Though often remote, the Appalachian Trail was a route like any other. Ordinary roads ran near it and intersected it as it wound its way around towns, over rivers and across forested valleys. What was to stop me from tracking the trail by . . . car?
Beyond its partially-trussed shoulders, and sensually curved back, beyond its juicy, succulent berries, Vermont is a place that emanates a pheromone that smells more pine than Axe. And yet it somehow manages to excite in ways unexpected.