Power Lines, Aug 11
Out of town, crossing under power lines on the way to Cheshire. Went up seemingly endless hills to reach a beaver pond. The beaver had crossed over his spillway just minutes before, as evidenced by the still-wet trail crossing mine.
I've mentioned before that a lot of us, maybe all of us, out here talk to ourselves. When we're alone, out of earshot from other hikers or certainly non-hikers (it'd be doubly hard to make any miles on trail if you had to knaw off the leather restraints every morning). Some of the conversations verbal or in one's head can run toward the silly, like more than a few of my made-for-fun register entries:
Cue radio voice:
We've secretly replaced Asolo boots with bricks on the A.T. - will this thru-hiker notice? Let's find out.
'Oh hey, these are great boots. Used to be, I'd slip them on and have to do a mile or two for my feet to numb up. Now, I just bash the poor little toes five or six times good, you know, 'til those pesky nails come off, then I'm good to go. Heck, I didn't notice a difference until you said something.'
'Will you go on using Bricks?'
'Oh yeah, I don't know how I did miles without them.'
'Asolo Bricks - for the last 600 miles.'
Maybe it's the heat, or the lack of water. One's brain gets a bit squirrely some days.