Adding Pennsylvania (#17) and Kentucky (#18)

Geez, look at those elevation lines to the south of downtown Coraopolis.

Okay, I admit there's been something of a gap in my quest to run a minimum of 10K in each of the 50 states.

With nothing to report since 2013! Really?

But the drought is over, as I chalked up two states in two days during a recent silent film accompaniment road trip from New Hampshire to the Midwest.

The pair are Pennsylvania (#17, on Thursday, Dec. 10) and Kentucky (#18, on Friday, Dec. 11).

I'm not sure what's more amazing: that the December weather allowed for two long pleasant morning runs (in shorts!), or that I was actually able to complete them back-to-back without any injury or problem or really any soreness.

In fact, after each run I felt energized and calm for the rest of the day, a large part of which was filled with driving to the next city.

It reminded me of what it felt like when I was running long distances while a student in Glasgow: early morning runs through unfamiliar territory in cool but not cold weather, followed by a day of classes.

I had originally planned to try for a third state on this trip: Michigan on Saturday, Dec. 12. But this would have required driving two hours each way from where I was staying in Cleveland.

And by then, after spending most of the past three days behind the wheel, I didn't want to give up my one without driving, driving, driving.

Plus, I had completed two long runs in the prior two days. I felt fine, but I knew piling on another long one was courting trouble, and I had miles to go before I slept, if you know what I mean.

The Pennsylvania run was in the town of Coraopolis, a community on the south bank of the Ohio River just downstream from downtown Pittsburgh.

I mapped out what seemed like an easy route to follow, from my Motel 6 at the airport along a Thorn Run Road all the way to the river and downtown Coraopolis, then looping back by Main Street and Maple Street to Coraopolis Heights Road, which ran through a rural area all the way back to the hotel.

Here's Part 1 of the Pennsylvania run, using Dairy Queen as a landmark.

What I didn't count on was the incredibly steep drop down to the river. I expected a downgrade, but not the kind of descent I found myself making from the ridgeline above the Ohio River.

I must have lost at least 700 feet in a very short distance, finally bottoming out on "Fifth Avenue," which would not be mistaken for the New York City thoroughfare of the same name.

What goes down must come up, and I steeled myself (local industry reference!) for the right-hand turn on Main Street that would start taking me back up.

Here's Part 2 of the Pennsylvania run.

Although the small downtown was on a narrow flat plain along the river, the streets to the right of me literally took off up the slope at such a rate that second floor could have a door onto the sidewalk.

Turning onto Main Street, it seemed like it was straight up. Cobblestones were an interesting touch, and block by block I huffed my way back up the ridge.

I then ran into one of those frustrating moments where Google Maps doesn't exactly mirror reality. Main Street went up and up, and so did I, until it reached a dead end!

What? It was supposed to connect with Maple Street Extension, which I believed was the road running far below us. A postman confirmed this, and so I hustled along the edge of a large cemetery (the symbolism was not lost) going down to meet Maple Street Extension, and start the climb back up all over again.

The rest of the run went smoothly. I found myself feeling strong even as Coraopolis Heights Road stretched out before me through rolling countryside, with no sign of the airport for what seemed like a very long time.

End result: 6.9 miles in 1 hour, 31 minutes, for a pace of 13:12. I'll take it, especially considering those long upgrades.

The next morning found me in Covington, Kentucky, the urban community just across the Ohio River from downtown Cincinnati. I plotted a looping route that would take me across the Licking River and back, assuming the bridges had pedestrian crossings.

Weather was the same as the day before: cool and damp, with just the hint of a spritz of rain in the air.

The route first took me across the Licking River into Newport, then back into Covington.

The first bridge did indeed accommodate pedestrians, and I soon found myself in a somewhat down-at-the-heel part of Newport, a place where the Pabst Blue Ribbon people still have a lock on all tavern promotional signs.

But still, the older housing stock had a lot of character, even if some of the brick buildings have been painted in alarming colors.

I then huffed my way back across another bridge and into Covington, where I went through some pretty spectacular neighborhoods, especially the Warren Avenue area.

After reacehing Meinken Park, I headed back, mostly along Madison Avenue almost the whole way back to the hotel.

Taking the direct route back to the hotel, for a total of 8 miles.

End result: 8.0 miles in 1 hour, 45 minutes, for a pace of 13:07. Not bad considering what I'd run the day before.

So I felt pretty good after what for me were two long back-to-back runs.

Back in New Hampshire, the weather continues unseasonably mild even as I write this. So perhaps I might get one more nearby state before the year ends. We'll see.

Bagging two more New Hampshire towns: Shelburne (#142) and Gorham (#143)

My turn-around point in Shelburne was this spot, exactly 1.6 miles from where I parked the car at the 27.0 mile marker. Late afternoon in December = looooong shadows.

I never thought I'd go running north of Mount Washington in December—in shorts!

But a spell of unseasonably mild weather in our part of the world allowed me to bag two towns "north of the notches," as they say: rural Shelburne and comparatively cosmopolitan Gorham. And I didn't have to bundle up.

The date: Saturday, Dec. 5. The occasion: on my way to an annual silent film screening in the even-further north community of Dixfield, Maine. The goal: to run a minimum of 5K in at least a couple of towns that I doubt will ever hold an official road race.

I don't often get to run in towns this far north. But in planning this gig, I figured that on my way it might be possible to fit in a run among the enormous snowbanks usually in place by now.

Well, Mother Nature had other plans. The higher summits of the surrounding White Mountains are indeed white, but winter hasn't quite reached the valleys just.

Thus I found myself pulling off Route 2 at the Gorham / Shelburne line onto a grassy patch that made for a perfect parking spot.

As it became clear that the weather would be unseasonably nice, I actually had plans to bag four towns. Before Gorham / Shelburne, I had hoped to do a similar two-town run in Jefferson and Randolph, through which Route 2 also runs.

But coming up through Franconia Notch, I noticed a light coating of snow on the shoulder. And heading further through Twin Mountain, I watched as the temperature dropped below 40 degrees. Anything lower requires extra gear, which I didn't bring.

So I wasn't sure about the Jefferson / Randolph stretch, and then ultimately bagged it because that section of the road is narrow, with very little shoulder, and has a lot of steep ups and downs. That, plus the slushy roadside snow and the at-times heavy traffic, made me push on to Gorham / Shelburne.

It turned out to be the right decision. They're at a lower elevation, so the temp had recovered to the mid-forties by the time I pulled in. Plus, the road follows the Androscoggin River, which at this point flows along a flat stretch of valley. And Route 2 is in pretty good shape in these parts, too.

After measuring off 1.6 miles in each direction, I returned to the town line and began the Shelburne stretch at 3:25 p.m.

A long straightaway and then some up-and-down curves took me through some of the dense groves of birch trees for which Shelburne is known. Fun fact: Shelburne's population was 480 in 1859, but only 372 now. So it's one of those upcountry towns that went into decline after the Civil War and still haven't recovered.

I came back to the car at 4:03 p.m. meaning 38 minutes to do 3.2 miles. Nothing to brag about there.

Heading into Gorham for the second part of the run, it was starting to get dark in the valley even though some of the peaks high above us were still catching the light. The wind picked up a bit, but running in shorts still felt fine.

Talk about scenery! The rocky, snow-capped summit of Mount Madison, the nearest Presidential Range peak and rising high above us to the south, looked more like the Matterhorn than it deserved to.

After the rural emptiness of Shelburne, the town center of Gorham seemed like Midtown Manhattan. Stores, restaurants—even sidewalks! (The town's population is about 3,000.)

After my turn-around point, I was headed east-bound, meaning I could better see the day's fading light still kissing the upper reaches of ridges hemming us in. The snow had probably melted a bit and was now refreezing, making the higher spots look like they were lightly dusted with powdered sugar. (Can you tell I was hungry?)

Funny: in Gorham I passed signed promoting the town's 5K run on Thanksgiving. Ooops, missed it!

Reached the car at 4:43 p.m., meaning about 40 minutes for the final 3.2 miles. By then it was completely dark, but the temperature had dropped just a bit: to 41 degrees.

And so I had just enough time to drive up the street to the town's Subway (housed in a former bank branch office), where I changed into my performing clothes and got a sandwich.

Next up: this coming week I'm on a road trip to Ohio and Toronto, Canada, and so have an opportunity to claim as many as three new states in my quest to run at least 10K in all 50.

Stay tuned!

Another month, another half-marathon!

In the least unflattering photo of several taken during the race, I'm about to cross the finish line.

It was a few days ago now. But this is to note that I ran in and finished the half-marathon version of this year's Manchester (N.H.) City Marathon.

The race, held Sunday, Nov. 1, 2015, attracted 344 entrants for the half-marathon of 13.1 miles, vs. about 200 for the full 26.2-mile marathon.

In a race this long, most of my effort goes into carefully pacing myself so as not to become hobbled prior to finishing.

The Manchester course contains quite a few ups and downs, and I have to be very careful not to overdo it on the downs, as this is where bodily stress accumulates fast.

Also, there's a short section of trail running in Livingston Park, which is beautiful to look at, but can trigger problems as my feet hit the rocky surface. So I take it especially slow during that stretch.

But I did manage to keep stride the whole time, not stopping once. I finished at 2 hours, 43 minutes, and 41 seconds, for an overall pace of 12:29 per mile.

That was good enough for 323rd place out of 344 finishers, which is a victory for me in the sense that avoided coming in dead last.

It was my slowest half-marathon yet, but the silver lining is that afterwards I felt only minimal soreness in my feet, ankles, and legs.

After two half-marathons in the last month, could I be building up my ability to run longer distances?

And could that possibly lead to trying to run a full 26.2-mile marathon one of these days?

Time will tell.

Next up: an attempt to add Nevada to the list of states in which I've run a minimum of 10K.

I was hoping October would allow me to add Vermont, but a flat tire and other misadventures during a swing through the Green Mountain State prevented that from happening.

And also, I find I've been missing races in N.H. towns that I could still use.

Just this past month, 5K races were run in Walpole and Holderness, two towns I've wanted to get for a long time. Grrrrrr.

I used to rely on www.coolrunning.com for race listings, but a recent "upgrade" to the site has rendered the "upcoming events" much harder to use and a lot less comprehensive, apparently.

However, the site still carries results of races, which is how I found out about the ones I missed.

So I'll have to reverse-engineer the process, reviewing results from this year and then searching to see if the race will be run next year.

No one said this was supposed to be easy. But sometimes it's harder to find out about races than actually run in them!

Bagging two Connecticut River valley towns: Orford (#141) and Lyme (#142), plus a flat tire

A swing through the Connecticut River Valley this past weekend led to the latest trophies in my quest to run at least 5K in every New Hampshire city, town, or unincorporated place.

On Saturday, Oct. 17, I bagged the small rural communities of Orford and Lyme, making them #141 and #142, respectively.

It's a beautiful part of the state, and the run took place along a lonely stretch of Route 10 that saw very little traffic.

To get there, I came up I-91 from White River Junction, Vt., crossing back over to New Hampshire via the Samuel Morey Memorial Bridge. It's a classic green steel arch span built in 1937-38 after the great floods of 1936 washed away its wooden predecessor.

The bridge was recently rehabbed and looks brand new. Here's a photo from the Valley News, a daily paper that circulates in the area:

I assume unicycles aren't commonly seen around here.

My aim was the Orford/Lyme town line, from which I'd measure off 1.6 miles in either direction. Conveniently, the spot is served by a school bus turn-around, allowing for easy parking.

Here's a view north on Route 10 into Orford.

And here's a view showing the other direction, south into Lyme.

A cold front was pushing its way in from the west, making for cool and changeable conditions. Temps were in the mid-40s, with occasional breaks of sun balancing off chilly winds. Still shorts weather, but just barely.

I started at 1:20 p.m., heading north into Orford, where the highway runs through the relatively rich farmland (for New Hampshire, anyway) of the Upper Connecticut River Valley. My route took me right past a large and active dairying operation, which on the wind smelled like wet leaves being rubbed in my face.

Looking south from the Orford turn-around point.

One big up-and-down took me to my first turn-around point: Tree Farm Road, exactly 1.6 miles from the town line. I touched it and then headed back, ready to smell more "wet leaves."

Traffic was so light, and the shoulder was often so crumbled, that I found myself gravitating into the travel lanes along the long straight-aways, which offered a better surface. Yes, Route 10 is a major state highway, but often the only sound I could hear was of my shoes scuffing the pavement.

While passing into Lyme, I checked the car's dashboard clock: 2 p.m. exactly, or 40 minutes to do maybe 3.4 miles. Pretty slow!

The route into Lyme consisted of a pretty significant downhill stretch followed by a flat road, then a pronounced up-and-down dip as the highway negotiated a swale.

It was this spot where I encountered a deer leaping across the highway in broad daylight as I was measuring off the distance. But all was now quiet as I ran through this area.

Turn-around point was this "Bear Left" sign, which I touched and then turned around.

Facing north, you can see the dip in Route 10 in the distance.

The way back included a nice slog back upthe grade I'd descended earlier. But everything held together as I reached the starting point at 2:40 p.m.—so 40 minutes for the Lyme leg, exactly the same as Orford.

So that allows me to color in two good-sized adjacent communities on my big New Hampshire map: Orford as #141 and Lyme as #142. Even though the weather is changing, I hope to keep the momentum going and bag a few more before the oncoming winter buries us.

Alas, I returned to find my rear driver's side tire nearly flat. The car was still driveable, though, so I rolled slowly until the first air pump, which I found across the river in Fairlee, Vt.

That was enough to get me to Rutland, Vt., where the tire went completely flat. Swapping it out for the "donut" spare required me to unload all my musical gear into the parking lot of a Days Inn, leading to the discovery that my Subaru Forester is missing its jack!

But I was able to borrow one from some leaf-peepers from New Jersey, which allowed me to complete the swap and make it to my silent film gig that night in Brandon, Vt.

The car has All Wheel Drive, so I really didn't want to drive any real distance without matching tires. Luckily, I had arranged to stay in Rutland that might because of a show the next day in Charlestown, N.H.

So on Sunday morning, I was relieved to find that a Tire Warehouse place in Rutland was open. And it took them just a few minutes to find a nice piece of heavy gauge metal wire than had somehow pierced the tire. It was easily patched for $25, saving me the unplanned cost of a full set of new tires.

Alas, this adventure got in the way of plans to run 10K in Rutland that morning, which would have added Vermont to the list of states that I've run in.

But Vermont is close by, and also it was actually snowing on Sunday morning. So both factors figured into the decision to hold off.

On the upside, the morning overcast blew out to reveal an autumn riot of vivid colors in the landscape: blazing foliage on surrounding slopes, topped with brilliant white snow on a few higher peaks, all under a bright blue sky. It was like one of those idealized postcards of New England, but it was real.

The brilliant sun also lit up Jones' Bakery, a place I'd always wondered about. I'd never been in Rutland when it was open, but that's because it's only open on mornings.

A visit found a real throw-back: a local bakery in operation for 93 years, I was told, with everything made from scratch.

So I celebrated my new tire patch with a couple of real donuts: a plain and their version of a Boston Creme. Both were just fantastic, prompting me to get a dozen to bring to work the next day.

Next big adventure: the Manchester (N.H.) Marathon on Sunday, Nov. 1. I'm running the half-sized version. Lots of ups and downs in this one, but still hoping to beat my time of 2:39:38 earlier this month.

Back in the half-marathon business: What a difference a single second makes

>A vintage postcard of the route to make up for my lack of photos.

It's been a couple of years since I last ran a half-marathon.

But the drought's over as of yesterday (Saturday, Oct. 3), when I joined in the half-sized version of the New Hampshire Marathon up in the Newfound Lake area of our state.

Time: 2:39:38. Nothing to brag about, but I did achieve my twin goals of:

• Finishing.

• Not being last.

Actually, I placed 199 out of 239 entrants overall, and 15 out of 18 in my age group, which has now ratcheted up to the 50-59 category. Not bad.

I still think road races should group runners by inseam, not age, but that's another issue.

The one unexpected triumph was that for the first time ever, I completed a half-marathon before any of the full marathon entrants.

This is unusual because generally I run at about slightly less than half the pace of an elite runner.

Do the math, and this means that in any race, at least a few full marathon runners will complete the 26.2-mile course before I plod across the finish line after 13.1 miles, or half the distance.

But not yesterday. I came in about 90 seconds before the full marathon winner, Jim Johnson from Madison, N.H., who finished in 2:41:06.

His pace: 6:06 per mile. My pace: 12.11 per mile. If I'd been one second slower per mile, he'd have caught me. How's that for Wide-World-of-Sports-worthy drama?

So for the first time in a looooong while, I got to see a runner finish a race by breaking through a tape. Nice!

Still, I wasn't sure about attempting 13.1 miles because I hadn't entered any races of any kind all summer. And I'd been following nothing like any kind of training regime.

But I have been running with the dogs pretty regularly, doing distances ranging from 3 to 7 miles and without much trouble.

And the New Hampshire Half-Marathon's point-to-point course is mostly downhill. And I'd already paid $60 to register.

And the weather yesterday morning was perfect. So off I went to see how I'd fare.

Home base was Newfound Memorial Middle School in downtown Bristol, N.H., where the full Marathon started and finished. The 26.2-mile course makes a complete loop around Newfound Lake, much of it running right along the shoreline and showcasing classic New Hampshire scenery in every mile.

For the Half-Marathon, runners were taken by school bus way out to the far end of the lake, to a starting line at the half-way point of the full marathon.

We then basically ran the last half of the full race, mostly along the western shore of Newfound Lake and then to the finish line back at the school in downtown Bristol.

A highlight of the course was several miles on West Shore Road, a ridiculously scenic route that hugs Newfound Lake. Sorry, no pictures—although a woman ahead of me for much of the race kept stopping to take shots with her phone. Actually, a company was on the course taking photos, and they'll be available next week.)

An east wind coming off the water was enough to make flags snap in the breeze and nicely balanced the October morning sunshine.

Although much of West Shore Road is lined by lake cottages and condos, there's one stretch where it runs along the base of rocky cliffs where there's no room to build anything.

This was around Mile 7, when runners had spread out enough so that I was pretty much on my own. Traffic was sparse.

So for awhile there, it was just me and the road and the water, and the wind off the lake and the sun on the cliffs, lighting up everything like it was a stage set.

I felt twinges of serious pain only twice. At about the 4-mile mark, the bones of the middle toe of my left foot felt like they were on fire for a short time. This was alarming, coming so early in the race, but I ran it off by modifying my stride and slowing the pace a bit.

The same thing happened at the 8-mile mark, although with the right foot. Once again it faded away, but I had to be mindful of these hotspots.

After the race, I was somewhat sore, but nothing terrible. Very stiff the morning after, but I've been functioning okay. Not too bad for a 13.1-mile exercise in bodily destruction.

One reason the New Hampshire Half-Marathon was on my to-do list is because the course touches a trio of obscure Granite State towns that I haven't yet run in: Groton, Hebron, and Alexandria. (I already got Bristol some time ago.)

So now I can color in those three on my big state map, which is how I keep track of my ongoing quest to run a race (or a minimum of 5K) in every single one of the Granite State's cities, towns, and unincorporated places.

This has been going on since 2001, when I started running again after a long intermission.

I haven't made much progress lately, for two reasons.

First, I haven't been running a lot of races, mostly because of time. It can take pretty much a full day to get out to a race, run it, and then get back home.

And also, I've already run races in pretty much every city or town that hosts them. In New Hampshire, very few "virgin" towns come up on the running calendar for me.

But these three can now be added to the list, bringing the total to something like 135 or so. (I have to check—it's been awhile since I've added to this list.)

I do think that my self-imposed deadline of May 14, 2016 to complete this quest will slip by at this point. I still have about 100 locations to go, and many of them are up north and not exactly easily accessible.

And then I have other quests, which include hiking to the top of all 48 of New Hampshire's 4,000-footers (I'm up to 33) and also running a minimum of 10K in all of the 50 states.

On the "50 states" challenge, I'm up to 16, but plan to add two more this month and then another in November.

At this point in the season, I won't tackle any mountain peaks until next spring, unless I go skiing. But there's still time to bag a few more Granite State communities by running in them before the snow flies.

See you on the roads!

Ascending into the mists: Leading a group up to the summit of Mount Washington—and yes, back down!

Shirley Merle followed by Patsy and Dave Beffa crossing the headwaters of the Ammonoosuc River on Mount Washington.

For some in our group, the planned climb up Mount Washington would be a matter of faith.

This was not due to any lack of ability or desire. Rather, they couldn't be really sure the mountain was actually there.

Yes, last Saturday started out with a low, thick overcast—one of those mornings where even the trailheads were socked in by a wind-driven fog. The "Rockpile" itself was completely invisible—its existence a matter of conjecture for those who'd never seen it before.

Thus began my first-ever experience of leading a group of hikers on a round-trip summit adventure in New Hampshire's White Mountains. To prepare, I actually put together a basic medical bag, including Band-Aids, my Swiss Army knife, and some Gold Bond Medicated Cream. I was ready for any minor cut or bruise!

Would we make it to the top? Would we make it back alive? Read on.

Our route was one I'd taken before: up the very steep Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail to treeline at the Lake of the Clouds Hut, then the historic Crawford Path to the summit. Going down, we'd follow the Great Gulf trail to the Jewell Trail, and from there make our long descent, circling back to where we started.

All in all, about 10 miles. With a planned start of 9 a.m., we expected to be back in the parking lot by 7 p.m. The forecast: fog and overcast to start, but a good chance that a cold front coming in from Canada would clear things out by mid-day. This, however, promised stronger winds and colder temps. In other words, it would probably still feel like winter up there.

In our party: David and Shirley Merle from Yonkers, N.Y., David and Patsy Beffa-Negrini from Nelson, N.H.—and me. We were all veterans of a successful trek to the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro in Africa this past January, and also an epic trek to Annapurna Base Camp in Nepal in 2011.

But in all their adventures, the Merles had never hiked Mount Washington. So their suggestion last month to come up to N.H. and do so set the wheels in motion for our one-day mini-expedition on Saturday, June 6.

Dave and Patsy are veteran hikers as well, but it fell to me to organize and lead this one based on my prior experience.

In fact, I had hiked this exact route five years ago, in July 2010, when I brought two of my dogs along. It was hot and sunny, and way too much for them. Also, Abby (then only 11 months old) cut her paw on the jagged upper slopes. When we finally made it home, she stayed under the bed in an air-conditioned room for four entire days.

Our 2015 adventure began on a positive note: we hit the trail slightly before 9 a.m., and made good time for the first mile, which covers relatively flat ground.

Though in the woods, the trail runs not far from the base station of the Mount Washington Cog Railway. From off in the mists we could hear tweeting and tooting of the railway's early morning steam-powered run (the rest of the trips use diesel locos), and it was no surprise when the wet air suddenly carried the pungent odor of coal smoke.

The rain held off. But a cold fog persisted as we pushed up the ravine, with occasional blasts of chilly wet air from the northwest blowing in behind us. Alongside us, the headwaters of the Ammoonusuc River gushed and roared, swollen from recent rains. It was a wet morning. The mossy, dripping environment brought to mind the landscape of Middle Earth: I expected Bilbo Baggins to come down the trail any minute.

Dave Merle and Dave Beffa at Gem Pond, with its scenic waterfall in the background.

But we had the route pretty much to ourselves until Gem Pond, where the steep section begins in earnest. Stopping there, we met several groups of hikers coming down and up, and so suddenly things got a bit crowded.

Not a problem, except when we started up the steep section, I was surprised to not find Patsy among us. Dave Beffa thought she'd gone ahead so as not to slow the rest of us down, but no one was really sure.

So on we went, but with no sign of her. After awhile, I became concerned enough to stop and suggest I go back in case she was still down at the pond and had missed our departure. As leader, however half-assed, I kinda felt responsible for keeping track of where people were.

But Dave was right: a bit further on, we soon caught up with her, and onward and upwards we all went.

Scrambling up the upper reaches of the Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail.

As we ascended, the fog showed no signs of lifting, while the wind was picking up and making things seem getting noticeably colder. After crossing of the Upper Ammonoosuc, we all donned some cold weather gear as we began scrambling up ledges leading to the Lake of the Clouds hut.

We got to the hut at about noon, and stopped in to further adjust gear for continued cold weather above treeline. My big move was to replace a soaked t-shirt with my hooded fleece jacket. Inside, I produced enough steam for Dave Merle to remark that I looked like a tea kettle.

Dave Merle's photo of me in all-green cold weather get-up. I look like the figure on a walk signal who tells you its okay to cross now.

Dave Beffa pulled out a guest book from 1975 and found entries from when he was part of a group that through-hiked the Appalachian Trial that year. Crazy that it could be found right there, 40 years later, as written by a much younger version of himself.

Blowing clouds and fog persisted, and some of our fellow hikers seemed dressed for full-on Arctic conditions.

We bagged a possible side jaunt to the summit of Mount Monroe. Instead, we pushed on from the Lake of the Clouds Hut to the summit through steady winds, staying close together and navigating by cairn, the blowing fog limiting our visibility as we rock-hopped our way up.

And then, even as the winds kept up, the light suddenly changed. We looked up, and there it was before us: the summit, sparkling in the bright sunlight and framed by a deep blue sky!

And then the clouds rolled back over us—and it was gone.

Still, the glimpse was enough to prove that there actually was a summit, and we actually were heading in the right direction.

As we rose, we gradually emerged from the rolling cloudbank we'd been in since the start, and found ourselves in bright sunshine for about the last half-mile.

We reached the summit at about 2 p.m. To the east, skies were completely clear, offering spectacular views all the way to the Atlantic Ocean. It being colder than usual, the place wasn't nearly as mobbed as I expected on a Saturday in June, which was a nice break.

Dave Merle snaps a summit shot for another group of trekkers.

There was some discussion of taking the Cog Railway back to the base, but the improving weather (and the $46 one-way fare) prompted us to stick with our original plans.

The official summit photo of Patsy and Dave Beffa.

After a meal of chili in the summit cafeteria, we geared up for the cold march down the Great Gulf trail and across the exposed ridge to Mount Clay. After crossing the Cog Railway tracks (look both ways!), we ambled along the dramatic cliffs overlooking the Great Gulf Wilderness far below, as the Northern Presidential peaks stood guard. (Some slopes still harbored patches of snow!)

I had the camera out and accessible during this stretch, which offered the day's most dramatic scenery. So here are some pics.

Just a few steps back, Shirley, and it's the perfect shot!

And then it was down, down, down on the endless Jewell Trail, made longer by the sight of our parking lot far below never seeming to get any closer.

Despite the knee-rattling descent, all went well, and I thought we would make it without incident.

And then Shirley had to use the bathroom.

Because we were close to the Cog Railway base station, I suggested that she and I take a side path over there (for modern indoor plumbing) while the rest of the party continued to the parking lot. Shirley and I, after using the facilities, could then march down the road and meet everyone.

And so Shirley and I broke off. The trail seemed longer than I thought it would be, and then we encounted a crudely made and barely legible wooden sign saying "Trail Closed Bridge Out."

"They can't be serious," I said. "If the bridge was really still out, they would have posted that at the junction," I said.

Famous last words. On we went, on and down, only to find the bridge really was out. And not only that: the gushing Ammonoosuc River was clearly uncrossable, cutting off access to the Cog Base station and civilization just on the other bank. To add insult to injury, a couple of Cog visitors stood on the other side looking slightly amused.

So, in a move that might have dire consequences, I suggested we try bushwhacking upstream to find a spot to get across. We did this, only to find the brush thickening and the ground rising to the point where we were on steep cliffs probably 40 feet above the river, which at this point was a roaring cataract below.

Undaunted, we circled back and tried downstream. Not far below, we came to a spot that almost looked passable. Trying a one-rock-at-a-time route, I found a spot that required a single mighty leap to make it across the widest spot. I jumped and made it, landing on all fours.

What about Shirley? She got as far as the "launch" rock, but then showed good common sense by hesitating.

She finally decided she would try. But to increase her chances, she first threw her pack over to me.

And then she leaped, and she made it as well! Phew!

We then had to scramble up the banks and climb over a massive pair of pipes to emerge on the Cog's manicured lawns—only to find the base station building closed and locked up tight!

A short stroll on a paved road got us to the parking lot, where the rest of our group had arrived about 15 minutes earlier. (Thankfully, the trailhead parking lot also has bathrooms.)

The time was 6:30 p.m. Behind us, the summit of Mount Washington loomed, its western slopes in the clear and glowing in the warm sunlight of an early June evening.

We'd been up there, and made it back. All of us!

Not sure if anyone will be looking at the summit guest book 40 years from now, but if they do: we did make it to the top, and down.

And a good time was had by all.

And here we all are!