Not-So-Great Barrington (and points north)

"Sorry Hon, It's the Berkshires".

I never thought that sentence would pass my ears, let alone break my heart. As it were, we'd hightailed a couple of long, tough, high-mile days out of Connecticut in the summer heat, all in the hopes of obtaining inexpensive laundry, shower, bed, and maybe even some continental B in the heart of western Massachusetts as a lowly reward. Up and over Lion's Head, then Bear Mountain (CT), then Mount Everett and on through the mosquito clouded boggy mess below. Down treacherous slick rock descents and through ankle-deep mud. All we thought of was the rest and satiety that was to come from food and sleep. In town.

Alas, Great Barrington was NOT 1.8 miles from the trail crossing, as our trusted Thru-Hikers Companion instructed. Perhaps the very edge of town, but there wasn't much there until at least 3 miles or so. Perhaps it just seemed farther from the sun-induced fatigue, or the ample quantity of blood so lovingly donated to New England's burgeoning mosquito population. No affluent Berkshire-visiting New-Englanders so much as slowed down for the outstretched thumbs of what must have looked like a couple of smelly vagrants with really nice outdoors gear. Was it possible our beloved book could lead us so astray?

Upon reaching the 'town' part of town, we waited patiently for the man at the counter of the Days Inn to berate a customer on the telephone, and for two other cleanish parties to check in. We asked hopefully if there were any rooms left, to which the reply was, "I've got two rooms left, they're double-queens, and smoking. By which I mean SMOKING.". Clearly we were not welcome. Perhaps our rude appearance had been interpreted as an affront. "How much?"... "$185. Plus Tax.". My heart sank for the second time (first being the longer than anticipated road walk). The whole reason we'd made the non-inconsequential trip in was that the book quoted rates in town from $55 to $70. No mention of multi-hundred dollar Days Inn was made. We left to seek out better options.

Fortunately, our saving grace was within sight. A kiosk! For Visitors! We were certainly these. I went inside, waited for some overweight retired-looking men to finish discussing cigars, wine, and theater with each other, and approached the operator of the kiosk. Was the Days Inn an abberation? It seemed not. Was there anywhere else? The whole town was full, except maybe one motel, way on the other side of town. The Kiosk-operator kindly phoned the hotel's owner, explained the presence of two weary, light-pocketed hikers, and he asked how much we wanted to pay. Not knowing what to say, I stared blankly. Lowest he could go would be $125. Cab fare to and from the other end of town, plus paying for breakfast would certainly make up the difference between this and the other lodging we had already declined. And that's when the kiosk-er uttered the abhorrent and unexpected sentence.

So Great Barrington turned out to be not-so-great. Or perhaps Awful, as I shall heretofore refer to this pricey little slice of yuppie hell for all time to come. Awful Barrington. I blame the wealthy, for the sheer economics of being willing to pay $200 to hang out in a glorified air-conditioned truckstop motel in the Massachusetts hills. I blame the Thru-Hikers Companionfor it's misleading mileages and rate-quotes (how was I supposed to know that 'higher weekends' meant 'triple-to-quadruple price'?).

But mostly I blame myself, for putting so much stock in a town stay. Showers and laundry are overrated anyhow. You're dirty and sweat-drenched within 20 minutes of hitting the trail. And in the end, it all worked out well... The Corn Crib, Upper Goose Pond Cabin, and Dalton are fantastic. Many thanks to all. Except you, Awful Barrington.