Left Windsor Furnace this morning to head for Allentown Hiking Club shelter some 16 miles down the path. The skies were an ominous gray from the outset and at noon the rain started coming down. Cosmo and I ducked into Eckville shelter to dodge the rain.
The place was fit for a king. It was fully enclosed and had the goods: bunks, books, solar shower and charging station. Two women, Aussies both, were already there.
They were on paid leave from work. Apparently Australians get 6 weeks paid vacation time per year. Still trying to figure out how to apply for dual citizenship.
The only appreciable hikes in Australia are apparently over miles of arid flatland, the ground cracked by barely-tolerable heat (and that’s if your a kangaroo). The people out there have skin two inches thick just as irreversibly burnt as the land. These two didn’t fancy planning helo-delivered h20 airdrops and thus found themselves on the other side of the globe taking cover from a cold, New England drizzle with us.
It was interesting listening to a foreigner’s analysis of American culture. Neither had a high opinion of customs. “Four hours of waiting for a five minute interview!” One was saying, tossing her hands up helplessly. “It’s like they want you to blow up on em’.” There was also much ado about Trump, that came to a head like this: “The next time we come it’ll be to see the Great Wall of America! I mean really?”
I liked them.
Cosmo and I saw them again that night at the shelter. Along with a few familiar faces from back down the trail. A couple new ones too, namely a thru-hiker and his visiting girlfriend. She was a bit chatty for a tired hiker gathering, still buzzing with the frantic energy of urban life stoked to an even more chaotic degree — college life. The others, thru hikers all, were on a different beat, slower, less coffee shop more mountaintop. When you move all day at a walk your mouth slows to match the pace.
Soon enough all were heading to bed. But today was a special day: I’d hit my 500 mile mark, and my trail brother, Cosmo, hadn’t forgot. He tossed me a double shot of whisky before wordlessly slipping into his sleeping bag.
So I commemorated the accomplishment in style: with liquor and a snickers.
What can I say, hikers do things right.

Moving steady — Nomad