10/2/09:
It was a strenuous hike back down the Greenleaf Trail to the trailhead at Franconia Notch. Crawford Notch, and The Highland Center, was on the other side of the mountain, and a short drive. Here, I'd made reservations at Appalachian Mountain Club's newest 'hut', The Highland Center. There were some pet names for the new center used by those more accustomed to the primitive huts run by the AMC. The Highland Center is still a bunkhouse, in that it supplies rooms with 6 bunks per room, as well as rooms with only 2 bunks. But there are also private rooms available, with telephones, bathrooms, heat, towels and linens. All prices include a dinner and a breakfast. It was these comfort features that gave rise to the pet names from the seasoned AMC members. Although I reserved a bunk, given that there were vacant private rooms, I was given my own private room. Instantly, I was spoiled. This would be only the second night I'd spent in a room in a month. Ellie Mae and I were getting quite comfortable taking care of each other each evening. And now, a private room, with a hot shower and linens. I was in heaven. And maybe the timing was good. Though I thought that my sore joints and fatigue was from the hike up Lafayette, I was coming down with moderate to severe case of influenza. Possibly going by instinct, and the strong desire for a comfy-cozy place to rest, I booked 2 more nights at the center. I ate well, rested, and met a number of very interesting people. Though his physical issues with his knees kept him from very many hikes, Frank was a past president of the AMC, and stayed involved with the Highland Center helping the guests. Frank had a great way with people. He served as a volunteer information resource at the center. Several people rotated duties for this position, at the front desk, but Frank had all the greatest stories and could plan the best hikes. After spending my first night in a private room, I was booked into the bunk room. There was only one other bunk, and though initially I'd have been there alone, I was to share the room with a man whose wife had fallen into the creek. She'd gotten a little banged up and her and her husband had decided to spend an extra day and night at the center. I didn't mind sharing, but struggled with getting any sleep that night. I spent a fine evening in the lobby chatting with staff until dawn. I learned about his recent graduation from college, and his interest in a government position in Portsmouth. We got to talk quite a bit about government service. He appreciated my experience with large administrations and the associated political savvy one does well to develop. At dinner, there were great opportunities to meet and get to know people. I was sitting at a table with women from an AMC chapter in New Jersey, and after I spoke about my high school reunion in Westport, CT., she told me she knew Ruth Kaufman very well, and had met Ron Kaufman. Ruth was an AMC member also, and Ron was her son, whom I'd gone to elementary school with, and whom I would see again shortly at my 35th high school reunion. Yes indeed, it is a small world. At another meal, I met a woman who was taking some rigorous hikes that day on her own. She was thin and lithe. We talked, of course, a bit about retirement and my road trip. I explained that in this time of economic stress in the U.S., that I frequently felt guilty and often just told people that I had "stopped working" in January, rather than saying I'd retired. The last thing she said before she set off was, "Don't feel guilty", and that I'd put my time in. There was a highly energetic woman named Doris. Doris said she was an AMC member in South Carolina and that she had won this trip to the Highland Center. She had never hiked before and was looking forward to getting out to a trail. I'm not sure if she ever got out, and I wondered if after I'd recovered some from my flu, if I'd have been able to take her on a short day hike. Actually, I was slow to recover, and never did get back with her on the hiking.
In the lobby area, there were tall ceilings, large windows looking out at the mountains, and very soft seating. I met a woman by the name of Laurel who was a Very Small Home enthusiast. I didn't understand what they did, but she explained that she was an anthropologist who had taught in many different countries and had been exposed to many community environments. She was currently living in Ridgefield, CT. She had a PhD. She explained that in coordination with a green, earth oriented movement, there existed possibilities of engineering communities at a level that were sustainable. Sustainable, in that a minimum of infrastructure would be required to sustain them. I had some knowledge about sustainable living, say, 'off the grid'. And Laurel talked about how in a small house, in a community of small houses, sustainability is enhanced and that shared resources would aid the group. I mentioned that B.F. Skinner book I'd read long ago, 'Walden Two". There was some correlation. I wonder if that's worth some research. Certainly getting into a developing environment of sustainable homes would be easier that getting into an isolated sustainable home, and starting from scratch. There was a great staff at The Highland Center. Everyone was there to help. I understood later that there is a great deal of staff from Europe that sign up for U.S. jobs for the short term. Usually students, but that have no idea of the environment they will be put into. I'm sure that landing in the middle of the White Mountains could have come as a shock to some. To put things in perspective, I mad an effort to find an all night diner, and landed at a 24 hour Dunkin' Donuts in North Conway, NH some 45 minutes away.
The troop of 10 eight year olds under the care of 3 dads. They were thrilled to have found a video machine in the building that would play their copy of Jaws. It gave them an hour or so to grab a few beers.
During my extended stay, not feeling quite up to a hike and still feeling quite achy and listless, I did manage to get into town to do some laundry. A man came in and I asked if he had change for a dollar. I was short a quarter for the washer. He said he didn't and suggested I try the restaurant across the street. He asked me about my Hummer's gas mileage. His name was Mike Whitcomb. Mike is a retired fire-fighter not far from where we were. When he retired severeal years ago, his wife asked him what he was going to do, now that he was retired. He said, "I'm going home." She said, "You are home, silly." To which Mike replied, "No, I'm going back home, by the Big Hill, (As Mount Washington in known). He has a home on a piece of property in town here, where he spends weekdays, and on weekends his wife comes up to town to stay. Mike said that he is one of four men who can say that he built the diesel engines that climb Mt Washington on the Cog Railway. Mike is an engineer. He said the locomotives are powered by John Deere diesels. They push 70 passengers in a railway car up the mountain, and let them back down. He invited me to come out on a weekend if I wanted to see the shop. When I returned to load the dryer, Mike asked if I was a fisherman. And I said that I had a fly rod in the truck. He told me that the river just in front of the Mt Washington Hotel (PIC) was stocked with trout regularly. I should purchase a license at the general store, and try a specific fly. The fishing flies were available at the general store as well. I did fish, and though a couple of fish rose to the fly, never landed one. It was a great day to be wading out on the river.
I had one of those, "I can't believe I get to do this," moments.
