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Start typing your question and we'll check if it was already asked and answered. Learn More. Do not include HTML, links, references to other stores, pricing or contact info. Browse 1 question Browse 1 question and 2 answers. Is this truly a right side mirror? It looks like a left in the picture. Get both in the event that you lose one while adventure riding. Furthermore I cannot endorse this product.

After one time of removing and returning the mirror the screws stripped the plastic. Very poor design considering anyone buying this would be removing and returning them several times. There is a left and a right side. I bought 2 of each. Just specify which one you want, right or left.

Countdown 365: #355 – The Right Side of the Dirt

Questions For Similar Products. She looked at my foot for roughly 5 seconds and determined that I had a stress fracture and needed to get off trail for a significant amount of time. She gave me her number and told me to give her a call once I got into Great Barrington, the next town the trail came close to. I stayed with my new benefactor for a day or 2, and hitched into a nearby town that had a greyhound station. I was able to find a 2 trip route to Rutland, which had a stop in Albany. Once checked in, I had trouble not offending people when I tried to set up my sleeping mat near them, what with me being white and all, but I eventually found a corner of the room to crash in.

They had a farm about an hour away, some hikers and I would go every morning and harvest squash and carrots, milk goats, and whatever else needed to be done. They also had a soap factory that I worked at a bit as well, and they taught us Israeli folk dancing on Fridays during their pre-Sabbath party.

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While my experience at their community in Harpers Ferry had been exceptional, I quickly realized these guys were much more interested in getting converts, and there was a subtle undercurrent of desperation there. After about a month I started getting uncomfortable, and rationalized that my foot was good enough to keep hiking, and found a greyhound up to Bangor, Maine, a few hours from the nearest trail town, and hopped on. I figured if I started at Maine and hiked south I could still make it without getting caught in nasty winter weather up north.

From there I had a great hitchhiking experience, with everyone insisting on buying me a beer before dropping me off at the next exit who says hospitality only exists in the south I did eventually end up on some gravel road, 13 miles from any road that would be an easy hitch, but luckily an older fellow pulled over and gave me a ride to a gas station where I may have better luck. The following day I hiked the legendary end point in perfect weather, living vicariously by watching the elation of hikers for whom that was their last stop. The mile wilderness was amazing, and the weather was perfect, but about half way through, the pain in my foot was back in full force, my glasses broke so I could see a fraction of the beauty surrounding me, and my packs hip belt had broken so Para cord was loosely holding it onto me.

I took all of this as a sign that my time in the woods had come to a close, and naturally, began planning the hike I am currently on. My mother is by far one of the best people I can fathom, and this situation was no exception, as she drove all the way up to pick up disheveled smelly son.

Moving on…. On March 29th, I once again set out to do a thru hike, and have been blessed so far. I feel back at home. There is something euphoric in the surrender of intentionally being in way over your head, which I certainly experienced the first time, but this time I just sit back and watch, and offer advice or stories if they are asked for.

Going back out after getting out of shape has been strange, as it now took me all day to do what I could knock out before lunchtime on my last trip, but this is hardly the place to be in a hurry. I met my first mystical woodland hippy on Blood Mountain, where my water filter had popped off from my camelback, and nearly 2 liters of water leaked into my backpack. It was a nice day though, so I set everything out to dry, made lunch, and jammed on my guitar for a bit. Several minutes later, a dreadlocked head popped up from behind a rock, and he sat down and began freestyling, which happened for what seemed like 10 minutes or so before a word was actually spoken.

He had been a roadie in Atlanta for a while, then became a wandering spiritual adviser, and had felt called to Blood Mountain to commune with the ancestors, and had been up there for about a month by the time I came along.

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I told him about Trail days, the festival in VA, and hope to see him there. We jammed and conversed for a few hours before I needed to head on. Franklin NC was cool, but once again I got sucked into doing work-for-stay at a hostel for way longer than I anticipated. The fact that the First Baptist Church of Franklin serves a free pancake and bacon breakfast to hikers every morning certainly made it easy to get stuck as well.

At the Fontana Hilton, a massive shelter just before you enter the park, two thru-hikers, without planning it, showed up to provide trail magic, consisting of all the hotdogs and beer anyone could want. I had been stuck there with shin splints for the last day, and was getting restless as the weather was uncharacteristically good for the area, but my morale was instantly boosted by these lovely folks.

With the exception of one day of rain, sleet, and massive wind gusts, the weather was perfect, and the landscape alternated between rocky overlooks and ground glowing with moss or wildflowers. The trip between the Smokies and here has been fantastic. I found a wonderful patch of morels near Max Patch, a bald with a degree view and cowboy camped without a tent with a perfect view of the sunset, stars, and sunrise. Life was good. Hot Springs has once again been the perfect trail town. I got in Thursday and set up camp on the side of the river, then wandered through the tiny town to see who all I knew, and spent the rest of the day doing absolutely nothing.

As much as I would love to claim to be an athlete, the reality is that the trail is 30 percent hiking, 30 percent sleeping, and 40 percent loitering. Not a bad life! I heard that there was a music festival going on that weekend, and not being one to pass up the opportunity to get thoroughly sidetracked, I have spent the last 3 days swimming, busking, and sneaking in every time I hear music I like. I can see how they get used to this lifestyle. I also met Freddy, the owner of Hiker ministries, a little cabin that has drinks, snacks, wifi, and coffee for hikers, and spent the better part of a day hanging out with him and getting his story more on this when I get around to writing my book.

There is a music room, a library, a farm that supplies their breakfast and dinners for guests, and it has some serious history.

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The English folklorist and musicologist Cecile Sharpe stayed there for a time on a quest to find old ballads that had been lost in England, and transcribed and recorded 64 of them, after meeting Jane Gentry, an Appalachian folklorist and song catcher who lived in the house. Til we meet again! Greetings from Pawling, New York!

It has been a rocky ride, but I am about 10 miles away from the Connecticut state line, and only miles to go! The last month, or however long it has been, has been interesting, to say the least. After getting back on the trail from my stay with the Twelve Tribes, I finished up West Virginia and Maryland, got to the unofficial and official half-way point, and crossed the mile marker. All in all, it was a good section for constant instant gratification, a great reward for making it through miles of Virginia. The actual hiking through Pennsylvania was somewhat annoying, as the entire section seemed to be built of triangular shaped rocks just big enough to roll your ankle, so much of the hike was spent looking down.

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There were rolling hills and I walked through tons of farmland, and the trail magic and opportunities that presented themselves more than compensated for a few pesky rocks. Within a few minutes of getting into Boiling Springs, PA, I heard my name shouted from the one tavern in town. Despite being loaded, he was a very down to earth and humble guy. I ended up staying there for two nights, and towards the end of the second night, our conversation took an interesting twist.

Most other people had crashed by then, and we got to talking about the trail and the lessons learned on it.