“Lost, yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two golden hours, each set with sixty diamond minutes. No reward is offered for they are gone forever.” --Horace Mann

My first night in New York was a chilly one. For the first time in months, I slept inside my sleeping bag. I had also been bumping into a new crew of people at nights. Shortcut had gone on ahead, being only a section hiker and under time constraints. My companions now were Tagalong and his girlfriend Waterfall, T-Max, Raindancer, Superfly and his dog Cassidy.

Since crossing into the state, the world took on a greasy, toneless sheen. It was no longer roasting hot during the day but there was a humidity that drained the will to hike from the bones. Planned daily mileage kept getting appended by 4 to 5 miles. I was plagued by a mysterious gastro-intestinal problem that appeared at odd intervals (it later turned out that my body, after months of monkish purging, could no longer handle the sugary caffeinated rush of soda). Hikers were afflicted by chaffing problems. Even the trail was having problems. Harriman State Park was being consumed by forest fires. The “mountains” were now reduced to sheer rock walls that rose a few hundred feet from the ground at ninety degree angles only to fall away at the other side in the same way.

New York was rather wretched much like New Jersey was pleasant. The thru-hikers were no longer in the woods. Although seeing New York City was quite thrilling, being so close to it was not. By the time we approached the Hudson River, there were throngs of people, all from the city. They were pushy, loud and used to crowds, quite the opposite of what I and my friends were used to. There was also the double indignity of me and a bear viewing each other in a zoo. In both ways, the Bear Mountain Zoo was the lowest point on the Appalachian Trail.

The Hudson is not the longest river hikers have to cross (the Susquehanna is). This is the longest bridge on the trail.

The shelters were also in a sorry state. Previous users were as indiscriminating with their trash as they were with their graffiti. There were no privies and no water sources nearby. But much of this vanished once we crossed the Hudson River. Even before this crossing there were a few saving graces, like the deli in Monroe. Someone had (wisely) tacked a menu from it to a post where the trail crossed the road a mere half mile away. Now, can any hiker risist that sort of temptation?

Still, cleansing was needed once the Hudson had been crossed and the perfect place for it was ahead. For years, the Greymoor Friary has opened its door to thru-hikers. We were allowed to camp by the baseball field and then they fed us. The food was fantastic, less like the restaurant cuisine we were used to and more like a good homecooked meal. It was just what I needed. Funny how food can set you back on your mental tracks.

Some where past RPH shelter, we lost Leaping Gnome. He and Swampfox had been bumping into our group off an on. Suddenly, he was out of money and went back to Massachussetts. He would be back after working a few odd jobs and made some cash. Maybe. And then abruptly, Raindancer and I lost T-max, Tagalong and Waterfall when they took the train at the Appalachian Trail Station to Fire Island. I was almost alone. There was nothing to do except hike on.

And then I met Speedy. If you recall, way, waaaaaaay back in Georgia that on the third day of this trip, I came to a shelter that was full. To elaborate on that story, when I got there, the shelter was full with six people inside. I set up my tent in front of the shelter in the freezing cold drizzle.

The fabled A.T. train station. I was required by law to take this picture.

A few minutes later a woman who I passed earlier trudged up to the shelter. She seemed a bit out of sorts and the occupants of the shelter immediately made room for her so she would not become to hypothermic. I was a wee bit indignant over this. That was my spot she was in. Not only that, she was ill prepared for backpacking and did not seem to have one clue about how one should. Could this woman possibly be thru-hiking? I would have been surprised if she hiked to the next road.

Now, almost 1400 miles later, I was to come up behind her in a field. She remembered me, vaguely. She was still out here hiking, slowly but surely which pleased me to no end. Now she was doing “only the little states” and would do the big ones some other time.

To think, a person who I would have guessed to quit this venture months ago was still at it. I had been completely wrong about the determination of some people (like myself for one example) and that lack in others. I played a guessing game with myself as to who would make it and where everyone else would drop out. It ocurred to me then, in that field, that I was batting .000. People were much more than my eyes could ever see. I am glad I was wrong.