Pisa/Florence

After Cinque Terra, we headed off to Pisa. We split the day in half, spending the sunny hours in Florence and the evening in Pisa. We don't have too many photos, as it was at this time that the camera broke, so please forgive the blurry images. Florence was...crowded. Crowded and unorganized and chaotic. The Duomo was beautiful, I lit a candle for my uncle and enjoyed the cool darkness of the place. We had pizza, and I had a wonderful waffle with caramel gelatto that melted down my arm. It was a heavenly snack, which almost made up for the uncomfortable experience of Florence.

Pisa was much bigger than we expected. We walked for miles to find the Leaning Tower, where we drank wine from our Nalgenes and sat beneath the moon and talked and gazed up at the Tower, which really does have quite the lean to it. We were surprised to see people up at the top of it. I'd be worried about it falling over. We got to bed around 2, and were up the next morning at 4:30 to walk to the airport to catch our flight to Poland.

Cinque Terra

The trek to Cinque terra started early the next morning. All of Europe was in a heat wave, so we dressed lightly and bought water on the way. We took the train to the first city and hopped on the trail for the first leg, better known as the “Walk of Love.” Is that not the ultimate in cheese? Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.

Cinque terra is a famous walk between 5 seaside towns in the Italian Riviera. The towns are nestled into the bays and cliffs along the seaside, a jumble of colorful houses surrounded by trees heavy with oranges and lemons, with basil and rosemary and thyme literally underfoot. The air is fragrant with the smell of the sea and fresh herbs, citrus fruits and vineyards, and everywhere there are soaring birds and the ocean and swarms of color. The first two legs of the walk were pretty uneventful. We stopped at the third town, Corniglia, for lunch. We ate at a lovely little restaurant that jutted out above the town. Jeff had gnocchi with a fresh, fragrant pesto. I had a lovely macaroni with crab in a tomato cream sauce. We shared a bottle of wine and just enjoyed the rest and the food and the views.
After Corniglia we tackled the second half of the walk, which proved to be challenging, unexpectedly so. The first part of the trip there
were little stands set up the whole way selling gelato and water every so often, and we just thought the whole thing would be like that. Hah. Um, no. All of a sudden we were scaling the hillsides, clambering up and down steep switchbacks only to all of a sudden come upon these amazing lookouts over practically vertical hillside. There was no gelato, only scurrying lizards, the hot sun, and stairs made of cut rock. The traffic was nonexistent at this point as well. And of course, we had forgotten to grab water at the last town. Brilliant.

Luck was with us when we ran into a little villa in the middle of the trail, where the homeowners had set up a little store in their basement where you could buy water and snacks. We bought a liter of water, and gratefully went on our way. We made it to the fourth town, Vernazza, tired, dirty, and hungry. We happened upon a gelato shop that is apparently famous. There was a little sign on the wall that said that people like Bruce Willis fly all the way to Vernazza just to buy gelato there. Of course we tried it. It was lovely, but I can’t say it was all that different from any of the other ices that we had there. They were all amazing, it was difficult to say which was best. Jeff had a watermelon gelato and was literally spitting out watermelon seeds, and I was picking the strawberry seeds out of my teeth after eating mine.

I washed my feet in the ocean and we headed off towards the last city on the trip, Monterosso. At the end of the trail we met a woman from San Diego, and we ended up sitting and having drinks with her and two of her friends. They were all teachers traveling around Europe for the summer, and it was refreshing to sit and talk with new people and swap stories, and after one drink we were all chatting and laughing like good friends. Finally it was dark and the last train was leaving soon, so we caught the last train back to LaSpezzia, ate some more pizza, and called it a night.

Missed Connections

When we checked into our hotel in Stansted, we asked for two things: a wake up call at 5:00 in the morning and a taxi to take us to the airport at that time.

I woke up at 5:30 in the morning, saw the sun in the sky, and flew out of bed. I checked my watch twice, and then pushed Jeff out of bed. “We didn’t get our wake up call” I informed him, and I flew downstairs to see if I could catch the taxi (if it was even there). It was, the driver fast asleep in the front. I banged on the window to wake him up, Jeff threw our bags in the back seat, and we were off at a breakneck speed to get to the airport. We showed up just in time to watch our flight status go from Open Check In to Closed. In disbelief, we went to the desk. The flight didn’t leave for 40 minutes yet, and we had no luggage to check. Surely they would waive us through.

Hah. No such luck. We were informed that Ryanair has a strict check in policy, namely that all passengers must check in 40 minutes before departure or lose their seats. I would gripe about airline security here, but really, it’s not a bad policy. It’s just one that we weren’t aware of. So, we had to pay 40 pounds a piece to get put on standby for the next flight to Milan.

Here I am, unhappily waiting it out between the flights:

We had planned to do some shopping in Milan, but when we got there we decided to check the train schedule first to see when trains departed for LaSpezzia. We were shocked to see that the next train departed in about 20 minutes, and then there basically weren’t any more. There went shopping in Milan, but we couldn’t be upset since we were just grateful that we didn’t miss that connection as well.

We bought our tickets and shortly thereafter we were on a train for LaSpezzia and the famed region of Cinque terre. We arrived at our hostel, checked into our room, and promptly made our way back out to explore the streets and find something to eat.We settled on a lovely little pizzeria, and tucked into exquisite woodfired pizzas and a decanter of wine, toasting the beginning of our trip in Italy.

Later that night, we gazed out the window, watching the people pass below us.

Stansted, UK

The trip started off on Saturday morning. Erin drove us to the airport, and we were off…to Atlanta. We were stuck in Atlanta for a few hours, long enough to find a dank little airport bar and get accosted by drunk travelers who alternated between friendly and oddly threatening.

We were relieved to get on the flight to Shannon, Ireland, and get settled in. We each took one backpack, no more, no less. We started the trip in a high state of excitement, and arrived in Shannon without incident. It was on from there to Stansted, UK, where we caught a train to our hotel outside of London. We got off the train and were confronted by a long line of taxis. At this point we had been up for over 24 hours, and I was on the verge of delirium. “Taxis!” I said with enthusiasm. But Jeff insisted instead that we walk to the hotel. “It’s right around the corner from here, I’m sure. Walking is part of the adventure, you know.” I growled. Jeff stared. We walked.

And we walked, and we walked, and we walked. Through a depressing English suburb that, aside from the cars driving on a different side of the road, could have been Anywhere, USA, with electronics stores, fast food restaurants, and strip malls everywhere. It was hot out, too, probably in the 90s, and we kept trudging forward.

About three miles later we arrived at our hotel. At this point, I was ready to collapse. After some truly horrible service, we were checked into our room where we both took showers and then contemplated our next step. Obviously, food had to come into play sooner or later, so we headed back out to find something to eat. We stopped at the Chinese buffet in our hotel, but at 11 pounds a plate, it was just a little too rich for us. We ended up at a carvery a mile and a half back from the way that we had come, eating salty ham and hasty puddings and trying not to gag on all the super rich food.

On our way home we stopped at a grocery store and bought two bottles of wine. We went back to the hotel, set up shop outside our room, and promptly got very, very drunk. We kept the wine in the toilet basin to keep it cool, which we thought was very clever. Did I mention that we were very, very drunk? And had been up for close to 40 hours? I think the pictures prove my point. It was quite the beginning to our European adventure.

Home Sweet Home

Well, we are home, we are well, and we are back into the swing of things. I'll be working on the blog over the next few weeks, updating pictures and writing up the chain of events. Suffice it to say that it was an amazing vacation and we had a truly incredible time. I am beyond grateful to Jeff for organizing the whole thing, top to bottom, he did an impeccable job. By the end of the trip we were a well oiled team, and we're already starting to plan out our next vacation.

Pictures will be up soon...the strawmen at the wedding, the cliffs of Ireland, the Italian Riviara, Krakow, and so much more. I finally feel like I've really travelled...I even have the bed bug bites to prove it.

We're Off!

In just a few hours, we will be flying over the pond, on our way to Ireland, and then on from there to Italy, Poland, England, and then back to Ireland. I plan on journaling most of the trip, and then blogging with pics for illustrative value.

Jeff is dropping off his suit and my party dress at Chad's as I type, we're both packed, I'm listening to Bob Dylan and filling up my MP3 player, and looking forward to a celebratory drink at the airport. This is Jeff and I's first trip together (if you don't count camping, which I don't) so I'm interested to see how we travel together. I generally stress out until I'm at the airport, and then I just let it go and revel in the fun of traveling. Travel is exhausting, but I've found that I love it like nothing else. I think that travel is one of the most important things you can do for your mind and your soul, although it can be a little rough on the body. Every time I go somewhere new, I feel myself stretching, parts of my brain firing off and things taste different and look different and smell different...and then, in some small way, you are different. Jeff thinks you're only different for a little while, and I say that's because you only feel it for a short time, and then all those experiences just become part of you, so that you forget that they weren't always there.

I hope that I can travel always.

Thai Food Surprise

You know what I love? When you find amazing food where you least expect it.

Jeff and I went to eat at this little Thai food place in downtown Osseo today, specifically Reuan Thai. This is a small, small town. Like, one stoplight small town. One little business strip small. It's cute in that way so many Midwestern small towns are cute...lots of flowers, a little park, a diner, and, oddly enough, a Thai restaurant. We go in, and it's small but clean, a good sign. The smell is rich and authentic, a mixture of grease and spices. There’s a buffet set up at the back, and about three other people in the place. We decided to chance it, and picked a booth. There were plenty of them, considering the fact that it was for all intents and purposes empty.

We grabbed our plates and started to fill them up. I chose the white rice with the chicken curry and vegetables, with a side of a chicken wing for kicks. Jeff tried everything available, which, while not much, was still a decent assortment. We sat down and started to eat.

And much to our amazement, the food was…incredible. Delicious. The chicken curry was spicy and tender and flavorful with a smooth creamy finish. The rice was perfect. The chicken wings were sweet, yielding with a crunch, fried to perfection. Divine. I just cannot say enough about this place. And to find it in downtown Osseo made it an even bigger treat. A true gem in the most unexpected place.

Weekend Away

Well, we're off to the cabin today. Admittedly, it is also Jeff's mom and dad's place, but it sounds so much cooler when I just call it the cabin. I am a little horrified by the idea of getting into a swimsuit, but I'm just going to hope for the best and try to stay out of the lense of the camera, if it should happen to appear. I am determined to shake a few pounds before we leave for Europe, although I'll probably gain them right back gorging myself on bread and wine and cheese. Oh well, such is the way of life. I'm looking forward to a weekend of canoeing, boating, and hiking, and then it's home to watch the World Cup on Tivo. I'm not even sure who I'm rooting for, but I'm leaning towards France. It would be ideal to get home in time to watch the game at Brit's or The Local downtown, but if the weather is nice I have a feeling we'll be at the Glendalough State Park instead, or out on the lake. Summer days in Minnesota are too few to squander.

With that being said, I hope that Mikki enjoys her alone time at the house, and isn't too neurotic when we get home. Such a social critter, a day without people and she enters this strange little place in her head where she has been ABANDONED and LEFT FOR GOOD and she MUST EAT EVERY MORSEL OF FOOD and then barf it up on the carpet because obviously THEY ARE NEVER COMING HOME. At least that is what I can deduce from the remains of any time that we leave her alone for more than, oh, about four hours. Which kind of pisses me off, because she's a cat, and one of the bonuses of having a cat is supposed to be that they're not as high maintenance as a dog. Thank god I found her a home for when we're in Europe, I think 16 days with only a cat sitter in the afternoons would be too much for her, and she would surely have some sort of kitty mental meltdown.

Into the Wilderness, The Final Chapter

I woke up the next morning and immediately checked our packs for the tell tale signs of wildlife disturbance. Disappointly enough, they were untouched except for the spider that had lodged itself in my shoe. We got up and shared a nice breakfast with Kate and John, gingerly tested our legs (still sore, but working), and went about packing up and moving on out. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and we were excited to see Mount Trudie in less inclement weather. We planned to lunch on the top of the mountain, and then make our way back to the car. It was uneventful, for the most part. The walk back seemed less treacherous than it had the day before, most likely because we were becoming accustomed to the trail and because it wasn’t pouring rain. We made it to Mount Trudie in just a few hours and sat on a rock outcrop and had lunch and took in the spectacular views. Then it was back down the mountain, including the original climb that had caused a fair amount of lingering worry in the back of my mind. I inched my way down the steep trail, and made it to the bottom without incident. I commented to Jeff that we hadn’t seen much in the way of wildlife. A few minutes later, I heard a noise in the underbrush. I looked, and saw a small ground squirrel coming my way. I did a double take, however, because from the front the squirrel looked more like it had some enormous growth hanging off the front of its face. I looked again, and then noticed the four tiny paws wrapped around the back of her head, and realized that this was a mother carrying her tiny little baby through the forest. I was shocked, since I had never even thought about how squirrels get their kittens around, and more than anything I was supremely happy. I told Jeff to turn around and look, and he got a good look at it too, and was just as pleased as I was. It might not have been much, but it was new to both of us, and that was about as good as anything we could ask for.

We finally made it back to the car, and rode out much of the way to St Paul in silence, exhausted and looking forward to sleeping in our own bed, with our own pillows, clean and full and warm. And then, of course, we started to plan where we’ll go on our next trip.

Into the Wilderness, Part Deux

The trail started out on a fairly steep incline. Not a good sign, as far as I was concerned, but we were there, we were packed, we were walking. There was no going back. We shuffled up the trail, wheezing and puffing and trying not to get discouraged. We reached the top of the hill and followed the signs pointing the way to the Superior Hiking Trail. They were also pointing in the direction of something called Mount Trudie. I ignored this.

The hike started out innocently enough, with slightly rolling hills through a leafy forest populated by mainly birds and squirrels, at least from what I could see. It didn’t take long, however, before we were faced with the first of what would turn out to be many steep inclines, so steep that rocks and logs had been hewn and shoved into the trail to create makeshift stairs. All of a sudden, we came to a large cluster of rocks, with a sign that said something like “Drainage Pike” or “Waterfall Valley” or some other such thing. Basically, it was a vertical incline going up a good many feet. Towards the middle of the climb I had to resort to clambering from rock to rock using my hands, splayed out to keep my balance while my pack knocked against rocks and trees on either side of me. When I finally pulled myself over the top, I looked up at Jeff. “What on earth have we gotten ourselves into?”


From there, we proceeded to climb. And climb. And climb some more. Legs burning, we went farther and farther up, and at times we would come close to some cliff and realize that we were towering over the Superior basin, trees and lake stretching as far as the eye could see. As we ascended into the heavens, we also became aware of a new situation. Thunder. Rolling, angry, threatening clouds to the west, coming our way. Thunder growing closer. And we were climbing right towards it, as if to meet it head on. This, I decided, was sheer madness. Obviously, I was going to die from a lightening strike, and I had never even made it to the first camp site. I found this disheartening, but the idea of climbing back down the cliff of death was even more dreadful, so we pressed on. Finally, with one loud crack, the rain began to pour. We pulled on our rain ponchos (thank you Jeff!) and made our way forward. After what seemed like hours of climbing, we came out on top of Mount Trudie, where we were greeted with sheets of rain and rising mists. Jeff’s glasses had completely fogged over, which caused much grumbling, and the rain was pouring in rivulets down our legs. The ponchos did little other than stick to our sweaty clothing and let the rain in through little folds around the neck and arms, so that instead of an all over drenching, we got this mish mash of wet patches.

After a quick stop to refuel, we decided that being on top of a mountain was probably not the smartest place to be in a thunderstorm, so we pushed on, now beginning the long, steep descent back into the basin. Going down was more difficult than going up, technically, as each step down places an enormous amount of pressure on one’s knees, and balance is much harder to find, let alone keep, at certain downward angles. When we finally reached lower ground, we found that the recent rains had turned the trial into a slick of deep, mosquito rich mud. It slurped at our shoes and seeped into our socks and coated our legs. Still, we pressed on. The sun came out, and a fine, humid mist rose into the air, so that mosquitoes and deer flies whined around us, bombing us at speeds approximating mach 20. The insect repellant rolled off of us onto the forest floor, and our damp sweaty clothing attracted every bug within a two mile radius.

And we trudged onward. After about five hours of hiking, we finally reached our destination. Bear Lake. We could see it from the trail, but to get there we would have to scurry down another steep set of stairs. On weary legs we made our final descent towards camp, and, hopefully, food, fire, and rest. We reached the bottom, only to be confronted with a dour old man who had set up camp on the one site by the water. It was a small, cramped site, and he had a large tent taking up all of the room. Dismayed, we asked if there were other sites back further. “Yuh,” the old man grunted, “but they’re full.” And then he stared at us, hard, unfriendly. I started to feel uncomfortable. “Um, okay.” Jeff and I hesitated. We were exhausted. We just wanted to sit down. There were old wooden seats around the fire pit, and we needed rest. Our legs were shaking and we were close to exhaustion. So, in the spirit of someone who knows what we’ve been through to get to this place, the old guy offered us a seat and encouraged us to stay a rest for a while. Just kidding. Of course he didn’t! He just stared at us until we turned around and made our way back to the trail, climbing up the steep set of stairs.

And here is where I’ll admit I came pretty close to losing it. I was so tired I could barely see straight. My pack felt like it weighed fifty pounds. My legs were like jelly, snapping out in front of me like two long wet noodles with feet attached. I was worried that at some point they would just quit moving. It was two miles to the next campsite, and if that was full, another three miles to the one after that. Two miles takes on a new meaning when you add steep hills and a full backpack to the equation. I was frustrated and close to broken and beyond disappointed. I couldn’t believe that the people at the camp by the lake hadn’t even offered us a seat. I couldn’t even comprehend being that unfriendly, that thoughtless. Jeff did his best to calm me down, but at this point I was beyond consoling. We made the decision to double back and go to the next closest campsite. It would take a few miles off our hike the next day. So, we staggered back to the Round Mountain campsite, with the attitude that we didn’t care who was there, we were camping there too, and just try and stop us.

We found the campsite and headed in along the densely wooded trail, which then opened up onto a large green clearing, full of freshly chopped wood, a latrine (well, a sign indicating where the latrine was), a beaver pond, and an enormous birch forest. And there was no one there. This was it, this was camp. The only thing we had to share it with was a colony of about 10 million mosquitoes. We immediately dumped our sacks and started on the long, tiring process of building a smoky fire from nothing but bits of damp wood. We had no kindling with us, no fire started, so we had to go around and collect all the dry birch bark we could find. One painstaking hour later, and we had a roaring fire. We stood and looked at it, as proud of it as anything we’ve ever done. This, we thought, was something to be admired. It had gone out twice on us, but we had coddled it and coaxed it into existence. Finally, we could relax and stop worrying about the fire going out, so we went about setting up camp.

Our first interruption came from two young men who wandered into the camp. They seemed surprised to see us there, although why that would be I haven’t a clue. We encouraged them to sit and rest and told them there was plenty of room. They were disappointed with the campsite, and said they had been staying at much nicer places along the way. They ate a quick dinner and then left without ever mentioning their names. We finished setting up the camp, cooked our dinner, and then opened up the wine that we had packed in. We were just settling down to enjoy the evening, when our next visitors arrived, in much the same state of mind that we had brought with us into the campsite. They dropped their gear and announced that they were staying.

Kate and John were a very nice couple from Minneapolis, up camping for the weekend. We shared the campsite and the fire, and it was interesting to have company other than already established friends. We told them we had been drinking, which led them to the not entirely correct conclusion that we were drunk. In reality, we split a liter of wine over several hours. I did not even come close to drunk, although I was stumbling over words in my exhaustion. But John and Kate were just sure that we were smashed, and I wasn’t about to take the time to dispel their convictions, so we just let them think it. Later, in the tent, Jeff whispered to me “When we get up in the morning, let’s ask them who they are and when they got here. Then, let’s accuse them of drinking our wine.” Later, he turned to me and said “Let’s leave a little trail of snack mix from their tent out into the woods.” John, you see, was paranoid about bears and had gone to the trouble of hanging his food stuff in a tree. Jeff and I had just stashed ours by the tent. We dared the bears to come. Jeff spent the next hour thinking of ways to torment our fellow campers. I laughed until my sides hurt as much as my legs. I finally fell asleep while trying to listen intently for bears, or, at the very least, raccoons.

Into the Wilderness, Part One

I think the most surprising part of the weekend was that it even happened at all. Isn’t that just the way of most things, that you talk about them and vow to do them, but they rarely ever come to fruition? So it was that Friday came along and Jeff and I had our backpacks in the car, stuffed with sleeping bags, a tent, some non-perishable food, and plenty of water. This should have been evidence enough that the trip was going to happen, but even then I had nagging doubts in the back of my mind. After all, why would two sane adults burden themselves with 30 pound packs (Jeff would have you know here that his was 30 pounds, and mine was closer to 20, but I digress) and trudge off into the woods for no other reason than “having fun?”

Friday broke bright and clear and hot, and the weather was so promising that around noon I started to shuffle around the office. “When can you leave?” I asked Jeff. “I want to leave early today, like around three” I told him. An hour later we both left notes on our computers indicating that we were working in another building, Jeff grabbed his computer for cover, and we both sauntered away from the office, truants in search of a weekend away.

It wasn’t until we reached Two Harbors that things started to get interesting. Ominous clouds were gathering to the west, rolling towards Lake Superior with angry grumblings and a promise of plenty of rain and wind and other lovely additions to any camping trip. We stopped at the local grocery store to stock up on a few essentials (baby wipes, a flashlight, apple pie filling) and then went over to Pamida to look for non-essential items, like Frisbees, twister, and clothing from 1982. We emerged from Pamida triumphant with two camping chairs and a deck of playing cards, after coming to the conclusion that twister and camping really just don’t go together.

To put this all in perspective, the goal of the weekend was a backpacking trip into Tettegouch State Park, a beautiful gem of a park on the west coast of Lake Superior. We would camp out on Friday night on the Baptism River, and then head out first thing Saturday morning to the Superior Hiking Trail, a winding path that covers over 200 miles of rugged Northern country. Our section looked relatively easy from the map, with our stated destination being about 6 miles in, where we would camp at Bear Lake for the night, and then we would hike back out the next morning. Six miles, we thought, was nothing. Obviously, this was just a warm up trip, a test to see if I even liked backpacking, so we would take it easy on the first excursion out.

As we left Two Harbors and headed up to Tettegouche, the clouds opened up and the rain started to fall. “Well, obviously it is lighter up ahead” Jeff assured me. “Yeah,” I agreed, “this should clear up in no time.”

We arrived at Tettegouche, with rain in full force. We headed into the camp office to register and to possibly buy some rain gear. We were greeted by a monotone blonde girl, with wide set eyes and a mouth that looked prone to drooling. “So, do you know the weather forecast for tonight?” I asked hopefully. The girl nodded at a nearby computer screen, which had a Doppler rendering of the area, bands of red and green moving across what I assumed was our location. I studied it thoughtfully for a few minutes, but as far as I could tell, either we were in for clear skies or a flash flood. “Do you have any rain ponchos?” Jeff asked. “Wellllll….” the girl stammered, “not really.” “Do you have any rain gear at all?” Jeff continued on, although it was obvious by now that it was pretty much a failed course of action, talking to this idiot at all. “Ummmmmmmmm.” Was our only response. With this helpful advice, we headed off towards our campsite, wagering on the weather and wondering how people with such low IQs ever get employed in the first place.

Luckily enough, the rain started to abate only minutes after we found our campsite. The sites were clean, private, and within walking distance to a nice rest room, complete with showers. Once we had set up camp and had a fire going, I suggested to Jeff that one of us should go and buy more firewood. More is always better than not enough. He returned with one bag of firewood and two plastic ponchos. “Where did you find those?” I asked. “At the camp office, on the wall.” The camp office sells all of 10 products, and yet the girl working the desk there was not aware that rain ponchos were among them.

“Well, at least you found them,” I said.

And with that, we headed off to hike a little bit of Tettegouche, just to stretch our legs. The views were amazing.

Now, I have to tell you that Jeff and I recently invested in some new camping gear, including new sleeping bags and new sleeping pads. One of the selling features for us on the sleeping bags were that they could be zipped together, giving us a nice big cocoon to burrow into at night. However, upon further inspection neither one of us could figure out how on earth the zippers could ever get to the point where the two bags could become one. After several frustrating attempts, we agreed that it would be hot in the tent anyways, so we would lay one open bag down beneath us and use the other as a blanket. Problem solved! We headed back to the fire to cook our dinner and gaze at the stars. The night got cooler and the darkness got deeper, until we were sitting in a velvety inky black night, punctuated only by brilliant stars and our dying fire. We headed off to bed full of fresh air and snack mix, happy to have ended the night relatively dry and comfortable.

I have no idea what time I awoke, but it was still pitch black out. I was freezing. Every time I shifted even the slightest bit, the sleeping bag would slip off my body, exposing one bare buttock to the elements and one whining, hungry mosquito that had made its way into the tent. Shivering, I poked Jeff until he was sufficiently awake, and then asked him “So, are you having trouble sleeping?” Thus commenced zipping up the sleeping bags into single units, with the reassurances that we could still cuddle through the sleeping bags, with warm bottoms besides. I quickly fell back asleep, only to wake up to the thin light of dawn and the heartening sound of raindrops on the tent. I put my head back down, determined to sleep out the rain if at all possible.

The rain finally ceased, and we clambered out, eager to make breakfast and head off into the wilderness. Jeff started the bacon, while I spread peanut butter over bagels and got out the French press. As I started making bagel sandwiches for the trail, Jeff turned to me, stirring the bacon furiously lest it burn to a little crisp over the 12000 BTU whisper lite stove. “What are we having for dinner tonight?” he asked. “Hmmmmm,” I responded, “I don’t suppose peanut butter bagels would be the right answer?”

So, before we could head out on the trail we would have to run into town and get some sort of day-end meal, preferably something that would be hot and filling. “How about brats and beans?” I hedged, and thus it was agreed to that the evening’s meal would consist of pan fried bratwurst, with baked beans added to the mix. The sun continued to rise, and afternoon was fast approaching when we finally had everything packed and ready (except, of course, for the beans and sausage). As we left Tettegouche headed back into Two Harbors, Jeff pointed out a camp store, casting his vote for shopping there instead of the grocers back in town, since it was a good hike out and back, and we wanted to make good time on the trail to make it to the campsites in time. I couldn’t argue with this logic, so we headed into a large wooden structure with a sign our front that said “GROCERIES, FIREWOOD, CAMP SUPPLIES” with the hopes that we would not be disappointed. We left 5 minutes later with one can of generic baked beans and one sad little package of hot dogs.

We finally reached the trailhead, did our final pack adjustments, and congratulated ourselves for making it this far. Our journey, you see, was finally going to begin.

Getting Started

MySpace doesn't cut it as a blog forum. I'm going to start posting here in the hopes that friends and family can check in, check out, and respond. With that being said, this is just a space for me to cover the day to day events that I find interesting. I don't expect anyone else to share my opinion, but in case they do, here they are.