Thursday, August 25, 2016

Grandma and Grandpa Come for a Visit

One of the frustrating things about where we live right now is that we are far away from our kids and grandkids. Between the two of us, we have five kids, Rob's daughter and son, and my two daughters and son. All five of them are adults now, and they all live in various parts of British Columbia. 

We are also fortunate to have four grandchildren, two little boys from my eldest daughter and husband, and a little boy and girl from Rob's daughter and her husband. The grandchildren are all close in age, ranging from 15 months to 4 years old. 

From where we live, it is a 2 to 3 day trip by car to visit any of them. Flying is expensive, and usually requires 2 or 3 connections. We have been further hindered by my crazy work schedule. We have managed to visit each set of grandchildren a few times each year, but often the visits have been quite short. We feel that we never have enough time with them. 

So one of the important goals of our epic camper trip was to visit the kids, grandkids, and other family and friends. We spent a few days in Prince George after the ArtsWells Festival, and both families of grandchildren were there, and we all got together for dinner. The kids had a wonderful time playing. Then following our trip to Bella Coola, we made our way back to Prince George, and spent a week there with Rob's daughter and her family. In fact, as their daycare was closed for summer break, we looked after the two children while their parents were at work that week. It was a wonderful chance to spend some time with the kids and really get to know them. 

A Ride on the Miniature Railway

It was also a chance to do some grandparent-type things with the kids. Every day we went on an excursion. We went to the water park, to various playgrounds, and for a ride on the miniature railway. We had ice cream and stories and cuddles. On the weekend, we went with the kids and their parents to the fair, and took a million pictures of our grandson going on the rides, fishing for prizes, and racing through the obstacle course/climbing apparatus over and over again. 

Eating Chocolate Ice Cream

We felt so lucky to have had this time with the grandkids and also a good visit with Rob's daughter and our son in law. We were sad to leave. We are now heading further west to visit my Mom and some other family members. My daughter is going to fly in with her two kids, so soon we will have another visit with our other set of grandchildren. We are so happy to be grandparents!

This week in Prince George has given me some insight into what the grandparenting role might be like if we lived close-by. It also has given me a little kick in the pants in the direction of retiring. After all, kids grow up fast. 

One dilemma is where to relocate to. Our four oldest grown kids each live in a different city, and the youngest is still moving around, having decided to go back to school this fall. We can't live in four places at once. If we decide to settle near one set of grandchildren or the other, there is no guarantee that they will stay in that community, as both couples have busy careers that could take them elsewhere. So we will need to choose a place that we will be happy in over the long term, whatever our kids do. 

But one thing for sure is that once I have retired, I will have lots more time. We can travel to visit the grandkids more often and stay longer. If we settle just about anywhere in BC, we will be closer to all the kids, grandkids, and other family and friends. 


Saturday, August 20, 2016

Rainbow Trout

Bluff Lake

I grew up in northern British Columbia in a village that incorporated to become a small town when I was a child. My father's family moved to the valley in the early 1900's and homesteaded and farmed. Our family was one of the first settler families in the area. 

Although our little town had all the amenities -- a paved Main Street, power, water, and sewer, and even one television channel beginning in 1963, a pioneer lifestyle still was the norm in much of the surrounding wilderness area. During the 60's and 70's, many young people from across Canada and the United States were attracted to the area because of the chance to live a back-to-the land lifestyle, and they brought cultural richness in the form of diverse ideas, music, and the visual arts. Many have remained in the area and raised their families. 

When I was growing up, we did lots of hiking, skiing, and exploring old back roads as a family. We also gathered the riches of the land. For example, in the Fall, we picked huckleberries and blueberries, which my Mom canned or froze. My parents had a large vegetable garden, berry bushes, and fruit trees. In my younger years, my father hunted for moose, deer, and grouse. My Dad made wine out of native plants, such as choke cherries and dandelions. A typical Sunday afternoon activity for the family in the Fall was cruising the back roads with a 22 rifle or a shotgun, looking to get a couple of grouse for dinner. 

And, of course, we went fishing. My Dad was an avid fly fisherman, and one of my earliest memories is of picnicking at Driftwood Creek and hunting for fossils while my Dad fished the creek for rainbow and cut throat trout. As he was a skilled fly fisher, we often came home with trout for dinner. We also fished for salmon, steelhead, and Dolly Varden in the rivers, and rainbow trout, lake trout, and Kokanee in the many lakes in the area. My Dad (who was not a naturally patient man) took the time to teach my three brothers and me how to fish, although as we had to take turns with the rod, it never seemed to me that I had enough fishing time. 

When I grew up and went to the city for university, and then later married and lived in one city after another, I missed the hiking and skiing that I had grown up with, so I strived to make opportunities for these two pastimes that I loved. However, I hadn't realized that I would also miss the gathering and eating of wild foods, and that I would miss fishing so much. These were two things that I seldom had the opportunity to do.

After my first husband passed away, I raised my three children as a single mom for many years. During visits to my childhood home, my Dad and my brothers sometimes took my kids (and especially my youngest son) fishing. When I moved back to northwestern BC, my dear friends sometimes included us on fishing trips, and one of my closest friends, who is a renowned fly fisherman offered my son and me some fishing instruction. 

Fly fishing is not a skill that can be picked up after a few tries. It is something that takes years of dedication and practice to master. I did not have my own fishing equipment or the time to practice. But I still yearned to fish. My friends and family surprised me with a big birthday party when I turned 50, and gave me waders, wading boots, and a fishing rod. I few years later when I met and married my second husband, who loves to fish, he took me under his wing, and began teaching me both how to spin cast for salmon and dollies in the rivers, and how to fly fish. I absolutely love fishing, especially fly fishing (even though I am still not good at it at all). There is something so peaceful about standing out in a wild river casting the fly line and sometimes catching one.

However, for the last four years, we have been living on the prairies, far away from any good fishing rivers. The few rivers closest to us are so crowded with fishermen that it does not seem sporting at all. 

We presently are on a camping trip in the West Chilcotin area of British Columbia. We spent three days at a great little fishing lake, and went out fishing in our belly boats every day. We have been fly fishing: dry fly, wet fly, and sink tip. Two days ago, Rob caught a twelve inch rainbow trout, and we fried it up for lunch and ate it with the potato salad I had made the day before. It was delectable! 

Finally, yesterday, I managed to actually land a fish that I hooked. I had just started to feel quite discouraged, then I managed to catch a beautiful twelve-inch rainbow trout. I caught another small one and released it. I hooked another good sized one and brought it up to the boat then lost it. Meanwhile, Rob caught and kept four smaller pansized rainbows. (He also caught and released several). So we had another amazing feast of rainbow trout. It has been many years since I have eaten trout. (I refuse to buy the dull, sad looking fish that the grocery store sells as "fresh trout.") The rainbow trout was delicious, and it took me right back to my childhood, fishing with my family. This has truly been a wonderful holiday.

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

A Perfect Lake

We are presently camped at a beautiful little lake, the name of which must remain unwritten, as Rob is certain that if I mention it on my blog, hoards of people will suddenly descend on this remote location in the West Chilcotin area of British Columbia. We are staying at a BC Recreation Site. There are four campsites at this rec site, and each one is large, open, private, and with easy access to the lake. Each one has a picnic table and a fire pit, and there is a relatively clean pit toilet. 

We discovered "Nameless Lake" on our way to Bella Coola. We arrived in mid-afternoon and found that we were the only ones at the rec site. The lake was glassy calm, and there were fish rising and jumping in every direction. We quickly set up the camper, and then got ready for fishing: sunscreen, bug dope, hats, inner layer, waders, fishing rods and flies, fins, and belly boats. Soon we were out in the lake fishing and it was lovely. There is an island about three hundred meters out across from the rec site, and another smaller island to the east. 

At first we both fished just offshore in front of the rec site. I was fly fishing with a sinking tip with a timberline emerger, and casting, trolling a bit, and then casting again. As I gained confidence with the boat, I began to make my way towards a narrows between a point and the western tip of the island. I was drawn to that location because I could see a lot of fish rising there. Sure enough, I began getting bites. I hooked an 8-9 inch (est.) but lost it. Then I caught a bigger one, and played it up to the side of the belly boat. It was big enough to keep, and I suddenly realized that I didn't know how to land it in the belly boat, and also I had nothing to bonk it with. As I messed around with my rod and the line, the fish managed to shake itself off. 

While all this was going on, some big clouds were forming in the west. I noticed them, and started to slowly fish my way back across the lake toward the rec site. All of a sudden, a brisk wind came up, blowing from west to east. Waves were slapping against the boat. I quickly reeled in and began to kick my way across the lake as fast as I could. I hadn't realized how far I had gone. Belly boats do not move very fast, and I got a real workout trying to cut diagonally across the wind. I was worried that I would be blown onto the island and not be able to get back across the lake. I was also worried that the wind would blow up into a thunder and lightening storm, in which case it would be very dangerous to be out on the water. 

Sensible Rob was fishing near shore, just west of the rec site. He called to me to come back across, not able to see by my slow progress that I was giving it all my effort. I did manage to make it across the lake to shore. By the time we beached our boats, there were whitecaps on the crests of the waves, and the waves were pounding on the shore. We tied our belly boats to a tree so they wouldn't blow away. Later during dinner, we saw lightening strikes in the distance, and in the night there was a huge thunder and lightening storm. It was still raining in the morning, so we moved on. 

We are now on the return trip from Bella Coola, and have come back to Nameless Lake. A couple from Courtenay that we had met at another campsite a few nights ago is camped at the site one over from us. A young couple with a van and a blue tarp stretched out over their table is camped on a huge grassy spot beside the lake. They have set up a camera on a tripod to take pictures of the meteor showers that are supposed to happen tonight. And a person with a BC government truck is camped in the fourth site. 

Fish Tales

We fished in the belly boats when we arrived yesterday evening, and again this morning. Today was a gloriously sunny day. The fish were biting this morning. I had many strikes, and reeled in three. One I released, and the other two shook themselves off as I brought them up to the boat. I am still not sure how to actually land one. 

This afternoon, I set up my easel and painted a small plein air scene of trees with long shadows and the little rutted track winding down to the rec site. Meanwhile, Rob chopped some firewood and then went out fishing again, but it was quite windy and not very pleasant. We had a bonfire this evening and roasted weiners. Also, I made potato salad. A fine evening, which concluded with a hair wash and shower. Oh, the luxury of the camper. If Rob had his druthers, we would stay here for weeks!

Sunday, August 14, 2016

Belly Boats

At the end of July, we set off on an epic camping trip across northern British Columbia. We have a pickup truck with a camper on the back. I call it "epic" because we are going to be on the road for seven weeks, staying in the camper. Much of that time we will be in places that have no Internet service. 

I love our camper. It is a very cozy little home on wheels. Although space is limited (how much can you fit in the bed of a pickup truck?), there still seems to be room for everything we need. We have a comfortable bed, clothes, dishes, food, and a small bathroom with a shower. The camper has a furnace to take the chill off on cold nights (it is a three season camper). On this trip we have brought along with us fishing equipment, my plein air painting supplies, some books, cameras, iPads, crib board, and our mountain bikes. 

Our first destination was the ArtsWells Festival in Wells, BC. Wells is a tiny village (population 250) in the interior of BC, east of Quesnel. This area was settled in the late 1800's during the gold rush. There are still mining claims in the area that are being actively worked. Nearby Barkerville has been restored and is a popular tourist destination. Fifty years ago, Wells nearly became a ghost town. However, a number of artists moved into the community and restored many of the old buildings. They lobbied to keep the school open. 

Wells is now the home of Island Mountain Arts. As well as the four-day ArtsWells Festival on the August long weekend, which is mostly music, but also theatre, literary events, and visual arts, the community also hosts visual and performing arts workshops and courses throughout the year. Some of my favourite music events of the weekend were Ken Hamm, Aurora Jane, Carole Pope, Coco Love Alcorn,  Jenny Ritter, Kym Gouchie, Scarlett Jane, and Quique Escamilla. 

We had a great camping spot behind the Jack O' Clubs Pub, near the river. One of the days that we were there, we rode our bikes to Barkerville and had lunch and spent the afternoon there (and took in a Ken Hamm concert in the Methodist church), then rode back. Another morning, we hiked some of the trails along the Willow River and Williams Creek. As the whole area has been so extensively mined, these watercourses, Jack O' Clubs Lake, and the village of Wells itself are built upon and surrounded by old mine tailings. We also went and visited with Claire Kujundzic and Bill Horne, two of our favourite artists who run the Amazing Space art studio and gallery.

And what does all this have to do with belly boats? Well, as we were travelling over the Interlakes highway between Little Fort and 100 Mile House, we camped one night at a little fishing lake. This whole area is a world class fishing destination. We, however, are only set up for fly fishing in rivers, not for lake fishing. So we stood on the shore looking out at the pretty little lake, and watched the fish jumping and rising in every direction. We knew that later in our trip we would be travelling through another area with many fishing lakes. 

So, when we pulled into 100 Mile House, we went to a fishing store and bought ourselves early birthday presents. Belly boats. These are essentially inflated truck inner tubes for fishermen to sit in while floating out in lakes. They wear waders with flippers on their feet to propel themselves through the water.

Our belly boats at Puntzi Lake

Yesterday we got to try out our belly boats. We are at Puntzi Lake, a famous fishing lake along the route to Bella Coola. What fun! It was lovely to be out in the lake with the loons and the gulls. Apparently the rare white pelican is nesting at this lake this year, so maybe we will see one. We got a couple of bites, but didn't catch anything. 

Rob fishing

When it started to rain, we finished up and went back to our campsite and had dinner. There was a tremendous thunder and lightening storm in the evening, but we were warm and cozy in our camper. 


Monday, July 25, 2016

Petunias and Potato Bags

Today we are packing up and getting ready to set off on a camping tour of Northern British Columbia. Summer travel always poses a dilemma. We devote every spring and early summer to developing and nursing along our gardens. And then every August we go away for a holiday and let the gardens fry in the sun, and the vegetables and fruits go uneaten. You would think we would learn from past years' experience and alter this pattern, but no, we do it every year. 

We don't quite abandon the gardens. We either hire someone to come and water them and look after the house, or in recent years, our son has been with us in the summers to house sit. But as you know, gardens need more active involvement than an occasional squirt of water. And every summer we come home at the end of August to a tangle of weeds and vegetables that have failed to thrive. (This is not a criticism of our son. I know he puts lots of effort into watering and lawn care, and we are grateful for it.)


The photo above shows Rob this morning standing at the corner of our patio (click on the photo to see the full width of it). Behind Rob are three planters that he built with ABS pipe. He used 4 inch pipe with many elbows, and mounted them on concrete paving stones. We filled each opening with soil, and it works perfectly for wave petunias. They thrive in the planters, in fact doing much better than those that we have planted in the front annual bed. To the left in this photo is a regular patio tub planted with more wave petunias and a geranium. To the right is a potato bag. 

Yes, I am the vegetable gardener of the family. As I have only a tiny garden plot, I have taken to planting potatoes in bags. I set the bags along the edge of the patio next to the petunias, and I think they look quite lush and decorative! 

The potato bags are available for purchase at our local garden centre. They are made of a woven polyethylene material (according to Rob), and have grommet holes around the bottom so that excess water can drain out. They way I plant them is as follows. I put a few inches of black garden soil and compost in the bottom. Then I arrange three or four seed potatoes on the soil (I like to use Yukon Gold potatoes for the bags). Then I just cover the potatoes and their sprouts with more soil and water well. Once the potato plants come up and before they are not more than about three inches tall, I completely cover the plants with another layer of soil. Then I arrange three more seed potatoes on that layer and cover them. I repeat one more time, ending up with three layers of potatoes, and a bag that is filled to the top with soil.

The first year that I tried potato bags, I was sceptical. I thought the layer of soil over the plants in the bottom layer would smother them. I thought there would not be room for nine or ten plants in one bag. But, amazingly, the potatoes thrive in the bags. 



Here is a photo of the potatoes that we harvested from one bag yesterday. I have actually had more success with the potato bags than I used to have hilling them in the garden the traditional way. (Mind you, I lived in a completely different climate then - a coastal rainforest - and I had a garden infested with comfrey plant run wild, which is hard to get rid of when you garden organically). 

A few tips I have learned for growing potatoes in bags are: 1) water them very regularly and throroughly; 2) don't use manure enriched soil; 3) they grow better in a sunny spot rather than part-shade (the patio is the sunniest spot in our backyard); and 4) harvest them a week or two after they flower. There will be some tiny potatoes. However, I have found that if I wait a lot longer to harvest them, some of the potatoes on the bottom layer will have begun to to sprout extensively. 

So, added to the usual tasks of packing and getting ready to go, we are doing some frantic last minute gardening this week. The upside is that we will be setting off with freshly harvested potatoes and bags of fresh herbs and greens as we leave on our camping holiday. 

Sunday, July 17, 2016

Raspberries

As a child, I didn't think much of raspberries. Growing up in northern British Columbia, Canada, raspberries seemed ubiquitous, and therefore of little account. My parents had a large garden with a sizeable patch of raspberry canes, as well currants, gooseberries, strawberries, rhubarb, and northern hardy fruit trees. From a young age, I was expected to help pick raspberries, a never-ending task. At that age, I think more raspberries found their way into my mouth than into the picking pail. My mom made raspberry pies, which I was always happy to eat, as well as jelly and jam. 

In my later childhood, after a brief interlude of staying with my aunt in what had been my Grandma's downtown house while my parents sold the first house and bought another, we moved to a different house in the same town. At my aunt's house, there was a large raspberry patch. My Dad said that he had put that patch in for his mom when she had moved into town from the farm. Those raspberry canes came from the family farm where my grandparents had homesteaded when they first moved to the valley. 

So when we moved to our new house on the hill which had only flower gardens, my parents had to start over in developing a vegetable and fruit garden. Dad brought some raspberry canes up from my aunt's house. They thrived and multiplied. As all of us grew up and moved away and the raspberry patch expanded, the picking and processing of raspberries became a time consuming job for my Mom every summer. She made and froze pies to supply to church and community events throughout the upcoming year. Every summer she made dozens and dozens of jars of raspberry jam and raspberry jelly, as well as cherry, currant, gooseberry, and  plum jam and jelly. She supplied all of her friends and the soup kitchen/food bank with jam. Every time we visited, we came away with a boxful of jars of her homemade jellies and jams. And still there was jam to spare. 

When I left home to go to university and then in the early years of my career, I moved a lot. For a period of fifteen years, I moved on average twice a year. The longest I stayed in one place was in my first house in Regina, where we lived for 21/2 years. During that period of my life, I lived in university residences, in apartments, with my boyfriend's parents, in a shared house, in rental houses, and in my own house. Few of those places had yards, and those that had yards did not have fruit or vegetable gardens. The only place that I lived in all of those years that had a raspberry patch was my boyfriend's parents' place. In every place with a yard, I would develop a little vegetable garden, only to move on again before the garden really started to thrive.

During those years without a garden, I came to appreciate raspberries. I would look at the tiny cartons of raspberries in the grocery stores, and could never bring myself to buy them at the outrageous prices, knowing that they would taste insipid compared to fresh-picked ones that I was used to. Store-bought jams tasted so processed and overly sweet. When we visited my parents in northern BC, I spent time in the raspberry patch, happily eating raspberries and helping my Mom pick. 

When we bought our second house in southern BC, we put in a vegetable garden and a raspberry patch, and planted a plum tree and a cherry tree. We stayed there long enough - five years - to benefit from the vegetable garden and raspberries, but not the fruit trees. When we moved back to northern BC and bought our third house, I made a trip to my parent's town. My dad dug up some of my Grandma's raspberry canes and I brought them home and planted them. This third house had a big yard but no garden, so once again we developed a garden from scratch. We also planted two northern hardy apple trees and a northern cherry tree. We stayed here eleven years. Like my Mom, every summer I made jams and jellies from the raspberries, strawberries, apples, and cherries. 

And then I moved again, to another northern town. Once again, there was no garden. However, there was a decrepit greenhouse, and many fruit trees. I repaired the greenhouse, put in a vegetable garden, and established a raspberry patch, and strawberry patch. Mom divided a gooseberry and black current bush, and provided me with a small plum tree (originally from her Dad's orchard) which I planted in the yard. We enjoyed this house and garden for eight years, then moved to the prairies. 

We have a lovely house here that has been professionally landscaped. But, as I have written before, it had no fruit or vegetable gardens. Two summers ago, I put in raspberry canes and now they are truly thriving and bearing well. So far this summer, I have made a raspberry pie, a raspberry pudding cake, raspberry sauce for pancakes, and frozen some berries. 

Raspberry Pudding Cake

Meanwhile, my Mom who is now in her eighties, has sold her house in northern BC and bought a lovely first floor condo in the downtown area of her community. The house and yard were getting to be too much to manage. However, she struck a deal with the fellow who bought the house (a young man who is not particularly interested in fruit trees and berry bushes) that she can come and pick fruit and berries whenever she wishes. I was talking with her on the phone this week, and she said she had been up to the house to pick raspberries, and has made a couple of batches of jelly and jam. 

My perspective on raspberries has changed. Now I appreciate them, and feel grateful to be able to grow my own, or to savour homemade raspberry jam. Like my Mom, I hate to waste a single berry. 

Monday, July 11, 2016

Mountain Bike Misadventure

We decided to start off my leave period with a camping holiday in the Cypress Hills Interprovincial Park in the southern part of Alberta and Saskatchewan. Neither of us had been there before. We loaded up the truck and camper and headed out about a week ago. 

The Cypress Hills are an interesting anomaly. During the last period of glaciation when ice covered the central part of North America, the area that we now call the Cypress Hills was not covered by glaciers. Rather, the ice, and later the meltwaters, flowed around this area leaving a range of hills about 140 kilometres long standing above the prairies. This stretch of hills has the highest elevation between the Rocky Mountains and Labrador. There are varieties of plants and animals that differ from those on the surrounding prairies. It is a really beautiful area with many trails for hiking, biking, and cross-country skiing.

We camped in the Elkwater Lake area. On Monday (a week ago) we went on a mountain bike trail ride. We ride our mountain bikes quite regularly, including on trails, although we generally choose easy to moderate routes - not the extreme or highly technical trails.


The bikes and the dog, ready to go. (However, the dog does not get to come with us when we bike. She is a menace on the trails!)

We set off riding through mixed woods and meadows. We were on our way to the Horseshoe Lookout, and we made a short excursion toward Old Baldy to look out over the Lake. From Old Baldy, it was uphill all the way. However, aside from the strenuousness of riding uphill, the trail was wide and easy to ride.


The photo above shows Rob pedalling up the hill. Near the top, there were beautiful fields of wildflowers. At the lookout, we had a terrific view of the prairies to the north and west. We rested and ate our picnic lunch. At this point, we had gone seven kilometres. 

We planned to ride a loop route, taking the Beaver Creek Trail down. Like the Horseshoe Lookout Trail, it was marked as intermediate. We rode along the top on the Plateau Trail for about a kilometre, then dropped down onto the Beaver Creek Trail. A little ways along, the trail narrowed to a single track. Then soon it became very narrow and twisty, with steep little drops and rises, and sharp corners. However, the really challenging part was the roots. There were many big tree roots and rocks on the trail, which made it difficult to ride. Although I have ridden on narrow trails before, this was the most challenging trail I have ridden. It was not at all like the route we had taken up. Oh yes, it was muddy as well, with several narrow bridges. 

And then suddenly, my front wheel hit a root or small stump. The bike stopped dead, and I flew over the handlebars. I landed on the ground with my bike on top of me. In reconstructing the crash, I think I landed on my right forearm and did a kind of a somersault. When Rob came along, I was sitting on the trail yelling "Ow, ow, ow!" along with some choice words. My right arm was in pain; it must have landed on a root. 

Rob took one look at it and said that I had broken my arm. It swelled up instantly and looked distended. He said that he had heard the sound of something snap. 

We fashioned a sling out of Rob's spare long-sleeved shirt. Then we started walking out, down the trail, with Rob pushing both bikes. We were probably close to halfway along this section of the trail when the accident happened. 

It was not a well-used trail. Eventually, two people came along, Olga and Steve from North Vancouver, and they helped us. They walked with me to the Park Information booth so a medic could look at my arm, and drove Rob up to the campsite to get the truck. They were really nice, and I was so grateful for their help. The medics put a splint on it, and then we drove to the Medicine Hat Hospital. 

The emergency room was very busy, and we spent hours there. They X-rayed my arm. While I waited, I contemplated glumly the prospect of starting my leave with a broken right arm. I finally saw the young curly-headed Doctor, who spent most of his brief consultation exclaiming how amazing it was that I am still mountain biking at my age. It turned out that there was no fracture, just soft tissue damage. Yay!

So we went for Thai food, then headed back out to the campground. The rest of the trip, we hiked but didn't bike. I figure that the snapping sound Rob heard was the visor of my bike helmet coming off when I fell. I was using an app on my phone to track our bike trip. Altogether, we had biked and then walked a total of 15 km. 


This photo shows the arm the morning after the crash. Now, a week later, the bruise is even bigger, stretching from above my elbow to the knuckles of my hand. It is still quite sore - but it isn't broken! 

I plan to keep on biking, although perhaps a little more cautiously.

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