“I actually walked past a guy trying to ride up the trail on a mountain bike. No matter how fast he pedaled, he couldn’t keep pace with my lethargic steps and eventually fell from sight.”
It had been a month since I climbed the Presidential Traverse, and I knew I was out of shape. Just how much though was a surprise. I chose a smaller climb up Mount Rowe and Gunstock Mountain to shake off the cobwebs, and it was a good choice. After a month of ice cream and kicking up my heels, I struggled climbing these “lesser” hills.
On the plus side, even though I was walking like a bag of bones, I was able to pass a mountain biker trying to ride up the trail. I honestly don’t know how he was going so slow, but if he went any slower, he’d be standing still.
Hiking Gunstock Mountain
After passing through the woods, I had the trail to myself, but I could still hear the voices of mothers and children at the nearby elementary school. It was the first tangible moment where I recall feeling conscious gratitude for the wonderful serenity of a remote mountain journey. Before I was done with this climb, I was ready to get back out in the 4000-footers.
When I got to Gunstock’s summit, I took note of the Panorama Pub. Looks fun. I also took a gander at the chairlift. This was the second summit lift I came across during my journey, and if I ran into this one at night like I did the one at Wildcat, I’d probably think it was a spaceship too.
Going Downhill
I regained a little of my old rhythm on the way down and found myself wanting more. More time in the mountains. More exercise. Some more sun. Walking past the goldenrod lining Gunstock’s ski slopes, I started plotting my next 4000-footer attempt. Maybe it’s time for Isolation.
Not wanting to get within earshot of the groups enjoying the school playground, I slowed myself down to a soft amble, listening for wildlife, hearing the wind. Nearing the end, I came across a cottontail and paused to take him in. We watched each other for a few minutes before he eventually decided I wasn’t worth the risk and darted off into the woods. With no sentinel keeping me any longer, I headed to the truck.
Flat Tire Near Exit 18 Canterbury
Apparently, the Universe felt the day was too easy for me, because as I made my way down Route 93, I got a flat tire. The truck lurched and if someone was in the other lane when it happened, I surely would have gotten into a big accident. But even though getting a flat was a huge pain in the butt, I was excited for the challenge. It had been a long time since I changed a tire, and I needed something more than what Gunstock and Rowe doled out. Such was the state of my being that year.
“Rowe and Gunstock had not filled my adventure quota and changing a flat tire was going to be my chance to capture the day.”
Sadly, I couldn’t change it myself. Soothing my ego, the AAA guy told me there was no way I would have been able to remove the lug nuts on my own because the dealership had machine-bolted them on too tightly. That helped. For a second there, I was really wondering just how out of shape a month of eating ice cream had gotten me.
Looking for more stories about New Hampshire’s mountains?
If you like reading about mountains, the 4000-footers, and the ups and downs of getting “out there,” check out 4000s by 40.
Looking for photos of more 4000-footers? Head back to the 4000s by 40 Visual Companion to explore the other peaks.