Soaked, sore, chaffed and grouchy.

[A second attempt, the first, few hundreds of words in, eaten by the blogger client ]

I'm tired. It's been two months, I'm worn out, right now the chance of finishing, never mind getting to Australia for September seems remote.

After I checked out of the hotel in Daleville I ran some errands. The shimmer of a 90F (32C) degree heat off the blacktop kept me from being in a hurry out of town.

It was my sister's birthday, so I sent her a card and present. This was complicated slightly by the absence of 'other countries', or 'places without zip-codes' from the world view of the person behind the counter at Fedex. (I swear I was 90 seconds away from looking for a globe as a teaching aid.)

I then settled down in a coffee shop to watch the Rugby final. OK, so 'settled isn't a good way to described someone as animated as me watching the most exciting final ever. I think the guy beside me was considering calling 911, though whether it was for ambulance or police I'll never know.

I left Daleville late, with a view to night hiking. Even in full dark it's not usually that hard. Unfortunately, after a couple of miles the path changed from clear forest trail to a field of clover and long grass. The mixture of lenght between grass and clover, and the lack of other landmarks soon left me without a trail. I climbed to the top of the low grassy hill and slept there, under a goldfish bowl of stars till dawn.

Dew came with the dawn, my sleeping bag and pad doused. I packed up, the path clear in daylight, and continued to Buchanan.

Buchanan is right on the James river, and I stayed in a bunkhouse in the stone basement of an old house on main street run by the local outfitter and river guides. That night I ate in a German restaurant in the town. Good fare, goulash, a little sweet for my taste but a nice change of culinary pace. That night there was another thunder storm, and I was glad of the stout stone walls for their protection and their tendency to leech the heat out of the otherwise stifling air.

Back on the trail I think I stayed at Cornelius creek shelter.

After all this time I have to admit the shelters, towns, trails, and motels are all blurring together.

Next I stopped in Glasgow. Glasgow has no indoor accommodation but does have a shelter in town built by a local eagle scout which has a (cold) shower.

Buena Vista was next, a biggish town home to the 'Budget inn', arguably the grottiest building, of any type I've ever been in. And still delightfully expensive. Some Mexican food and a couple of beers with a friend made it a lot more livable.

It was supposed to be a shorter day out of Buena Vista, but a sudden, incredibly heavy, thunder storm pot paid to even that goal. Ninety seconds from 'is that rain' to holding up your now sodden shorts. I hid in a shelter and went to a B&B, only 11 miles, to dry out the next night.

The Dutch Haus B&B is the nicest place I've stayed on the trail. Great people, food and hospitality. It's a high end B&B with a bunkhouse for campers. Fabulous, with a million little touches; When you get there you strip off, put on a bathrobe they give you and they wash everything. Simply excellent.

(http://www.dutchhaus.com/)

Unfortunately, not everything went perfectly while I was there. While I was jumping out of the back of a (stopped) pickup truck, I clipped my trailing ankle on the tailgate and landed hard on one foot. This hurt my right heel quite badly. Hobbled, the next day I decided to rest.

To continue the rest I did a slackpack 25 miles, dripping rock back to the Dutch Haus, a long day who's broken rocks and big climbs did my foot no favors.

The beer I was handed as I stepped off the trail was about as sweet a beverage as I've ever had.

From there I  got to Waynesboro, where you find me today. The hike into town, relatively short and flat as it was, was murder. The display in town read 105F (40C), and the combination of heat and humidity lead to my back and waist being very badly torn up by chaffing. Even after applying Calamine lotion and burn cream numerous times last night and this morning it's still to tender to put on a pack.

So I'm taking another zero. My schedule is in tatters and I'm somewhat burnt out.

I'm 160 miles shy of the nominal halfway point, Harper's Ferry the terrain between here and there's not too bad, but the act of putting the shoes back on to do it is far from easy.

I know this sounds bleak, but hopefully the photos and the mention of friends shows that while I'm frustrated at the moment, I'm still experiencing moments of joy. (See the photo of the butterfly eating the sand off the handle of my hiking poles. :))

I'll go treat my wounds and eat some food with an eye to rising again.
Talk soon.
T.