Day 21 (Sept 3)

This is what a very fine morning looks like, in a very fine pine forest. Can't say "dawn" since we figured it best to sleep in, as the sun's angle no doubt betrays. By some inexplicable early-morning logic this makes sense: because the rain is gone and it's such a perfect morning, we ought to stay blissfully tucked away for an hour or so. To avoid overstimulation by suspect happiness, I guess, and honestly weather-based happiness is a tricky little devil, and very fleet of foot.

The pleasantries end soon enough with an abrupt exit onto the road, softened a bit by the discovery there of a stray ziplock full of little foods. How can this chocolate not yet be melted? Its owner must be peeing just around the next tree, or..? This trail is a little short on "trail magic" so we can't help adopting someone's orphans, random as they may be. We'll give you a good home, little fellas! But yards away there's a clue: A crop of blackberries so thick and juicy that perhaps some hiker with more tongue than brain may have cast off his city food like a faith-healed cripple hurls his crutch. Maybe.

And now for five miles of road walk where the trail conference has been unable to negotiate a better route. All part of the game, it seems, when you sign onto one of these underdog trails. There can be some undocumented delights along the way though... on this leg we chance on a self-service produce stand:

As well-vittled as we are with the recent infusion, it's irresistible to pick up a travel-size tomato and a wiggly pepper for $1.25. And of course we're always happy to rid ourselves of a bill and a coin; that stuff's heavy and you can't eat it.

...These roadside joys notwithstanding, we're still a little stung by our inability to have a proper town day in Franklinville, due to its lodginglessness. The fine weather and full battery charge lead to a certain lazy boldness in smartphone usage, and voila, looks like there's a pretty cool cabin on Airbnb not far offtrail! Too far to make it to today, though, or even tomorrow. And on the next day it's already booked. Curse you, information, and all you stand for!...

...or... we could hike like mad for the rest of today, and tomorrow too, and maybe somehow make it anyway! (This is what actually needing a shower feels like. If you're not willing to carry 30 pounds for 40 miles to get to your shower, you probably don't need a shower at all.)

Having more stench than sense, we embark on what seems like a reasonable plan: hiking about 10 extra miles today to a campsite that otherwise we'd never have considered within range, with an equally ambitious trek for tomorrow. And hey, we're truckin', let's go ahead and make a binding reservation, what could go wrong?

Ah, the unthinkable, the trail re-route! Will it be longer, shorter, steeper, slower...? Complete change from the route on the map, so we have no choice but to follow the blazes and hope for the best. With a tickle of dread we realize that it's going over private land nowhere near our planned destination campsite. And not some giant unsung tract of private land either, but basically a neglected creek frontage between suburban developments. Suburbs of what, we can't say, but POSTED, NO TRESPASSING, KEEP OUT, VIOLATORS WILL BE VIOLATED etc, quite literally the warning signs are all there. Somehow the Finger Lakes Trail Conference has (very recently, apparently) negotiated an easement for hiking through these parcels, but clearly it does not extend to camping. And as dusk settles it's clear that there's no way we can reach campable territory before dark, so we will not be able to comply with these no-doubt-well-meant landowner preferences. ("Night-hiking" really is a thing, some people really do it and maybe even like it... suffice it to say, not to our tastes.)

It's one thing to violate state or county regulations, quite another to knowingly flout the fragile agreements under which the trail is established on private land. Well, we're subtle campers, really, impeccably fastidious, with no fire or even a camp stove, just a tiny grey tent. Erected at dusk and gone at dawn, there's no reason to think anyone will be the wiser. But Deb is nervous.