Devils Racecourse?
OK -- I don't know if this is the name of the place. There's some shelter I missed while concentrating on the worst stretch of rocks yet. Totally sucked. The trail lore scare tactic for Pennsylvania is that there are rocks. Is this what they mean? It is simply awful. Can't imagine doing it without a hiking staff. Maybe it's the 17 miles so far. Maybe the not-numb-enough feet in the stiffer-that-they-should-be Asolos got to me. A mile of walking hell, like some monsterous stone mason threw a tantrum.
Down from Devil's Racecourse to the Pen-Mar Park, I wanted to die. Staggered into the park to catch EarthDawg at a picnic table. Toon had gone on. The man said he wanted to get up trail, guess he was going to push 20s for a while. I was rubbing my feet. A twentieth wasn't in the cards today. Ate dinner. This close to PA, I could do at least a little more -- maybe a nighthike. Sitting on that picnic bench, watching the sun set with EarthDawg, rubbing the feet. Rubbing the feet again. A little more?