< ![CDATA[   Today was a "short" day... only 19 miles from Schubenacadie... made long by the downpour we rode in. We no more than got our tents down and our feet to the pedals this morning before the sky cracked open, giving us yet more practice at pounding out twenty in the rain. We're getting rather good at it. No one felt good. Megan drank coffee and tea last night and then didn't sleep. Add to that the 5 a.m. train to wake her good and early and she looked almost hung over when she crawled out of her little tent to greet the day. Hannah has been struggling with side cramps and muscle tightness in her shoulders. Today was no exception. She and I walked most of the hills together. My sore knee is still sore. The brace is helping, but not on the hills... so, I walk. Ezra walks with me. Here is a snapshot from one we climbed this morning: Me: Trudging up the hill. Trying not to favor my knee. Hauling at least sixty pounds of gear (and fiddle) on my bike, with a broken spoke I don't know about yet. Ezra: Sucking at his almost empty camel back of "just plain water" tripping merrily along, talking my ear off as we both dripped from every conceivable place with cold, gritty water. "Look Mama, road rocks!" says Ez, as he stomps hard on the soft asphalt that has scattered out into the shoulder where he's walking. "No Ez," I wheeze, as cheerfully as possible, "That's asphalt." "Azmalt?" He mimicks. "No, ASS-FAULT," I repeat. "Oh, asphalt... Mama, I fought that was a bad word." I snicker. "Ass is a bad word. Asphalt is what they make the road out of." "So the French name for the talking donkey is the bad word?" "Yep." I reply as I struggle to keep pushing and not let him see me laugh... Balaam's donkey strikes again. We keep trudging, he is practicing in a sing-songey voice, "Asphalt, asphalt, ASSphalt, assFAULT." The rain keeps pouring. With Ezra on the back of my bike I am assured of two things daily: Forty pounds of no help, and ample entertainment. The latter almost makes up for the former. We finally dragged in to the campground at Maitland, having scoped out the river rafting site for tomorrow and spent a ridiculous forty-five dollars on the fixings for beef stroganoff, instant rice, tomorrow's cream of wheat and one box of cookies and cream ice cream, which we ate immediately upon arriving, only slightly soupy. The rain blew off and we actually had a lovely, dry afternoon... well, the adults were dry, the kids splashed in the pool for all they were worth and played "George of the Jungle" on the play gym by the camp office. As I sit to write this, we are snug in our tent with sodas and a bag of sour cream and onion potatoe chips and we are happy. The only sound, other than the lawn mower on top of the hill, is the tick, tick, tick of black flies tapping at the outside of our tent, asking politely to come in. ]]>