Day Eleven, July 15: "Jalopies and Wardrobe Malfunctions". Bass Lake to Jones Falls, 22.4 km., 9 hours.

We had an extremely windy night.  Tent pegs wouldn't hold in my campsite's gravel surface, so I used heavy rocks to hold the guy lines down.  Good thing I did, or I'd be in Kansas hiking right now!
I woke up early to a beautiful but very cool morning: 12 degrees Celsius.  While packing up, I noticed my backpack's right shoulder strap was half torn off.  I blinked, and examined it closely. Duct tape would definitely not fix this problem; I'd have to give this some attention very soon.
After a shuttle back to the trailhead, I was happily on my way once again, and about to go through the Sydenham area known as 'The Glen'.  The coolness of the day plus the still fairly strong winds kept the bugs down nicely.  The Trail took on many guises here:  grassy meadows, cedar forests, rocky outcrops, even the odd road.  But it was always the same Trail, always beckoning me onward.
In one area I waded through waist-high ferns.  I have read that there are rare ferns along the Trail, but I really don't know my ferns so couldn't tell if these were rare or not.  They sure were prolific in this area, though.
The Glen's rock formations were impressive. Though I really missed the huge bay overlooks of the Peninsula section, the overlooks here were beautiful also, with carpets of trees as far as the eye could see.  I imagined they must be beyond description in the autumn.
I arrived at my scheduled night stop around midmorning, a wilderness campsite on a short side trail. It seemed much too soon to stop for the day, though, and the day was gorgeous, so I carried on.
It was along this stretch that I became adept at peeing in the woods with a 40-lb. knapsack strapped onto my back.  I didn't want to add any more strain to the torn shoulder strap than I had to, so I was trying to minimize the number of times I took the pack off.  It's amazing what you can do if you put your mind to something.
Although there were clear skies, I kept hearing a crashing in the distance, almost like thunder.  After giving it some thought, I decided it was the gusts of wind slamming into the huge rock formations at just the right angle.
The Trail took me past an old blue jalopy, abandoned in the middle of the woods.  I know my cars about as well as I know my ferns, which is to say not very well.  I do know it was old, and it was blue, and it definitely no longer runs.
Out to a dirt road, where I passed an old couple on a vintage tractor; she was driving, and he, resplendent in straw hat and denim coveralls, stood on the running board.  They both waved cheerfully at me.
It was around this time that I noticed the familiar rubbing sensation of a blister forming, this time on my left foot.  My boots had still been wet when I put them on this morning, which probably heavily contributed to the situation.  I made a mental note to hunt down some bleach later - my friend Kathleen's surefire cure for blister pain.
When I saw the "Owen Sound" sign, I knew it was time to stop.  A quick check on the internet showed me no nearby campgrounds, but there was a motel about 2 km. off the Trail.  I crossed my fingers they'd have room for me, and headed east.