A few days into our trip, I asked Chris, when I get homesick out here on the road, where am I homesick for? Somerville, Bozeman, Ithaca? My mom made a good point one time that it’s not where, but who. It’s the family and the friends that we miss so much.
Today, we got to not only rest our weary bodies, but also to get some awesome time with my extended family.
Ralph
[ralf]
verb (used without object)
1. What I did last night outside of the tent; right outside of the tent, as in between the tent and the rain fly.
noun
1. What Chris now calls me.
Chris didn’t handle it very well; he could be heard muttering, “You’re safe now, helmet,” as he moved it away from the splash zone the following morning. Not to mention the fact that we had locked our food up in the campsite garage to dissuade bears from visiting us, and I then provided a nice incentive for them to stop on by. Chris said I was snoring at one point after the incident, and he was sure it was a bear right outside our tent.
We’re not sure why I got sick, but our theories include: bad hot chocolate and four consecutive bug bites on the back of my neck (unfortunately, I haven’t gotten any super powers yet).
Before we left the campground, another camper came by our site and gifted us a bunch of snacks for our trip! He must have sensed that I’d had a rough night.
From the campsite, we rode past a bunch of numbered lakes: Eighth Lake, Seventh Lake, etc. Apparently they got tired of naming them.
It may be uglier than a glass slipper, but this comfortable shoe was well loved for its short life. Rachel dropped it sometime after lunch. Once noticed, her Prince Charming retraced the route for nine miles, to no avail. Luckily, it’s the only item we’ve lost so far.
The day began at Lyle & Ellen’s with gourmet breakfast sandwiches.
I’m so glad that this adorable little burrito decided to make an appearance in time for me to meet him before our trip!
Congratulations, Stevie and Blake!
There’s a bit of a story behind this recipe. In high school, when I played ice hockey, we would have pasta parties the night before each game. I forgot to mention one of these dinners to my mother until the day of it. She whipped together a bunch of ingredients to make what we now call hockey pasta. That woman has impressive culinary skills, and it was quite a hit.
The second time that I brought it to a pasta party, my coach and his daughter, “number six” (we were all jersey numbers for those four years, even his own daughter, in his own home), drove me home after. I forgot the leftover hockey pasta in their car. When they reached their house and discovered that they were locked out, they sat in the car eating the hockey pasta with their hands until the Mrs. got home. They declared it a delicious lifesaver.
