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| West Cornwall Covered Bridge |
What's the most famous trail in America? The "Trail of Tears"? No. Come on! The "Ho Chi Minh Trail"? Not even in this hemisphere, much less America. Not the Chisholm Trail, Oregon Trail, or any other stupid trail. Its the Appalachian Trail. Its the King of the Trails. And after spending the last few years gadding about hiking everywhere, I finally showed a roughly five mile section of the Appalachian Trail who's its daddy.
But first let's resume the story from yesterday. I drove out of West Hartford to Litchfield, CT, where I stayed at the Litchfield Inn. That night, a Wednesday, they were hosting a Bar Mitzvah. I didn't realize Bar Mitzvahs happened on Wednesday nights, but, ok. I had a thoroughly average meal at the bar before "retiring" back to the thoroughly average room. The hotel has seen better days; the room have chipped paint, malfunctioning appliances, etc. It was also the darkest hotel room I've ever just barely seen. They must save a fortune on their electric bill. And the walls let in just about any sound imaginable. Thankfully, the blaring public television news broadcast coming through the walls as I got ready for dinner had gone away afterwards. Also thankfully, the average age of most hotel guests around here has been "eat dinner before 5:00 p.m." so I'm generally good for late night type things.
After waking up and having a thoroughly average breakfast (one thing you can't accuse this place of is inconsistency), I was off to Kent, CT and the Appalachian Trail. Now, everyone should know that this marks the "astronauts describing the earth from space" portion of the blog. You remember that? "Well, its just beautiful out there, Houston. Really beautiful. Just really really, uh, beautiful." You send a bunch of engineers into space, that's the kind of prose that will inevitably follow. Lawyers would do the same thing, sadly (only they'd charge more). I'm driving through a spectacularly beautiful portion of the country, and can't think of too much more to say than "so, that drive was really, beautiful huh? Huh?" But, I'll try.
The drive to Kent runs along the same backcountry roads I encountered on the way to Litchfield. Two lanes, running though rolling country. Large but unadorned federal style houses popped up from time to time. I saw some farms but not as many as I expected. The day began on a bleak note, with gray skies dominating. Though as the morning wore on, the sun took over. The drive itself began somewhat serendipitously, however, when after taking a wrong turn I stumbled upon a nice little waterfall and stream running through New Milford, CT. This country reminded me a lot of eastern Pennsylvania, for those of you who may have visited Amish country (or Kim...hey girl...). Its gently rolling, the roads cut straight through the country, and little sprawl exists. Unlike Pennsylvania, however, western Connecticut doesn't contain the same large tracts as Pennsylvania. Or Amish buggies. Or any Amish reality programs. I've heard or seen something about some Amish reality show, and haven't wanted to learn any more. Real Amish won't appear on camera, so right there its not much of a "reality," and while I suppose some rogue Amish terrorist sect might do something along those lines, its just way too far a reach to think some Amish version of the Super Friends crime fighting group could possibly exist. Or whatever the show is about.
Along the way I encountered the provocatively named "Flirtation Avenue," just before Lake Waramug, a small but attractive lake for boating and fishing. As I explained on Twitter, "Flirtation Avenue" is in the same neighborhood as "I've Got an Early Conference Call Tomorrow morning So I'll Just Let Myself out" (see, there's your humor, right there). People had developed properties, in some cases, with very expensive homes covering most of the banks. But some parts of the lake were publicly accessible and so I was able to enjoy some fleeting glances of the lake itself.
Kent lies just a few miles after the lake. Its not much more than a one stop light town with a couple blocks' worth of shops and restaurants. I arrived around 11:30, just as some high school kids from a nearby private country day schools came walking down the hill to crowd the local places for lunch. Keep in mind, this is Town & Country Magazine territory out here. Lauren Bush no doubt has a summer place up here (BTW, Lauren Bush married one of Ralph Lauren's sons, David, thereby making her "Lauren Lauren." I'm sure she didn't change her name though; even without that unfortunate "Sirhan Sirhan" pattern, she'll get further with the name "Bush" than "Lauren" based on her other family members' experiences). Kent's short on the usual antiques/country junk stores, and a bit heavier on knick knacks and sandwich shops. The only discernible reason it exists is because the forest all around it will soon become awash in color, and all those tourists will need somewhere to get some coffee and a muffin. There's aspens, and of course dogwoods and maples. I never got the story but someone has installed a series of metal sculptures around the town proper.
I ate a lunch salad at the Kent Pizza Garden (don't freak out again Stephanie, gluten cop--they made it gluten free) before heading over to the Appalachian Trail access point north of town. To reach the trail head one must navigate a fairly rough road going past some farms and at least one tow truck business, oddly enough. But I finally got there around 2:00 and hiked about three hours. Unlike other sections of the trail, this one picks up very little elevation. The route follows the attractive Housatonic River, which runs on down to Kent and beyond. As rivers you've never heard of go, this one's pretty wide and fast. Just like this girl I knew. OK, there's the time and lack of sleep coming out. My fault. That one's on me. The trail was really green and lush, unlike Texas trails this time of year. Both banks contain an abundance of maples, some of which had just hints of the wonderful colors to which they'll turn very shortly. I saw a few red leaves on trees already. Coming back (I went "out and back" because I wasn't with someone who had another car we could park at the end), I saw another rabbit. This one ducked into the bush pretty quickly. OK, this makes three, count 'em three, rabbit sightings this trip. I knew I should have taken a left turn at Albuquerque.
After finishing, I headed north to reach Great Barrington, in the Massachusetts Berkshires, by night. Route 7 runs through all these western New England towns, and is something of a main drag through the entire region. I stayed on it much of the way, pulling over briefly to check out an excellent covered bridge (see above) in West Cornwall. As I pulled over to get out of the car and take a photo, some guy who introduced himself as "Don" (my "I'm getting creeped out alarm" started ringing at that name) came up on me and offered some suggestions about where I could get the best shot. Oh, and he was pushing a lawn mower. But I appreciated his friendly, helpful advice, and think I got a good one.
I reached Great Barrington around sunset, and settled in for a couple of nights. But I'll end this one here for tonight and get to the Berkshires tomorrow.
Did anyone see the rocket launch? Donna told me it would be visible on the East Coast, but I didn't see it. I was doing laundry and couldn't really see the skies too well. NOT the BallerLifestyle for sure. Normally, I just drop off my dirty clothes at some questionable looking establishment and pick them up later, hoping the worker didn't try on everything before returning it.
Oh, and its down to 45 degrees tonight (as I write this, in Great Barrington). 45 doesn't work for me. I realize its still 80-something at night back in Austin, which I also don't approve. But 45 isn't good. Not at all. How do these people survive month after month of cold weather? Move to where it doesn't snow half the year, would be my advice.
NEXT-on to the Berkshires
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