I Tried Not To Cry. Michael Beattie
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(although there’s no easy way up or down).
My hike began at 8:00 a.m. from the parking area at the Pinkham Notch Visitors Center, which was already overflowing with parked cars of other hikers that had already arrived to begin their upward climb. I made a visit to the visitor’s center to double-check my map with theirs to ensure that mine would take me on the right trail all the way. After a quick visit to the outdoor privy, which was overcrowded, I extended my poles to proper uphill length and followed the signs that said, “Mt. Washington Observatory Summit.” Butterflies were in my stomach as I started walking immediately uphill on a rocky wide area, which seemed like an old road. The weather was beautiful and warm on this spring day as the trail was littered with people. All the planning I had done and gear I had packed in my large day pack was out of the fear of being stuck out there alone by myself on the side of a mountain. I was prepared to spend the night if weather forced me to, not to mention the extra food and drink I carried just in case. All the fear of being alone out there on the mountain ended quickly as it turned into a traffic jam of people. All types of people! Some prepared, and others thinking this would be a walk in the park, dressed in street clothes with sneakers on their feet. I’m not sure if any of these people realized, from what I had studied, how difficult this hike is. The trail climbed immediately up and never stopped. After a couple of miles, the road-like trail squeezed down to a more normal pathway. It was a constant flow of people both going up and down, as most had given up their attempt to finish. No surprise to me! The snow melt was flowing rapidly in the Nelson Brook, which was alongside the first part of the hike as it roared its way downhill alongside the trail. Many college-age youth were climbing with skis on their backs, indicating to me that there was still snow in the ravine, where I had heard they ski until late spring. After passing the Hermit Lake Shelter area, the climb uphill got progressively steeper as my knees were not happy. The now narrow path was slow going as I had to wait for the unprepared hikers that were moving at a snail’s pace with not many areas to pass them by. In the ravine bowl, the ice and snow were still deep as dozens of teens in bathing suits skied down the small area with helmets on their heads for protection from a fall and possible slide into the rocks. Many of them rested on the rocks, sunbathing in the warmth of the high angled sunrays. Wouldn’t it be nice to be that young again? I thought to myself. The 4.5-mile climb to the top was too much for many of the people who turned back downhill from the basin area. The remaining climb was steep along the ridge edge of the ravine before it became a free-for-all rock climb over giant rocks that seemed like they had just dropped out of the sky and dispersed at every possible angle. It was a most difficult summit to the top for me as my knees ached. I was not truly prepared for this type of hike. I applied an extra layer of clothing as I reached closer to the top of a mountain that bragged of having the world’s highest recorded wind speed at the time. What was a warm, hot climb soon turned into a cold one. I reached the summit four hours after my hike began, and what an incredible sight it was from the summit. I heard people talking about how fortunate we were to have a rare day of no clouds on the summit, which provided 360-degree views for as far as the eye could see. It was worth every second of effort that it took to climb! I could not believe the number of people at the top of the mountain having their picture taken in front of the wooden sign which announced, “Mt. Washington Summit 6,288 Feet.” I didn’t want to wait in line for a photo but opted to go to the snack bar to eat before I descended back down. While eating, I learned that there was a toll road where people could pay to drive to the top as well as a cog railway which took tourists to the summit. No wonder there were so many people. I knew they had not all hiked up by the way most of them were dressed. It was in the forty-degree range that day which some said was extremely mild. Thank God, I prepared well for the hike.
As I started my descent back down toward my car, I knew it would be a long painful trip, as my first few steps down the stone pounded my knees, even with the braces I was wearing. I had to stop often to regain my composure and take some ibuprofen. Damn! The constant pounding downward took me four and one-half hours before I finally saw the parking area where my car was located. I was totally exhausted and could barely walk through the parking lot to my car. A younger fellow mentioned to me that it never is easy, as he must hike it often. I replied, “I guess not,” as if I was a regular to the mountain. I took off all my gear and threw it into the back of my car, and as I sat in the front seat, I thought I would cry. I never thought sitting down could feel so wonderful! I closed my eyes briefly, trying to gain my composure.
“Now, Georgie, how are the linens at the church getting along?” Mrs. Champlion asked me. Darn, I didn’t like it when she called me Georgie, but I knew that my uncle George had worked for Mrs. Champlion in her general store years before me, and she kept confusing me with him as we were sort of similar in our appearance. Now I’m not sure of Mrs. Champlion’s age at this point, but in my mind, she surely must have been one hundred, but in reality, she was in her eighties, making it a chore for her to get around that little general store. “I think they look in good condition, Mrs. Champlion” was my answer. Susie took care of all the priest and altar boy garments as well as the alter linens, washing and pressing them weekly. She relied on my judgment as she was aware that I was an altar boy, and it was almost impossible for her to get to the church as her store was open seven days a week and she didn’t drive a car. Her husband Edward had died at a fairly early age, leaving her with the duty of running the store alone. Both of them were transplants from New York City where they once operated a pub before relocating to the village of Eagleville to operate the small general store named Champlions. It was once a bustling hub of the village which acted as the post office, as well as butcher shop and kerosene heating oil stop. Not only did Susie know I was an altar boy at the church, but also, she seemed to know just about everything about everyone who lived in this poor village setting. Even though she never left that small store, the daily gossip exchanged by each customer seemed to keep her well-informed, and she had a way of politely interrogating each customer for more information.
“Well, maybe we should take a walk uphill and check on them after we have some nice tea,” she said. “Okay, Mrs. Champlion,” I answered. Are you kidding me? She’s going to walk with me all the way up to the church and back? I’d never seen her leave the store before, not to mention it’s a struggle for her to walk, as she had a sort of gimp when walking, which looked uncomfortable as I watched her struggle to get around. I think Susie took a liking to me when I asked her if she had any chores I could do around the store years before. She enjoyed taking a tea break and chatting with me as she sometimes reached out her cold hands to meet mine as we sat in the rear parlor of the store where the large enameled kitchen stove stood, keeping the parlor and us warm. I dreaded the tea breaks, which she seemed to cherish. Not only did I not like tea, but also, she would pour so much milk into my tea that it was mostly milk with a bit of tea flavor. This almost made me gag as I tried to hide my disapproval. “Eat this up,” she said as she cut a large chunk of cinnamon-crumble-topped coffee cake from the Drakes bakery container. This was one of her favorite items that she sold in the store, as she seemed to have a sweet tooth. Thank God for the cake, as it made the tea go down so much easier. “Finish up now. You need the energy.” “Yes, Mrs. Champlion.” I struggled to clean my plate.
“Now finish up so we can get a move on,” said Susie. “I’m ready anytime, Mrs. Champlion.” Oh my God, I can’t believe this is really happening, I thought. She’s really going to walk uphill with me to get the linens? “Now you hold these fresh linens I pressed and starched this week so I can lock up the store.” “Yes, I have them,” I said, as she pulled the front door tightly, securing the rim night lock that kept the door latched. “Watch your step, Mrs. Champlion, on these steps.” She slowly navigated down the few front entry porch steps unsteady on her feet. “Grab a hold of the broom and mind your pace,” she said as we slowly made our way off the stoop and headed toward the roadway. “’Tis a beautiful sunny day,” she said as if she planned this walk to church on the perfect day. “It sure is nice,” I claimed even though I wished I was down by the railroad tracks hitting stones into the water with a baseball bat instead of escorting an elder up the road. In all the years I’ve been an altar boy, I’ve never seen Susie at a mass, never ever, I thought. Mr. Rada and his wife Pearl were outside in their yard just across the way from the store looking at us in an inquisitive way. “Up the church we’re going to tidy up a bit,” she exclaimed before they could ask. I detected a tone of pride in the way she spoke