1887.3 miles.
Took a serious writing haitus there -almost made it through New Hampshire without stopping to reflect. Due in part to losing our book a week ago (got it back yesterday through a small series of miracles and kind people), but mostly it was those big and bad White Mountains that had us spellbound and -day after day- plain freakin exhausted.
What a phenomenal place the Whites are. We dropped our pace to 15 or 10 or sometimes 8 miles a day so we could take it all in, take the side trails to the lonely summits, take our time ascending and descending the long, sheer slabs of stone that stood between us and a reasonably secure place to stop and catch our breath. Everyone said this place would be a hard hike -I had no idea they were serious, that "hard hike" would apply to us, too. We've crossed hundreds of mountains, walked over 1800 miles, and are in the best shape of our lives. I thought, "how hard could it be?"
Hard. Awesomely, agonizingly, beautifully, hard.
And now, the Whites behind us, we'll walk into Maine today. For months people we encountered along the trail and in towns have asked us where we're headed. "Maine," we've always replied -confidence growing in that response with every state line we crossed. I guess we'll have to be a little more specific from here on out.
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