I hiked the New England Trail with my dad (Bobby) in the summer of 2020. It was the perfect pandemic project. We completed the 215-mile trail over 24 day hikes. There was no Guthook map for the trail at the time, so I studied the official NET website and drew out parking spots and mileages on pages ripped from a spiral notebook.
Last year I hiked the Appalachian Trail. After that I attempted an unsupported FKT of the Long Trail. I had hiked the Long Trail three times previously. I stopped my attempt after one day due to exhaustion and knee pain. I hadn’t realized how tired the AT had made me.
This year I decided to set out on a supported FKT attempt of the New England Trail. There was less pressure and it was closer to home. There was no female supported record so I would be trying to better Samantha Lynn’s self-supported time of four days, five hours, and forty-two minutes.
I planned to do this hike mid-June, leading up to the summer solstice. The days would be at their longest, the moon would be waning its way from full to new, and if I started on a Saturday my dad and mom could crew me in between work. I decided as long as the weather looked good I would go for it. The weather looked good.
I took the train home to Connecticut and set about making piles. I snaked slowly up and down every aisle of the grocery section of Walmart. I printed out copies of the trip packet I’d made at my green desk in New York. It contained the most-optimistic-plan I could possibly create in spreadsheet form. I airdropped the Apple Maps guide I’d made with every parking lot and road crossing to my parents.
I had hiked 53.4 miles in slightly less than 24-hours with two friends during the 4-State Challenge on the AT. I knew that I could do that. To beat Samantha’s time and hopefully break four days I’d have to average 53.75 miles/day.
The night before the hike I told my mom (Karen) I had two major worries:
1. A Garmin malfunction
2. The moment when I’d have to start hiking into Day 2
Day 2 was the question mark. How would my body react to a second 50+ mile day in a row? This was what I wanted to find out.
Bobby drove me to the start early on Saturday June 18th. I had chosen to walk southbound, wanting to end at the Long Island Sound. Bobby took a picture of me in the parking lot at 5:09AM. I walked in 0.7 miles from Athol-Richmond Road, got to the MA/NH border by 5:26AM, peed, took a video by the sign, and was officially walking at 5:30AM.
I waved to Bobby and caught a Honey Bun he threw me as I re-passed the parking lot, crossed the road, and ducked back into the woods. At 6:44AM (an hour and fourteen minutes and about fives miles into the hike) I checked my Garmin. It was tucked into the top front pocket of my running vest. My stomach dropped. It said I’d gone zero feet. My first worry had come true. I called my mom. She checked my Garmin webpage. None of my tracking points had gone through. I clipped my Garmin onto the back of my running vest and pressed record on Strava. I had downloaded the app as a backup tracking method. A few minutes later I checked my Garmin again. It was working. I kept my Strava going regardless. (I have included both tracking methods and my start pictures as proof of my hike.)
I popped out at Winchester Road. I like seeing my dad’s little blue car waiting at a trailhead parking lot. 9 miles by 8:32AM. Up and over Mt. Grace, the first real uphill of the hike. I reached Bobby and Little Blue at 10:31AM at Bass Road at 13.9 miles. I was having trouble eating the snacks I’d put in a bin for myself. He slathered peanut butter on wheat bread and handed it to me. Having someone make me food felt better. The air was thick with mosquitos. He hit my leg, killing one. “Thanks for the support,” I said. We giggled.
I scurried past the Richardson-Zlogar Cabin at mile 16.8 at 11:24AM. Got to Bobby at Mountain Road at 1:20PM. I was happy with 22.3 miles in slightly less than eight hours. Technical downhill scramble to Cross Street by 2:35PM. This is my dad’s favorite parking spot on the NET. It is in a neighborhood on a steep hill. I sat with my feet up on the trunk. We marveled at my pace. I’d gone 25.7 miles in a little over 9 hours. I was matching my most-optimistic-plan almost perfectly.
Road walk to Mormon Hollow Road over a bridge and railroad tracks. Bobby followed me in Little Blue. I was experiencing my first real low. I was tired. Bobby told me I could stop if I wanted to. I told him I’d see him at the next road. I vividly remembered the yellow gate at Rockwell Hill Road from our 2020 hike. I got there at 6:40PM. 37.5 miles in about 13 hours. 2.88 mph pace. It was drizzling. I put on my pink Frogg Toggs rain jacket. It would get dark soon. I put my yellow headlamp around my neck. I was determined to pick up the pace on my next 6.2 mile stretch to Prescott Road. The trail was flat and wide. I ran some. I felt infinite.
I got to Prescott Road ahead of schedule. Bobby couldn’t believe it. He handed me a Subway sandwich. It was nearly dark. I felt alive. I ate and walked along the dirt road. Bobby followed me. I turned off my headlamp. Who needs a headlamp when you have headlights? I plugged a nosebleed with a wad of tissue. Bobby drove with me as far as he could go before I needed to duck into the woods again. Now it was really dark. I hesitated. “This is when I get most scared,” I said. “I know,” he replied. He told me he’d be waiting for me at Shutesbury Road, a big trailhead parking lot good for sleeping. John Mulaney comforts me in the dark, so I put on a John Mulaney special and felt comforted. At 9:37PM I saw a porcupine. At 10:11PM I saw my first pair of eyes. I saw the deer before I saw the eyes which is always better than seeing the eyes before the deer.
After 49.7 miles and nearly 17 hours, I got to Shutesbury Road. I had followed my most-optimistic-plan almost exactly, hoping to finish my first day around 10:30PM. Bobby told me he’d never witnessed anyone hike that fast for that long before. It took me longer to change and get ready for bed that I thought it would, but I felt good about sleeping here. I leaned back the passenger’s seat, snuggled into my pink-and-blue quilt, and fell asleep fast. My mom later told me that my dad had been cold during the night but didn’t want to turn on the car to crank the heat. He could tell by my heavy breathing that I was sleeping soundly.
I had planned to leave Bobby and Little Blue at 1:00AM. I woke up around then to rain. There hadn’t been any precipitation in the forecast. I wasn’t prepared for this. I had packed my Pa’lante pack for a 17.2 mile solo stretch but it wasn’t water-proofed. It was cold but I hadn’t put out my layers. My dad could tell I was freaked out. He checked the radar. The rain would stop in a couple hours. He suggested I either stop the attempt or sleep a bit longer and take off a bit later. I decided to wait it out. I suited up with two rain jackets and two layers of pants and my headlamp. Bobby gave me his emergency pair of ski gloves he keeps in the trunk. I was crying. I took a selfie with Bobby on Father’s Day at 3:02AM and got out of the car.
Bobby followed me with his headlights down the road until I had to turn into the woods. He saw me off and drove away. He was going home to sleep before Karen showed up for the morning shift. It was cold and dark and I was alone. I remember sitting down in the middle of the wet trail and taking out my food bag and stuffing slices of Cinnamon Swirl bread into the my mouth. I couldn’t walk and eat. I had to sit. I had to sit in the middle of the trail.
Relief always floods when dawn comes. I knew I had a long day of sun ahead of me. I crested the top of Mt. Lincoln at mile 55.3 at 5:21AM and started to trot as fast as I could downhill. I wanted to see how far I could get before 5:30AM to hopefully beat my personal record for miles-walked-in-24-hours. 55.7 miles in a day! I felt giddy.
I got a gushing nosebleed coming down Mt. Norwottock. I hadn’t thought to make my tissues easily accessible in my Pa’lante so I had to take off my pack and dig through its contents while blood fell from my nose. It stained the inside of my pack but I didn’t care. I knew that port-o-potties and Karen would be waiting for me at The Notch!
Karen gave me a big hug! I sat in a chair with my feet propped on the trunk and ate snacks and changed my socks and clothes and re-packed my running vest for the next 5.2-mile stretch over the Seven Sisters and Mount Holyoke. I had done this hike many times with my cousins growing up. I left the parking lot at 10:23AM, now 3.5 hours behind my most-optimistic-plan. I enjoyed this section with its many rocks and rapid ups-and-downs. I crossed paths with a day-hiker. He glanced down at my two knee braces and shook his head. “We have to do what we have to do, right?” I just nodded, not wanting to get into a long conversation.
It was surreal to get to the Summit House on top of Mount Holyoke. It was flooded with day-hikers. I stopped in for another well-timed bathroom break at 12:14PM and got to where Karen was parked down at the start of the Connecticut River detour slightly before 1:00PM. I was now four hours behind my most-optimistic-pace. I wanted to follow the footsteps of current female self-supported FKT-holder Samantha Lynn and current male unsupported FKT-holder Raphael Sarfati and road walk around the Connecticut River as opposed to driving around or kayaking across. The road walk would add 9.9 miles to the hike. Bobby and I had scouted the detour earlier in the month using Apple Maps.
I had hoped to make up some time on this easy, flat stretch of road. Instead, I fell apart. Walking through farms and neighborhoods was calming at first, but walking under hot sun on exposed roads was tough. Karen followed me as closely as she could. She got me chicken McNuggets and fries from McDonald’s. I laid down on a town green and tried to eat. I felt awful. Neighborhoods turned into town. I walked through Northampton in a daze. There were many construction zones with orange cones. I had to walk on stretches of busy roads and cross bridges with small shoulders. I kept having this vision of passing out from sun-stroke on the side of the road and a semi-truck squishing my head like a grape. Karen went from side-road to side-road and watched me. She handed me a peppermint out of the window.
The last stretch along a hot, dusty, crowded road was a low point. Karen called me and told me she’d lost me. She couldn’t get the directions to the next parking lot on her phone. I walked past a roundabout and stopped in at a gas station to lock myself in the bathroom. I sat on the toilet and breathed for a few minutes. I felt nauseous and sun-sick. Both Karen and I eventually found our way to the next parking lot, ending the Connecticut River detour.
Ducking back into the shade of the trees was a relief. Karen made an extra stop to see me at Reservation Road. I sat on a bench. She handed me cucumbers and tomatoes out a Tupperware container in her lunchbox. She told me she loved crewing. I hadn’t expected her to love it.
It was time to hike over Mount Tom, another classic Stoker childhood jaunt. I walked along cliff ledges at 7:22PM. I was glad to be walking this technical section in the last of today’s light. I filmed bear cubs in a tree and posted it on my Instagram story. My Radio City coworkers referenced this video for months afterwards. Steep downhill to Old Easthampton Road at around 8:30PM where both Karen and Bobby were waiting. I was now six hours behind my most-optimistic-plan, but I was still optimistic.
I ate a Subway sandwich with my feet propped up on the trunk. We had a dilemma. The Westfield River. I had been hoping to cross the Westfield River with my dad before he went home to sleep before work on Monday morning. At my current pace I wouldn’t be getting there until the middle of the night. Bobby had scouted the river on his way back north. The current was strong. He didn’t want me crossing it alone. I promised them that I would road walk around the Westfield River if I kept going. Samantha Lynn had also done this road walk. It would at 3.7 miles to the hike.
I flew into the dusk with gusto. Alison’s hype playlist she’d made me pumped through my wire headphones and into my ears. I was trying to hike this 4.5-mile section really fast. The sun set around 9:30PM. Luckily it was my favorite type of night-hiking. I was high up and could see the moon and the stars and the lights in towns below. I zoomed out of the woods and onto the road at 10:14PM. I found my parents in their respective cars. My dad was taking a nap. My mom and I made the decision to find a place to park nearby so that I could sleep for a couple hours before taking off alone from Route 202. Bobby headed home and Karen and I found a local community college parking lot. Just as I was drifting off (sometime after 11:45PM) there was a knock on my mom’s window. A security guard questioned why we were there. My mom explained what I was doing. “Have you two been drinking?” “No.” He let us stay. I slept great.
I put my shoes on and drank an energy drink as Karen drove us back to where I’d left off at Route 202. My right ankle felt creaky. I started walking around 2:00AM. I did not feel as scared walking into Day 3 as I had felt walking into Day 2.
Karen headed home for a few hours of sleep before her Last Day of School. It would still be dark for a while. I knew I’d have to walk under the Massachusetts Turnpike during the witching hours. I had been scared doing this in the daytime in 2020. You have to climb over a barricade and walk under a bridge. I called my mom. She had just gotten home and was washing her face at 3:52AM. She stayed on the phone with me while I walked under the bridge. I walked next to a highway and took a picture of a Chick-fil-A billboard. I was grateful that the sun would rise soon.
I got to the Westfield River at 5:22AM. I was really tired. I had to walk along a busy road again. About an hour into the road walk I entered neighborhoods. I made the decision to stop at the CT/MA border. My ankle was creaking with every step. I texted my cousin Joey that I was planning to stop at the border. He had agreed to pace me for Day 3. I asked if he would still meet me at CT Route 168. He said he would. I listened to Bo Burnham’s INSIDE OUTTAKES as I neared the CT/MA border. “The Chicken” played in my ears as I crossed the final road. It felt fitting.
I hit the CT/MA border at 9:04AM. I’d walked 110.7 miles through the state of Massachusetts on The New England Trail in two days, three hours, and thirty-four minutes, bettering Samantha Lynn’s Massachusetts self-supported record by one hour and fifty-eight minutes.
I had 2.4 miles to walk to get to Joey. I scooted into his backseat next to the bag of food I’d had my mom deliver to his house. He suggested I eat some food and see how I felt. He wasn’t ready for me to stop. He was doing his job as a pacer. I took off my shoes and felt my right ankle as I flexed and pointed. It felt like a creaky door opening and closing. Joey said he’d never felt anything like it. I was now a full twelve hours behind my most-optimistic-plan but could still beat the full NET record if I kept a good pace. I lackadaisically ate banana muffins my mom had made and thrown into a ziplock bag. Joey proposed that we walk the next 4.9-mile stretch together at whatever pace I could go. He said we could simply treat it as two cousins taking a hike together, something we had done a lot together as kids.
It was clear I wasn’t going to be able to keep up with Joey for long. He stopped and waited for me. I texted Karen and asked if she could pick us up at the next road after school. Joey and I sat at a viewpoint together for a long time. I led the rest of the hike. It’s lovely having a friend walk behind you when you are hurting.
We crossed a busy intersection and sat under a tree next to the road. We had a glorious picnic of Fritos and Oreos instead of marching towards my third night. Karen scooped us up. I treated them to ice cream on the way home. I could barely walk into the house. I took a slow shower and climbed into bed. I don’t remember falling asleep. I remember waking up in the middle of the night. My legs hurt. It took me many minutes to walk to the kitchen. I guzzled water and Advil and hobbled back to bed. My dad told me the next day that he had checked on me many times after he’d gotten home from work. He said I hadn’t moved a muscle.