McRat
New member
(Warning: Long winded, arguably pointless TR ahead, but I had enough fun doing it that I figured the trip earned a TR)
When I promised MEB I would try to get her an ice cream sandwich and a beer, I kind of figured I’d stop out to Greylock… but Dave Metsky beat me to it. I figured that I’d catch up with her in NH… but I was at Baxter for a week and she pretty much flew through NH. The next weekend I couldn’t get out as she finished the Rangeley Lake are 4Ks. Then I saw that she was in Caratunk on Wednesday, with the 100 mile wilderness ahead and Monson as the final stop off.
It seemed like such a foolish idea, that I found it irresistible. I had a couple of friends who opened a BBQ restaurant in Monson, and was about 8 years overdue for a visit. The work schedule cleared up almost magically, and the next thing I knew, I had a free Friday at my disposal.
I picked up dry ice at Acme around 7:15, and pulled into Monson about Noon. After checking the maps, I figured the crossing at Shirley Rd in Blanchard Township would be a good place to set up camp. There was a bit of confusion as there are two large ‘trail crossing signs’ on either side of a snowmobile/ATV trail - but not the AT. I walked down, found the AT and took it back to Shirley Road and moved my car closer. I set up a cooler of beer and soft drinks on the northern side, and waited.
By 12:30, no one had shown up. I decided to pull out my guitar and strum for a while. Before long, it was almost 2:00 and no hikers had been by… which is probably for the best as my playing was much rustier than my strings. I locked up the car and headed southbound to a river crossing and read a couple of chapters of ‘The Harvard Psychedelic Club’ before meeting a fellow from Wisconsin slackpacking the area. He had completed the AT twice, and was section hiking this time, but he hadn’t heard of anyone with the trail name ‘Jibitz’.
I headed up the car to enjoy a beer with this fellow and waited as several other hikers either knew nothing of ‘Jibitz’ or hadn’t seen her in days. I became concerned that she may have already headed into town.
Giving out free food to thruhikers is a pretty easy task; trying to meet up with a specific one without them knowing is harder. It’s kind of like fishing a stream for an individual fish… thank God thruhikers are more distinctive looking than trout.
You can prepare, you can comb over the maps, call friends – but like so much in life, there's no substitute for a stroke of good luck.
Just around the time I was toying with heading into town to see if she had passed me and wound up at Shaws; a fellow with a dog, backpack and a small cooler showed up. Seeing he was southbound, I decided to ask if he had passed anyone named Jibitz. He said that she wasn’t going to Monson that day, and that he was stopping in to bring her a sandwich. I added a couple of Double Bag Ales to Eric's cooler and changed into my running gear and ancient trail runners.
I ran down the trail and tromped right across the stream crossing as there is hardly enough fabric to hold water in my footwear, and plenty of holes for the water to get out. I briefly passed Eric and his canine companion Madison, but before long I had stopped to chat with northbounders and hand off a couple of ice cream sandwiches. We soon hit a larger pack than I had ice cream to spare, so I told them that cold beer and soda was waiting on the other side of the road. They seemed encouraged.
I roamed along a pleasant stream with intermittent patches of soft, springy trail until I heard Mike shout back, “Spur here, don’t miss the spur”. I wasn’t sure if MEB would be there but I heard the happy greetings among friends and felt suddenly better about the mission. I had given my name to Mike, but had asked for an alternate introduction.
Just as I’m almost behind the shelter I hear Mike say, “There was some fool from Boston with an Ice Cream Sandwich looking for you?”
“McRAT’s HERE?!?” …and just on cue, I turned the corner. We exchanged greetings, got a couple of photos, and enjoyed a beer and ice cream sandwich together.
We chatted for a while and she seemed taken aback that I’d drive that far. I told her that I was just as surprised as she was. I think if she were closer it might not have happened, but I had begun to relish the foolishness of the endeavor before I even started. She had commented that she had pretty much given up on me coming by in Caratunk and had said as much.
Just goes to show you that nothing is fool proof to the sufficiently determined fool. A promise is a promise.
I couldn’t stay long, mostly because I didn’t want to miss the junction of 150 and 152 in the dark; but enjoyed waiting to meet a couple Jibitz had been hiking with. With that done, I handed off my 470th ice cream sandwich on the trail.
She expressed thanks for all the many people who have visited so far on her journey. I wished her well on her remaining journey and scurried back to the car for dinner at Spring Creek BBQ in Monson.
What a great idea! I had always enjoyed Mike and Kim’s cooking when I would often be drawn to their smoker trailer at local bluegrass music festivals, but it is clear that they took a good product and have reached the level of outstanding. I enjoyed the best slow-smoked pulled-pork sandwich I have ever had with a fine cole slaw for dinner, and let them know they would be getting a next visit from me in a much shorter timeframe.
I headed back south and, as expected, missed the 150/152 junction in the dark. I checked the map and it looked like I would get to add Skowhegan to my ‘places I’ve driven through’ list. Aside from the lovely old New England architecture and rolling farmland, I was treated to a couple of decent views for my navigational error. During a westward stretch of 150 south, I saw a pink and purple sunset over what I assume was the Bigelows area and quickly caught a nearly full orange moon rising to the east. I would say my enthusiasm at the scene was just a few bong hits shy of surpassing the double rainbow guy.
By 9:30, I had pulled into Thomas Point Beach Campground in Brunswick. I met up with friends, talked, jammed, and kept many Jello shots from falling into the hands of children. I slept out under the stars, and woke to a gorgeous sunrise before pulling my hat over my eyes and sleeping in.
I was home 31 hours after I left, with 6 miles on the trailrunners and 531 miles on the McRatmobile - almost a quarter of the distance of the AT. I was satisfied. I had kept a promise and packed so much fun and foolishness into the weekend that I’ll have to thank MEB for the opportunity when I see her next.
------- Afterward ---------
I have two and a half dozen ice cream sandwiches until I hit my initial quest goal of 500. I think I’m having too much fun to quit.
A couple of weeks ago, the long-suffering Mrs. McRat asked me how many I was planning on doing.
“No idea really. I planned on 500 but it’s been a lot more fun than I expected.”
“How long is the Appalachian Trail”, she asked”
“Around 2200 miles,” I replied.
“Promise me,” she said with the weariness that comes with years of marriage to a fool, “you wont do more than that many”.
I just grinned. She has no idea she may have just raised the bar significantly.
I just don’t know if that is a promise I can keep.
When I promised MEB I would try to get her an ice cream sandwich and a beer, I kind of figured I’d stop out to Greylock… but Dave Metsky beat me to it. I figured that I’d catch up with her in NH… but I was at Baxter for a week and she pretty much flew through NH. The next weekend I couldn’t get out as she finished the Rangeley Lake are 4Ks. Then I saw that she was in Caratunk on Wednesday, with the 100 mile wilderness ahead and Monson as the final stop off.
It seemed like such a foolish idea, that I found it irresistible. I had a couple of friends who opened a BBQ restaurant in Monson, and was about 8 years overdue for a visit. The work schedule cleared up almost magically, and the next thing I knew, I had a free Friday at my disposal.
I picked up dry ice at Acme around 7:15, and pulled into Monson about Noon. After checking the maps, I figured the crossing at Shirley Rd in Blanchard Township would be a good place to set up camp. There was a bit of confusion as there are two large ‘trail crossing signs’ on either side of a snowmobile/ATV trail - but not the AT. I walked down, found the AT and took it back to Shirley Road and moved my car closer. I set up a cooler of beer and soft drinks on the northern side, and waited.
By 12:30, no one had shown up. I decided to pull out my guitar and strum for a while. Before long, it was almost 2:00 and no hikers had been by… which is probably for the best as my playing was much rustier than my strings. I locked up the car and headed southbound to a river crossing and read a couple of chapters of ‘The Harvard Psychedelic Club’ before meeting a fellow from Wisconsin slackpacking the area. He had completed the AT twice, and was section hiking this time, but he hadn’t heard of anyone with the trail name ‘Jibitz’.
I headed up the car to enjoy a beer with this fellow and waited as several other hikers either knew nothing of ‘Jibitz’ or hadn’t seen her in days. I became concerned that she may have already headed into town.
Giving out free food to thruhikers is a pretty easy task; trying to meet up with a specific one without them knowing is harder. It’s kind of like fishing a stream for an individual fish… thank God thruhikers are more distinctive looking than trout.
You can prepare, you can comb over the maps, call friends – but like so much in life, there's no substitute for a stroke of good luck.
Just around the time I was toying with heading into town to see if she had passed me and wound up at Shaws; a fellow with a dog, backpack and a small cooler showed up. Seeing he was southbound, I decided to ask if he had passed anyone named Jibitz. He said that she wasn’t going to Monson that day, and that he was stopping in to bring her a sandwich. I added a couple of Double Bag Ales to Eric's cooler and changed into my running gear and ancient trail runners.
I ran down the trail and tromped right across the stream crossing as there is hardly enough fabric to hold water in my footwear, and plenty of holes for the water to get out. I briefly passed Eric and his canine companion Madison, but before long I had stopped to chat with northbounders and hand off a couple of ice cream sandwiches. We soon hit a larger pack than I had ice cream to spare, so I told them that cold beer and soda was waiting on the other side of the road. They seemed encouraged.
I roamed along a pleasant stream with intermittent patches of soft, springy trail until I heard Mike shout back, “Spur here, don’t miss the spur”. I wasn’t sure if MEB would be there but I heard the happy greetings among friends and felt suddenly better about the mission. I had given my name to Mike, but had asked for an alternate introduction.
Just as I’m almost behind the shelter I hear Mike say, “There was some fool from Boston with an Ice Cream Sandwich looking for you?”
“McRAT’s HERE?!?” …and just on cue, I turned the corner. We exchanged greetings, got a couple of photos, and enjoyed a beer and ice cream sandwich together.
We chatted for a while and she seemed taken aback that I’d drive that far. I told her that I was just as surprised as she was. I think if she were closer it might not have happened, but I had begun to relish the foolishness of the endeavor before I even started. She had commented that she had pretty much given up on me coming by in Caratunk and had said as much.
Just goes to show you that nothing is fool proof to the sufficiently determined fool. A promise is a promise.
I couldn’t stay long, mostly because I didn’t want to miss the junction of 150 and 152 in the dark; but enjoyed waiting to meet a couple Jibitz had been hiking with. With that done, I handed off my 470th ice cream sandwich on the trail.
She expressed thanks for all the many people who have visited so far on her journey. I wished her well on her remaining journey and scurried back to the car for dinner at Spring Creek BBQ in Monson.
What a great idea! I had always enjoyed Mike and Kim’s cooking when I would often be drawn to their smoker trailer at local bluegrass music festivals, but it is clear that they took a good product and have reached the level of outstanding. I enjoyed the best slow-smoked pulled-pork sandwich I have ever had with a fine cole slaw for dinner, and let them know they would be getting a next visit from me in a much shorter timeframe.
I headed back south and, as expected, missed the 150/152 junction in the dark. I checked the map and it looked like I would get to add Skowhegan to my ‘places I’ve driven through’ list. Aside from the lovely old New England architecture and rolling farmland, I was treated to a couple of decent views for my navigational error. During a westward stretch of 150 south, I saw a pink and purple sunset over what I assume was the Bigelows area and quickly caught a nearly full orange moon rising to the east. I would say my enthusiasm at the scene was just a few bong hits shy of surpassing the double rainbow guy.
By 9:30, I had pulled into Thomas Point Beach Campground in Brunswick. I met up with friends, talked, jammed, and kept many Jello shots from falling into the hands of children. I slept out under the stars, and woke to a gorgeous sunrise before pulling my hat over my eyes and sleeping in.
I was home 31 hours after I left, with 6 miles on the trailrunners and 531 miles on the McRatmobile - almost a quarter of the distance of the AT. I was satisfied. I had kept a promise and packed so much fun and foolishness into the weekend that I’ll have to thank MEB for the opportunity when I see her next.
------- Afterward ---------
I have two and a half dozen ice cream sandwiches until I hit my initial quest goal of 500. I think I’m having too much fun to quit.
A couple of weeks ago, the long-suffering Mrs. McRat asked me how many I was planning on doing.
“No idea really. I planned on 500 but it’s been a lot more fun than I expected.”
“How long is the Appalachian Trail”, she asked”
“Around 2200 miles,” I replied.
“Promise me,” she said with the weariness that comes with years of marriage to a fool, “you wont do more than that many”.
I just grinned. She has no idea she may have just raised the bar significantly.
I just don’t know if that is a promise I can keep.
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