NCT 6.5: Naptime

Hornell to Ellicottville, NY

Guess what? We got vaccinated! Today! Like, an hour ago!!! Woohoo! It's such a huge relief to finally get the vaccine, and though I know the full effect takes two weeks to kick in, my body already feels lighter without the weight of Covid anxiety. Even though I have a full ten days of writing to catch up on, I'm not worried - I've got so much more brain space without the burden of risk analysis.

Right now we're in Clarion, PA, but let's rewind. The day we left Hornell was an absolute non-event, even while it was happening. The taxi picked us up promptly at 8am, and after a short ride back to Swain, we hiked out into the drizzle for a casual 34 miles. Here are my complete notes from that day, verbatim:

-cold morning, still raining but no thunder

-stupid loop not so stupid, kept us out of train yard (thanks)

-roadwalk, blah blah blah

-why are we going through farmer's fields when the road is right there?

-headphones broke

-boy scout camp

As my lack of observations indicate, pretty much nothing happened. We met some dogs on the Genesee Valley Greenway, frightened some more deer, and mainly trudged along in silence as the cold rain sputtered out and the day warmed. My cheap headphones burst into static and died with all the moisture, but I had a freshly charged battery so it wasn't a terrible inconvenience to use my phone's speaker. It was pretty much all road anyway, so it wasn't like I was disturbing anyone's nature hike with my podcasts. Still, I always feel self-concious when I'm being “that guy”, so I kept my selections limited to uncontroversial interview shows and turned it off when we reached the public fishing trail to Sixtown Camp. I couldn't wait to get to Ellicottville and get new shoes and headphones - my Altras were pretty much slippers by this point, and I ached to immerse myself in a private audio world.

The Sixtown Camp was built and used by Boy Scouts, so there was an excellent picnic table and a piped spring. We were greeted in the morning by sunshine and warmth, and packed up in high spirits. Just an easy 35 miles today, and then a quick jaunt into town! It was May 30th and the trail before Ellicottville was closed for turkey hunting season, so instead of hiking a long curve north of town and then backtracking east over a ski hill, we'd get to walk straight in on the highway.

Our morning started with another long dirt roadwalk, but I didn’t really mind. I was ready to make miles, and eager to do laundry and eat in a real town. I was pacing ahead as usual, tuning out the road with the low murmur of NPR, when Terry Gross was suddenly interrupted by an explosion of furious barking. A farm dog came tearing across the road, snarling and snapping with serious intent. This was not just a protective canine - this dog actively wanted to bite me, and it was close. By the time he had noticed my presence, I was a scant five feet away from the porch. A spike of a adrenaline shot through me and I dropped into a protective crouch, shuffling sideways into the middle of the road. You don't want to run away from a biting dog - they can run faster than you, and running activates their prey drive. I should have kept my body language calm and spoken assertively to try to get him to back down, but instinct overrode logic and instead I found myself facing off with the hound and shouting “Hey! No!” with an aggressive forward-leaning posture. This only agitated him more, and all the fur on his hackles rose as he continued to growl and lunge. I was dancing all over the road to try to keep out of his reach when the owner noticed the commotion and came out of his house to call the dog. The dog, still porcupined and snarling, reluctantly backed off and let me go unbitten. “Don't worry, he's friendly! He just likes to bark,” called the owner. Yeah, right, I thought, but all I said was “Thanks!” as the owner grabbed his slobbering angry beast and physically restrained from going after Constantine.

We left the road not long after that, winding through shady woods on private hunting trails and old ATV tracks. The storms had done nothing to lessen the humidity, and the day was sticky-hot and sleepy. Even the birds and insects seemed to be napping; only we two foolish mammals were stirring in the midst of this roasting afternoon. The soft bed of pine needles beckoned me to lie down, to nestle in their warm fragrant embrace and dream. My eyelids were drooping, my breathing slow and languid with the heaviness of heat. We had seventeen miles to go and we had to keep hiking, but the spell of sleep was so strong. As we grew closer to our next section of road, my brain gave in to the suggestion and switched completely off, even as my legs kept going. I have almost no memory of those hours - it's as if I truly had laid out and napped beneath the trees. Eight miles passed by in a dream, and when I “woke up” again at the road, I felt just as rested as if I'd slept.

I was in a good mood for the rest of the day, relaxed and loose and smiling as the sun drew down and the heat slackened. Cool breezes washed across our skin as we left the road and tackled our final few miles to camp. Dropping out of the forest, we walked a pasture road and came upon a herd of riding ponies. They were a beautiful sight, glossy chestnuts and bright bays and a paint with biscuit-coloured spots. Their king was an imperious red roan, tall and gracile with a haughty look in his eye. His skittish subjects danced away as we approached, but the roan came forward proudly and tossed his mane, curious about these strange people with the packs. He seemed friendly as he leaned his head over the fence, so I reached out my palm for him to sniff and inadvertently spooked the rest of the herd. The nervous paint, who'd been hanging right by his side, jumped three feet straight up and kicked the air, which caused the roan to shy and wheel around. A small bay mare let out a shrieking whinny and all the rest of the ponies bolted, leaving only the roan and the worried paint pacing back and forth with anxious eyes. Oops.

“I hope the owners weren't around to see that,” I said to Constantine, embarrassed. We seemed to be in the clear, but I still felt bad about scaring the horses. I really shouldn't have tried to touch them, but the roan was just so gorgeous that I couldn't resist. I glanced back at the pasture and they all seemed to be fine, having gone back to grazing in the opposite corner.

We were on the same property for a while before we'd cross a road and ascend a small hill to the FLTA-owned campsite. The pasture road dropped to a stream bank and into a shaded area, and as we crossed the driveway onto a mowed path, we entered a secret world. The people who owned the horses loved the Finger Lakes Trail! The well-maintained trail through the grass was lined with many varieties of maple, each bearing a plaque with its species and the name of an FLTA donor. Lilacs and honeysuckles perfumed the air, and the bushes were bursting with wildflowers and fragrant plants. Further on, we found a stacked-stone fireplace and a picnic area with benches, with chunks of fossil-bearing rocks on display. We left our thanks in the trail register and continued to camp, buoyed by the unexpected beauty. We hit a quick roadwalk, then turned off at a trailhead into yet another secret world.

It was just a 1.7mi loop, but it was immaculate. The trailhead itself was plastered with huge signs for the FLT and North Country Trail, and proudly told the story of the Boy and Girl Scout troops who had constructed it over a summer. The last mile to camp featured educational signs about the ecology of the forest, and a gushing natural spring. It felt so good to be taken care of in this way - if this little section hadn't been here, it would have been impossible to camp anywhere between the morning's dirt road and Ellicottville.

The morning into Ellicottville was cold and misty, and we hustled out of camp at 5am in the dim chill. It was the kind of weather that reminds you that you don't live under the sky, but inside of it. The clouds were clinging to the tops of the marshes, and the rising sun coloured them pink and gold. I was cold and damp and eager for town, but I felt the beauty despite it all. Once we hit the highway, the morning passed in no time, and soon we found ourselves in town.

Ellicottville was very cute and very little, and very busy with the long weekend crowd. We ate breakfast at a cute little diner and found our room at a cute little motel. The outdoor store was cute and little too, and though the owner was incredibly friendly and gave us free bagels, they did not have any Altras. Our battered shoes would have to get us to Clarion after all.

And that's that - now I'm only one section behind. I'll see how much I can get done tonight, but most likely you'll hear from me in a day or two. We’re out of the Allegheny National Park and should have good cell service as we pass through a few small towns, so I'm gonna use the rest of this zero day to relax and chow down.

Talk to you again real soon!

-Magpie