A Thousand and One Appalachian Tales
part fifteen
Paradise Lost
"On a spring morning 50 years ago, a young man from Pennsylvania began a backpacking trip that would lead him from Georgia to Maine on a trail built by volunteers with vision and perseverance - The Appalachian Trail. Since Earl Shaffer's first solo one-season hike, many people have hiked it's entire length and millions have visited this treasured trail."
Wayne E. Gross, March 1998<pg xiii, Appalachian Trail Guide Pennsylvania, Tenth Edition
©Copyright 02002. Fresh Ink. All rights reserved.
The Agnostic Monk lifted the bloodied frame from his back and allowed the cool breeze to tend to his wound. Since replacing the frame in Duncannon, his pack had been taking a piece out of him one bite at a time. He was feeling inertia for the first time since leaving Georgia. The pain was taking it's toll. He began to wonder if he would even make it to Port Clinton.
But with no other choice, he picked himself up off his perch, atop the ruins of an old fire tower at the summit of Stony Mountain, and pressed painfully on. There were many signs of horse activity and sure enough, a few soon passed by with riders atop. They seemed rude even though they were not supposed to even be on the AT. But what was a lone Monk to do?
Shortly thereafter, he passed through the virtually non-existent ruins of Yellow Springs Village. A sign was kind enough to inform him of his location. Then, after passing a few trail junctions, he reached Rausch Gap Shelter for the evening. There, he met another thru-hiker who proudly displayed a handful of the strangest mushrooms he had ever seen. They had an odd honey-combed surface. The other thru-hiker explained they were the coveted Morrell mushroom, a precious treat and very hard to find. He would not share.
The Monk settled into his evening routine, and less than an hour later had cooked, eaten, and cleaned up. He began to peruse the register in the waning light. Rausch Gap Shelter was affectionately called the "Half-Way Hilton" even though it was no longer near the actual half way point. Nevertheless, thru-hikers celebrated their stay there with suitable aplomb. It had a skylight and in front was a metal water trough. The trough was dry but just as the ever trusty Philosopher's Guide had said, it began filling up at night, making a noise like a "devil worshiper playing on steel drums." For some reason he preferred this to the Whippoorwills.
The next morning he was up and out, skipping breakfast to stay ahead of the heat. After a minor bump known as Second Mountain, The Monk soon found himself on a brief road walk along Ridge Road. This reached Pa 443 where the Trail continued past a phone booth before a brief walk in the woods brought him to Pa 42 and Swatara Gap. There, the Trail crossed Swatara Creek on the new Waterville Bridge for hikers before crossing under I-81. On the other side, he found a small spring and cameled up before a quick ascent brought him to the crest of Blue Mountain. Once there it was smooth sailing all the way. He crossed Pa 645 to Fisher Lookout, then skirted Pa 501 to Kimmel Lookout before crossing it. He pushed past the trail junction to Pilger Ruh Spring and again at the junction to Round Head and Shower Steps. It was a hot afternoon and his pack was keeping him well informed of it's presence. He stopped for a long siesta in the shade at Shekellamy Lookout. Finally he made it to Hertlein Campsite in the mid afternoon and decided he could go no further. Since 01988 two shelters have been built along this section, William Penn Shelter and Route 501 Shelter. But back in 01988, there were no shelters for 31 miles past Rausch Gap. There was a small stream so he conserved his spring water and boiled the stream water for dinner. It was a wondrous star-filled night so he stretched out on top of his bag and stared out into space until he fell fast asleep.
July 19th, he reluctantly strapped himself into his torture chamber, his dungeon of despair, and plodded on. A minor, almost imperceptible impression a tenth of a mile later brought him to Shuberts gap. Then, a quick assent up the other side returned him to the flat, smooth crest of Blue Mountain. Before reaching Pa 183 he past a marker indicating the site of Fort Dietrich Snyder (1756). This was one of a chain of forts built for protection against Indian Raids.
Continuing on, the Trail followed an old road before dropping down for some good old fashioned sidewindering. Minutes later The Monk reached the trail junction which led to Black Swatara Spring. He happily trudged the .3 miles down. He was out of water. While there, he ran into Buddy Bear and Bare Bait, or rather, they ran into him. They had apparently stayed at Piger Ruh Spring where they were more assured of fresh water. Water was obviously going to be their biggest concern traveling through Pennsylvania. They were noticing too that many of the springs were drying up during the summer months. Indeed, the much hyped rocks of Pennsylvania were as nothing compared to the greater need for water. The Monk already knew first hand what severe dehydration could do. Everyone, now cameled up, was gung-ho to get to Port Clinton by nightfall so they pressed on.
They ascended back up to the Trail. Near the junction of Eagles Nest Trail they encountered another band of people riding horses. Buddy Bear and Bear Bait had encountered horses yesterday too. These people were a bit more friendly and stopped to be polite. This gave Bear Bait a chance to explain that the AT was not for horses and that it was damaging the Trail. The others explained they were told it was ok. No one was unpleasant even though Bear Bait vented vitriol for about an hour afterwards.
Soon they arrived at Neys Shelter. There was water but the Philo Guide questioned it's purity and so did they. They continued on after a brief lunch and ceremonial signing of the Register. They stopped again to fill up at Phillip's Canyon Spring then it was a short easy hike all the way to Port Clinton.
The three made their way to Helen's Hotel where they split a room for the evening. They immediately took long hot showers, peeling from them the layers of the Trail like so much latex from the TV show Mission: Impossible.
Later, refreshed, the stopped down to begin carbo-loading large quantities of .35 cent drafts. Ken Bushpig was there, as were Zero, Pablo and Mom, Mr. Rogers and the Lemmondrop Kid. They were deep in discussion.
Apparently everyone had met Wingfoot. He was a proud, somewhat outspoken proponent of the Appalachian Trail. Some might add overzealous and arrogant. He signed his register entries, 'Wage Peace!' and a few felt vociferously put off by this. It seemed to The Monk that they were grasping at flaws. They were using this corny 'Wage Peace' thing as a reason to dislike the man when in fact, it was the other way around. They already did not like him and were using that as an excuse to attack his linguistic style, or lack thereof. Another thing that bothered them was his annoying purist's pledge. They felt it was like telling others they were not thru-hikers unless they conformed to his rules and regulations. They did not tell him how to hike his hike and they resented him telling them how to hike theirs.
The Monk discovered he was in the middle of a full blown gripe session. He tried to say something positive but to no avail. They continued to dismiss Wingfoot and his jingoisms, even though he wasn't even there. He never liked talking about others behind their backs so he kept quiet. He felt it was inappropriate to say something negative about someone, especially on the Trail.
The next morning, after a quick stop at the PO, The Monk was loading up and fretting about his pack, when he spotted Buddy Bear hacking away at his closed-cell foam sleeping pad with his knife. He asked him what he was doing and Buddy Bear explained that he did not need a full length foam pad for the Trail. It was too long and took up too much room and weight, he decided. He finished cutting off the piece and tossed it aside. The Monk asked him what he was going to do with it and Buddy Bear replied, "why? do you want it?"
The piece was a perfect fit between the mesh and metal frame. The Monk tried it on and his pack felt like pure bliss! He was in seventh heaven. Buddy Bear to the rescue! It was nothing short of a last minute stay of execution. He marveled to himself at the ultimate synchronicity of it all!
They left shortly before ten, crossing the Schuylkill River on a railroad bridge. The Trail followed along the river, crossing under Pa 61, before beginning a steep ascent up yet another Blue Mountain. Or, was it the same Blue Mountain? The Monk did not know. But as he excelled at uphills, he quickly sprang ahead, leaving Buddy Bear and Bair Bait behind. As he stopped at Pocahontas Spring to fill his water bottle, he noticed that all the springs in Pennsylvania had names. Then he continued on to Windsor Furnace.
This was an old pig iron works and the remains of the foundation was still there in the undergrowth. A heavy stillness blanketed the land. Perhaps it was just the humidity. At the shelter he found a note in the register next to a long article about two women who had lost their lives back near Pine Grove Furnace, earlier that year. The Monk had heard about this back in Georgia. The article told of how Stephen Roy Carr had encountered two women in the woods one night. He shot the both and left them to die. But one woman did not and managed to get help. After a two day manhunt, they finally caught him not far down the road, loading cattle. This terrible story had haunted him all the way since Georgia, and there at the shelter, reading the article, it all boiled over. He felt compelled to try and put his feelings into words. He regrets the rough-hewn imperfections of those words, his all-pervasive inability to write poetry, and any emotional distress those words may have caused others. If such was the case, it was certainly not his intent. He only wished to share with others the empathy he felt over the pain and suffering caused by this horrendous act of brutality.
The Ballad of Stephen Roy CarrRebecca was hiking along the AT
along with a friend for a chance to be free
but the walls that stood around them they just couldn't see
when Stephen Roy Carr came down.
He found them alone and his lips cracked a smile,
He hadn't been down from the hills for a while
and he burst in upon them not far from Carlisle
no need for a night on the town.When he found that their interests were not upon him
His blistering smile took a countenance grim
and from a distance he watched as dusk darkened dim
Then went up the road for his gun.
That night in Michaux, the State Forests bled
as Claudia took several shots to the head
and their packs and their tent were soon splattered red
there was nowhere left to run.
And you who preach of good faith
and spread the gossip's tale
do you believe they got what they deserved
for committing a lover's sin?Claudia lay stilled in a pool spilled from life
the attack that so suddenly cut like a knife
and Rebecca now struggled in delirium's strife
three bullets lodged in her head.
And she ran through the hills in panic's domain
not feeling a thing, no not even the pain
and somehow they found her and her tears fell like rain
for her best friend later found dead.
And you who talk a good line
and point where others fail
do you believe that evil lives
beneath the surface of the skin?On the Fifteenth of May they caught Stephen Carr
he was helping load cattle, he hadn't run far
and the biggest State manhunt was staged like a star
but to his whereabouts they hadn't a clue
with canines and choppers they scoured the land
full media coverage stood at their command
but the final tip came from an old friend and farm hand
oh our heroes those State boys in blue.
And you who have watched from the start
glued to your TVs in disgust
do you believe he'll get a fair trial
or do you even care?And the trauma's now ended, the horror has passed
the water's now tranquil and reflections are cast
and some of us wonder, how long it will last
before the next one steps out of line.
And what does it matter of Stephen Carr's fate
his punishment comes just a little too late
and how much must we spend to watch every prison gate
before we see that it's we who decline?
and you who know right from wrong
and think the system just
do you believe the problem's been solved
as another man fries in the chair?
Blowout
"Nothing worth anything is ever easy."-Ancient adage
Continuing on, The Agnostic Monk ascended up Pulpit Rock. He stopped to marvel at the miracle which had transformed the hitherto bed of nails strapped to his back into a deluxe mobile condo with hot tub and Jacuzzi. Indeed, the comfort rating went through the roof! A slice of foam padding was all that he needed. He was afforded excellent views of the Pinnacle so he decided to push on and stop there for lunch.
The guide book noted that "many consider the Pinnacle to be the most spectacular vista in all of Pennsylvania." This turned out to be quite an understatement. As he sat there, Buddy Bear and Bair Bait caught up and the three of them enjoyed a leisurely siesta, soaking in all they could. They found a Trail Register, in a box by a tree, and together ate lunch with the many who passed before and left their words therein.
After an eternity far too short, they continued on. It was an easy 5.4 miles to Hawk Mountain Road which they made in good time. They arrived at the Eckville Hiker Hostel, around 4 pm, to quite a gathering.
34. Todd and Cindy's Eckville Hiker Hostel: for Thru-Hikers only, about 15.5 miles north of Port Clinton. At only paved road crossing A.T. leading to Eckville, go right 300 yards to hostel on left. Hostel is converted barn with bright red door. Gravel floor inside or camp outside. Outdoor solar shower, spring and outhouse. Todd and Cindy sell ice cream, cookies, soda, Coleman at cost when they are there, but they are very busy, creative people so don't get your hopes up. Todd and Cindy have done both the A.T. and the PCT. Continental Divide is next. Cindy has written books about both those hikes. This book, the Philosopher's Guide, was partly Todd's idea..."Well, true enough, Todd and Cindy were not there. In their place were quite a few Thru-Hikers bedding down for the night. Some had stayed an extra night to avail themselves of the opportunity to visit the world famous Hawk Mountain Sanctuary. Founded in 1934, this was the first refuge developed to protect birds of prey as they migrate along the ridge in the fall. According to the Pennsylvania Trail Guide, "prior to it's establishment, Hawk Mountain was the gathering place for hundreds of gunners who would engage in the wholesale slaughter of hawks, falcons, and eagles as the birds passed by the North Lookout."The 1988 Philosopher's Guide, pg 33
Already there were many familiar faces -- The Great Descenders, Pablo and Mom, Zero, Mr. Rogers, and The Lemondrop Kid to name a few. As the evening progressed, Ken Bushpig also showed up. Some afforded themselves a solar powered shower. Many were disparaged to learn there was no easily accessible way to hitch to town for beer. However, one or two had hiked out of Port Clinton with a six-pack or two, so all was not lost.
The subject naturally turned to gear, as it often does. A few discussed the advantages and disadvantages of the Therm-a-rest self-inflating mattress as opposed to the trusty closed cell foam pad. Apparently, Cindy worked for or with the makers of the Therm-a-rest so there must have been a vibe in the air. The Monk related how he had to switched to a Therm-a-rest closed-cell foam pad due to an unfortunate altercation between his self-inflating mattress and the chain-link fence bunks of the shelters in the Smokies. The others thought that maybe he should include this story when he signed the register, so he did. He quickly forgot about it but almost a year later he received a package in the mail from none other than Cindy herself. She had sent him a large handful of patches and assorted repair equipment. Shocked, it took him a while to figure out from where they had come from and why. When he did, he had to laugh. It was incredible. He smiled and said thank you. He told himself that if he ever got around to writing his tales, he would remember to include this story there.
According to the current official guide book there is now a shelter .2 miles away from Hawk Mountain Road. As Maret - The Philosopher - no longer maintains The Philosopher's Guide, we do not know if Todd and Cindy still live near there or maintain a Hiker Hostel. But regardless, their hostel was much appreciated and we owe them a deep debt of gratitude. Thanks for everything!
As the evening fell, talk moved on to a curious entry in the Philosopher's Guide about Lehigh Gap which many hoped to reach tomorrow. It read, "Palmerton, Pa.,two miles left on Pa. 248 (north side of river) with grocery, P.O., restaurant. Stay at the police station for night with free showers (no more kitchen privileges). If you get there after closing or weekends, call 215-826-2311 and someone will let you in. Note: this is not a hostel; this is a favor for hikers..." This sounded too wild to miss and many were psyched to do it as part of their increasingly lengthy list of authentic thru-hiking experiences.
The next day, The Monk awoke refreshed and headed out. After a brief ascent to lubricate his pistons, he lingered for a moment at Dan's Pulpit, with it's fine views, before continuing on to Tri-County Corner. Pablo, Mom, Mr. Rogers and Zero were already there, having whizzed past somewhere around Dan's Spring. They were just packing up and were planning on a full scale effort to make it to Palmerton for the night, still 20.8 miles away. The Monk enjoyed the silence as they departed and had lunch. He decided he was not in a rush. Palmerton did not elevate itself to top priority, stopping to enjoy the scenery did. It turns out this was the site of the very first blazing of the Appalachian Trail in Pennsylvania in 1926. However, as he did not carry the Trail Guide for this section, he did not discover this little fact until years later. Nevertheless, he did admire the excellent views.
Buddy Bear and Bare Bait arrived as he was leaving so he let them have the place to themselves and walked on. The Trail, for all it's insane rockiness, was mostly level. He hopped along at a quick pace, keeping one eye on the Trail, one eye on the rocks, and the other on the remarkable scenery. Past Pa 309, he reached the knife edge, known as The Cliffs. He tingled with excitement at the idea of encountering the real Knife's Edge on Mt. Katahdin.
Next came Bear Rocks with awesome 360 views. The Monk continued on over the summit of Bake Oven Knob(1,560 ft) before speeding past Bake Oven Knob Shelter to Ashfield Road. There, the Trail followed the road briefly before continuing on over unmaintained, very rocky and open terrain. It continued along the ridge, passing over the Pennsylvania Turnpike, which went through the mountain in a tunnel far below. Finally, The Monk arrived at the George W. Outerbridge Shelter just before dark.
He could go no further. In spite of it being a fairly easy hike, it had been a long, glorious day and he was tired. He did not feel bad for not making it all the way to Palmerton. It had been a fabulous day to stop and smell the roses and 27.3 miles was hardly chicken feed. Besides, it was a two mile hitch from Lehigh Gap and, after dark, who knew how hard or safe that would be?
It looked as if he would have the shelter to himself when Buddy Bear and Bare Bait stumbled in a little after dark. They were tired too. It had been a long, hot day for every one. Needless to say, no one stayed up late to watch Letterman.
The next day, The Monk chowed down a Pop-Tart and headed out. It was a short descent down to Lehigh Gap and along the way he met two hikers, stopped for a smoke break, heading south. They were none other than the Smokestacks! The Monk stopped to talk. He last met the Smokestacks in Damascus. This was their second hike of the Trail. The first time was over thirty years ago when they first met. They were Smokestacks back then too.
The Monk was touched by their rampant romanticism as they puffed away. They had met on the Trail and gotten married and there they were, celebrating their thirtieth year anniversary with another thru-hike! Of course, this time they were doing it in sections, a week or two at a time. But they were jovial and happy and it warmed his heart to see them out keeping young.
After a time, he said goodbye and continued north. He dropped quickly down to the gap and arrived at the west end of the highway bridge for Pa 873. He followed it over the Lehigh River. At the east end of the bridge the Trail turned right to follow Pa 248 before making a sharp left to begin a steep ascent up yet another Blue Mountain.
Just as The Philo Guide had said, Lehigh Gap was a "moonscape". Barren exposed rock greeted him as he scrambled up the steep, open face. At the top he lingered to enjoy the fresh views before continuing on along the ridge at a good clip.
Before reaching Little Gap, The Monk encounter a strange sight he could not explain. There, in the trees was a giant cocoon containing what looked like billiard balls. He had no idea what it was but thought it looked menacing enough that he did not want to stay and figure it out. His mind flashed on a scene from the movie Invasion of the Body Snatchers where a pod opens up to reveal a replica of the person inside it. It even looked like something moved around inside it, like tiny snakes. He quickly scurried away.
The climb out of Little gap was short and steep bringing him to an exposed bit of rock known as Weathering knob. He stopped for a peanut butter sandwich and enjoyed the views. He did not stay too long due to the heat.
Once again the top of the ridge was rocky but fairly level. He made good time to Leroy Smith Shelter, arriving in late afternoon. He enjoyed a moment of solitude before Pablo and Mom strolled in. They were followed shortly thereafter, at regular intervals, by Mr. Rogers, Buddy Bear and Bare Bait, and the Lemondrop Kid. The Monk wanted to hear about the night in the police station.
Pablo complied and, over his freeze dried Alpineaire Mountain Chili dinner, stretched a captivating tale of fearless, out of control, captivity. The inmates were indeed running the asylum. But it was all good, he exclaimed with a devilish smile. The cells they slept in were not locked and no ghosts were injured in the making of the movie.
Mr. Rogers didn't think it was as bad as he thought it would be. Nevertheless, he was glad to be out of there. He thought the place was haunted.
The next day, the oppressive heat started early, before anyone could even make it out the door. It pulled on The Monk like an extra layer of clothing, even though he was hardly wearing any. Down to his shorts and a headband, he appeared quite the sight with this large, Amish looking beard. He could not grow more than a wispy Fu Manchu style mustache; everything else grew in like a poodle scarf. It was quite a demented mix. Add to it a brick red color some said looked dark purple, and you've got more than an eyeful.
Many marveled once again at the contraption hanging off the side of his pack. It was a two-liter coke bottle he had fashioned with washers and a hose way back in Hot Springs/ It was designed so he could stop for a drink without having to drop his pack. On a day like today, it was plenty handy.
He stopped briefly at Hahns lookout before dropping sharply down via switchbacks to Wind Gap. He thought this funny. Was it a noun, a verb, or an adjective. Was it the wind through the trees or the wind of a clock? Judging from the switchbacks, he considered it the latter. Wind Gap was hot and there didn't appear to be any wind at all. The air was heavy, cooked by the tarmac in the heat. He crossed under Pa 33, enjoying the moment's shade, then ascended steeply up the other side to the top of the ridge. Hiking in this weather was like trying to move through tar while breathing goo. It was slow going and the water in The Monk's bottle began to boil. After a time he reached Wolf Rocks and took a rest, more to squeegee the sweat from his eyes than to enjoy the views. But as he cooled off he found the views were impressive. So impressive he did not want to trudge on. But he did not want to stay either. It was too hot. He needed shade. 2.2 miles later he arrived at Kirkridge Shelter and crawled inside. He watched the sun beat down outside like a deadly laser, scorching all in it's path. Eventually the afternoon cooled and he was able to venture out for water and to enjoy the fine views just outside the door. Most everyone else had pushed on to Delaware Water Gap for the evening but he couldn't do it. He needed to stay and rest and re-hydrate himself, and this was the perfect place to do it. Water was from a spigot a short ways down a blue blazed trail so he filled up his collapsible water bag and gave himself a mini-solar shower. It felt good. That was when he noticed a big gash on the side of his favorite Vasque Highlanders. Somehow during the day he had managed to put a big tear in his boots. He marveled to himself. It was true. They really do sharpen their rocks in Pennsylvania!
Around evening Buddy bear and Bare Bait wandered in. They had a story to tell. Someone back at Wind Gap had stopped and offered them a lift to town for ice cream. Of course, that was an offer they couldn't refuse. The kind stranger even gave them a ride back to the Trail afterwards! How's that for Trail hospitality?
As the evening cooled the humidity remained. That night, everyone slept on top of their bags, marinating in their own juices.
The next day, it was all anyone could do to stand up. The Monk felt like he was wearing the lead blanket they give you at the Dentist's office when they want to take x-rays. He swam over to his pack, opened the hatch and climbed in. Numerous outlooks dotted the Trail but he could not see them. He was all but blinded by the sweat pouring into his eyes. His glasses needed windshield wipers. It was all he could do to wipe his forehead, his glasses and his eyes, without tripping over Pennsylvania's award winning rocks. Besides, his boots were getting worse. That bummed him out. They were his favorite boots. He bought them over ten years ago. It had taken just about that long to break them in. They were a full leather upper with vibram lug sole. They had a grip like no other and he had come to rely on them on wet and slippery rocks. It would be sad to see them go.
From Lunch Rocks he reached Mount Minsi (1,461 ft) just as the sun was starting to turn the day into a real scorcher. He could not stay. As he descended he was afforded a panoramic view of the water gap and surrounding area. It was like looking at the views from inside a car during the rain. No sooner did he wipe away a wall of sweat than another one appeared. To add to everything, there were many side trails and The Trail was sometimes hard to follow. He stopped at Lookout Rock and could hear the tell-tale sounds of urbania far below. At Eureka Creek he stopped for a head dunk. This cooled him down for a bit but by the time he reached Council Rock, he was back in the red-zone. When he reached Lake Lenape he barely had time to remove his boots before he jumped in. A loud ah issued forth and a portion of the lake evaporated.
Once more cool and collected he humped the final leg into town. He made his way to the Presbyterian Church Hostel. Inside was Ken Bushpig and Zero. The others, Pablo, Mom, and Mr. Rogers, had already left. Strangely, Zero was staying another night and was on his way to get beer. The Monk felt like he had missed something but let it go. He was just happy to be in out of that heat. He looked at his boots. They would not last much longer. Ken Bushpig suggested they could be repaired but it would probably take a while. It didn't matter. He was out of money.
The Monk made some phone calls. He called his friend Mark in upstate New York. As Düg, he had gone to High School with Mark and both had been friends of Dennis. Mark was also significant part of Albany's underground music scene. He had been in several little known groups including Particle, Acid Folk, Grim Surprise and KillTech. It was Mark who had sent him several tapes to listen to in Damascus, who supplied him with homemade collage videos to watch when he was in Germany and Texas. Mark had agreed to come and get him if and when Düg needed him to. The Monk said Düg would. They tried to find a place along the way where they could rendezvous but to no avail. It turned out the best time was at that moment so they decided to rendezvous there, at Delaware Water Gap. Mark got out his trusty road atlas, plotted a course and headed out.
The Monk got off the phone barely realizing what he had done. He had just signed off on the Trail! He was actually getting off. He could hardly believe it. A sudden sadness gripped him. He had come all this way. He decided he would at least cross the bridge into New Jersey. It would be a symbolic victory, From Georgia to Jersey. He didn't like it but it was too hot and humid to complain. Besides, he was out of boots and out of money. These were facts and they could not be ignored. They were insurmountable. He could not get his boots fixed and he could not afford another pair.
After crossing the bridge, he walked back to the hostel and waited. He reflected on the fact that he would be missing one of the places he had been looking forward to for the last 872.9 miles - The Graymoor Monastery in New York.
Inside Ken sat reading his mail and writing letters. His boots were off and he was nursing two blistered toes with fresh air before applying another layer of moleskin. Then, after a time, Mark arrived. The Monk turned to Ken Bushpig and said goodbye.
©Copyright 02002. Fresh Ink. All rights reserved.