DT Active Life 050617 for web-REVISED

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set before starting again toward Hunter Mountain. However, do not assume that we were not competitive. Far from it. Nearing the shoulder of Hunter, we passed a group that was also hiking the whole way from Prediger Road that we began referring to as “that family.” Perhaps some of our midnight visitors that started four hours before us? We did not know for sure, but this is what we assumed, and as we passed we were filled with the excitement and arrogance that comes with making up four hours on another party in only 12 miles. Maybe it was this sense of adequacy that led to our decision to add the extra 3.2 miles to bag the true summit of Hunter. Dude, what if we add this extra peak, and we pass that family again?! So that was our plan. Coming off Hunter, the extra miles felt like nothing, but when we stopped at the intersection to sit down a minute, I realized the soles of my feet were burning. This sensation did not improve on the featureless descent toward West Kill, which seemed to take an eternity. Jack was now leading, and I was getting flashbacks to the Plateau descent because, once again, I was running out of water. We passed two refill locations, but Jack hadn’t packed his battery charger and the UV filter we had been using was dead. Coming into the falls, we ran into “that family” once again, this time lounging on the other side of the bridge by the water. “Did you guys make a wrong turn?” they asked self-assuredly. Then, I turned toward them, and I said deliberately “Nah, we felt like nabbing Hunter too. See yah.” I savored the words. They felt good. Despite my proud moment, it was here, at this very intersection, that we began on a wrong path that would take us an hour and two miles out of our way, as well as nearly defeat our spirits. The worst part was, After ages we were at the lookout just below the summit. The views east were spectacular and we got a good look at the ravine leading us the wrong way... “that family” might have corrected us, but I was cocky. After realizing our mistake (thanks to a kind couple that lent us a map) I took a sip of water from my hydration pack and felt the ominous puff of emptiness. We would not make our 12-hour goal, but hey, maybe we’d pass that family again! It was like this that we began our ascent of West Kill—the longest climb and our last for the day. Somewhere about halfway up we split the last two GUs as well as drank the last of Jack’s water. I slowed our pace to a crawl to conserve precious H2O—we definitely were not going to see that family ever again. Luckily, this part of the trail had some of the most walkable miles, but time was dragging. After ages we were at the lookout just below the summit. The views east were spectacular and we got a good look at the ravine leading us the wrong way: it just kept losing altitude and going south. Passing a cairn marking the true wooded summit, we began our final descent toward Spruceton Road, the end of our journey. I was hungry, but would eat nothing other than the M&M’s picked from Jack’s trail mix to avoid salt, lest my thirst be further realized. I went pretty internal here, and zoned out for a long time. Our conversation had also been dead for some time, so I had to check to make sure I wasn’t losing it when I began hearing a metallic clanking. Jack heard it too. We saw some shady figures through the trees. Maybe the DEC was nailing up signs? Rounding a bend, we came upon a couple banging their trekking poles together as they walked. They told us they had startled a bear, and it had run up the trail. Great. I pulled my ancient Polish utility knife out and we Mosy of the views are off the main trail but they’re definitely worth it. Of course, there’s not much time to take them in when you are pursuing your personal FKT. 26 | DACKS & TOGA activelife
continued on, sounding out our presence every few minutes. Bears do frequent the Catskills, and we had passed a few piles of scat, so I was pumping adrenaline when I saw a dark animal move under a tree and out of sight up the trail. “Jack, I saw it. There.” We walked a few steps further to get a better view and I was dumbfounded. There it was: a wide, black porcupine, waddling at full tilt away from us. I could tell it was moving at full speed, but it was only going about 1 mph, and it was dead set in following the trail. We continued, now matching its pace, and providing a berth of 15ft. This allowed the couple to catch up. “It’s just a porcupine,” I turned and said, hoping they would cease the racket that had continued without a hitch. “OK,” one responded as they continued slamming their trekking poles together with irritating intensity. Wonderful. Just when I thought we would be stuck following this quilled tortoise all the way back to the car, followed by that beautifully composed metallic cacophony, the porcupine turned off into the trees. With out a second’s hesitation, we dusted the two behind us. The absurdity had me for a while, and I was beaming. Soon, though, I was reminded of my thirst and hunger and just wanted to be done. I was fantasizing sugary drinks when I caught up to Jack who was waiting for me. There was a large, comical sign that read “SPRUCETON 1.5” pointing in the general opposite direction we had just come for the past hour and mildly uphill. That was the last straw. All of my frustration and fatigue boiled over and I started running angryily, increasing my pace as I went. Jack fell off the back but I could just hear his trekking poles behind me, steadily clicking away the distance. The final half mile I sprinted, swearing and grunting, all the way to Jack’s car. I reached the lot, but now had to wait for him to unlock the car. I paced around, still fuming, but allowed my anger to slowly steam out. After a small eternity, Jack unlocked the car and we split a water bottle. I walked across the street to a shallow stream to baptize myself in its freezing waters. First, with extreme care, I took off my boots and gingerly sunk my feet into the water. Heaven. I then crawled in, sat down, and slowly laid my body down and stretched out my legs, allowing the cold to wash over me, rinsing away the sweat and the grime, the dead flies, the aches and pains, and all the frustration. We did it. After a few more minutes of this, I sat up, looking at the evening sky, thankful for the day. Though most trails are marked we managed to lose our way. Luckily, a nice couple lent us their map and we headed off in the right direction. Have Year-Round Fun! Biathlon • XC Skiing • Running • Mtn Biking Swimming • And More! Try Biathlon This Summer! * *Rifles and Instruction Provided www.SaratogaBiathlon.com Job # 000 - Saratoga Biathlon Club - Sales Rep/Artist Discover the Mohawk Towpath Scenic Byway... ...as we share our story of the waterway west, the Erie Canal, and the role our communities played in the westward expansion of the country and the Industrial Revolution. Job # 000 - Mohawk Towpath - Sales Rep/Artist P.O. Box 90 Clifton Park, NY 12065 518-406-8610 mohawktowpath.org DACKS & TOGA activelife | 27
Page 1: activelife TM FREE SPORTS • FITNE
Page 4 and 5: contents FEATURES 10 Cover Story: 5
Page 6 and 7: Our Contributors Drew Cappabianca o
Page 8 and 9: tech Off-Road, On-Road, Any Terrain
Page 10 and 11: FIVE WAYS TO It’s Spring and the
Page 12 and 13: 2 Join a Group Ride: The First Ride
Page 14 and 15: 4 Take the Scenic Route: By Eric J.
Page 16 and 17: Finding the Right Bike is just the
Page 18 and 19: health & wellness Surviving a Minor
Page 20 and 21: active life Profile Bill Parks Bill
Page 22 and 23: Bill working hard on a climb at a m
Page 24 and 25: oad trip 15 HOURS ON THE DEVIL’S
Page 28 and 29: Our writer finishing up a late wint
Page 30: calendar “If you really want to d

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