Waldo knows where he’s going… Mostly.
Of all the paths you take in life, make sure some of them are dirt.
— John Muir
Continued from last week…
The Midstate Trail began in the 1920s. At first, it ran from Mt Watatic to Mt Wachusett, about 22.5 miles. In 1972, a group of people came together to create a trail that goes from the New Hampshire border, south to the Rhode Island border, about 90.6 miles. However, the only way to get to the trail at either border is by hiking, so the effective length of the trail is more like 101.6 miles, running from just north of the New Hampshire/Massachusetts border to just south of the Massachusetts/Rhode Island border. Until today, Waldo and I have only walked about 10% of the way. After we’re done today, that will be expanded to around 17%. A good start, but we have a ways to go.
So far, we’ve gone up and down some hills, but nothing like Waldo and I had to endure around Mt Watatic. We’re climbing up a gentle slope when, out of nowhere, a medium-sized dog with no leash appears in front of us and bounds with youthful puppy energy in our direction. I watch carefully because, if he’s not friendly, we could have a problem. But he’s only interested in meeting Waldo and the two of them do a I’ll-sniff-yours and you-sniff-mine hello. Right behind the leashless dog are two women and two other dogs, also off leash.
We exchange greetings and then I home in on the fact that one of them is wearing a t-shirt that says, “State Police,” on it. “Are you a cop?” I ask. Phyllis gives me a sidelong glance as if questioning the wisdom of the question.
“Yes, I’m a State Trooper,” she says.
“I parked beside Rte 12, at Blackburn Village, is that legal? Am I going to get towed?” I ask. “I’m completely off the tarmac.”
“Rte 12 is a state highway, so it is illegal,” she answers, “but you’ll probably be okay. The law is really there so we have legal recourse if someone is being a nuisance.” That last part would be reassuring if only the first part weren’t there.
We say hello to each other’s dogs and continue on our way.
After less than a mile more, we pass by a lake. A sign says, “Camp Winnekeag.” There are some buildings on the shore nearby and Phyllis and I wonder if they’re likely the ones who built and use the log amphitheater where we rested. The trail follows a road for a few hundred yards, then takes off to the right, back into the woods. By this time, we’ve come almost 5 miles, over hill and dale, and we’re starting to get a little tired. My phone says we’ve only gained about 700 feet in altitude, but that’s enough to make me feel it in my muscles. I turn and look at Phyllis, who is bringing up the rear, so she doesn’t get tangled in Waldo’s leash, and ask, “How you doin’, old girl?”
“I’m fine,” she replies. “I can feel it in my legs that we’ve been climbing some hills, but they aren’t yet that painful.”
“Well, you are old, you know. A whole year older than I am.”
“Oh yeah? How’s your back?”
“It’s doin’ good.” She knows I sometimes have trouble with it. “Beginning to feel a bit tired, though.”
“I noticed you slowed down a notch or two.”
“Yep. Think I’ll just sit here on this rock for a breather.” I sit on a boulder and rest my legs. After only about 2 minutes, I’m back up and plodding along, only now at a noticeably faster pace.
“That’s all it took?” she asks.
“Yep,” I say, “Just needed to rest the old leg muscles for a while.” Even so, for the next two miles, every 30 minutes or so, Phyllis askes how much further we have to go and I reply, “Oh, a mile or two.”
“That’s how you always answer that question,” she says.
I too am looking forward to getting back to the car.
Finally, tired and somewhat sore, we break out of the woods and see the car where we left it, on the side of the road. It was not towed. It’s been 5 hours and 25 minutes since we started, we gained 724 feet in elevation and walked 7.37 miles.
“How’re you feeling?” I ask.
“It was just the right amount of hike,” she answers. “Hard enough to give me a good work out, but not so long that I feel like I’m gonna die. I’m really glad I came.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to join us again soon.”
“I just have to fit it into my schedule.”
“Yes, you do.” I let Waldo in the passenger seat (that’s his place and always has been) and Phyllis gets in the back. “For now, it’s back home for dinner, a rest in the recliner and a nap,” I say.
I rest my weary bones on the driver’s seat, let out an inaudible sigh, and begin the trip home.
Amphitheater near Lake Winnekeag.