        Dale tossed and turned in his sleeping bag.  He was in that strange state of being half-awake and half-asleep, and part of his mind knew it, and it frustrated him.  Even in a tent, he was normally a good sleeper, but he just couldn’t manage to drift off.  Every position he sought turned against him, with rocks and roots under his Thermarest, or the zipper on his sleeping bag pressing against his side uncomfortably, or his pillow strangely eluding him.