Mo-hi-can

Mohican: (n) a member of a North American Indian people formerly living along the Hudson river and east of it.

Only days ago, when I had first arrived in Vermont, many major highways and bridges were still closed and under repair from the hurricane weeks before. The long list of closures included the one road that lead directly from where I was in Vermont and where I needed to go next in New Hampshire. A short 2 hour drive would be turned into a 6 hour drive if these closures remained as I would have to drive south and loop around the hurricane zone. THANKFULLY the very day I set off for my next destination, one lane on the road I needed had opened up and my path was now clear... ish. Exhausted from a weekend of climbing my first real rocks, but SO excited to continue my adventure I threw my pack into the Mustang and hit the road again. On the way I phoned Brooke to inform her of my E.T.A. "Drive carefully!" she insisted. "There are moose on these roads, it's dark and they are SO hard to see, and they will wreck your car. Drive under the speed limit and keep your brights on!" Her cautionary words troubled me a bit, so I took them to heart which was a wise decision. Daylight faded quickly in the beginning of my journey and once again I found myself driving down rural mountain roads in the dark. It wasn't a moose, but it did startle me. A hitch-hiker, male, was walking down the right side of the road in what must have been 40 degree weather. That got my heart pumping, then later I saw it; big and dark, almost demonic looking. Its eyes are what caught my attention. Brooke was right; they are huge, dark, and very difficult to spot. With no more moose or hitch-hiker spotting I finally made it to New Hampshire. Tense from the drive, achy from climbing, and smelling of both I went straight for the shower before we all sat down for some late night scrabble and good-old girly gossip.

Monday morning, late morning I should add, Brooke and I set off for our morning run after which we dressed and headed for town. Plymouth is a small New Hampshire town that happens to be home to a university, though I wouldn't describe it as a college town. It was cute, quaint, with a few of the quirks that come along with small places. We had lunch with a co-worker of Brooke's before exploring the boutiques and local to-dos. Late afternoon until late night Brooke had work which left me the entire evening to rest, recover, and catch up on the blog. An afternoon nap did just the trick but when it came time to get online I was greeted everyone's favorite phrase "internet explorer cannot display the webpage." Frustrated, and determined to make use of my free evening, I bounced around town in search of other internet connections. Finally I diagnosed that it was not the internet connection, it was my browser. The rest of the night I worked to restore internet function to my computer and was rather unsuccessful. By the time Brooke got home from work we were both in serious need of a drink. We rendezvoused with a few more of her co-workers at a local sports bar for beer and Monday Night Football.

Tuesday morning we had a bit of a crowd over for breakfast and some early morning gabbing before our run, which this day was to take place in the rain. It wasn't until that afternoon that Brooke actually realized that she was moving... on THURSDAY! Yes, only days before my arrival Brooke had made the decision to move back to Michigan temporarily. When I arrived on Sunday, her room was in absolute shambles and not at all ready for packing. The reality finally set in that afternoon, so we kicked it into high gear and spent the remainder of the day running errands, doing laundry and of course packing and cleaning. When she left for work again that afternoon I elected to leave as well, not that I don't LOVE packing and cleaning for my friends, but I had an engagement elsewhere.

An old friend from high school, who when we're both at our respective homes, are less than a few hours from each other, was scheduled to be in New Hampshire visiting family the same time I was passing through. Sometimes life just works that way. I picked Peter up for a short afternoon coffee date where we reminisced about our days at Rockford High School and filled each other in on life since 2005. Every day I am amazed and inspired by how different all of our lives have turned out to be and how small of a world we live in that while we are both nearly a thousand miles away from home, we could have coffee in who-knows-where, New Hampshire together after years of separation. Satisfied and caffeinated, I returned Peter to his hosts and drove south to BOSTON!