It turned out I was farther from the CT trailhead than I thought. A good hour of work was required to reach the path.
I have often questioned the sanity of the ADT's designers whenever any excessive non-westerly movement takes place. In this instance the trail is going south and I understand perfectly why. Mt. Massive and Mt. Elbert stand like 14,000 foot Berlin Walls blocking the way. At least I'm stuck in the Rockies and not the Communist bloc.
Further on the mountainous obstacles became even more irksome. At Twin Lakes the western shore is impassable due to a group of sheer peaks. There is no choice but to head clockwise around the water, first east, then south, and finally you can go west a couple of miles past the southern shore.
Yet another traffic cone prevented me from even getting that far today. The sky provided the barrier in the form of a vicious storm. Pouring rain and hail forced me into gear protection mode. I donned my raincoat, covered the bag with the poncho, and curled into a fetal position, trying to stay as dry as possible in the worst soaking I have experienced in Colorado thus far.
A break in the squall allowed me to move a few hundred yards to Dexter Point camping area. Once there I set up the tent, changed into dry clothes, and sat out the next barrage in comfort.
Shortly after five the tempest abated. Since I'm still well ahead of pace I decided to use the rest of the day to dry my wet clothes. The sun returned from exile and seemed to be obliging.
The mountains to the west seemed to be manufacturing a black cloud every couple of hours, then sending it towards Twin Lakes. The next waves brought little more than a sprinkle, so I thought little of the next malevolent cloud, which I saw forming before turning in for the night.
I was awakened by Armageddon. The rain was falling in torrents, but it was not the main concern. A mighty wind had come down from the heights like a mailed fist and was shaking my shelter like a washing machine on spin cycle. The fly had been dislodged and I clung to the portion still attached. The power of the storm made me feel like a bull rider, desperate to hold on, which I managed to do for what felt like hours. I knew I couldn't go outside to do repairs - only the weight of my body was keeping the tent from flying away to Oz. Finally the banshees wail ceased and I hopped out to observe the damage. All four stakes had been uprooted. I put humpty dumpty back together again and crawled into my sleeping bag. Exhausted I entered a deep sleep.
12 miles/2694 total miles