I made the drive north from Washington, DC, to New Hampshire a week earlier than usual this year. The reason? More family time. Last year, I came up and only had a week with family before everyone left. Sure, it was nice, in a way, to have a week completely to myself. It was also hard. Being alone, even in this age of technology, is really difficult — especially in a place as quiet as here.
So while I loved that week in 2014 — comprised of my first solo overnight camping in the Whites followed by a three-day trip to Acadia — I yearned for a more balanced experience this year, a trip that would offer me every day the opportunity to both spend time with family and go off on my hiking excursions.
Throw in the fact that I’ve been dealing with my first real knee injury this summer — an ailment that made June and much of July two of the most difficult months I’ve ever had — and having a balanced New Hampshire experience made sense. I wouldn’t be running off into the mountains for 20- and 30-mile day hikes to the detriment of my body, as much as I love such adventures.
Now, 11 days into my time here in New Hampshire — as I sit on the Red House porch during an impeccable, cloudy and sunny Wednesday afternoon — I begin my day-by-day recounting of another wondrous summer, or small part of the season, in this magical place.
Sunday, July 26 — An initial taste
Here’s how alluring New Hampshire is. After a nine-hour day in the Civic, I didn’t just want to unwind at the Red House, enjoying a delicious dinner and a large glass of wine with family. No, I wanted to do all that — but after a hike. The last two years now, I’ve taken to the woods before even unpacking. The mountains are that irresistible.
So it was that around 6:30pm, I parked in the near-empty West Rattlesnake lot and walked the easy 0.8 miles to the open summit and its expansive views of Squam Lake. I had the usually popular open ledges to myself, and basked in the views of the cloud-shrouded lake beneath me.
It was as if I were experiencing the hike for the first time, not the 20th!
MILES HIKED: 1.6
Monday, July 27 — Must I go down?
The other hike I do every summer without fail is Eagle Cliff, a 0.6-mile jaunt up a steep trail to a breathtaking view of, you guessed it, Squam — overlooking the Sandwich town beach (and much more). After a balanced day that included a delicious Italian lunch in Center Harbor with family friends (I even cheated on my gluten intolerance with a slice of pizza), I couldn’t imagine the day concluding sans a climb…
So after knocking out 90 minutes of work from the lawn of the Wentworth Library (most reliable wireless in town!), I drove down Bean Road, past the beach, and parked the Civic at the Eagle Cliff trailhead a bit after 6pm.
When hiking alone, I rarely, if ever, take breaks — particularly when doing climbs so short. Thus I was on top of Eagle Cliff after 15-20 minutes, seated on the sloping granite and gazing at the lake below. I pulled out my book — a novel about a woman overcoming tragedy and self-despair in Alaska — and worked my body into a comfortable reading position. Every chapter or so, I looked up from the pages to assess the changes in the light hitting the smooth water below.
I would have stayed up there until dusk, but I knew a family and a top-notch meal prepared by Aunt Sallie at the Red House awaited me. I hustled down the trail in semi-darkness (the woods are always so, so much darker), jumped in Squam at the beach for my evening shower, and headed back to town and up Diamond Ledge Road for that dinner.
On the menu: Beef kabobs and vegetables paired with a rich Malbec. There’s no way I could ever be a year-round vegetarian with Sallie’s cooking. Yum!
MILES HIKED: 1.2
Tuesday, July 28 — That sunset!
This year, after a two-summer hiatus, we rekindled our “hut hike” tradition. The basics: Almost ever year from when I was in my early teens to my late 20s, a group of family members varying in size went on a hike in the White Mountains just to the north of Sandwich that involved staying in an Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC) hut one, if not two nights. The first year in 2000, it was just cousin J-bo, my dad, Aunt Sal and I. The hut hike peaked in 2007 with nine people.
The hut hike is great for a variety of reasons. I’ll name a few: 1) You spend a night or two high up in the mountains surrounded by incredible scenery; 2) The food served at the huts is ridiculously delicious (and you don’t have to carry it up yourself!); 3) The “Croo” that runs each of the eight AMC huts is fun.
For these reasons and more, I was excited for this year’s hike to Mitzpah Hut with Dad, Sal, cousin Caitlin and her boyfriend Jake.
It involved a pretty easy hike of just 3 miles to the hut on the Crawford Path, allowing us to dump what we didn’t need for the afternoon hike in our eight-person (I think?) dormitory room No. 7. Caitlin, Jake and I hiked ahead of the older folk, arriving in less than two hours. We quickly made that transition and jumped on the bridges-laden trail toward Mt. Jackson. We stayed entertained with another hut-hike tradition — guessing the number of wooden bridges on the trail.
Answer: A LOT.
We kept recalibrating our guesses, as the number rose above 100, then 200, to, finally, a total of 260 for the day.
The top of Jackson was perfect. The bare rocky summit afforded views of nearly the entire Presidential range, including Mt. Washington, New England’s zenith that wasn’t in the clouds (not a common occurrence). As is always the case, the sky was made all the more spectacular by the puffy clouds that broke up the blueness. We took photos, we ate, I read, I even dozed off for a little.
Pure bliss.
Back at the hut, we were in for a bit of a surprise. To give the “Croo” a couple-day break away from the hut and together, a fill-in alumni Croo — people who had worked in the huts 15-20 years prior — was in charge. They were nice and served us a delectable lasagna dinner (after the soup, bread and salad, of course), but they didn’t match the infectious energy of the usual college-age Croo that mans each hut. This was the only negative we could possibly take from the experience.
Our appetites more than satiated, we strapped back on light packs and worked off dinner with the 0.8-mile tramp up Mt. Pierce for sunset. After about half a mile, we came to a clearing that afforded our first view west and the bright orange sky catalyzed by the sinking sun. We were very tempted to stop right there, but pushed on at a hearty pace, instead. We reached the summit and its lower reaches offering the premier views just as peak sunset had arrived.
You can guess how the next half an hour went. There were plenty of “Beautiful” exclamations, dozens of photos were snapped, and I gazed around in wonder. Question: Can an incredible sunset ever get boring or repetitive? Answer: No.
The descent in the dark was pretty cool, too. We were able to go without our headlamps for quite sometime. But back in the woods for the final half mile walking down slippery rocks and over protruding roots, they were necessary. We made it back to the hut at 9:26pm, just four minutes shy of lights-out time.
Needless to say, we were all ready to conk out.
MILES HIKED: 8
Wednesday, July 29 — All about “The Ridge”
The Crawford Path is the oldest continuously maintained footpath in the United States. The first part up Mt. Pierce (formerly Mt. Clinton), which we hiked for the second time Wednesday after departing Mitzpah, was cut in 1819 by Abel Crawford and his son Ethan Allen Crawford.
That piece of history, alone, would make walking the trail pretty neat. The fact that the trail offers arguably the best views in all of New Hampshire’s White Mountains makes it legendary, in my book. I’ve walked it now at least a handful of times, and each experience feels fresh.
We parted ways with Dad and Sal at our sunset spot of the night prior, them planning to head down the Crawford Path to Sal’s car later in the afternoon while our trio would descend the Edmonds Path off the shoulder of Mt. Eisenhower. Once we split off, summits were on the mind.
It’s hard to explain, but when I’m within a mile of a peak, I want it — and I want it now! This isn’t to say that the journey isn’t enjoyed, that I don’t glance around every few footsteps and breath in — heck, smile in — the surroundings. I do all that. But I also want that peak, and don’t stop much before gaining it.
That mindset took us to the summit of Eisenhower (4,670 ft) — a solid 500-foot climb from the col between it and Pierce — and its enormous peak-marking cairn, although it looked a bit squashed (probably from people sitting on it for photos). After a brief snack, we continued on the ridge, now completely in the open with nothing but views of the ever-changing landscape as clouds moved in and out.
(Note: The Presidentials are prime territory for time lapse photography, because no vantage point rarely stays the same.)
Even though I’ve hiked the Crawford Path several times, I’m far from having it memorized. This couldn’t have been clearer as we tried to help a couple locate the barely marked summit of Mt. Franklin in between Eisenhower and Monroe. You see, Franklin is not an official 4,000-footer (or part of the 48) because it is simply a mound along the ridge and doesn’t drop off “200 ft. above the low point of its connecting ridge with a higher neighbor.” In other words, Franklin (5,001 ft.) would need a dropoff of 200 feet between it and the upslope of Monroe (5,384) to be official. Sadly, that’s far from the case.
Anyway, I had a hard time remembering where the side path to Franklin’s off-the-beaten-path summit was. We eventually found it and took a short break there, before continuing on and looping around Mt. Monroe (more on that in a minute) to a pit stop at Lakes of the Clouds Hut (5,012 ft), easily the most popular of the AMC hut destinations.
LOTC hut sits just 1.4 miles below Mt. Washington’s buildings- and tourists-dominated summit, so it’s a popular stopping point for those hiking to the mammoth peak from the west. For us, it was the perfect turnaround spot and a chance to enjoy a couple of their midday baked goods and play a game of cards.
Then we headed back outside, showed Jake the two “lakes” adjacent to the hut that serve as its namesake, and began the short 0.3-mile ascent of Monroe from the east. Monroe’s summit, as is wont in the Presidentials, didn’t disappoint. We were hit by mild winds and watched as a dark, ominous cloud took over the summit of Washington, wiping out the views of the buildings. It was perfect.
As I sat on the peak, I thought back to 2000 and my first time on Monroe’s summit with cousin J-bo, Dad and Sal, crouched low in a tiny space between rocks that saved us from 50-mph winds. That was the day when J-bo and I, 16 at the time, kept begging Dad and Sal to continue going toward Washington even though we had to return eventually all the way down the Crawford Path to our car.
That day, quite possibly, was when a seed was planted for me becoming so passionate about hiking.
This time around, there were no 50-mph winds, but the summit and ridge were just as enjoyable. And it was equally difficult to leave the openness as we reached the Edmands Path just shy of 3pm and began the 2.9-mile descent to the car.
MILES HIKED: 9.5
Thursday, July 30 — No hiking? OK, I’ll bike!
You might not understand this, but I have a very hard time not hiking every day that I’m in New Hampshire. A day sans a hiking trail almost feels wasted, like, ‘What am I doing in this hiking utopia sitting around, not climbing a mountain?’ I used to be really bad at this. I’ve gotten a little — emphasis on little — better.
So was the case the day after the hut hike, when I took a break from the trails. I was OK with that, but not with an inactive New Hampshire day. That was my compromise. So I settled on a 14-mile round-trip bike ride to the pot hole, our resident cold-water wonderland in Sandwich.
The 7-mile ride there provided ample hills to power up and then zoom down, and very few cars (that’s a staple up here, the only place I actually enjoy driving, too) and ended with the perfect place to soak in cold water, before remounting the bicycle. Oh, and the ride back concluded with the 1.5-mile up-up-and-up ride on Diamond Ledge Road to our Red House, which sits on top of a hill with a never-gets-old view of Squam Lake.
As I made the final push up the hill, rain began to fall and then got harder, pelting me but also cooling me on the rather hot late July afternoon. As soon as my bike reached the porch, I exchanged it for car keys and drove the 2 miles to the town beach for my absolute favorite non-hiking New Hampshire pastime.
Swimming in the rain.
Sadly, the precipitation ceased by the time my toes touched the sand, but the swim was refreshing all the same.
Back at the house, I proudly grilled, with Sal’s assistance, hot dogs to perfection and we ate dinner on the porch while the sun set over the lake through the screen windows.
Not bad for a non-hiking day.
MILES HIKED: 0
Friday, July 31 — The hike-alone mentality
There was no doubt Friday would be a hiking day. One New Hampshire day off from the trails is feasible; two is asinine. I knew, too, that it would be a solo day since Jake and Caitlin had other plans, and the Dad wasn’t ready for another hike.
This was both exciting and challenging.
Hiking alone is not easy. I’ve done it more than most people from New Hampshire, to Maine, to the Adirondacks, to Colorado, to Utah, to Yosemite, to Arizona and so on. Despite all those experiences, it remains difficult.
You have no one but yourself to push you. The mind wanders and even plays tricks on you (ask me about the faux bear on the Presidential Traverse hike). The woods mess with you. Time passes slower.
And usually, I hike much faster.
That was certainly the case as I took on the Baldface circle hike, a 9.8-mile loop over the Baldface peaks on the very east side of the state, southeast of the Presidential and Wildcat-Carter ranges.
The hike was about 3.7 miles to the South Baldface summit, but I emerged from the woods before hitting the 3-mile mark, not stopping a single time until I reached the ridiculously steep granite pitches. Once out in the open, regardless of the terrain or the grade of the trail, everything is easier.
The reason for this is basic: When you can see everything, even for miles, you don’t feel trapped, you don’t imagine the worst. Rather, you feel free. And more than that, you feel oh, so ALIVE!
I also began stopping — pausing, actually, is the better word — every few feet because blueberry bushes were ubiquitous on both sides of the trail. Hundreds upon hundreds of delicious blueberries. Out of the woods, eating blueberries, and scrambling up rock ledges that offered better and better views in all directions made the solo hike that much easier.
Amazingly, I had both summits to myself. The peaks — South at 3,570, North at 3,610 — offered impeccable views in all directions: The Presidentials and Wildcats/Carters to the northwest, Maine’s mountains stretching out as far as the eye could see to the northeast and east, and more of the Whites to the south and west.
I soaked it all in, ate some more, and then continued the loop hike. I didn’t relax for too, too long on the summits because A) That’s just my modus operandi when hiking solo; and B) I had an event in Sandwich with the family to attend in the early evening.
The trail was out in the open for a good four miles, an incredible amount of top-of-the-world hiking for a New Hampshire trail not the Presidential or Franconia ridge. Then it was 3 miles of easy, walking-on-leaves, mellow-grade tramping back to the car.
My mind wandered all over the place, but the most common thought was, ‘Wow, another incredible hike. This place never disappoints.’
The evening brought balance to my day. I was back with the family, and we all enjoyed a charitable dinner and auction (both silent and live) in support of the local childcare center. I even picked up a person-sized framed piece of artwork for $20 at night’s end.
I’d call that a well-rounded Friday.
MILES HIKED: 9.8
Saturday, August 1 — Hiking with Charlie the Pomeranian
Once we were safely in the woods away from the road, Charlie was unleashed and away he went. OK, not really. Charlie isn’t exactly one of those dogs who runs 50 yards ahead and then back to you (like our former Golden Retriever Copper would do). Rather, he might go up ahead 20 feet, look back to check up on Mom, and then hang out for a minute to allow her to catch up.
Or he’ll bring up the rear.
As we ascended the trail through the woods, we discussed bear scenarios. As in, a bear could eat Charlie in exactly one bite. As in, if we were to see a bear, we’d need to scoop him up and hold on to him for (his) dear life.
Thankfully, no bear surprised us and we enjoyed a peaceful 1.1-mile jaunt to the cliffs.
On top, a family joined us and a boy fell in love with the lounging Pomeranian in the shade, petting him and rolling him over for several minutes. Charlie basked in the attention, dreading the minute when the boy would leave and we’d head back down the mountain.
Saturday evening was about family — and an incredible sunset. I always enjoy dinners at the town beach, and this one was especially gorgeous. As we ate, the sky’s colors gradually changed, with the waning sun above the Squam mountain range reflecting off the still lake spread before us. After eating, Caitlin and Jake joined me for an annual tradition – bocce ball on the sand.
As the light disappeared from the sky, it cast a glow over the lake. Perfection.
MILES HIKED: 2.2
Sunday, August 2 — My favorite naptime
If you ask me what I enjoy most on a mountain, I’ll answer, “Everything.” This includes plenty of things you don’t experience during normal life (ascending a trail, the views, wild blueberries, etc.) but also plenty of normal society activities.
Such as naps.
And what better way is there to awake from a nap than by gazing out at blue sky dotted with mountain peaks and puffy white clouds?
That’s exactly what I found myself doing Sunday afternoon atop Potash Mountain (2,681 ft) after a 2.2-mile mostly mellow ascent with the Dad. With tremendous open views, especially to the west, spread out in front of me, I laid on my back and read for awhile before dozing off.
When I awoke a few minutes later, the scenery was no less spectacular. The blueberries picked from ample trailside bushes were no less delectable, either.
After descending in the late afternoon, we found a new post-hike soaking spot at Lower Falls along the Kancamangus Highway. The large area of pools and short cascades is quite popular — the parking lot was at capacity earlier in the afternoon — and for good reason, as we enjoyed exploring the pools (carefully) and I stuck myself under a white water shower and then rode the current downstream.
Feeling refreshed from an action-packed day, we drove back to Sandwich and another impeccable Aunt Sal-cooked dinner.
Hiking. Swimming. Great food. Family.
That’s what this place is all about!
MILES HIKED: 4.4
Monday, August 3 — The thrill never gets old
That moment. That thrill. It could never possibly get old, become stale, feel dull.
As I clambered up the final rock pitch of Mt. Morgan (2,220 ft) and the view of Squam Lake and myriad white clouds opened up below me, I grinned in silly wonderment. Here, I had ascended this mountain at least a dozen times before. Heck, I had done it less than a year ago.
No matter. That moment and that view was all I needed. The beauty instantly made the 2.1-mile slog that I’d done without stopping, pushing hard the entire way, more than worth it.
It always is.
I couldn’t believe I had the summit during the mid-afternoon all to myself, so I sat and soaked in the scenery for a few minutes before moving on to the 0.8-mile ridge trail and the summit of Mt. Percival (2,212 ft), where another breathtaking view awaited me.
I couldn’t wait.
Never gets old.
MILES HIKED: 5
Tuesday, August 4 — A lesson in kayaking
I had to take a leak.
That was the painful truth as I sat in the kayak on Bearcamp Pond surrounded by lily pads and gazing at the mountain landscape of Chocorua, Whiteface and Sandwich Dome.
The scenery was incredibly beautiful and peaceful. My urge to take a leak was not. And we were far from the middle of the lake’s island — and even farther from the sandy shore where Dad and I had begun our journey.
I kayaked around the near shore, delaying and allowing Dad to take more photos of the lily pads, mountains and photogenic dragonflies. Moments later, pictures taken, we rendezvoused and I told him I was jumping in. It helped that the mid-morning sun made the water all the more beckoning.
Dad made some good point about the island only being a 2-minute kayak away. I ignored it and jumped.
My kayak tipped over.
I moved quickly to flip it back over with none of its few contents (water platypus, sandals, bug repellent) lost in the water. No big deal, right? Except that when I attempted to pull myself back into the boat…
The kayak tipped over again. And filled with more water.
I tried once more. Same result. And now, it was getting heavy from water.
I tried going underwater and lifting the kayak above me to dump the water, but my upper body isn’t strong enough. No chance. We were probably a couple football fields away from the island, but Dad kayaked there and dropped off his camera (no risking that!) before coming back to help pull me and the kayak to shore where we could dump the water..
Lesson learned: Jumping out of a kayak without capsizing it is easier said than done.
In the afternoon, I returned to an activity I have a hard time erring in — hiking. My day feeling incomplete sans a hike, I returned to the trailhead of two days prior to do the 4.8-mile loop over Hedgehog Mountain (2,532 ft).
I enjoyed a catastrophe-free hike that included dozens of awe-inspiring views (sound familiar?) and followed it up with a soak at the Lower Falls.
Day complete.
MILES KAYAKED: 1.0
MILES HIKED: 4.8
Wednesday, August 5 — I can’t just sit here
The time was 4:07pm and I sat on the beach. I had just been informed that there wasn’t room on the small motor boat for the ride of Squam Lake my parents and Sal had won at the previous Friday’s silent auction.
The sky was exploding with puffy clouds. A slight to moderate wind made the weather as pleasant as can be.
Yes, it was late. Yes, we had an 8pm dinner reservation at The Corner House, the one eatery in Sandwich. Yes, I had hiked every other day except one.
It didn’t matter. I jumped in the lake quickly to refresh myself, dried off in record time, and fast-walked to the Civic. The craving was back. The craving for a hike.
And as always, it was a great decision. I fast-walked and trail ran up Mt. Wonalancet (2,787 ft) and Mt. Hibbard (2,945), which offered a limited view to the southeast of the nearby peaks and oh, those freakin clouds!
It was as much a workout as it was a leisurely hike, as I pushed the pace throughout the 5-mile loop, determined to get back in time for dinner. I also had that drive. It’s hard to explain, but when I have it, no pitch is too steep. I just throttle right up it.
Out of the woods, I stopped at the pot hole on the drive back toward town and had the cold-water palace to myself. I soaked for five minutes, something I’m sure the knees appreciated. And then I ate well at dinner, feeling deserved of a big meal after the hike.
Good decisions all around.
MILES HIKED: 5.0
Thursday, August 6 — NATURE! And kids!
Nature is all you need. This sounds simplistic, and maybe it is. But when you’re standing atop a mountain peak with views in all directions, you don’t feel the urge to reach for your phone, or to talk to someone (although the right company can be nice). You just bask in the beauty, in your surroundings.
Thursday morning, the Dad and I planned on hiking Mt. Pemigewasset in Franconia Notch, a short hike to a summit with great views. However, as we walked from car to trailhead, we noticed a group of about 50 kids coming our way.
Nothing against kids, but the idea of sharing a small summit with them wasn’t exactly appealing. Think NOISE. So after a couple hundred yards, we made the difficult but correct decision to turn around and find a new hike.
We drove northeast to the Sugarloaf loop trailhead for an easy 3.4-mile loop of the North (2,310 ft) and Middle (2,539) peaks. For some reason, there isn’t a south Sugarloaf. The hiking was easy, and there weren’t 50 kids. And despite seeing some people on the trail, we ended up having both expansive summits with myriad views to ourselves.
After shooting some photos, I found a flat, smooth rocky surface and settled in for some reading while the Dad did a more comprehensive photo session. On the Middle peak, I dozed off after awhile.
It was a perfect, mellow afternoon.
As we were driving back south to Sandwich, Dad came up with the idea of doing a sunset hike up West Rattlesnake — hopefully with everyone. Genius! We had an early, rushed dinner and then piled into the Prius, Charlie the Pomeranian included!
Sitting atop Rattlesnake watching some of the coolest, most colorful clouds slowly darken, we were joined by a young Slovenian man who was working at a nearby camp and planned on traveling the entire east coast down to Florida this year. We were also joined by a group of five kids ranging in age from about 9 to 19.
At first, I was a little suspect of the kids. The peacefulness of sunset on the mountain would be broken; it’d be hard to enjoy what we’d come for. One of the kids belted out incorrectly upon arrival, pointing at a distant short peak, “There’s Mt. Washington! It’s 7,000 feet tall!”
Man, was I wrong. These kids were amazing and precocious. They were effusive in their love of simply being on top of this peak at sunset, of the views of Squam Lake, of Charlie the dog. They stayed on top with us for about 45 minutes, asking Aunt Sal questions about her painting, chatting with the Dad about his time lapse photography, and enjoying their surroundings.
There was no music playing, no texting, no Snap Chatting. They were in the moment, soaking in nature.
Because it was their first time on the mountain, the kids — Kelsey, 19, who was some sort of nanny for the others; a girl named Montana; a boy named Cooper; and another boy, Mr. Mt. Washington, and girl — asked if they could join us for the way down in the dark, and we gladly accepted their continued company.
Everyone enjoyed the decent through nature all the way to the cars at the bottom.
MILES HIKED: 5.0
Friday, August 7 — The ending
But as I sat on the beach at Bearcamp later in the afternoon — an epic in its own right cloud-filled sky glimmering above glistening, calm water — I couldn’t help but think, as I turned the page of my vacation’s third book, ‘This is still pretty darn good.’
Heck, a vacation with just these lakes, family and delicious meals — returning to my DC cooking will be rough — would be a good one. Throw in, of course, all the mountains and hikes, and New Hampshire is a requirement on my calendar every year.
And always impossibly difficult to leave.
Maintaining a summer-only house 125 years old is never easy and requires plenty of processes at the beginning and end of each season up here, so that work consumed Sal’s and the parents’ mornings, and I even chipped in with some work. Then came the hike combined with reading and a final evening at the beach before returning to the house for the last supper.
(Side note: As I sat at Bearcamp reading my book, I overheard two boys down by the water talking about the San Antonio Spurs. My ears perked up. Basketball talk by a couple of kids in August? This couldn’t be! And yet it was. Twenty minutes later, they were discussing NBA trade scenarios, so I couldn’t help myself. I walked over and clumsily inserted myself into the conversation. Some 15 minutes later, one boy had to leave but the other kid, maybe 11, kept going. He matched me comment for comment. Now that I can RESPECT! Hoops junkies for life.)
If anything, this summer I learned that:
A) Any hike is a great hike. I only walked more than 5 miles on three days, but hiked on 12 of 13. Every single one, regardless of length, was memorable.
B) Getting a grill ready for cooking is easy!
C) Having family here the entire trip is great, although it does make leaving for long hikes harder (only because I don’t want to miss a dinner!).
Leaving won’t be easy tomorrow, but the fact that Alaska beckons in three weeks makes this easier. At least a bit.
Until 2016, New Hampshire.
Posts
