At one point, as the rain was coming down, I became mesmerized by the rain drops collecting on the brim of my cap. Every half a minute our so a new one would form, dance back and forth on the brim in time with my pedal strokes, and then fall.
Along the ride, I passed the site of the last spike in the Canada Pacific railway. Suddenly I feel inspired to read Pierre Burton's book. Is it any good?
At the campsite, the sun came out just in time to dry our tents and other gear. Bill bought me a beer and we sat in the sun doing absolutely nothing and loving it.
As I write this, it's 9:30, my eyes are getting heavy and a freight train is squeaking past. Somebody put some WD40 on that thing!
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