Plain ole' "Hello!" from Graymoor Monastery, New York! Right now I'm chilling in an open structure on the edge of the monastery baseball field. They've let wayward souls drop by ever since a thru-hiker asked to stay the night back in the seventies.
At the conclusion of our previous episode, I had just left Bennington, home of the Vortex hiker hostel. There's a lot to cover, the usual deal, so here we go!
The Trio, plus Milk Carton, hiked onward, out of Vermont and into Massachusetts. We enjoyed the view from Mt. Greylock, the largest mountain in the state. I felt smelly climbing up the lookout tower's spiral staircase, crammed next to so many fragrant tourists (daypackers always smell awesome). Some of them were extra-vocal about how difficult the stairs were, to my disbelief.
We grouped up at the base of the tower to snack and met a bunch of incoming-Yale-freshmen on a hiking program (it seemed like a bonding/ leadership sorta' thing). They were very bubbly and laugh-y and social. One of them said that he would love to do the trail, but that he couldn't imagine "finding the time." Tag and I were skeptical, we were all 18 after all, and in the same stage of life. We figured that he probably couldn't imagine that he already had the time.
For hundreds of miles, we'd heard about "The Birdcage", a free hiker hostel in Dalton, MA, with a shower, movies, free soda, and cool owners. Tag and I were especially psyched for the soda (soda fountains are my primary motivation for getting to town). We called the owner, Rob, to get a reservation. I had left my backup battery at The Vortex, and I knew that most hostel owners had each other's numbers (so they can warn each other about troublesome guests), so I asked Rob for the Vortex's number with the intention of getting the battery mailed to me down the trail. As it turned out, Rob was waiting at the trailhead to pick us up and had driven to Bennington to retrieve my battery (what!?). Plus, he had a cooler of soda in the cab.
That was just a precursor for all he would do for us. Our stay was elongated by Hurricane Irene (the trail was "closed" during the storm, according to officials), so we wound up staying for four nights. Meanwhile, we got to slack-pack upwards of thirty miles (Rob continually drove us out to the trailhead to do so), resupply at the local Price Chopper, buy new shoes (Tag got five-fingered shoes, Coach got Trail Runners), and shower (multiple times). Somehow, we found the time to watch 15-20 movies. Tag and I drank at least 12 sodas each (we helped them restock, by the way). I got to return the favor by weed-whacking the backyard, digging trenches to reroute water during the hurricane, and water-vacuuming the basement, but the exchange is still pretty one-sided.
The cage has been serving hikers for fifteen years, ever since Rob picked up a lost hiker and word started to spread. As manager of the local Shell station, he's made a point to employ and befriend troubled teens over the years. His kitchen wall is full of Polaroid pictures of his past employees. Grandma Nance, an extra-endearing resident, and "mother" to the guests, likes to tell the boy's stories, and how Rob helped them out. Besides the photos of past employees, Rob records all his house guests in large photo albums. It was fun to spot our pals in this year's book.
The crew decided to take advantage of a BirdCage tradition and get free Mohawk hair cuts. It was hard not to laugh during my public mohawk-ing. There's something fraternal, and vaguely military, about our matching doo's. Pretty bad ass (but not as bad ass as this one guy who got half of his head, beard, stache, and chest hair cut in an alternating pattern).
I'm really backed-up on stuff to write about, so I think I'll break everything up into little episodes. Stay tuned for the next exciting addition to the saga!
Aaaaaand don't forget to donate to UNICEF! Thanks so much to everyone who already has.
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