Days 86-88: The Half Gallon Challenge

Day 86. July 7th: Campsite M1088 to Campsite M1105 – 17 miles

I read half a dozen AT memoirs in the year before starting this hike, and none of them speak fondly of Pennsylvania. The state is known for lackluster views, rattlesnakes, and rocks.

So.

Many.

Rocks.

But so far, Pennsylvania seems… fine. Besides the proximity to noisy roads, I can’t complain about the southern part of the state. The trail is the gentlest it’s ever been, frequently following ridges or cutting across rolling farmland.

Today, we cruise through most of our miles early until we arrive at the halfway point. Halfway to Maine! My mind can’t decide if Georgia was an eternity ago or yesterday. My body feels every mile.

A few miles past the sign, we arrive at Pine Grove Furnace State Park, home of the trail tradition I am looking forward to the most: The Half Gallon Challenge.

People are offering trail magic, and we don’t turn down free food, so even though we’re planning to consume a half gallon of ice cream each, we help ourselves. I eat a salad (to balance out the ice cream, right?) and some fruit. Etienne eats a burger. Bold, I think. I finish my prudent plate of food, confident of my victory in the coming challenge.

We proceed to the camp store, where a sign claims that this year’s record is a mere 13 minutes. Inside, we overpay for the famous ice cream. A normal tub is 1.5 quarts, so once you finish that, you have to buy one more hand-dipped pint to complete the challenge. I strategically choose Neapolitan, hoping that with three flavors instead of one, I won’t get sick of the taste.

We both decide to hedge our bets and wait to purchase the last pint until we finish the first tub, so we head outside with our tubs of ice cream, sit at a picnic table, and dig in. Smarter hikers would have waited in the sun for a few minutes before beginning the challenge to give the ice cream time to soften, but I was excited to get started.

The first half is easy. Enjoyable. I don’t think about the time. But as the minutes tick past, I slow down. My flavor-alternating strategy is effective, except that the strawberry section is full of enormous, frozen berries that hurt my teeth to bite into. Etienne finishes his butter pecan and heads back inside for a pint of chocolate. He finishes it at 34 minutes and claims his tiny wooden spoon of triumph, while I gnaw at my strawberries and start to feel sick. I finish my tub at 51 minutes and forsake the challenge. Despite the sting of defeat, it’s not worth it to me to spend another $4 on a pint of ice cream I won’t enjoy and which I will inevitably fail to finish in the next 9 minutes.

Based on these before and after pictures, it’s clear that overconfidence was my downfall.

I failed the half gallon challenge. But still, with three pints of ice cream sitting heavily in my stomach, I hoist my pack and start walking. I’ve hiked 1100 miles, and now there’s only 1090 to go. I started the Appalachian Trail with less self-assurance than I started eating that ice cream, but halfway through, I’m feeling better about my chances of getting to Katahdin.

Day 87. July 8th: Campsite M1105 to Boiling Springs Campsite – 17.3 miles

The next day, we cross sunny farmland and arrive in Boiling Springs, where the trail cuts directly through town. We finally catch Rob and Ash, who have stayed just a few miles out of reach since I fell behind in Maryland. Rob’s younger brother Greg is joining them on the trail for a month of his summer vacation, and the family road-tripped down to drop him off. We eat together and enjoy the amenities of hiker-friendly Boiling Springs.

Day 88. July 9th: Boiling Springs to Carlisle – 8.4 miles

After a night at the free campsite outside of town, we resupply and then hike a short, easy day up the trail to Carlisle, where the five of us cram into a motel room. It’s nice when a community like Boiling Springs offers free camping, but skipping an indoor stay can mean skipping a shower, and we quickly realized that the July heat and low-elevation humidity do not favor this choice.

We pass a fun evening all together and eat breakfast at a diner, but the town stop is bittersweet. With Greg just starting to acclimate to the trail, it’s likely Etienne and I will outpace them in the next few days. There’s no way of predicting if or when our little tramily will catch us again.

That’s one of the weirdest things about the Appalachian Trail. In “normal” life, most social encounters are fairly predictable. But out here, whenever you say goodbye to someone, it’s knowing you will see them again in a few hours, a few weeks, or never.