Rejection and Salvation

The sun was high in the sky as I walked along the road back towards Route 100. Having come out of the mountains at Middlebury Gap, I needed to make my way back to the car, some 30 miles away. It was efficient to walk on the pavement, but I prefer dirt. The highway surface was hot and hard. In my opinion, If you’re going to develop blisters, it will be the road that causes them. I stuck out my thumb trying to hitch a ride towards Pico, but was having no luck. Many license plates were from out of state. After a few miles, I noticed a stream down the embankment from the road. I followed a path down into the shade and finding a swift stream, filled the “dirty bottle” of unfiltered water.

I was loathe to capture water here. It was unknown where it came down from and how much runoff might have been contributed by the road. After filling the bottle, I pulled off my boots and gave my feet a good soak.

I had a bite of some type on my right ankle that was red and was beginning to look infected. It looked more like a horsefly bite than a tick. I washed it with filtered water and applied some antibiotic ointment from my med kit, covering it with a bandage. I laced up and pulled on my pack, heading further down the road.

Several cars passed me by, when suddenly a cyclist stopped. A young rider from Quebec was “bikepacking”a loop and stopped to offer me some water.

I was honored by his gesture of good will. I actually had more water than he did. I thanked him and watched him ride off. I wished that bicycle was built for two!

A few more cars passed. I thought I could improve my curb appeal by looking less threatening. I pulled off my bandana I wore on my head, revealing my “mature” hair color and hairline. A car or two later, a driver pulled over and I trotted quickly to the vehicle.

The gentleman in the car was my age or a a little older. He asked me to put my pack in the back. I noted a blanket with some fur, and guessed this was where his canine copilot sat. You can usually count on a dog lover to bail you out, I thought.

Hopping in the front passenger seat, I thanked him and told him I was grateful for any miles he could give me headed south on Route 100. He offered to drop me off in the town of Rochester.

To ride in the car was a luxury. The air conditioner puffed out a wonderful stream of cool, dry air, and music played quietly on the radio. I told him how I traveled to Vermont once a year to hike a section of the Long Trail.

Not wanting to pry, I casually asked if he had always lived in Vermont.

“when I was sixteen”, he said, “I drove up to Middlebury to look around and decide if I wanted to move here.” He negotiated a turn onto Route 100.

“My car broke down, and I never left.”

I smiled and let out a chuckle.

” I’m going to let you off here in town next to the park. You’ve a good chance of getting a ride there where the traffic slows down.”

He told me that there was a coffee shop just across the street. My pulse quickened at the idea of a large ice filled cup of cold brew.

He pulled over and I grabbed my pack from the back seat. I thanked him again and said goodbye. He pulled away onto the road.

I never asked him his name, nor he mine. Just a gesture of goodwill given to a stranger.