Start day 86.
We wake up early, do a quick (but miserable) nine miles into Port Clinton only to find that the post office doesn't open until 12:30. Strike one.
We hang out at a local barber shop (the only business open in town besides a weird candy store) and charge our phones, periodically turning down a local man's offer to eat sardines with spicy mustard. He really wants to eat these sardines and probably asks about a dozen times. As is always the case, we politely decline.
The post office opens. Cheyanne's shoes aren't there. We give them the tracking number. They don't know where they are. This is the fourth package the USPS has lost of ours on the trail. Strike two.
We get a ride into Hamburg, PA, a nearby city featuring the largest Cabella's (think Bass Pro Shop) in existence.
I walk over to Walmart while Stevie goes to book us a room at the Microtel. Just before this, an odd thing happens. The power goes out across the entire town. I dodge cars going sixty down a highway that no longer has functioning traffic lights. I get to Walmart. They won't let me in, no power. I call Stevie, they won't let him book a room, no power.
I eventually get into Walmart and eventually we book a room at the Microtel, but at this point every other hiker (who slept in) is in town and our efforts to get to town early and have an easy day have been a total waste of time.
We fall asleep to the sound of cable tv, a luxury that confuses and irritates me, but somehow I feel compelled to stare listlessly at bad commercials and reality television; it's a sort of therapy, I think. Like wilderness therapy but the exact opposite.
Start day 87.
The morning begins much the same, with the TV blaring.
We booked this hotel thinking we could take care of some much needed errands, such as cleaning our stale sweat, mildew laden backpacks, clothing, and tents. The power outage left us with very little time to do these things and we decide a zero day is in order.
I spend most of the day road walking around Hamburg, sort of running errands, sort of fighting episodes of depersonalization. I can't get my head on straight, and I feel really detached. Having to eat what I call trash food all day isn't really helping my cause.
The trail is killing me, but one day away and already I miss it.
Start day 88.
Back on the trail with a new set of podcasts and audiobook in hand. I'm packing out way too much food (this included four bags of chips) and my backpack weighs the most it probably ever has, but at this point I'm too tough to care.
We destroy the first climb out of town, and I discover that a day off has vastly improved our physical conditions. Elevation gains are nothing to us anymore. We did it, we're finally badasses.
My elation doesn't last long. A storm looms on the horizon promising a world of future discomfort. It makes good on those promises a few hours later.
We get totally drenched, more than ever before on the trail. It's really coming down, so hard that the trail literally turns into a river and we're wading against the current.
You can only get so wet, and I stop caring after about five minutes.
Awhile later I walk into the relative safety of a shelter, immediately realizing that our day off did nothing to put us behind our hiker "bubble". I know every hiker in the shelter and assumed they were all in front of us, but it seems that Pennsylvania has been hard on everyone, and there's been a collective decision to take it easy for awhile.
Thruhiking is hard, y'all. I mean like really, really hard. Much harder than anything I've ever done. In time I'll figure out an elegant, poetic way of explaining how hard it is, but for now, it's just fucking hard.
I apologize in advance to Cheyanne's mom for swearing so much recently. Sorry Michelle!
Moving a turtle friend out of the trail.
Somebody gave us $10 Burger King gift cards. Ha.
Inside Cabella's feeling really weird about the safari taxidermy display.
One of the only views we've gotten in Pennsylvania. Taken shortly after almost stepping on a baby rattlesnake.
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