WHW day 6.2

Altnafeadh beckons. Track has been good this morning. Small-fine aggregates. Good underfoot, but wash away easily. The Way-keepers can't win.

I've given up waving to tour buses. No-one's waved back. They don't know me, of course. I could be a murderer fleeing justice. They return to their "Hello"s, mp3s and watching "The 39 Steps". Hmm, air suddenly feels damper. A passenger in a caravanette looks and waves. I wave back. I try to smile, but it probably looks like a grimace.

The Devil's Staircase awaits. I return to singing a John Tams song as vehicles speed by, unable to see around blind corners or through blind summits. Ah well. I dream of reaching Ft Bill tonight, but doubt it. It's over the hill and far away...
[*, lyrics]