We Didn't Start the Fire

Okay, I'm apologizing in advance. There won't be much as way of words in this post. I have 30 minutes of downtime on "Nat+Boys Do Boston Trip 2007." If I don't at least try to keep up (which I'd like to as I use this blog as my journal), I never will.

Already on the trip 'o dreams we have eaten at Joe's, gone to church, shopped an incredible 50% off clearance sale at Urban, visited Little Italy and partook of the deliciousness that is Giacomo's. We are leaving for the Red Sox game in less than half an hour.

Last night, we had the privilege of camping in New Hampshire. Woot. The challenge that welcomed us on our way into New Hampshire was "Live Free or Die." Since dying so early on the trip wasn't too appealing, we lived it up instead.

We rolled into our campsite 30 minutes before it got dark and discovered that one of our tents (we had two, two-man tens) had no poles. Rachel's tent had poles but one was promptly broken. Never fear, Nate has been watching "Man Vs. the Wild" on the Discovery Channel and has proven himself quite the outdoors-man. Instead of wallowing in tent-less despair, he found sticks of correct height and flexibility, whittled them to the appropriate size and shape, and with the help of one fortuitous piece of string, a strip of duct tape, and a "rape-prevention" knife, both tents were livable.

Somewhere during the lashing, whittling, and giggling, we started calling Nate "The Chief." (Nate's never had a nickname, and I, as queen of the nicknames, am actually pretty excited he finally has one after 5 years of friendship.) The rest of the night were references to the Chiefs and the Squaws of the tribe "Can't-Put-Em-Up-Em."

When asked around the campfire before we went to sleep what his "cherry on the top for the night would be", Nate indicated it would come the next morning if his tent made it through the night. Well done Chief, well done.

Surprisingly, we all slept soundly and didn't break camp until 9:30. Breakfast was eaten at a 50's style diner next to our campsite. There are pictures taken from the inside, but everyone looks unhappy to be alive. Rachel and I outside the sign will have to suffice. Gosh New Hampshire is gorgeous.

We asked for a good hiking spot and were lead to Gunstock ski resort. Short on time, we only managed a brief 75% incline hike of half a mile, but were pleased to find an old, out of use ski jump. We hiked the stairs (kudos to Rachel who's afraid of heights) and were pleasantly surprised with the immaculate view.
I figured we had already crossed three "Do Not Enter/Cross' barricades to climb the 90 meter ski jump, that carving our names into the old rickety wood was the least of our worries.

And as we sat, contemplating how high we were, how old the ski jump was, and what bad luck I've been having lately, we asked the Chief to create a contingency plan. Here he is, making due with what he has only--a solitary electric cord wrapped around a tall sapling tree. I'm not sure the Squaws would have made it off that jump.

Nonetheless, the views were amazing.

2 days down, 2 to go.