Day 23: Bees and trees

Bees love me. I have been thinking about them all day, listening to their mechanical sounds when I stop for water and flood me immediately by clouds of insects.

I established my backpack, and is immediately covered by things. I don’t care about half of what I do the mosquitoes or horses. I look at Beaker and Droobie’s packages, noticing that they are not so covered by stripes of the timbres. Does this mean that my belongings are very dirty? Extra sweet? Something intermediate?

A minute, I’m considering bees. The next, I remember the old neighbors where I had not thought of years. Anything to spend time. Through the win, let your brain remove your belt, free to wander and pull the new ideas.

We did 24 miles at the end of the day, I can’t be upset about that. The fallen trees drove me crazy, demanding that it reduce, climb and scrape and fall against branches on what should have been easy.

I am not very tall, so lift my knee to my nose and barely makes it more than half of these Lincoln-Log scheme piles. Gomo while I climb on a battery of trees, just to face another.

The forest is newer, here. I could be enjoying more than the big old forests found in the glacier. It is peaceful in its private way.

While I am taking another fallen trunk, I face a hiker walking north. He is an older man with a button, biting while walking with bells together with his trekking posts. I mistakenly suppose he is not a hiker.

I smile and greet, with the intention of continuing to walk before man puts his posts on the ground and leans slightly against a tree. He has a look in his eyes that I can’t place.

«Hello!» He says.

«Hello!» I say again: «Where are you heading?»

It looks momentarily perplexed. «Canada» replies. «Where are you from?» He asks. I can say that English is not his first language.

«Virginia,» I say, feeling that he is not sure where he is. «Where are you from?» Asked.

«I am a Swiss!» He says. He explains that he had been walking north, then jumped red due to snow. He goes to the Canadian border, but will visit the CE section later.

«Congratulations!» I say: «You have almost finished! The glacier will be beautiful»

«Tratano to the south … It is not beautiful,» he says: «Colorado, maybe. I went two months when not seeing people,» he says. Click to me, the look on his face makes more sense. I was eager to communicate with another person but was out of practice. I put aside my desire to continue walking and chat with him a little more before wishing him the best.

I was surprised and impressed by the number of international hikers on this path. All this trip is quite difficult without throwing visas and barriers of language to the mixture. I can’t imagine.

I climb on the fallen tree # 560,000 of the day and I can feel that my brain and my body are disconnected.

Do not step on that loose land, do not step on that loose dirt, I think that for myself, before slowly and deliberately on that land loose and slide immediately. I know that I need to stop and eat food, but every time I do, they invoke mosquitoes that border through my clothes. I resign to quickly push snacks in my mouth and walk.

Beaker reaches me, and when we are about to move from a water stop, we both turn to a strong crack that comes from a couple of hundreds of feet away. A tree sways and falls, landing in a tangle of other dying or dead trees. The entire echoed test, the ground shaking briefly. I take a mental note to be very careful with the place where we establish our tents.

We walked, talking to a triple Corwner wearing a hat that reads «hikers» in a cows channel that we were all grabbing. Although the water bathtub was dirty, it had a spike with clear, cold fresh water. I appreciate the good water sources now while I have them. I know that while I go south, the water will become much more questionable.

Eventually we stop in a meadow, with a view to soft rolling mountains, which houses a small pure of yellow and pink flowers. We were planning camping, but we don’t have time to thoroughly explore the nearby forest for a established camp while we see a storm rolling quickly.

We quickly settle in an inclination, doing everything possible to avoid cow empanadas, the wind whipping furiously while we work to throw our tents.

Once configured, I took my hiking clothes, noticing that the always present and always painful rubbing under my bicycle shorts. I do what I can with Vaseline, but Vaseline does not preform miracles.

I snuggled in our little tent, looking up from under the lobby in the beer storm.

Finally, the wind goes out. The sudden absence, and the silence that comes with him is deafening. I listen to the buzzing of the bees outside my lobby.

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