Blue ridge nightmare - day 1

At first, I lay in the tent with the iPod shuffle playing my favorite songs by Tom Morello and James, knowing that quiet time means nothing of the sort.

In comes Katy at long last, huddling into our mountaineering tent designed for exactly two people. Sure, two average people. If I straighten out my feet and head touch both sides. The tent is cozy, though, particularly on cool nights in the mountains.

After she lies down I decide to take in some of the natural sounds, foolishly thinking that the sounds pervading the woods in Greenbrier state park would be of the relaxing, natural sort. What greeted my ears, however, was more of a symphony of annoyance. There were crickets, yes, balanced almost perfectly with the ebbing and swelling din of highway traffic less than a mile away.

And intermixed with those is a random smattering of muffled conversation, snoring, and people tripping loudly in the dark on their way to the toilet. You know, nature.

It's almost like home.

Except at home, there's a mattress. A nice one at that. There aren't rocks providing barely discernible pressure points at random locations across my body, not quite uncomfortable but you know they're there. And just as you are about to sleep you find the need to roll over and start the maddening cycle again in a different position.

I will say that the diner three miles down the road will come in handy. I may just rise early and head on over for a cup of coffee and some flapjacks. There was a bar across the street from the entrance of the park. I find this amusing, as alcoholic beverages are prohibited in the park. Too bad I am at the beginning of a six week dry spell, otherwise I would have popped in to show those bikers how to drink and then stumbled my way to the camp site.

Tomorrow's hike will be somewhat more challenging than originally intended. The Orifici's are good at setting booby traps, one of which destroyed my right ankle, leaving a blunt trauma that broke the skin. Then, another trap was deviously set with a tent next to my truck in the dark in an attempt to destroy my other foot while we unpacked. The way it feels now, not sure I can make the hike, which will leave even more time for my least favorite activity: socializing.

My hands are cold. I'm going to not sleep . . .