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Ducky "Slow down! Take a deep breath and
just take a moment for yourself." We awoke to the unhappy sound of pounding rain. "Rest day!" Sharon announced mirthfully. Maybe she was getting the hang of the 'older and wiser' school of cycle touring? She searched my handlebar bag and scrounged up a handful of dimes. Heading forth into the downpour jovially, she spent a joyous two hours at the shower. Maybe she had some strange notion she could stockpile cleanliness?
"How long do you think this can keep up?" Sharon asked, clambering back into the tent. "No more than 40 days," I assured her. "Maybe we should start building an ark? Or do you think this thing floats?" "I don't want to find out," Sharon said. "Certainly looks like monsoon season has arrived."
Evening came and still the rain hammered down. Tired of the tent's tiny confines (and out of dimes), we wrestled on rain gear, double-bagged our shoes in old grocery bags, and trudged to a covered picnic table down by the lakeside. On our watery excursion, I very nearly stepped on a family of sodden ducks seeking refuge in the long grass. Apparently even they thought the weather too wretched to be out in. But they didn't appear to be getting in a big flap over it though. Partway through our washed-out dinner, a fellow in a bright yellow slicker - looking remarkably like Big Bird - hopped over to collect our camping fees. "Since the weather's so lousy," he said, rain dripping off his beak, "I'm only going to charge you for one day." He carefully wrote a receipt - not an easy feat considering the paper wasn't waterproof. Handing me the limp bill, he asked, "Is there anything you folks need?" "More dimes!" Sharon exclaimed. |
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