Our Hargrove Lake Road placement lasted a bit over an hour, and then we headed back down Crawford-Smithonia, toward Crawford (of course) and the last checkpoint at Old Mill Road, a little less than a mile from the finish.

It had started out chilly and foggy, a couple of hours earlier, and it never got really sunny until the afternoon. But it had warmed up nicely by 9:30am, and the rains predicted for Saturday weren’t to arrive until Sunday. In fact, it’s 45 degF and rain, right now. What misery that would have been!

We’re now on the northwest side of Crawford proper, and maybe there are seedier parts. Native plants fled this place in terror, decades ago - you can see that Glenn is confirming this. The sign at lower left reads “Beulah Land,” but I’m not sure what road it is attached to.



But here come the runners. Number 150 was in the lead back at Hargrove Lake Road, and he maintained it here by a hundred yards. I’m assuming he was first at the finish, but those are matters that we didn’t observe. I’m actually quite pleased with this photo - it was only at the last moment that I realized he was coming up the road, ran to the Maraschino to get the camera, whipped it out and took the photo a second before he passed behind the rear of the truck.

Befitting the location, an abandoned phone booth at right. Forgotten, but not gone!




Clickable thumbnails! Lots of them, who can resist?

Left, a larger view including the entirety of the old water tower. I wonder if this is the Old Mill?

Next, numbers 2 and 3. The garbage truck fed us its fumes for quite a long time.

Third, number 4, the woman of the unusual lope. Whatever it was, it seemed to come effortlessly to her, which I’m sure isn’t the case!

And last on the right, number 5. Again, these were very serious runners, but later our old friends, many of whom we’d met three times now, would have something amusing or kind to say to us.



On the left, quite a while later - things were getting really strung up by now, and we wouldn’t leave Old Mill Road for an hour and a half - another cluster of runners. The last one in this cluster asked as he went by if there was anyone behind him. “Lots,” I answered, hoping that this was the right, if by that time not entirely accurate, response. “No, *right* behind me,” he replied. How do you answer that?

Thank goodness the garbage truck is gone, but now what? STOP parking so as to block the runners! Good grief - this driver was completely oblivious as to what was going on. I do believe she actually read her mail there.

And finally, some local color. He had earlier made an appearance, too, to deal with his emptied trash can. I’m not sure he entirely approved of things, but to give him credit he was with only one exception (a scary scary woman someone let out a bit up the street) the only human being to appear outside of an automobile.



The last runners were a long time in coming in, and there was one point where we were wondering if we should stop an oncoming car to inquire if there were any runners back down the road. “Would you be scandalized if I were to ask someone,” Glenn asked. “Just, please, don’t ask the runner if he’s the last one.”

But there was a tailing car on the last runners and so that is how we knew those were in fact the last. I suppose they must have known it too.

We did take the truck down to the Depot to canvass the proceedings and get a couple of donuts, but most of the festivities had ended. We arrived with the last of the runners crossing the finish line. And then it was back to Wolfskin, put the pumper up, and call it back into service.

We were home by noon - it was a fun morning.