DAY 2 – Mile 13.7 to 35.6: 54.5k steps, 331 flights of stairs, 11 hours

I slept fitfully, my legs aching and head pounding. I awoke at 6:00a with a neck ache and headache, and a pile of Adawannas* pressing me into the bed.

*Adawannas: vexing creatures of a size somewhere between smurfs and minions, with an autonymic barbaric chant uncannily similar to “I don’t want to”. Generally found in places of to-do lists; rarely located in places of leisure. Travel in herds of enormous size. Very difficult if not impossible to eradicate.

I dragged myself to drive to the Grand Portage trailhead, head pounding but anxious to crush some miles today. Slow Your Breath Down by Future of Forestry was an unwelcome but poignant reminder of what I should do this morning, but the mileage divided by the hours didn’t look promising, so I hurried anyway.
I was on trail by 7:15am, clearing cobwebs with my face and working out the joint squeaks from yesterday’s speed hike.

My thoughts whirled. Why didn’t I give myself an extra day? Where did I go wrong? Why doesn’t this exciting thing feel fun? My legs joined the whine session as I racked up 160 flights of stairs in 3 hours, navigating ridges and ravines, roots and rocks slippery with the morning fog. I managed to land on my feet for my first few slips, but my questionable reroute down a power line corridor to meet Julie for lunch boasted a rock face obscured by tall, pant-wetting shrubs; my foot kicked forward and the rock met my backside with a thud. I took a minute to count body parts, and the tally was unchanged, but I sustained a contusion overlying the right sacral ala (I bruised my butt) that later turned varying hues of fuchsia and yellow.

My bushwhacking ended at a quiet cul de sac, but I had to hide in the bushes for a while so as to not frighten the Fed Ex driver by emerging noisily from the woods, my wet clothing hanging from my sweaty frame, hair unkempt and littered with leaves and twigs. They say Sasquatch has been sighted in these parts…

Julie picked me up and we went to the hotel room with takeout. On the way in from the car, I stepped in a stinking pile of dog scat – 11 miles in the woods, but I can’t manage 30 feet in a parking lot without finding poop to step in.

The sun came out for the afternoon, and the cicadas’ buzzing raised the temperature an additional 5 degrees. I learned that ridgeline views of Duluth can grow old when they necessitate repeated staircase entrances, but I pressed on until shadows grew long, grateful for any hint of encouragement. Never underestimate the power of a trailside raspberry or cold water to the back of the neck in due season.

Faithful Julie was waiting at the trailhead after my 21.9 mile day, and she didn’t even comment on my stench (but I did!).