouldn't be a problem.

Jeff is the guy who gave me a ride from Charlestown, Rhode Island to Milford, Connecticut in 2014, where he also gave me much of what I still use to this day. Midway through this current Living Magazine Journey, while I was in Minnesota, he sent the precious tent that has made my time ever since much more settled. Until that point, I'd used only a tarp for all of my rough camping. There is simply no way in hell I could have done all that I've done since October of 2015 without that tent. It was more than just a blessing. It was a true requirement and probably the greatest material item I have ever received.

To see Jeff again now after all this time, was almost unreal. When I'd seen him last, he gave me advice about dealing with animals, camping, routes to take, and was mildly dubious as to whether I'd be able to last long enough to make it to California--offering to help extract me from the situation if things got too difficult. It isn't that he didn't believe in me, it was more like he knew just how hard it would be, and - like a good friend - gave me an out if I ever needed it. He was the one I called "The Human Protector" on the Manifest Destiny Journey.

Now that I had essentially made it out there, to the West Coast, and come all the way back to near his residence in New Hampshire, it was definitely a thing worth celebrating with him on this day. And, he arrived bearing even more gifts, including new shorts, shirts, toiletries, underwear, socks, and brand new shoes! In addition, he brought food. As someone who is naturally averse to receiving gifts, I've learned how to deal with it in all the donations, hosts and meals I've accepted over these last 19 months. Still, I felt a twinge of guilt at receiving so much from Jeff on this day. And, it wasn't over yet.

After I'd put on clean clothes and we talked for a little while, he asked, "Are you hungry?" Shit, yeah. We hopped in his car and drove back downtown to the Whetstone Station Restaurant, right next to the Anna Hunt Marsh Bridge (Route 119--between Brattleboro, Vermont and Hinsdale, New Hampshire). Nice place...

We had a friendly server who set us up with a flight of their house brews...

Jeff, getting ready to indulge his beer tooth.

We were so busy talking and catching up that our poor server had to ask us three times if we were ready to order. Eventually, we got around to looking at the menu. When she returned we were ready. Jeff ordered the "Crazy Happy Waitress Grilled" - cheese on country white bread with cheddar, cream cheese, tomato and maple glazed bacon. And, I got the "Platform B.L.T." - Maple glazed bacon with lettuce, tomato and black pepper aioli on toasted white bread.

When our food arrived, we were accidentally handed each other's meals. I immediately chomped down and then we realized that they were reversed. But, this give us the opportunity to switch sandwich halves, and eat a half of each. The food was really great. Tons of bacon, with a fresh side salad. Jeff's sandwich was very interesting, being a mixture of melted cheddar and cream cheese. And, mine had a terrific maple taste to the bacon. Perfect lunch...  

When we were getting ready to go, Jeff saw a very unusual bird down on the rocks, way below us. It had a crest on the back of its head. I took the following picture...

I'd never seen a duck like this in the North. Apparently (and I'm not positive), it is a Wood Duck.

Though they are mostly on the West Coast and Deep South they come up to New England  to breed.

I wasn't quite sure yet which route I would take into New Hampshire after my respite in Brattleboro. There was the Route 119 way south and the Route 9 way north. Jeff offered to show me a bit of what 119 would look like, should I choose to go that way. He knew of a covered bridge in Ashuelot--an unincorporated town between Hinsdale and Winchester. So, off we went...

Love this sign. Seems like a little man in a booth with a radar detector,

a ticket pad and a sharp pencil should be sitting at one end.

Knowing my mom loves covered bridges (she once wanted to see every covered bridge in New England), I delighted in sending her some of the above images. Hopefully she'll read this soon and see the rest of them. According to Jeff there were a lot of covered bridges along the way to Northern Massachusetts to see, if I choose this route.

Eventually, Jeff had to be getting back home and had an hour and a half to drive still. He dropped me off at the motel and took off. We planned to meet up again in Lowell, Massachusetts  at the memorial and grave site of Jack Kerouac. In doing my research for this post today, I discovered that the annual anniversary of his death was October 21 (he died 1969). It was the day after, in 2014, that I left Portland, Maine. I don't know much about Kerouac. I watched On the Road about a week before leaving Maine. And, I had been mesmerized by the way he wrote on the few times I had read his poetry/philosophy. He had an outlook much like I do.

Until today, I was not aware that he was Roman Catholic and a Buddhist. With my longtime interest in Buddhism, and a Christian background (though I would not consider myself officially a "Christian" now), I find him even more interesting. Jeff had made the comparison between Kerouac and myself a few times, and separately, others had mentioned it as well. It seems only appropriate that I should pay homage to the man while I am in this region. It also makes sense to do this while with Jeff, who raised my attention about all of this to begin with. It is from Lowell that I will make the final leg: the march to Boston.

Once back in my room I worked to publish a couple of posts. Then later on I walked down to Hannaford (a grocery store chain located throughout New England), and bought a few more food items for the next two days. When I returned I settled back in my chair and just hung out online while watching the Travel Channel and Food Network (my pastime habit in motel rooms after my writing chores are done). Within 24 hours I had left Melinda's, slept along the highway, walked in the rain, got a ride from a great guy, got to see Jeff and have a great lunch, published two posts, and had a couple hours to relax. What a day! I went to bed at a reasonable hour and slept very, very well.