The Jelly Between My Toes

Each night, when I get into camp, I like to take off my shoes and socks and do what I can for my feet. Blisters will get popped, dirt cleaned off as best I can, dead skin peeled off. That sort of thing. It's been weeks since a blister needed popping, and now that I'm no longer hiking through water and mud, the dirt is at a relative minimum. Loose skin I peel off every night, though.

I have to be careful about peeling off that dead skin, however. Sometimes its attached to live skin, or is acting like protection for newer skin forming underneath.

The back of one of my heels is a good example. There's a thick layer of dead skin--VERY thick--that looks like it would be so much fun to peel off. I refrain, however, since I'm afraid it would leave a relatively thin and delicate skin for 20-mile per day hikes. Not a good thing.

There's a big, black hunk of dead skin on my left pinky that looks ready to cut off, but I don't. I'm not sure how close to the surface it is to the still living skin, and I don't want to cut too deep. It doesn't hurt, so I let it be. (If you'r worried about it being black, it's been that way ever since hiking through Big Cypress. I think the color of the mud and water permanently attached itself to that dead skin.)

Then there's the jelly between the toes. All of the toes have it, but I'm always astounded at the amount of jelly that forms between my two smallest toes. Huge gobs of it, every night it seems like. Wet with sweat, and has a rather unsavory smell. The rest of my toes have that same jelly, except that it's usually dry and doesn't smell.

The sheer quantity of the jelly between those little toes astounds me, though. If I saved it all, I think I could shape it into several new toes. The skin looks pink and sensitive, but there's no pain associated with it, and each day, it continues to shed a seemingly infinite supply.

But I digress.... you don't really want to hear about that, do you? =)

So, last I left you, I camped a mile or so north on the trail from the city of Paisley, completely dry since I slept under a properly set up tarp.

While packing up camp, a day hiker went past. Actually, he passed me earlier in the morning while I was still entwined in my warm sleeping bag, but on his return trip I was up and moving and breaking down camp, and he stopped long enough to chat.

We ended up chatting for the better part of an hour, about Central America for much of that time. I forget his name (and I gave him the URL for this blog, so if you're reading this, I'm sorry I forgot your name!)

It gave me a late 9:30 start to my hike, in any case. It was a fun chat, but I probably lingered longer than I should have.

On another note, I should mention a strange thing has been happening to the trail starting near the Orlando area. In some places, the trail and the lands around it are NOT flat. It would be a stretch to call them hills, but the terrain is certainly lumpy in places, apparently natural humps to boot.

It's a nice change, and I find myself fascinated with the rolling humps. Crossing an area where visibility is good, I find myself fascinated with slopes, following their contours with my eyes. The subtle shifting use of different muscles on the inclines and declines.

A couple of miles into the hike, I met another backpacker. In Ocala National Forest, I'd see quit a number of backpackers along the way--sometimes as many as three or four in a single day! (Insert ooohs here.) Compared to everywhere else south of here, this is a backpacking hotspot the likes I've never seen before.

This particular hiker was by himself, stopped in the trail, but I knew he was heading south because I'd been breaking too many cobwebs on the trail for him to have been hiking ahead of me.

We chatted a bit, and he seemed rather excited to meet a real, live thru-hiker after learning I'd hiked all the way from Key West and had alredy done the Appalachian Trail. Thru-hikers aren't THAT uncommon, at least not out east, so I asked where he was from.

"Grover Beach," he answered. "It's near San Luis Obispo--"

I cut him off. "NO WAY!" He had begun explaining where Grover Beach was because it's a dinky little town that most people in California wouldn't even know where it is much less a strange backpacker on the Florida Trail. Except that I was from San Luis Obispo which is probably a 15 drie away.

"I know *exactly* where Grover Beach is! I'm from San Luis Obispo! I remember when it was called Grover City!"

Small world, huh? I've probably passed less than a half dozen backpackers on the Florida Trail, and this guy lives within spitting distance of my home town.

We we started talking about the area, and hikes in the area such as up Madonna Mountain, and our favorite places to eat.

"What's your name?" I asked him.

"Ryan."

"NO WAY!!!"

The coincidences officially became freakish.

"How old are you?" He looked perhaps a bit younger than me, I thought, but certainly not by much.

"Turned 28 today."

Different ages at least. "Well happy birthday!" Different birthdays too. =)

We swapped contact information, and when I wrote down my domain RyansATotalGoober.com, he exclaimed, "You mean that wasn't taken?!"

"Yeah, can you believe it! I was so sure someone would have snapped up such a great domain before me."

I suggested we get together when we both make it back to San Luis and swap more war stories, but we must have chatted for the better part of an hour before we continued on our separate ways. (I see he's already posted a comment on my blog, too!)

At the end of the day, I set up camp near the trail junction for Farles campground. I set up my tarp--last time I checked, rain was in the forecast, and it already looked like it was ready to rain. This time, the tarp's primary purpose would be protection from rain--not just dew like the night before.

It did rain during the night, quite hard at times, and drizzled a bit at sunrise. I stayed warm and dry under the tarp, though. What a difference it makes when it's set up properly instead of thrown over myself. =)

The Mysterious Figure of the Night

I was already about five miles behind schedule, flexible though it might be, and it bothered me a little so I was determined to push on to my original destination for the night somewhere near the town of Paisley--about 20 miles.

Not an impossible feat for me, of course, but I had hoped to get into town early enough to pick up a maildrop and use the library before they closed. I didn't know exactly when they closed, but it if were 5:00, I could have a hard time getting there in time.

I figured with a minimal number of rests, I could make it into the town by 4:00.

I woke with the sun, but didn't linger long before saying adios to my shelter and hitting the trail.

The next seven or so miles wandered around the Seminole State Forest, a beautiful area and a pleasing walk. I stopped briefly to find a letterbox by the Gamecock, who left a note in it saying there was trail magic ahead, and to look for a white bag in a specific location further up the trail. The note said to take anything I wanted and leave the rest behind--she'll come back later to pick up the leftovers.

Intriguing....

I found the bag, stashed in a palm tree, and discovered a plethora of items to eat and drink. A bottle of Coke, what looked like home made chocolate chip cookies, fruit rolls, and more. Wow!

The Coke was still cool from overnight, but it was late enough in the day for me to have worked up a sweat, so I drank it right then and there. As well the cookies--they looked too fragile to put in my pack without getting destroyed.

The rest I put in my pack, except a can of Starbucks something or another--not much of a coffee drinker here--and the empty bottle of Coke. (Why carry it 20 miles if Gamecock planned to come and pick up the leftovers anyhow? The empty bottle was left over!) What a wonderful surprise, though. =)

The timing couldn't have been better for that soda, either. Had I arrived much later, it probably would have been too warm to taste good, and had I arrived earlier, I'd still be cold enough to have not wanted it. Talk about fortunate!

Outside the forest, the trail went back to roads and fast cars and it wasn't much fun. Road walks rarely are.

After an hour or so, the trail veered into less used roads, making for a calmer walk, but I still wished the trail into the woods.

Unfortunately, I got my wish! It went through a recently burned area that had yet to be reblazed. Someone had gone through and tied orange ribbons to the trees in place of blazes, and I followed the ribbons for a bit with the occasional blaze that hadn't burned.

Until it stopped. It just stopped cold, and there was no obvious trail for me to follow. I saw a group of pink ribbons way off in the distance, but they were pink, not orange, and they were in a group of trees, not lined up like a trail to be followed.

I walked ahead a bit, hoping to spot an orange ribbon or blaze, crawling through charred and fallen trees that left black marks all over my body--especially the legs.

But I found no trace of the trail.

Having now given up following the trail, I decided to look for it instead. You might think that's the same thing, but it's not. I was now ready to hike miles with no sign of a trail at all, using my map, compass, and wits to pick it up again later.

I had a pretty good idea where on my map I was, and the trail generally headed northeast from where I was at, intersecting Maggie Jones road, "a hard packed sand road" according to my sources. Then the trail followed the road for miles.

If I could find that road, I could find that trail.

I started hiking east, then curved to the north hoping to use Maggie Jones Road as a catching feature.

I hadn't made it a quarter of a mile, however, before I crossed paths with an orange blaze! Woo-who! Back in the saddle again!

I followed the trail a short ways where, as expected, it turned onto Magie Jones Road, and I hoofed it as quickly as I could to Paisley.

Amazingly, despite the letterbox, trail magic, and getting lost, I did the 20-mile hike in just seven hours, and staggered into Paisley at 3:00 in the afternoon.

I picked up my maildrop with maps for the next 300 miles or so of trail, and stopped at the library for 30 minutes of Internet access.

Those time sensitive tasks out of the way, I then hit the local mini mart at the gas station where I loaded up with lunch and dinner, water, and snacks. I also made extensive use of their pay phone.

When finished, I walked back to the trail and continued hiking. I didn't hike long--perhaps a mile or so--before I found a nice spot to set up camp. Although no rain was in the forecast, I decided to set up my tarp anyhow. I was tired of waking up to dew on everything in the morning, and spending the night in the dew-free shelter reminded me that a roof, even in good weather, has its advantages.

Late in the night, long after darkness descended, I was trying to fall asleep when I heard a rather large noise from the direction of the trail. It was a hiker, whose shape I could see behind the glow of a headlamp.

Who was this man? Or was it a woman? What were they doing hiking the Florida Trail so late? Were they staying at the nearby Clearwater Lake campground?

The person must have heard me shift positions, because he stopped briefly, looking into the woods in my direction.

I stayed quiet, though, and the interloper continued on his unknown quest.

Paisley essentially marks the southern boundary of the Ocala National Forest and the start of 70 miles of not a single road walk.

Ever since the keys, however, locals have warned me that homeless people with guns inhabit the forest in the winter months. I can't say how bad the problem really is or not, but I decided to let the stranger hiking in the dead of night continue on without asking for his story.

The next morning, dew covered both sides of the tarp above me, but everything underneath was dew free. What a great feeling! =)

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On Your Mark... Get Set... GO!

As usual, I woke up with the sunrise, and started going about my normal morning routines. I ate breakfast, and was brushing my teeth--and why do these things always happen while brushing my teeth?--and I heard a man on what sounded like a bullhorn (though it could have been a microphone attached to speakers) yell out, "Good morning, everybody!" then welcome everyone to a marathon. In the background, I heard what sounded like a hundred people cheer in return.

This came as somewhat of a surprise to me. I thought I was alone, with perhaps a few locals in nearby residential areas just waking up in their beds and going about their day. I just found out that a hundred people now grouped precariously near my camp, and my first thought was, "Oh, I so hope I'm not camped on the race course."

I hastened my brushing, and a couple of minutes later, a long shadow passed over me. It was a runner, running along the top of the dike, and I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I wasn't camped ON the race course, but I was close enough to it that the shadows of each of the runners would pass over my camp.

The porta-potties I noticed the day before suddenly made a lot more sense. They weren't for maintenance folks--it was for the runners this morning! Thank goodness I didn't camp on the dike like I'd been thinking about doing! =)

I finished my camp chores, pulled on my pack, and walked parallel to the runners to the intersection with Wheeler Road. I noticed a small stand on the corner of the dike where runners could stop to get water. In fact, some of the runners were actually walking, and I was walking faster than them. And I had a heavy pack on. Bunch of wimps. =)

After reaching Wheeler Road, the trail followed a long, tedious road walk for several miles, until I reached the town of Chuluota (Chew-lee-oh-tah).

I stopped at Chuluota Grocery for lunch, picking up ice cream, fruits, and a drink while three firefighters attempted to break into a car in the parking lot. They were at it when I arrived, and they were still at it when I purchased my items.

A dog had locked himself in the car when his owner went out, and the fire station was right across the street. So they were trying to rescue the dog, each of the men trying to jimmy the lock open at a different part of the car. It was rather amusing to watch as I ate lunch.

At last, the dog was freed, and the free entertainment came to an end.

One man at the store recognized me as the hiker I am, and he was section hiking the AT as time permitted having recently reached Virginia. There wasn't anything particularly remarkable or interesting about this man, and originally I didn't intend to mention him at all in this blog. He was a nice, friendly man--but there wasn't really anything interesting to report about him.

Skip ahead about 20 hours, however, and my mind changed. I was walking down a bike trail, and I overhead two rollerbladers as they passed me. The man said to the woman, "He said he bumped into a thru-hiker yesterday who hiked in all the way from the Keys...."

And I thought, "Hmmm..... There aren't a lot of people around here who hiked in from the Keys." So I shouted out at them, "Hey! Are you guys talking about ME?!"

Turns out, they were! Their friend was the man I met at the grocery store the day before, and he had told them about bumping into me, and less than a full day later, they did the same thing. =) Small world out there!

But back to Chuluota.... The trail finally left the road walking behind and went onto an old railroad grade to the Econ River. It was a nice, scenic area, and I enjoyed hiking this section. I found several letterboxes left for me along this section as well. =)

Near the end of the day's hike, the trail dipped back into water again. Determined not to end the day with wet feet, I crashed through palmettos and brush doing everything I could to avoid walking in water once again. I jumped over a barbed-wire fence in the process, and scratched myself all over, but I made it through with my feet dry before finally entering the town of Oviedo.

Oveido is not what I would call a hiker-friendly town. At one point, the trail reached a chainlink fence. A gate was supposed to open there, but it was locked with thick chains with no obvious way around.

I took off my pack, and tried squeezing it over the chain and between the fence posts, but it got stuck until I took off my campshoes and the pack finally slipped through.

I squeezed through on the other side of the gate, away from the chain, thinking it would be easier for me to squeeze through without having to go under or over the chain.

I couldn't fit with my fanny pack on, though, so I took it off and finally wriggled through to the other side.

The trail then crosses CR 419 twice near downtown Oviedo, but both crossings require jaywalking across a VERY busy street. Apparently to see junk in a person's backyard, before crossing CR 419 a second time back to its original side.

FTA folks: Do hikers a favor. When the trail reches CR 419, just have hikers cross Division St at the lights, and don't make them cross CR 419 at all. Was that supposed to be funny or something? *shaking head*

I touched the historical marker explaining this history of Oviedo, because it was time to get off the trail for the night.

Lorax and ThreeHearts picked me up at sunset and whisked me away to parts unknown. We all spent the night at Lorax's house, carving stamps, eating pizza, and laughing the night away. We didn't finally go to sleep until after midnight.

The City Life

The next morning, ThreeHearts dropped me back off in Oviedo and I continued my hiking. It would be a short day, twelve miles by my calculations, where I would end at a small restaurant alongside the trail for lunch and an impromptu gathering was forming.

The hike generally went well. It followed a bike path most of the way, which was nice since that meant no mud, no water, no cars, and no cobwebs to break through. A little busy with people, perhaps, but that was nearly a welcome change since usually I'm by myself on the trail.

I chatted with several people along the way, including the couple of rollerbladers I mentioned in my last post whose friend I bumped into the day before.

I also met a couple of women riding bicycles, Laurie and Andie, who seemed pretty curious about my walk. I sent them to this blog, so perhaps they'll post a comment and say hi. ;o) (They already e-mailed me directly, but I haven't had a chance to reply. Sorry about that!)

About two and a half hours into the hike, I checked my progress. About six miles, about what I expected. Which gave me about two hours and six miles until I was expected for lunch.

Or so I thought. Looking closer at my data book, I suddenly realized that I actually had seven miles to reach Lake Mary--my destination--and I'd really have to haul to make it there by 2:00. My leisurely day just turned into a race!

The bike trail ended, then the trail wound its way through a seedy-looking section of town before heading into the woods where fallen trees and lack of maintenance slowed me down. Definitely going to be late, I thought.

The trail eventually found its way onto another bike path, and my progress improved. I sped through Longwood, finally arriving in Lake Mary.

The trail dumped me off at the intersection of Lake Mary Blvd and Rinehart Rd, a huge intersection, and I started looking around for the Peach Valley Cafe. Remarkably, I made it to the intersection at 2:00 sharp.

I didn't see the restaurant at first, so I walked up a high pedestrian overpass hoping the added height would help me spot the location, but alas, I still couldn't see it anywhere.

I came down from my perch, and asked an elderly lady if she knew where the Peach Valley Cafe was, and she pointed down Lake Mary Blvd, "Oh, it's a mile or two that way."

Huh? That can't be right. ThreeHearts told me it was right on the trail. "It's supposed to be near a Paneras," I added helpfully.

"Yep, a mile or two that way," she insisted.

Okay, something wasn't right. I walked over to a pay phone at 7-11 and called ThreeHearts. "And WHERE are you?" =)

Turns out, indeed, a couple of miles away. She insisted there were orange blazes nearby, and we concluded that they must have rerouted the trail fairly recently to this new location where I was currently standing.

When they reroute a trail, they'll usually only paint over the first few orange blazes of the old route, figuring once your on the new route, you'll no longer see the uncovered old blazes on the old route. Which is how things usually work, but in this case, ThreeHearts wasn't *following* the trail--she went directly to the middle of the old section, saw the blazes, and naturally assumed the trail still went by.

"Well," I told her, "someone better came by and pick me up if they want to meet me, because I'm not walking two miles off trail to get to this restaurant!" =)

Kaaren, of David and Kaaren fame, volunteered to pick me up, and I waited for her to arrive a few minutes later, whisking me away back to the Peace Valley Cafe.

It was a good gathering, with good food, with a half dozen or so letterboxers driving out to be merry and swap war stories. =)

Kaaren took me to her home for the night, where I got a second night with a soft bed. Speaking of which, her house is wonderfully large and would make a GREAT location for a letterboxing stamping party. *hint hint*

Kaaren had to work the next morning, but her husband David was able to give me a ride back to the trail in Lake Mary. (The correct intersection, to boot!)

It's hard to leave civilization behind sometimes. I slept in late, taking my time packing up. I needed to resupply, so David dropped me off next to a Publix supermarket at the intersection. I repacked all the food I bought into ZipLocks, mailed some postcards, and by the time I was ready to hit the trail, it was lunch.

So I stopped in at Taco Bell, checked my e-mail at a pay phone, and FINALLY got on the trail sometime after noon.

I'm just pathetic. =)

The trail crossed I-4 on a $3.6 million pedestrian suspension bridge. It's a nice, scenic bridge--I'd hope so for $3.6 million--and was probably the reason for the trail reroute through Lake Mary.

I took 381 steps to cross the structure, which I calculated in my head to mean that each of my steps is worth nearly $10,000. Wow.

I hiked another mile or two, until I reached the town of Heathrow where I dwaddled some more. Bought a cold soda (ugh, it was hot!), made some phone calls, and ate some snacks.

Civilization was slowly my hike to a crawl. Fear not, however, because the trail soon entered Lower Wekiva Preserve State Park and then the Seminole State Forest, where only things like trees and squirrels could distract me.

At the Seminole State Forest, I was required to pay the $1 entrance fee--which seemed wrong to do to someone who hiked in all the way to Key West. It was the first entrance fee I had to pay. Even on the whole AT I never had to pay an entrance fee.

It was an honor system payment, but I'm an honorable guy (usually), so I paid the dollar.

I stopped hiking near sunset at Boy Scout shelter--my first honest-to-goodness shelter of the Florida Trail. I missed the shelters from the AT, so it was nice to finally see one again. It had no register (boo!), but I happily set up camp in it for the night. I meant to hike five miles further, but the city life sucked me in, and I only escaped far enough to this shelter.

Merry Christmas! Now Leave Me Alone.

I've met a number of folks on the trail, and I'm rather surprised that a large number of them tell me that I seem surprisingly clean and neat for a thru-hiker.

At first I wrote it off to the occasional ravings of a lunatic, but it KEEPS HAPPENING! Never on the AT did anyone ever tell me I looked clean or nice--unless Amanda was in the area and provided me with a nice change of clothes.

The latest incident was a few miles before I camped, a few short miles from Christmas. Two bicycles got off their bikes to follow the Florida Trail into the woods where their paths crossed mine. We chatted, and I told the about hiking up from Key West, destination Springer Mountain.

The man had property near the AT and was familiar with my mountaineer counterparts, and once again, he said the same thing. "You sure look clean for living out in the woods. You're the neatest thru-hiker I've ever seen!"

What changed since I hiked the AT? I think I've figured it out. It's my shirt. On the AT, I wore a white shirt. At least it started white. It didn't take long for it to be permanently stained with dirt, and it *always* looks dirty--even fresh out of the washer.

This time, my shirt is green, and even when I haven't cleaned it for a week, it still looks clean. It might smell terrible, and I know it's incredibly dirty, but it continues to *look* clean. I think that's the difference. I look less like a hobo and more like a respectable citizen with my green shirt. =)

But I digress.... I woke up that beautiful morning of February 1st, and proceeded to hike into the town of Christmas. My guidebook says the post office is 'unusally busy' during December. The understatement of the century. =)

I had a maildrop to pick up in Christmas, with maps and details about the trail up ahead. Actually, I'd largely been without my usual source of information for the last 80 miles--an unfortunate result of my cutting my guidebook into pieces to have my mom send me as needed. Due to poor planning on my part, I needed this section 80 miles before Christmas, and used photocopied pages from Amanda's guidebook to get me through.

Now, however, the missing section finally would catch up to me in Christmas.

You could tell, immediately upon entering the edge of town, it wasn't a normal town. Many houses had Christmas decorations up. Not one or two, but a LOT of them. This was February 1st. Mailboxes often were in the shape of Santa Claus. It was Christmas, all year long.

However, it did not seem like the locals were all that friendly. Most of the houses seemed run down and pretty poor, and almost all of them nailed up signs reading, "No Tresspassing" or "No hunting or fishing." Do they have a problem with people hunting in their front yards? And I'm not sure where anyone could catch a fish in their yard--there wasn't any water nearby. No pond or stream. And they'd nail these signs next to their Christmas decorations.

I felt like they were saying, "Merry Christmas, but leave us the hell alone."

I followed St Nicolas Road to SR 50, and turned left to follow it to the post office.

At the post office, there was a board with letters to Santa posted from all over the world, and a special mailbox just for letters to Santa.

When I walked in to pick up my maildrop, the postal worker took one look at me and asked if I was waiting for a priority mail package. "Well yes, I am." I gave him my name--it almost didn't seem necessary since he already knew who I was--and he returned with my maildrop.

"You're a day late," he joked.

"The date is just an estimate," I replied.

A woman working there said she saw me walking down the road when she drove to the post office, and figured I was coming in for the mail drop. I got the impression they'd been talking about me for several days, just waiting to meet the man behind the maildrop.

I opened the package and examined my detailed maps, calculating how I'd get through the next section of trail and where I would spend the night.

I stopped at a Circle K on my walk back to the trail to resupply some food and buy lunch. (Two hot dogs and a soda for $2.49, plus a bottle of milk, another bottle of orange juice, a roll of powdered donuts, a 3 Musketeers bar, and a LONG bar of Starbursts. I wanted a Slurpee, but alas, their Slurpee machine was broken. *sniffle*)

Then it was back to the trail.

Just before reaching the Orlando Wetlands Park, I reached a check-in station where two older women were watching Opera on a small television. They had deep, gravelly voices from years of smoking--they were smoking now, in fact.

I entered the screen enclosure and introduced myself.

They were running a hunting party, and when I told them I was thru-hiking the Florida Trail, one of them said I shouldn't go down the road in a certain direction since that's where the hunters were and she didn't want me getting shot. Unfortunately, she pointed down the FT.

She started making some phone calls on her cell, and I wondered what the chances of getting shot really were. Couldn't she call them and warn them I was hiking through?

I pulled out the AAA Florida map, pointing out the route of the FT. This other woman seemed fascinated by the whole journey, and wanted to learn more about it.

After a couple of phone calls, woman #1 figured out that the route of the trail actually misses where the hunters were hunting, and I had no fear of getting shot. They weren't allowed to hunt near the road, and then the trail turns north looping around the Orlando Wetlands, and they weren't allowed to hunt there either--just to the south of it.

We chatted some more, and woman #1 asked about my walk into Christmas, and what a bunch of rednecks they were. "They might have Christmas all year," she said in her deep, throaty voice, "but they don't have the spirit of Christmas."

Which made sense to me, considering all of the do not tresspass and no hunting or fishing and private property signs nailed up everywhere. It's a strange little town.

I finally said goodbye to the women, leaving them alone with Opera, and walked around the edge of the Orlando Wetlands.

The trail passed some water control structures along the way, and I puzzled over the fact that porta-potties were near them. How much maintenance did these structures need anyhow?

I was tempted to camp on top of a dike parallel to the trail, but elected not to since I wasn't sure where access between the dike and the trail was up ahead. I didn't want to switch to the dike, then not be able to get back to the trail easily without thrashing through a canal full of water.

So I camped directly on the trail, about a mile short of Wheeler Road.

The Long, Long, LONG Hike Continues....

I decided to pull a 30 mile day. I'd never done 30 miles of hiking in a single day, not even on the Appalachian Trail, but if there was ever a time or place for it, this was it. I had a flat, easy road to walk that was far nicer to walk at night than under the brutal sun. It almost 10:00 at night now, but I felt sure I could push on at least another hour.

So onward I walked. My feet screamed to stop. I yawned with exhaustion. But I kept going, knowing every step I took that night was still better than a step under the brutal light of day.

I figured I passed the 30-mile mark around 10:45 in the evening, but I didn't have a convenient landmark to figure out exactly where 30 miles was, and on I kept hiking.

I didn't need a flashlight, even though the moon wasn't up. The horizon glowed from the lights of Orlando and Cape Canaveral, lighting up the clouds overhead and lighting my way through the darkness.

Shortly after 11:00, I was pratically falling asleep and could barely keep my eyes open anymore, and I crashed on the side of the road after hiking what I estimated to be 31 miles. My data book described a highway bridge over Taylor Creek at 31.6 miles, and I hoped to reach that so I had a definitive landmark to judge my distance, but I was too tired. I was certain I passed the 30-mile mark, in any case, which was an amazing feat for my feet! =)

There was nothing stealthy about my camp this night. The shoulder of the road sloped down into a ditch, then came back up the other side where it flattened out, and I threw out my ground sheet on the flat area, safe from cars on the the other side of the ditch.

But within clear view of absolutely any and every car that drove past. In the dark, people might not notice me sleeping there, but as soon as the sun started to rise, every single person driving by would have to be blind as a bat not to see me camping on the side of the road.

I didn't care anymore, though. I was tired.

I tried to sleep, but every minute or so, a sharp pain would flash from one of my toes and up my leg, and I found it ironic that my feet actually hurt more now that I stopped than when I was walking! I couldn't fall asleep because of those shooting pains, though, and finally remembered I carried Advil. Vitamin I. That's what I needed.

I popped two tablets, hoping it also caused drowsiness, and almost immediately fell into a deep sleep. My day was finally over.

The next morning, I woke up early. Not just because the sun woke me up, but traffic on the road started to pick up as well. I wondered what everyone driving by thought when they saw me. Did they think I was a dead body? A homeless person sleeping on the side of the road? I can't imagine anyone's first thought was I had hiked there from Key West.

I ate breakfast, then as I sat there brushing my teeth, a truck pulled over and drove down to the ditch that I was on the other side of. Uh-oh.

A man in a black uniform stepped out of truck, and I waved at him with my left hand has my right hand continued brushing my teeth.

If you've ever been stopped by a cop while brushing your teeth, you'd realize what a ridiculous and embarrassing position to be found in. It's kind of like getting caught with your pants down (and thank GOD he didn't stop while I was changing my pants!)

He asked me if everything was alright since it wasn't normal to see people sleeping on the side of the road like that--not in this area, at least. So I told him about my thru-hike. He didn't seem to even know the trail existed, and I pulled out my maps showing it's path across the state, and particularly in the area we were at now.

"But it's a 30-mile road walk here, and there isn't anywhere to camp," I explained.

"Not a problem," he said, "I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. You're lucky you're doing this now and not during the summer. The mosquitoes then could carry a man away!"

"It isn't by accident I'm here this time of year," I assured him. =)

"So do you have any criminal history in Florida?" he asked.

I answered no, but the question amused me. Does that mean if I had murder rap in Georgia, he wouldn't care?

"Do you have any identification?"

I pulled out my driver's license, and he told me to continue brushing my teeth while he checked it out.

I finished brushing, and a couple of minutes later he returned with my license and wished me luck on the hike. I told him about the two girls hiking behind me--I guessed they were probably 10 or 15 miles behind me (assuming they didn't hike through the dark like I did), and they were likely camped in a well-exposed location like myself. They were also thru-hikers, though, and that's why they're out there as well. Just in case he spotted him later in the morning, he'd know what was going on.

"Have you been bothered by other policemen?" he asked.

"Nope, you'd be the first," I said. =) Then I explained that usually, I'm better hidden than I was this morning, camped deep in the woods. On a 30-mile road walk, though, this road walk in particular, there wasn't much of anywhere I could hide to camp.

The officer left, and I finished breaking camp and continued my hike.

My feet, you might be surprised, felt just fine. Sore, as usual, but nothing out of the ordinary. No additional pain relievers beyond that which I used to help me fall asleep.

I didn't hike for five minutes before I reached a highway bridge across Taylor Creek. Probably camped about 0.1 miles before reaching that landmark, which I thought was still a half mile or more away. The landmark would have meant I hiked 31.6 miles the day before, but seeing as I camped so close to it, I figure I did 31.5 miles. What a workout!

I continued the rest of the road walk the next morning. CR 532 turned into SR 520, a four-lane highway. The trail ducked under SR 528 (the Beeline Expressway), where I stopped to rest in the shade under the overpass. I wondered if a policeman might stop to talk to me, thinking I was setting up residence under the overpass, but none did.

The road walk continued on Yates Road, a small road with virtually no traffic, through a residenial neighborhood, and FINALLY ended my roadwalk at Tosohatchee Reserve.

I'd only done about a dozen miles so far, however, so I continued on, planning to camp within a few miles of the town named Christmas by nightfall.

The forest had its nice area, but I was terribly disappointed when, for the first time since Big Cypress, I had to walk through long sections of water. The water never passed my ankles, but I had hoped the last of my water walking was over. I knew it probably was not, but I hoped.

So I ended the day with wet, soggy feet.

A Long, Long, LONG Walk

The day started bright and cheery, but I wondered about the day to come. My information showed a nice, leisurely hike for about a dozen miles, then a whopping 30-mile road walk with no places to camp. Obviously, I'd be camping somewhere, but I had no idea how developed the area was or how hard it would be to stealth camp. Should I do it early on, or later up the road? I had no idea, and none of my information had any suggestions at all for this 30-mile road walk. I'd have to wing it.

A few hours into the hike, I caught up with Mountain Laurel and Mosey, a nice little surprise. I suspected they were ahead of me since I took four days off to hike the section I skipped, but I couldn't be certain or even know how far ahead they were.

I hike faster than them, and only hiked with them a few minutes before moving on, but it was long enough to watch Mountain Laurel take a dive into some mud--it happens to all hikers, including myself, but it's still funny. =)

It was also long enough for me to get caught in a spiderweb and go, "Arrrghhhh! So you two have been breaking these cobwebs for me all morning."

And they laughed and said yes, that was so.

About 15 minutes later, I met a hiker coming from the other direction, a man, by himself, but decked out full of official FTA merchandise.

Turns out, Larry just finished an official hike with the FTA to a nearby cemetery, but he knew Mountain Laurel and Mosey were somewhere on the trail and planned to hike out for an hour or two in the hopes of running into them.

"Have you seen them?" he asked me.

"Oh, about 15 minutes ago. I wouldn't be surprised if they walked up while we were talking."

He was surprised but obviously happy they were so close. He didn't expect them to reach this point until the next day.

I continued on, stopping at the Jane Green campsite a few minutes more down the trail. Two men were there, sitting and chatting, and I asked if they were part of the FTA group that just finished their hike.

"Talking to Larry, huh?"

Yep. =)

They asked about the two girls thru-hiking, and I repeated the information--they probably weren't more than ten or fifteen minutes behind me.

This got them excited, and one of them tried using his cell phone to call some of the other hikers who'd left mere minutes ago to get them to come back. It seems Mosey lives nearby, and is friends with a lot of the FTA members from the area, and they're all very supportive of her hike.

We heard voices coming from the trail, and sure enough, in walks Moutain Laurel, Mosey, and Larry. It was a happy reunion with Mosey, and hugs went flying. =)

I decided to cook lunch. I had a nice picnic table and well water to work with, and knowing there was a 30-mile road walk ahead, I wasn't sure I'd have a lot of convenient places to cook a meal ahead.

I asked everyone about the best place to camp along the road walk, and nobody had a good answer. Guess I'd just have to wing it, which was what I was planning to do anyhow.

I finished lunch--spaghetti for those who must know--and brushed my teeth. I don't normally brush my teeth after lunch, but spaghetti makes my mouth feel dirty or something, so I did.

We walked out to the road and the start of our roadwalk. I was planning to stop at a small grocery store at an intersection a mile or two up the road, excited for a cold drink, until one of the hikers informed me it had closed. There was no more grocery store.

This had two immediate implications for me. The first, I wouldn't get a cold soda except for the semi-cool Diet Pepsi that Larry offered me. I was very sad he only had diet sodas--on the trail, I want calories, lots of them, and I don't care where they come from. I took the soda, happy for something other than water, but oh how I longed for an ice cold soda with calories, and now I'd have none.

The second immediate problem I had was water. I planned to stock up on good, clean water at the store, and now that was no longer an option. Had I realized the store had closed, I'd have filled up with well water from the campsite, but I didn't want to backtrack at this point.

I had less than a liter of water left. At long last, I would have to resort to drinking surface water--the brown, ugly-looking stuff I'd walked along and through for so many miles. I didn't want to drink the surface water, especially on the road walk which passed through agricultural lands with the accompaning cow poop and pestisides.

Ugh!

I filled up with a few liters of water from what essentially amounted to a puddle on the side of the road. I only had one liter, and I didn't know how common water sources would be up ahead. Best to have at least a few liters at any given time, and restock as needed. I'd carry two days worth of good, clean water if I could, but there was no sense carrying two days of bad water when I could get more down the road. =)

The road walk started on US 192, a mile or two west of Deer Park. Once the trail hit the road, I wouldn't see another blaze for 30 miles. I find that a little annoying. The FTA seems to have a hbit of not blazing sections (or blazing them poorly) when the trail is 'obvious.' It's hard to get lost when you're following roads for 30 miles, but those orange blazes are like friends, and you start to miss them after awhile. Even when they aren't needed, they still comfort me. Like saying, "Yes, you're going the correct way. Keep up the good work!"

The trail turned north on CR 419 at Deer Park, and I passed by cows and orange trees bursting with oranges. I might have been tempted to grab one (an orange--not a cow!) except they were fenced off with barbed-wire.

I hiked about ten miles along the road, not seeing *anywhere* to stealth camp. It was exposed as exposed could be.

I stopped to rest, contemplating my next move. I already hiked 20 miles for the day, and the sun was now setting. I ate some snacks for dinner, and washed it down with brown, ugly water. (Happily, the water *tasted* normal, but it was brown and ugly, and probably full of pesticides.)

I decided to continue hiking. At night, as far as my feet would take me. Walking at night had two distict advantages: One, it wasn't nearly so hot, and two, there were fewer cars driving on the road. I felt pretty sure I could do at least five more miles and not have to do them the next day.

I hiked and I hiked. My feet hurt, but they always hurt, so I kept hiking. If I could just reach the intersection with CR 532, I thought, I'd have half my road walking done!

And on I hiked. I reached the intersection with CR 532--26.9 miles from where I started that morning. That beat my longest day on the Appalachian Trail already.

I could do more, though.....