Transgrancanaria 360° Part 3 - Wandering in the dark

Base camp in La Aldea is crowded and not particularly cozy. There are no beds and what’s even worse - no showers. Resting area, hidden behind the curtains, offers some mattresses instead. It is dark and stuffed with tired runners there. Probably my Latvian buddies are resting there right now. I’m not interested in sleeping, but why are there no showers? A catastrophe. That’s the only thing I really dreamt about coming here - a hot shower… Not today. It is time to head further, but going out there, alone in the dark and cold night, is the last thing I can imagine myself doing right now. I put on a fresh shirt and waterproof jacket. For a moment I consider putting on a clean pair of leggings too, but I’m afraid they would stick to my wounded knee, that’s why I put on waterproof trousers instead. It turns out to be an even worse choice. The cold membrane is sticking to the wound as I move, causing even more pain. No, I’m not taking them off. It’s way too cold outside. Hiding my messy hair under the beany, not forgetting to take another painkiller pill, I put on the heavy backpack and head out in the night.

The streets are completely empty, as usual. Slowly shuffling down the street, feeling stiff and cold, I’m thinking about the next section of the course. There are 41 kilometer ahead to a beautiful village named Tejeda with almost 3000 meters of a vertical climb followed up with 13 more kilometers and 835 vertical meters to Artenara, which is the second base camp. How hard could it be? Difficult to say - it’s the highest part of the island and I’ve got some sickness issues with highs over 1600 meters above sea level. 

Outside the city our course leads up the hill, often used by mountain bikers. There are so many tracks, that it is hard to hold on to the right one. The lamps of runners ahead of me are rapidly receding as they are faster than me. The city lights are receding as well as I’m climbing higher and higher. What a view! No time to look back though, as I find myself severely off track. How did this happen? I must have taken one of these false tracks. Crawling up a steep slope following the azimuth, corrects the mistake and I find myself in between other runners’ headlamps soon enough. Maybe I should stick together with someone to avoid such foolish mishappenings. I catch up with the French couple again and for some time we are traveling together. This time they are following me not the other way around. It is dark and the track is barely visible, sometimes it seems nonexistent at all. Herve is searing the path actively, and somehow we manage to stay on the right way while Celine has turned on a vegetable mode. She is too sleepy to do anything more than apathetically following her husband. When he is not sure if the path is right, she just sits down and waits for him to find it out. How convenient! More and more often I find myself rather joining Celine in waiting than Herve in searching the way. 

Wandered long enough in the wilderness, we find ourselves on a wide dirt road. Wonderfull, at last I can do some running! Sleepiness is gone and I leave my companions behind. Pace is good and soon enough it feels too hot. That’s great, I was annoyed and tired from all that shivering and extra clothes. I really do enjoy moments like this - only me and the movement, surrounded by the darkness. My mind is completely empty. The only thing that matters at the moment is the next step and nothing else. Moments like these are rare, because my mind always runs ahead of me. Suddenly I find myself at the dead end. At least it seems to me that way. The navigator shows that everything is right, but as I see it - I have to pass someone's backyard to get further. That doesn’t seem right. While I’m standing and wondering, Celine and Herve are here as well. They are not confused by trespassing someone's property at all and boldly go into the yard. I just follow, because it doesn't seem that there are any other options left for me. No way -  a real monster awaits behind the corner! A big black dog is sitting in the gateway right in our way. It looks scary, exactly like these drawings on Gran Canarian souvenir t-shirts. It’s eyes are glowing in the lights of our headlamps. Dog is on a chain, but it’s so long that it is not an obstacle for this monster to eat us alive. The French, absolutely cold-blooded people, are not bothered by anything, even the dog. They just pass it and disappear in the dark. Well, here we are - me and the beast. No need to explain here, that I’m terrified of dogs. “Don’t show it your fear, don’t show it your fear…”, I whisper to myself, but it’s hard to do when it feels like I’m going to wet my panties while slowly moving through the gateway. The murderous creature is watching me but it doesn’t move. It probably has eaten enough runners tonight and isn’t interested in me after all. I can exhale only when I feel safe. Now it's time to chase the French couple and turn on a vegetable mode, while getting out of the shock.

We’ve been running for a while, when we suddenly find ourselves by the lake or quarry filled with water. That is so wrong, because we shouldn’t be here according to our maps. Probably no one of us was watching our navigation devices for a while. Turning back always is so disappointing. As a bonus - we can’t find the right turn. When we finally find it, there is no track… and soon enough, we are completely lost. Our navigators are showing different things and there is only one big, steep rocky slope with some lonely bushes. Our paths split. Celine sits down on a rock as Herve crawls further in order to find a way. I’m crawling the other direction, because it feels like my navigator is leading me there and it’s the only thing I can depend on now. It feels wrong anyway. I can't reach the pink line no matter how hard I try. It becomes more and more dangerous. I can hear Celine and Herve calling each other somewhere above me. It’s too steep, I cannot get there. It feels like a bad dream, only it’s real and very frightening. There are some distant headlamps high above me. I desperately need to get there, no matter what. After breaking my way through the bushes a while, I suddenly meet the French couple again but the crazy climb has taken all of my energy and I can’t keep up with them. I’m alone again and the path is lost… again. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I find the way? I’m almost desperate when I see a couple of headlamps a little bit above me. “Please, wait for me I’m lost!” I yell, “Are you on the right path?”. The answer is affirmative. Strangers are kind - they wait as I climb up. “Oh, thank you, good people, I was really tired of being lost.” This is perfect - I’ve got myself some new companions, they love to talk and are quite funny. One of them is from Germany, his name is Martin and the other one - a guy without a navigator - Jean from France. They have absolutely no problems with the navigation, so I can relax and follow for a while. As I understand, Martin tested this segment of the route some days ago, that's why he knows what awaits ahead. Jean is good at finding paths between the aggressive bushes as well, when I ask how he can do it without the map and the navigator he just jokes that it’s his laser vision. Whatever that is - he is good at it. The terrain here is not pleasant at all. There is always only one possible way, where we can barely push through, and that is the right way after all. It’s hard to believe that a few dozens of runners have already been here before us. We feel like pioneers for sure. I have to admit that I wouldn’t want to wander here alone. I wouldn’t feel safe about the choice of the path, if I had to make it alone. It’s good to have somebody to do it for me. Yeah, I’m a selfish bitch. But these guys are not just useful. They are interesting interlocutors as well. Conversations cheer me up and help to stay awake. One of our discussed subjects is the leader of the race - Papi. We try to imagine how he runs through these bushes without any hesitation. It's rumoured that he comes here as soon as the course is published and runs it all the way before the race. That probably is an excellent idea, but the thought of running this course twice makes me feel a bit sick, because I remember how exhausted and miserable I was when I finished it 2 years ago. 

My navigator is about to die and I probably need to eat something too. We sit down for a short break and when we are almost finished with our meal a “train” of several headlamps is passing us by. My Latvian buddies Anita and Valters are in the front of it. That’s the chance we can’t miss. If we follow them, we don’t have to navigate at all. I trust their orienteering skills more than any navigation device. So we jump on the “train” and now we can carelessly follow their lead and just entertain ourselves with conversations. Anita and Valters have had a good sleep in La Aldea base camp and rescued a bunch of runners in the same place where Martin and Jean saved me. Among many new faces there is Alexander - the Russian runner I met after the crazy tunnel. He is as grumpy as he was back there, or maybe even a little bit more now. He is very disappointed by the fact that many people didn’t follow the track in that awful place where most of us got lost. Oh, I don’t want to listen to this, I'd rather continue to chat with the nice guy Martin. Yes, this is perfect - pleasant downhill running and pleasant companion. The serpentine road leads us down to the highway. Anita and Valters surprise us by turning right instead of left. What’s happening? They have noticed the organizer's car - we can refill our bottles and take a little break there. Everybody is still resting when I notice that Martin is ready to go. I catch him and we suddenly find an unexpected boost of energy. It’s 4 a.m. in the morning. The paved road is smooth and a little bit descending. What a pleasure! We talk about absolutely normal running themes as we run  - blisters, ultras, dehydration and electrolytes. I'm trying to entertain him with my ultra tales. I tell him that my friend calls events like this the festivals of suffering. He tends to agree on that. This is really so true - a bunch of weirdos come together to a small island to suffer and later they boast around about that.

The first light slowly breaks out as we run through the silent valley. Running is easy and we enjoy this feeling so much that we miss the right turn. This was a nice morning run, now it’s time to get back to reality. I ask Martin to abandon me when he feels that I’m too slow for him or when I talk too much. We can see Anita’s and Valter’s train taking the right turn where we missed it. They are fast as they go up the hill. The only one we manage to catch is Jean. He is fighting sleep desperately. Martin finds a caffeine pill in his backpack and Jean is saved. Strong stuff. The ascent becomes absolutely brutal. I’m crawling on my fours, afraid to look down. I feel a bit uneasy about this kind of height. Ok, I’m lying - I’m terrified. The crazy climb is done, but what a surprise - there is no path. When we manage to find the way, it tends to disappear again and again. The course continues up the hill, the sun is up and blazing, but the view is stunning. It gets unbelievably hot. Time to apply some sunscreen. Jean refuses it. He says that getting sunburned is the best way to prove to his colleagues that he was on vacation. We take some time to admire the view. This is one of the reasons to be here. Certainly. Together with the sunlight Martin seems to be recharged and ready to run. He feels that it’s not too late to fulfill his dream about completing the distance in 60 hours, that's why he just disappears. I wish him luck, but I certainly will not follow him. I have my own dreams. Jean stays with me. I tell him the same thing I told Martin - that he doesn't have to wait for me if I’m too slow. But he has no choice, as his navigator is broken. He’s stuck with me at least till he finds somebody else. 

Well, we have 10 kilometers ahead of us, mostly climbing up the hill, then as a reward, there will be one delightful downhill run to the little fairytale village surrounded by almond trees - Tejeda. There is one famous cake shop. Oh, yes, I want a cake, a big, fat cake or maybe two. Yes, too cakes are always better than one! From there our path will continue to Artenara, the second base camp, but first things first - let's get these cakes!

Our path is aiming for the sky again. It's too hot and we are having a hard time. Again. I'm barely dragging myself forward. Why can't I just be a normal runner? I feel completely miserable. We are walking through a small village surrounded by orange trees. Brightly colored orange peels on the road certainly mean I'm not the only one tempted by these fruits. I can almost feel the refreshing citrus taste in my mouth. Yes, that's exactly what I need right now. My surprise comes as I pluck the most beautiful one of them, only to immediately spit it out. It's bitter and sour - the most disgusting fruit that has ever touched my tongue. Maybe it's not orange season yet. They do have seasons, right? Who cares? Frustrated and shivering, I continue to dream about a sweet, juicy treat. Nobody is giving up. When we spot some especially large and beautiful oranges, we dare to try them again. These ones grow on very tall trees on the steep roadside far below. That means you can almost reach the very top of the tree from the road. Almost. Our hands are a bit too short, but we don’t give up that easily. We do some ballet on the road - Jean holds my hand as I, balancing on one leg, reach for the fruit leaning over the roadside. When it seems that that’s it, I'm going to fall, the orange ends up in my hand. This one is good, not too sweet but quite decent. My hands couldn’t be any dirtier, but now they are sticky too. And there it is - in the middle of nowhere, a WC. With water. Unbelievable! We take a little break. Something smells very bad. Jean thinks someone has died here. That’s really not our problem. The excruciating climb continues.

Villages, dirt, the bubbling of drainage water. How much more can we climb? To keep things from getting too boring, the trail turns into a dry riverbed, where moving forward becomes annoyingly slow. Finally, the distant roar of a lawn mower suggests that another inhabited place must be nearby, and judging by the map, the slope of the road should soon change direction. I desperately want a shop - the thought of ice cream is haunting me like a nightmare. Yet none of the villages have anything like that. Where do you people shop? And what do you do if, on a hot day, you suddenly crave ice cream? When we reach the highway, my instinct is to start running, but such foolishness quickly results in even greater exhaustion. We lean against a rock by the roadside and complain about our suffering. I swallow a painkiller and offer one to Jean as well. After inspecting the packaging for a moment, he accepts. Why do we do this to ourselves?

The asphalt serpentines, alternating with rocky trails, reluctantly bring us closer to Tejeda. Or maybe not. The guys in the organizers’ car that we meet on the road say it’s still 15 km away. Where did you get that from?! It shouldn’t be more than 6! I ask one of the organizers whether he happens to have a gun with him so he could end my suffering right here on the spot if the village really is still 15 km away. No, they don’t have a gun, and after reconsidering they announce that Tejeda is actually only 5 km away. Well then, who are we supposed to believe now? Gloomily we trudge on, and the organizers only remind us that we absolutely must visit the famous Roque Nublo pastry shop when we get there. Thanks, we were planning to do that anyway. At last the descent becomes convincingly downhill. In the distance we can see a long, very long column of jeeps raising dust as they come out of a rocky off-road track onto the highway. Good thing our paths don’t cross. We sit down by the roadside to eat when a car stops next to us. A gentleman wearing an Arista Events shirt steps out and starts asking us all kinds of questions about the race, although his English isn’t very good. As far as we understand, he organizes cycling races here, but tomorrow he himself will run the 128 km distance. We wish each other luck and, after receiving yet another reminder to visit the pastry shop, we are about to leave when he suddenly remembers to offer us water and bread. We don’t refuse, although it probably qualifies as illegal outside assistance. But he is wearing that Arista shirt - he might just as well be an organizer, so let’s assume we didn’t really understand anything. The water is pleasantly cold instead of the warm sludge that has been sloshing around in our systems since time immemorial, and the bread is fresh and fragrant. Jean is introduced to ultra-style jam sandwiches - I happen to have apple jelly that’s perfect for it. He doesn’t seem overly enthusiastic, and I even feel a little guilty about ruining his piece of bread. Oh well, he’ll survive. It’s already well into the middle of the day. How I want that ice cream! And cakes! It’s a downhill section that should be easy, but inside me sits an enormous weakness. My knee also hurts unbearably. Footsteps sound behind us - Kristīna rushes past with a German-speaking companion. I tell Jean to run with them; I can’t go that fast right now. Oh, what a weakling I am! Sadly I watch them disappear behind the bend, yet the solitude comes as a relief.

I’m tired of the constant communication of the last twelve hours as well. For a while I can still hear the scraping of poles. I don’t want to continue anymore. I’m alone now, nothing pushes me to keep the pace or even try a little. The trail is familiar - in the short 128 km distance we climb it in the opposite direction. I sit down on a rock with a great view to call home and complain. It doesn’t help. I have to drag myself at least to Tejeda, eat some cakes there and then decide what to do next - continue or not. A short stretch along an asphalt serpentine, but I can’t even run downhill anymore. I drag myself along at absolutely no pace. At the side of the road there’s a viewpoint toward Tejeda, and from there a steep trail begins where I finally grit my teeth and start running. I run and think about cakes and about how much more the organizers might still drag us through various dumps and back alleys before we finally reach Tejeda. The farther I run, the faster it goes, my legs have pulled themselves together and stopped complaining. When I finally remember to glance at the navigator, I freeze in horror - I’m off the correct route, and seriously so. Damn it, how stupid. Looking at the map I see that it would now be easier to keep going forward, because there is a way to get back onto the correct road from there. I’m not sure whether such improvisation would lead to disqualification, but I’m willing to try my luck - after all I’m not even sure I want to continue to the finish anyway. My thoughts are interrupted by a phone call with a Spanish code. It’s the organizers. I’m informed that I’ve gone off course and asked to turn back and return to the route. Damn it! That’s uphill! More than a kilometer! Idiocy! Of course I can blame only myself. Would it really have been so hard to look at the navigator? Idiot. I climb back up and fume. For a moment the anger gives me energy, but it’s frustrating to realize that it’s being spent for nothing. The phone keeps ringing - relatives and friends hurry to inform me that I’ve gone off course. I’ve already learned to answer by picking up with: “Yes, I know, I’m already going back!” Where were you earlier? A kilometer earlier! Even earlier? Still, there’s no real reason to be upset - nobody can say with what delay or how accurately the tracking device shows my position. I also receive a good dose of encouraging words, and right now they are exactly what I need. The awareness that someone is following my progress warms my heart and I even manage to wipe away a small tear of emotion.

Correcting the mistake brings me back to the viewpoint. There, hidden in the bushes, the tricky turn is waiting for me. A beautiful dark-red dirt path winding through green meadows and blooming almond trees. Tejeda is close, the path leads into a settlement and I already start to celebrate when - hop! - across the road and straight back into the scrub and junky back lots. Thickets, little bridges, cacti, more thickets and, as a bonus, another climb. Somewhere high above my head I can see the Tejeda viewing terrace where I’ve sat so many times. I won’t stay down here, so with my head hanging low I drag myself up the dusty road. Sometimes I hate my life.

That’s it, I’ve made it up here - give me cakes and ice cream! Oh, and batteries, the navigator is about to die and I don’t have a spare. How is it possible that with such careful planning I’ve still managed to mess something up? It must be said that the navigator promised a battery life of 12 hours. This thing barely lasts 8! Calm down, just calm down, I’ll go to the village’s only little general store and buy everything I need. Confused, I wander back and forth trying to understand how to get to the main street - there is construction ahead and the road is closed. Strangely, the roadbook doesn’t say a word about it. I make a detour along the highway and small side streets to enter the town center from the other side.

Oh no! What kind of cruel joke is this! The shop is closed! They have a two-hour siesta. Damn daytime slackers! And where am I supposed to get batteries now? Crushed, I head to the pastry shop. And what if they also have a siesta? Phew, no, Roque Nublo is open. I’m the only customer. Of course they don’t have batteries, but I take two ice creams. There are so many cakes that it makes my head spin. I choose a huge, two-layer cream slice. Meanwhile quite a queue has formed behind me. Kristīna’s German-speaking companion bursts through the door and pushes straight to the front. I haven’t even finished buying my things when he squeezes in the middle of it all and starts ordering something in German. The saleswoman doesn’t understand him, and I don’t like him. Some kind of rude jerk. I notice a Polish flag on his race number. Wait, so he’s Polish? Whatever. I want to continue with my sweet and unhealthy business - the little shop doesn’t have big bottles, so I buy Fanta, cola and six cans of iced tea. The German or Pole, in short the weirdo, has finished his shopping too and now wants to run on together with me. Yeah, sure. I don’t understand a word he’s saying and he doesn’t understand me, but somehow you can guess the general topic. I say I need ten minutes to deal with everything I’ve bought. Fine, he’ll wait. We sit down like a pair of tramps on the curb next to a trash bin. I realize that hunger, thirst and overheating have played a trick on me - I can’t possibly eat and drink all this alone, and there’s no space in my pack either. I stuff both ice creams into my mouth, alternating with gulps of Fanta and cola. The drinks are warm and heavily carbonated, and very soon my stomach runs out of space. Where am I supposed to put the gigantic cream slice now? Oh, familiar faces - Jean and Kristīna! They’ve rested in a little tavern and are now heading onward. Am I coming too? Tempting, but I haven’t finished with my food yet and I definitely won’t keep up with them uphill. The strange Pole, however, without any encouragement, runs off after them. Great, one problem less. I wish them luck and turn to the cream slice. Mmm, did I say my stomach was full? For something like this there’s always a little shelf somewhere. Incredibly delicious! The cans of iced tea disappear into the system. I feel absolutely awful, but I have to move on toward Artenara. I shuffle through the town and - ha! - it turns out the navigator has a power-saving mode! My stomach twists. Wonderful. Actually I really need a toilet, but I don’t see anything suitable. I start getting sleepy. In the middle of the day - what’s that about? My eyes close without asking permission. Sometimes I come to and realize I’m wandering right down the middle of the road. Oh, benches, I need to sit. After resting for a minute I move on. The edge of the town is pressed against the foot of a cliff. Small houses sit one above another on the steep slope. Narrow slanted streets and crooked stairways - all I can do is pant and gasp. And, of course, call home to complain. Weakling. I feel indescribably bad. Every step requires willpower, which I seem to have run out of. My speed is close to zero, the effort maximal. What kind of terrible place is this - it must be some kind of movie set, people can’t really live here. I prop my heavy backside against almost every horizontal surface within sitting height. Every ten meters or so. Pathetic. I’ll never reach that damned Artenara. Pull yourself together! Just walk. When you reach Cruz de Tejeda, only the downhill will remain. A few kilometers left to the top. What will kill me first - the mountain or the heat? I clench my teeth and climb. The settlement stays below me, behind my back. Just a little more. I can already see it!

At the tourist parking lot on the summit I am a completely different person. I walk along smiling like a child. The weight has rolled off my shoulders and my strength has returned. There is a kind of festive feeling - the whole climb of this section is done. Now there are only about 8–9 kilometers downhill to Artenara! The tall Canary pines delight me, as do the breathtaking views of the cliffs on the opposite side of the valley. The road runs along the ridge of the mountain, revealing another fascinating rock formation behind every bend. Down below Tejeda can be seen in all its glory. Even though I realize I’ve wasted an entire day on this one section, it’s behind me now. I need to see what I can do to stop losing so much time and start running.

I run and enjoy it; a breathtaking sunset dulls the pain. There is only one worry - that the navigator will last. The trail is smooth, in places covered with soft, long pine needles. The terrain reminds me of an average Stirnu Buks course - up and down. A very pleasant section, though there is definitely more downhill. At the end of the ridge I can hardly wait to see Artenara, but it simply isn’t there, only the trail endlessly bending around corners ahead, becoming more and more rocky. All the while I keep studying the map as well, so I’ll be ready for the moment when the navigator dies.

It starts getting dark. Oh no, the battery in my headlamp hasn’t been changed because I had hoped to reach the base in daylight. I have to switch to my spare lamp. It isn’t as bright, so I don’t feel very confident. The trail circles the town for a long time, but finally I’m down. Artenara. The navigator has survived! Where is the base here? Seeing a guy in an organizer’s shirt, I ask for directions. I understand that it’s still a bit farther ahead. I’m already thinking of walking there slowly when the young man offers to escort me. Apparently he has taken me for a runner, because puffing out his cheeks he sets off at such a pace that I can barely keep up. I realize the young man is really trying hard for my sake; he’s quite round and it probably isn’t easy for him, so I keep up so as not to disappoint him. At the door a fairly large group of volunteers is already waiting.

I refuse everything they offer; first I want the promised showers. There’s a problem with that - one of the girls says they are frío - cold. Seriously??? I’ve been sweating for two days, covering 124 km with almost 7000 meters of climbing, and I won’t get a proper shower? I smell like a homeless guy at a train station! The volunteers spread their hands helplessly and promise that the next base will definitely have very good showers. Well, thank you, I will certainly use those, but right now I’ll take the cold one here and now. I’m led a whole block farther, across a football field to other facilities. They seem completely abandoned. A huge tiled changing room, cold as a refrigerator, with showers hanging from the ceiling, half of them without shower heads. I’m probably the only visitor here these days. For the first time in two days I take off my shoes and realize that my feet are completely black - probably still from the muddy tunnel on the first day. I strip off my clothes and stare in disbelief - the torn leggings have hidden even more abrasions and a lot of bruises. Both knees are swollen, my legs and arms covered in bruises. I looked quite similar after I once rolled over with my first car. My battered feet enjoy the cold tiled floor. You could probably catch all kinds of fancy fungi here, but that is the last thing that worries me right now. The icy shower is better than none. It brings pleasant relief to my aching knees. Something must be done about the big wound. It’s not a good idea to keep it open all the time. I spray it thoroughly with disinfectant and stick on the only large patch - about 5×6 cm - that I happened to throw into my pack. It’s a little too small; the sticky edges end up directly on the wound and a little tail sticks out, but it’s better than nothing. I pull a knee sleeve over it and am about to put on clean leggings when it turns out I didn’t send any to this checkpoint - what an unbelievable disappointment! I have to put the same torn ones back on, but the knee sleeve covers the cut-out area, so everything is wonderful. The rest of my clothes are clean and fresh. I put on a full set of rain gear as well and I’m ready for dinner.

The food selection for someone who doesn’t eat meat is rather poor. Pasta with tomato sauce and a couple of slices of cheese. I don’t crave raisins, bread or bananas. I want warm food. I also get some chamomile tea. I change all the batteries, stuff marshmallows into my pockets and… I’m not ready to go anywhere. I put my hand on my knee and feel it throbbing. It hurts so terribly. Oh, I really don’t want to go out there into the cold, not at all! I look around the room - I don’t see any familiar faces, only Kristīna’s husband fiddling with a bag, so she must be here somewhere. Probably sleeping. I still don’t grant myself such a privilege, not at this checkpoint. I have to go, there’s no time to waste.

The Artenara base is right on the edge of the little town, so soon I’m already in the forest. Sleep, like sticky glue, tries to attach me to the ground. My eyes close and my consciousness grows foggy. I turn off the wide gravel road onto a small path covered with a thick carpet of pine needles. I want only one thing - to lie down anywhere just to close my eyes for a moment. Maybe I should just do that. I curl up into a ball on the soft needles, without even turning off my headlamp, and promise myself I’ll wake up in five minutes. Setting an alarm seems like an unnecessary waste of energy and time; I’ll probably wake up anyway. I fall asleep instantly.