Unstealthing [mile 2055.4; SOBO 1037]
I missed a landmark! A couple of days ago my SOBO mileage officially exceeded my NOBO mileage. That’s not much of a landmark, really, except that it feels freaky. Here in the Hike That Wouldn’t End.
The wind is savage again tonight. I hate the wind! Looks like tomorrow’s walk into Duncannon is going to be a cold windy nightmare with gusts up to 25 mph. Miles Davis will get me through. I have about six or seven miles to schlep. I’d like an early start, but that wind and cold will defeat me anyway, so I’ll just save battery juice and not set an alarm.
Speaking of which—look! I’m cheating! I’m writing this entry on the phone, just like in the old spoiled days.
Wait a minute. This wind’s too horrible. I have to don my Princess Leia headgear. ‘Help me, Obi-wan Kenobi! You’re my only hope!’
OK, I’m back! So I woke up this morning in blessed, blessed silence. The wind had died overnight. Rapture! It was cold, but a still kind of cold.
And… I walked. The day was wan and wintry—warm enough to take off the fleece, but cold enough to keep everything else, including the longjohns. I find I don’t have much to say about the walking anymore; the scenery’s been pretty identical for the last little while. Mostly bare trees, oceans of leaves, rocks. And more rocks.
Today’s ridgewalk features a glimpse into the pretty valleys down to the right. They were with me all day.
Quite a lot of dayhikers out today, it being Saturday. I envy their jeans and earmuffs and big puffy coats. Soon. Soon.
This afternoon I crossed a road and immediately the landscape changed… into Virginia. Gone were the easy campsites and rock-free flat spaces. This area around here looks like somebody grabbed all the dead wood from the last few days’ worth of trail and tumbled it here. Very unstealthable. When I saw this spot I jumped on it.
Tomorrow: the Doyle! A legendary cesspool of despair!