Home in the White Mountains

The snow began to fall. I raced the storm clouds north until they were in my rear view mirror and all around was blue skies once again. I found myself on I-81 constantly weighing my options of where I’d like to hike and camp next.

West Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania high points were all 3-hours west, back the opposite direction from where I was driving; one by one I said, “not today” and continued soaking up the 39-mpg that I was currently experiencing along Interstate 81.

My 16-hour view

Concluding that I would reluctantly need to resupply on food perhaps once more along my northerly journey, I pulled off in Front Royal, VA - a town which offered a plant-based food shop and a National Forest? Sounds like a good evening with free camping to me.

At Better Thymes I stocked up on local honey, organic in-house ground peanut butter, cacao pods, tofu, tempeh, oats and several other delights that I probably did not need at this point in my road-trip, it sure was fun to explore the superfood shop, however.

Next up, George Washington National Forest where I drove and drove some more, only to find a full campground and posted warnings of high water which was reaching flood-stage all over the vicinity. Every parking lot I checked notified us would-be campers that the lots are checked and no-camping is strictly enforced.

Driving north, into the storms

With no cell phone service and four apples cut and cored, I sped up the on-ramp back to Interstate 81, to take me north and away from Maryland - back in search of other free camping options.

Committed to simply driving until too tired to drive on, I drove for an additional 10-hours and 4-minutes; in other words - I drove until 3:40am, covering the final 611-miles back home.

The torrent of rain began in Pennsylvania and was perhaps the worst I had ever driven in; in my journal it was referred to as “hellish” rain. I passed slowly by another major accident: a semi-truck smashed through the guardrail while a nearby SUV lay toppled on its roof. A better part of the highway was spent watching my speedometer hover around 40-mph, slowly but safely - I had a friend awaiting my safe return.

Home, in the White Mountains

Once the rain tapered off along I-88 in New York, the fog crept in and it was thick! Traffic lights were out in several towns as I meandered my way back to New Hampshire, stopping to cut my hunger with a block of raw tofu, and to help remain awake through the state of Vermont. Slowly, I ticked off the foggy miles until pulling into a parking spot at a place with free camping - I was back home to see Alanna, the familiar face I’d visit with frequently throughout the long miles.

It is beyond words how nice it was to see a familiar face; the welcome-home hug seemed to last until the sun came up. I wanted to sleep but also wanted to visit with the one person who I talked to during the entire 21-day cross-country road-trip. Eventually, showered and clean, I found my way to bed for a few hours of shut eye.

When the morning light began to creep through the window blinds, we both decided - what could be a better way to welcome oneself back to a beloved home in the White Mountains than a trek into the actual high hills? With a leisurely start to the day we packed hiking bags, mine still geared up with ice tools, and drove to the nearby Blueberry Mountain trailhead.

On Blueberry Mountain

What a joy it was to share trail-time with someone; while it had been a truly incredible journey to travel inside ones own mind while scaling glaciers in pitch darkness and running trails by only the narrow beam of headlamp; there is something special about sharing thoughts and scenery of underfoot and distant alike with someone in real time - especially someone in school to learn herbal medicine; her love of plants with my adoration for trees and geological history complement to create fantastic conversations - a most charming way of spending a first day home in the White Mountains.

Many thanks and praises to Alanna for checking in on me before and after climbs, and responding to a call or text, despite the often inconvenient 4-hour time discrepancy.