Crossing the Susquehanna River
Clarks Ferry Bridge, leaving Duncannon with the worst hangover I've had in years. It would seem that the brain wanted to hold off on the whole hangover effort until I had packed up and started walking through town to the river. From the moment I walked out of the room and into the cooler street temps, each step brought on new explorations in how well the brain can feel each pulse of the heart. Hazy, hot, humid, hungover ... this is not what 4H meant to me before the Doyle. I've had hangovers before, but this was in the top three -- maybe the best. Worst? I stayed at the end of town by a restaurant drinking water. Waiting. For the advil to kick in. More water. I'm either going to flush out the madness of last night or yak it out. Well, OK, so it looks like the body just wants to ride it out. Early afternoon -- it's time to walk out of here, lest the town lure me back in.