"Humping It" and Hitchhiking

My hands feel frozen at five-thousand feet, but they are just cold and wet. I can feel the damp chill crawling up my arms, down my neck, towards my core. I leave my bike at the foot of the trail and hump it up the trail to set up camp, for much-needed dryness. Its a short walk, but, being heavy with pack, it is a stenuous uphill climb.
From the long wet, drowzy afternoon, enduring an aqueous assault on all of my belongings, all within my seemingly-porous tent, I think about my bike, fearing it being stolen, no -- having a vision of it -- by some dishonest band of guys in a pickup truck. Witnessing it in my mind, but too preferred to the damp (rather than the wet) to care. One moment of hasty (or maybe relaxed. There was certainly nobody going to come around the bend to see their act) petty theivery. Just like that
Pools of water forming on the corners of the tent, poking holes in the tent to relieve them, allow them into the ground, where they long to go. Sleeping bag soaked at the bottom, dampness creeping up, an ever-decreasing island of dryness wherewith to lay on and rest on. Legs curled up, too uncomfortable to sleep. Either that or too wet for the body to allow slumber. Sleeping bag stains body with its dyes. I shift between one and the other, disconecting myself from my discomfort. It is another person going through this, and I am just vicariously experiencing it alongside him. Rather the processes of an extremely-bored mind than a weak constitution. I don't believe any sleep came. With the howling winds which always seem to follow, I hang my wet clothes (which I soon realize to consist of all socks, undergarment, breeches, and jacket), and morning eventually comes. The clothes will take a morning and afternoon to dry and my sleeping bag, perhaps longer. I leave them along the trail to continue on towards my desired destination. They have nowhere to go. They will be there when I come back this evening.
My dry socks and wet shoes will carry me to where I need to go. All I have is time -- it is just a matter of using more of it and getting less distance in return.
The clouds are below me, only a few hills high enough to win my view, standing as islands in a sea of mist, as far as the eye can see.