Forgive me reader for I have hiked, it has been 400 miles since my last confession.

So, first off, I'm alive. It's been long enough since I posted that I should clear that up.

Since last we spoke I've crossed Connecticut, Vermont, Massachusetts and most of New Hampshire. (I'll not embarrass myself or the state by naming the one I couldn't remember when trying to write this. After a while it's kind of a blur.)

It's been a good but uneven time. I was hiking on my own for a while. Covering good ground, but it became a chore.

The came a point where I stopped caring where I was or what I was going to see. It was a drudge to go to town, or to look for water or whatever was the next obstacle in going north. I serously considered quitting.

Since then things have gotten a lot better, I've caught up with some friends and we're hiking together.

Hiking as a group, particularly a supported group, makes life a lot easier. We're supported in the sense that one guy's wife has a truck with her and has been slackpacking us. I'm not saying there are no more bad days, but doing less and having someone to rant at certainly helps.

I think it's fair to say she's saved my hike. We're back on our own tomorrow, she has to go home. We're in better shape than we were and ready (I hope) to meet what the trail brings.

New Hampshire is hell. The White Mountains are beautiful, but the trail is awful.

Unlike the rest of the trail, where the AT is the reason the maintenance clubs exist, this trail is maintained by the AMC (Appalachian Mountain Club).

They suck.

They run the only shelters and campsites on the trail that charge Through-Hikers to camp.

They seem invested in making the trail harder than it needs to be, no switchbacks when they can run us down a cliff, no blazes for miles, and a tendency to run you over every obstacle available.

I've no insider information, but I  feel there's a connection between the fact that the AMC make a lot of money by having exclusive rights to legally camp/stay above the tree line, and that all AT access to the mountain is harder than it needs to be and very badly signposted.

I like hiking, but the AMC make it hard work.

As I mentioned, the people change as you walk north, so do the animals.

In Georgia everything is skittish, by Jersey that's changed.

The Chipmunks look back asking, 'Can I help you?'. Squirrels have a look saying 'You wear this in my house?'. And the bears, previously elusive become commonplace and inquisitive, they seem to be asking 'Does he have anything good? Should we gut him?'. But inquisitive nonetheless.

Strangely when you cross into New York there are no more bears.

I think they're gone to get married.

During my extended radio silence I've received a bunch of texts, mails, tweets and other missives containing encouragement. Each was kind, supportive, and helpful, it is an honor and a pleasure to be the focus of so much goodwill. Thank you.

By tomorrow there will be under 300 miles to go, by the day after that I'll be in Maine.

The concept of the end being 'in sight' will become painfully literal in a couple of weeks when I'll be able to see Katahdin. It happens a week or so before you get there.

With the end so close I spend a lot of time thinking about 'Home', but with no apartment, and family and job on different continents, what does that mean?

A while ago I stopped thinking of home as a place, or more precisely, thinking of it as a small place.

Home is the first world, urban, good flight and internet connectivity, friends who greet me when I land and miss me when I leave.

My location is by no means irrelevant, but constant proximity with everyone I love is impossibile so I learn to live with the travel and love my time with my people.

It's a compromise, but a rewarding one.

An insanely lucky combination of employer, hobby and constant connectivity makes me a citizen of the world in a way even statesmen and celebrities would have struggled to be less than a lifetime ago.

Affordable commercial air travel is a post war invention, the multinational corporation is equally modern, the web was 20 years old this week, and  the infantile nature of tweets, blogs, or the smartphones are even more petrifying.

(That might be the first time 'infantile' has been used to refer to the age rather than the content of twitter.)

My world is a new world, and there are times when I feel like an old man in it.

Soon I will loose easy access to my trail friends and step back into the world. It'll be good to be back, but I think the trail might be added to the places I call home.

Thanks for reading.
Love you all.
T.