Doris turned westward towards the White Mountains. Much of
the same here, rain and clouds and beautifully rising mounds of granite and
pine. We rolled into Woodstock and found a campground with a spot right next to
a spring fed brook. Did some exploring of the local area and settled in for the
long, cold night. I had my eyes set on the Franconia Ridge for the following
day, just hoping the sky would dry out and raise up a couple thousand feet to
make that possible.
But it was not to be. Reports of sleet on top of the ridge,
a 70+ mph wind, and it only being 5am did not bode well. Two hours later it did
not look like the storm was going to be lifting, so we set off for Ben &
Jerry’s in Vermont. Two and a half hours later we arrived. It didn’t look like
they flat out sold ice cream there and I didn’t want to leave Eins in the car
for a tour, so we headed back. Some quick research led me to Rumney Rocks where
I climbed around for a bit before calling it quits. Drove back into Woodstock
and saw the clouds high and sparse in the sky. I clenched my teeth and drove
back out to Franconia. The perfect play of light and shadow on the
mountainsides, the ridge looking clear as can be. Checked the weather and it
still had a grim outlook on the temperature, but the clarity and the photos I
missed. I’m still bitter about that. Next time. Next time.
Headed to Vermont again, this time Newport, about five miles
from the Canadian border. Stumbled around the lakeside for a while and got my
oil changed since I was early. Called up my cousin and we met to exchange a
growler of beer for lunch. If you’ve ever wondered what an outdoorsman looks
like, look no further, ladies and gentlemen;
That right there is the epitome of getting out and doing
shit. This guy leads an interesting story, and I’m definitely going to keep
tabs on how it all plays out. We headed back down to the docks, had some food
and exchanged stories. We parted and I headed back towards the Gunks, to see a
bit more of New Paltz.
Except for me, there’s not much to see. I grabbed a
delicious burrito and moped along the streets for a bit, dissatisfied with the
general atmosphere surrounding the town. Or maybe it wasn’t the town. Maybe it
was me. Two weeks of rain and clouds and fog. I still saw plenty, but I didn’t
get that…that vista. I decide to cut it a day short, see Niagara falls, then
head home. One last pin on the map, a good one, of powerful, rushing water
slamming down hundreds of feet and culminating in a deafening roar. Something
for my eyes to drink in aside from flashing white dashes and the consistent
drone of asphalt.
Fuck.
I barely made it to a gas station in Buffalo then put the
spurs to the steed as we shot out into northeastern Ohio. Then I caught sight
of the lake. I could feel it coming at me. The trees shielding the interstate
did not have the continuous green aura flanking them. It was a blue haze that
assured my mind there was nothing behind them but freedom, but openness. And
then I saw it, that vast body of water with no end in sight. It’s the same
heart stuttering moment as when I see the ocean or a colossal mountain range.
It has always mystified me, the descriptions of natural
wonders, of sights that would cause a person’s mind to seize. How the lone hero
crests the summit only to have their breath taken away by the valleys that lay
before them. How the waking mind witnesses that first sunrise over the waters
of an eternal sea and fails to comprehend the distance of that void. That sense
of peace.
I don’t feel that. I don’t think I ever have. I want to
scream, scream, scream at it. I feel the air in my lungs beg to explode past my
lips. I want to shout down the oceans and the trees and the mountains. I don’t
want to revel in silence. It strangles me not to laugh and jump and point and
desire and yearn. A pure culmination of
frustration and agony and ecstasy.
If I could, I would rip open my chest, pry back my
ribs, and begin to stuff handfuls of leaves and moss and dirt and bark and
insects and rocks and stuff it into that bleeding wound, then drink that briny
beautiful seawater until I choke and overflow and puke it all out. To be left a
ragged, panting husk of a human being on my hands and knees, consuming and
consumed. I want to scream. Anger for having not seen it before, anger for
leaving it, joyous for being able to witness it.
I want to choke on it.
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