NCT 3: Omnes Viae

Old Forge to Rome, NY

Right as diverse pathes leden the folk the righte wey to Rome - Chaucer, A Treatise on the Astrolabe, 1391

We have arrived! At long last, our fabled “first nearo” in Rome has materialized, three days behind schedule and over thirty miles farther down trail. That's right! As calculated by the NCTA map, Rome is just under 250 miles from the Eastern Terminus. Our GPS mileage puts us 281.3 miles into the trail. Which is correct? In this case, I choose to believe my feet.

Our zero in Old Forge was a much-needed break, and the day of our departure was sunny and cold. Leaving town at our customary hour of 9am, we smashed out the six mile roadwalk in record time. Constantine is carrying the GPS, and his maximum speed registered as 5.2mph; I was well ahead of him, so we think I must have hit a 6mph walking pace at some point. We started out hiking in our puffies against the wind, but I quickly grew overheated and shed my jacket while walking, carrying it against my chest for several miles. I was glad to have it in my hands - it meant I didn't have to stop to pull on my gloves. Normally I would put my headphones in while walking a highway shoulder, but as we left town I was taken away by a daydream of a gorgeous mountain trail. The traffic rushed by and the wind blew in cold gusts, but in my mind I was strolling through a wide alpine meadow, the sky above me a brilliant sapphire blue. The birds trilled their good mornings as I ran my fingers over the tops of tall grass, and as I crossed stream after crystal stream their voices were joined by the music of frogs. Perhaps I was remembering Evolution Valley or the plateaus of the Wind River Range; in any case, this vision sustained me all the way to the trailhead.

We had an early lunch of Chex Mix and Doritos (so healthy!), then found ourselves back on Disneyland trail. It was wonderful hiking. Neither overtly challenging nor simple and dull, the track meandered pleasantly along the lakes, indulging in a few short climbs to scenic viewpoints before finding its way back to level ground. Loons called and frogs chirped, and the rhythm of my breath and footsteps lulled me back into the easy peace of hiking. It was just hiking! Finally, all I had to do was walk and let my brain come along for the ride.

It's much harder to write about things going right than things going wrong. Challenges lend themselves to a dramatic narrative, whereas the happier routine is hard to capture. I know I had a thousand thoughts that day, but when the body is doing what it loves best, the mind is unimportant. I let my thoughts float up and held them steady, perhaps following an interesting one for a while to see where it led. More often I simply tasted them, noticed them, then let them dissolve away. My whole self was invested in the motion of my feet; my analyzing mind was merely a passenger, quietly twiddling its thumbs until it was needed again.

In this wandering way we came to the middle of the section. It was mid-afternoon and the wind still had a chill. Puffy white clouds scudded past in a hurry, one moment leaving us in frigid shade, and bathing us in summer the next. It felt like spring. Bright new plants blazed electric in the sun, fresh and green and vibrating with the enthusiasm of youth. My mood had downshifted somewhat as the day wore on, come down from the rapturous heights and settled somewhere in the middle. I wasn't tired or sad or bored, I was just neutral. Oh well. That's hiking too - sometimes you don't feel much of anything in particular. You're just in a walking mood, and a walking mood is okay.

The mood of the clouds was hard to read that afternoon. Sometimes they greyed and seemed to threaten rain, but as soon as worry got a fingerhold in my mind, the wind would come along and sweep in a sunnier countenance. Constantine and I hiked together in a companionable silence, enjoying our own thoughts and the scent of the breeze. How often in your non-hiking life do you get to spend hours in quiet contemplation with your partner? We were not distracted from one another, but neither were we fully focused. We just walked along, occasionally exchanging conversation, mostly thinking about whatever we pleased.

Camp that night was determined, as ever, by the availability of public land. We'd hiked nearly to the edge of this state park, so we found a spot just 0.2mi from the end of the trail and set up the tent. I opted to cook Knorr Spanish Rice with pepperjack, while Constantine demolished another bag of Chex Mix and the last of his Oreo cookies. He had some cell service near the trailhead, so he arranged to meet up with a pair of his YouTube followers the next day, and we went to sleep.

The morning was chilly, but the clear sky promised another day of sun. I chugged cold coffee as Constantine finished breaking down the tent, and then we were off! My roadwalk pace back to its full glory and I was out ahead in no time. My passage down the paved rural road was heralded by the cacophony of dogs. Later, Constantine would complain that I'd gotten them all riled up as I swept by, and then they'd come running out the front gates to bark at him in person. I did not see a single member of the canine honour guard, but he was noisily investigated by a ferocious pug and an elderly dachshund.

I made a quick pit stop in the town of Forestport to use the bathroom, and then we went to meet our friends Jim and Elizabeth at the Canal Towpath trailhead. The route along the canal was more of an old road than a trail, a flat dirt two-track next to a concrete channel. Jim and Elizabeth were waiting for us with a truckbed full of goodies - fresh-made donuts, trail snacks, ziplock bags and even new Darn Tough socks. We introduced ourselves and thanked them profusely, pleased to get to know some new hikers on this seldom-travelled trail. Constantine took two pairs of socks and a donut, but I'd just bought a fresh set in Old Forge. I ate my donut with enthusiasm and asked if they wouldn't mind mailing my old (clean) socks home, which of course they were happy to do. We walked and talked with them for the better part of two hours before they turned around to head back to their truck. They're working on the NCT’s Hike 100 Challenge, which officially acknowledges people who hike 100 miles of the NCT over a year. If we're successful at this thru-hike, we would technically be eligible to receive forty-six Hike 100 completion patches - each!

The Canal Towpath closely follows the route of Highway 46, but it's so much better than roadwalking. We'd thought that the canal path went all the way into Rome, but on closer inspection we realized that the red line was just a smidge off-route again. It only appeared to parallel the road, when actually it joined the highway after fifteen miles of trail. This presented a bit of a problem for camp - we'd been planning to nip off the bike path to camp legally in a state park, 30 or so miles into our day. The state park didn't quite touch the route, but if we had to cut through a hayfield to get there, so be it. Now we weren't sure what kind of private property we'd find when it came time to turn off. We'd figure it out when we got there. In the meantime, we were walking a soft grassy road beside rolling pasture, with maples and oaks for shade. The water in the canal was tannic but drinkable, and as we got closer to the roadwalk I stopped to scoop some water into my filter bag. My drinking bottle was close to empty, so when we left our idlyllic bike path and turned onto the highway, I was off-balance with one shoulder beginning to ache.

Our nice state park campsite was not to be. As we drew near to our destination the houses became more frequent, springing up in clumps like wood's ear fungus along a rotten log. A kid on an ATV roared past and shadowed our progress for a while before zipping away, popping a wheelie just to make a point. It was a land of Trump flags and trailers, each property festooned with multiple NO TRESPASSING signs. “We don't call 911!” screamed the fences, while the houses were decorated with KEEP OUT and faux bullet-holes. We would not be nipping through anyone's hayfield! To get through to the state park, we'd have to walk right across somebody's front yard. When we got there, that somebody was home, nursing his beer on a porch bedecked with NRA banners and trophy animals. Um, no. His hounds set to baying in the backyard, and from the sound of it they were not elderly dachshunds.

We had two options then - try to find a place to access the state park without getting shot at, or hike another eight miles to Delta Park, which might or might not be closed. We kept our eyes open as we walked along, and a mile later we spotted a little stream gully next to the road. It lacked any kind of fence or menacing sign, and Constantine informed me that you can't privately own a waterway in the eastern United States. It was public land, or at least it was public water, so up the waterway we went.

We had just twelve miles of roadwalk into Rome the next morning. This little section of our maps had waypoints set every half-mile, so I could calculate the distance exactly. Finally! We got up at 5am to make the most of the day, and I set off blearily at half-speed. The sun wasn't quite awake yet, and we shivered in our puffies as the golden glow melted slowly over the land like butter on pancakes. Pancakes, mmmm. I dreamt of diner coffee and a heaping plate of eggs, syrup and waffles, hot sauce and hashbrowns. I could almost feel the hefty white mug in my hand, and this fantasy drew me on and lured my legs out of their slumber. We crushed miles under the weight of our desire, only slowing to admire the pretty little town of Western as we passed through. A man set off through his backyard with a kayak and a thermos of coffee, headed to the lake for a morning row. What a lovely way to wake up! I thought as he waved hello. We passed the historic old library and the historic town hall, and then we were we back to the busy highway.

The only time I ever feel weird about my appearance on trail is when I have to pass through a suburb. In smaller towns, the locals know that the trailhead is there, and they can place you in a context even if they don't know about the thru-hike in their backyard. We were now twenty-five miles away from the nearest hiking trail, and yet we didn't quite look like homeless drifters. We just looked... odd. I kept my puffy on even as the day grew warm, self-concious about my braless chest and sweat stains. We paused near a school park to retrieve our masks and wallets from our packs, and I felt anxious that someone would call the police. “Come on!” I hissed to Constantine as he took his time filming monuments. “I'm starving, let's eat!” I was starving, but mostly I just wanted to get out of public view.

At last, we found a Denny's attached to a hotel, and were tucked into a booth by a friendly waitress. Some dreams are easily achieved; after only four hours of waiting, I had my mug of coffee in hand.

And now we're here! We weren't certain if we wanted to take a nearo so soon after Old Forge, but the miles before the Finger Lakes shake out better if we do, so here we are. Mīlle viae dūcunt hominēs per saecula Rōmam: some roadwalks lead to Rome after all.

Talk soon!

-Magpie