Mom, Ever Feel Less Than French?

Days Walking - 95

Kwame is doing well, no further issues so far. We're keeping an eye on him. We're trying to be surreptitious about it, but he's like "Hey stop staring at me!" and I'd say the same if I were him.

It's been raining on and off over the last couple of days. The scattered showers variety, which is beautiful. We can look to the south, to the lower elevations, and see for a long way - the columns of rain are misty and mysterious.

The rain is helping to melt any snow that's remaining. It's a lot more common now to see a rare patch of snow, where a few weeks ago it was a rare patch of green or brown. The ground is getting a lot more slick. Snow had a pretty consistent texture, and the snowshoes helped. Soddy ground is randomly slickery, and I'm falling on my butt like three times a day now. Yes, I am the most clumsy, with Caeled a close second.

One moment, you're walking along just fine and then you're on your back, you've hit your head on your pack, and you're looking at the sky in surprise. I've begun arranging the items in my pack with the pre-conception that I'll soon be beating my head against it. Hmn, I'll put this here and that there, to cushion my innocent skull from its upcoming bashing.

The rain also rinses away our DEET bug protection, so we avoid using it on rainy days, to help conserve it. In some ways, I miss the deathly cold. It's a lot easier to stay warm than it is to stay dry. It's all about wondrous wool, which keeps you warm despite the wetness. You smell like a dank sheep, but at least you won't die of hypothermia.

Hah, dank sheep, we should smell so good. I'd go on to detail our ripe odors, but I've already ranted on that subject quite enough.

Golden Hour has turned into Golden Three Hours, and we now spend a lot more time on the road, from like 6pm-9pm. We try to get ten miles a day under our belts - er - boots, and actually walking on a real road helps, even if it is gravel.

We try to be very careful, especially around tight turns in the foothills, where visibility might be low and a truck might come around a bend and plow into us. We avoid such situations when at all possible, but anyone who's driven in the mountains knows that sometimes there's no shoulder.

When such instances arise, we spread out and use our battery powered blinky-flashy red lights. We equip the ice-crossing ropes to maintain a good distance apart. The ropes would be especially handy if someone had to jump the guardrail to avoid, you know, being crushed to death. This way it's a lot more likely we'll be spotted - as a large group, rather than a tightly compact, less visible party.

Despite our efforts, we've had a few peeved truckers give us a rude blast on the horn. We resist the urge to pirouette as a choreographed unit and offer them a choice rude gesture in response. After all, like with Mr. Toothy, we're on their turf, we have no business being in their way, and Ack is a fairly dangerous place for a walkabout. Why am I doing this again?

Litany Webb, signing off

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