I don't think I have ever had to force myself to eat chocolate before I went to Mt. Rogers. It was like Fear Factor as I bit off chunks of my Lindt dark chocolate bar, forcing myself to chew and swallow, trying to think only of the calories I needed, not how my gag reflex was threatening to act out.

It was that miserable kind of cold, 40 degrees in the steady rain. You don't even want to take breaks because walking is what keeps you warm. It makes entering the shelter, pulling on dry clothes, and drinking hot coffee pure pleasure. I would have purred if I could, cozily bundled in my sleeping bag.

I thought of myself as tramping across the moors in Wuthering Heights as we crossed the balds, picking our way through grassy humps and rocks.