If you have not read part 5 yet, you can check that out here.
The Five F’s
Fort, feet, fire, food, fast asleep. The morning found me sitting on my rucksack, nursing a cup of tepid coffee. It was no longer snowing, but the temperature had plummeted. When the hearse arrived, my coffee was almost gone, not so much from having drunk it but rather from having spilled it due to shivering so hard. I approached the rear of the hearse, the stallions snorting and stamping. I cast not a glance skyward to the constellations.
When I departed my starting point, to omit all conjecture, I deliberately set an azimuth straight to the twilight zone, where I would spend the next three hours clicking my heels and chanting, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.” The route beyond the twilight zone was typically fraught with the usual mind games of doubt, second-guessing, and resignation, spiced occasionally with the warm feeling of actually knowing where I was—both on the face of the Earth, as well as on the map.