there is neither a cure for, nor is there a way to prevent sore muscles

On the road early but not quite as early because I left a light on but remembered before the 2nd traffic light.

Finally rolling, rolling to a soundtrack of Gold Discs that include popular favorites like “Free Bird [Live]” and both the radio and LP edits of “Blinded by the Light.” Rolling past a muscular guy whose Nissan was being towed out of the right-side ditch along Rt. 26. His plates read “I LIFT.”

Riding slopes peppered with Santas, almost all of whom changed out of their costumes after the photo-op, but not Haskell; the rest of the day DEiddy and I were his proud little helpers, although our Santa certainly didn’t need much help.

Learned the hard way that temporary signs that read “ADVANCED TERRAIN” should be heeded with slightly more urgency than an “it doesn’t look so bad” assesment. After fearing (falsely) that I would fall into a crevasse, finally my token meltdown (par for the course, as DEiddy and Haskell can attest), repaired with a Clif bar. Back to it, sadly I couldn’t see camp but the trees whishing by the car window took me back there all the same, and although the branches were bare and the air much colder, it was still that Fresh Maine Air.

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