Night 31: The Grass Isn’t Always Greener for The Mt. Goat
Sunday, October 10th, 2010
Mountain Goat on an ATV with his dog.
Monday 7-5-2010
0 Miles Hiked, 1932.7 Miles To Springer
It was just Mt. Goat and I at the High 5 this morning. After I woke up I headed to the big orange box to see what Mt. Goat was up to.
“Caretaker and Nightcrawler told me there was a musical festival in town called Nateva. I think they said the Flaming Lips were going to be there.” I said.
“Really, I like some of their stuff, and I know a few of the other bands that are supposed to be there.” Mt. Goat said.
“Yeah, I’d only be interested in seeing the Flaming Lips cause I’ve never heard of any of the other bands there. That band will always remind me of my good friends’ little sister’s funeral. The Flaming Lips’ song, Do You Realize, played as they walked her fourteen year old sisters white casket out of the chapel.” I said.
“It’s the worst when a kid dies. No parent should have to bury their own child.” Mt. Goat said. “My dad passed away last year.”
“I’m so sorry.” I said.
“It was completely unexpected. He had a heart condition that there was nothing they have done anything about even if they had known about it. His heart pretty much just exploded with no warning.” He said.
“That’s terrible.” I said.
“I remember I was at work. I was a waiter and it was a really busy night. I had like five different tables. The girl who worked there told me the phone was for me. My sisters friend was the one who called, and I remember she said, ‘Your Dad’s dead.’ I asked if it was some sort of sick joke and she said, ‘No.’ Next thing I remember I was in my bosses office and he was slapping me awake. He asked if I felt okay to drive and told me to go home and get to my mom and little sister and then to get to the hospital.” He explaned.
“That’s awful. ” I said, not knowing what else I could say. I felt like my sentiments of sorrow were so insufficient and felt stupid for any complaints I had made about my ankle. I couldn’t imagine losing a parent. I knew at this point in my life losing a parent would destroy me and here he was still standing and living a dream of his.
“After he died I pretty much spent the next year tripping, I don’t remember much of the last year, and here I am hiking the AT, so that’s what I’m doing now.” He said.
“I hadn’t really lived. I’d never experienced pain like Mt. Goat and I never wanted to. Hearing him talk about the loss of his father sent me to a place I hate to go but I place I end up often when I have enough time to think about it. I began thinking about losing my parents about how my time with them would always be less than the time of my older siblings. I’ve always worried about losing my parents while I was still young because they had me when they were forty three. It didn’t take me to long to realize my parents would be as old as most people’s grandparents by the time I got married and started having kids. I hated thinking maybe they wouldn’t get to see me get married or have kids, and I hated the idea that once they were gone I’d have to really become a grown up because there wouldn’t be any grown ups to pick up if I fell,” I thought all of this and I felt alone and I wanted to go home.
I took my anxiety about losing my parents and started walking back to the RV and as I walked I saw Farm-A-Sea walking up the street toward the High 5. It was mid morning now and Farm-A-Sea, Mt. Goat, and I were all sitting in the conex. I sat with my writing pad while they smoked a bowl. Mt. Goat passed the glass bowl back to Farm-A-Sea and he dropped it as he picked it up. The bowl fell to ground and shattered into tiny glass shards.
Farm-A-Sea looked down at the multi-colored glass shards scattered across the ground. He went through the full spectrum of emotions. First, sadness, as his face contorted into a frown. Then denial, as he said, “Maybe we can fix it.” This was followed by anger as he said, “Damn, I loved that bowl, that was my favorite fucking bowl.” Finally he came to acceptance as he said, “Maybe we can still scrap the resin out and smoke that, but we might end up smoking up some shards and getting them into our lungs.”
Farm-A-Sea immediately began looking for a broom. He was so worried that someone might step on the glass and get hurt.
As Mt. Goat later said, “Farm-A-Sea may be a drug addict, or at least enjoy drugs to high degree, but he’s a really smart kid, and he’s unbelievably nice, he does everything like he would if a scout master was watching.” He said.
Everything Mt. Goat said was true. Farm-A-Sea was a smart guy and in every interaction I had seen between him and someone else he was kind and generous, which made me think maybe drugs don’t make bad people.
“I thought about taking some LSD on the fourth of July and tripping alone in the woods, but I decided not to.” Farm-A-Sea said.
“Is it more scary to trip alone or with other people?” I asked.
“Wait. You don’t smoke weed, you’ve never done LSD, ecstacy, coke, or anything?” Mt. Goat asked.
“No.” I said.
“What about mushrooms?” Mt. Goat asked.
“No.” I said as I laughed, thinking that mushrooms seemed more extreme then weed.
“Dude, you’ve got it all wrong, tripping isn’t scary whether you’re alone or with people. Tripping is just awesome all the time.” Farm-A-Sea said.
I was still skeptical and didn’t plan on finding out if tripping was in face, “Just awesome all the time.”
“I did acid once, and you just realize that like, the sky is the guitar, is your father, is the universe.” Mt. Goat said.
None of what he said registered at all. “What the hell was he saying?” I thought.
“I haven’t done acid since then, but that shit was intense.” Mt. Goat said.
“Sounds pretty intense.” I said as I imagined a guitar as someone’s father and didn’t see it really working out.
Farm-A-Sea carefully swept up the broken glass that surrounded him and began scrapping out the resin that he was still able to get.
“Good thing I brought this metal pipe as a back up he said as he pulled it out of his pocket.” Farm-A-Sea said.
He loaded and lit the metal pipe and it appeared he had officially stopped mourning his glass one.
Caretaker got a call from a hiker who had stayed at the High 5 last year. His name was Blue Eyes. Last year Blue Eyes made it to Andover on his NOBO thru hike and could no longer hike as a result of a torn meniscus. Caretaker told me he had been stuck at the High 5 last year much like I currently was but his trip had to wait to be finished until this year. The reason Blue Eyes was calling was because he had finished the trail and after 7 hours of fruitless hitching attempts had decided to give up and give his friends at the High 5 a call knowing they would come through for him.
Just as Caretaker left to get Blue Eyes two Juvenile-State-Appointed-Defense-Attorney-Section-Hikers-From-New York came knocking at the High 5′s front door. They entered they RV and once they started talking they didn’t really stop and though they were nice enough, hearing about their lives depressed me. They were in their early forties, had no children, no wives, no girl friends, and the one guys only companion was a cat who apparently attacks him.
“My cat, Romeo, will wait until I’m carrying a bowl of cereal from the kitchen to the dining area, he’ll jump out at me from behind my couch. He’ll start clawing at my legs until I drop or completely spill the bowl and sometimes he jumps out climbs up my legs, and up my body, and he claws my face and just claws and claws while I scream.” He said in his nasaly New York accent.
He and his friend had hiked all the AT in sections except for 70 miles in Georgia and the just over 200 miles from Andover to Katahdin. This was the only thing about their lives that seemed interesting and I think they knew this as they shared their sad daily routines.
When the New York lawyers left to head down to get lunch Mt. Goat told me hearing them talk about their day to day lives was liking hearing his worst nightmare described in detail.
“I hope I’m never working at a job just so I can pay for the car I use to get to the job and the house I only get to use to sleep in while I’m not working at the job that I have to have to pay for the house and car.” He said.
Their seemed to be an incredible amount of logic in a statement that might have at another time sounded nonsensical.
“I feel the same way.” I said.
I’d realized in the short time I’d been hiking that I want to be someone who is living more than they work, and not working more than they live.
Rose-Understanding Mt. Goat a little better.
Bud- Getting back on the trail.
Thorn- New York Lawyers downer lives.
Tags: adventure, andover, appalachian trail, big orange box, crazy cats, death, july, lawyers, loss of a child., loss of father, maine, neteva, new york, pipe, resin, rv, sprained ankle, the flaming lips, thru hiker, thru hiking | Posted in Appalachian Trail | No Comments »
