I’m staying at the Stanhope Campground in the Prince Edward Island National Park. I knew when making the reservation that there would be some challenges to staying here. For one, I started my stay at the end of one of the largest Country Music Festivals on the Island. There weren’t many vacancies. The site was listed as suitable for a 20 foot RV. I’m 24’ without the additional rear carrier that I added. The carrier adds almost three feet to the RV.  It’s the tightest RV site I’ve been in, in years. There is no room. At the rear, I’ve got maybe a foot between the RV and the water and power post and the front grill is a foot, maybe, from the brush that borders the other part of the site. No complaints, I knew going in, that it was pushing the limits, but no one has ever been this truthful about the size of a campsite.

It seemed prudent, after the effort required to get everything situated, not to leave with the RV. I looked on line, and found that there was a church about 5 miles away. I’ve got a bike. Through most of college I used a bike as my daily driver. No not a motorcycle, a pedal bike. All I can say is “Thank you”, from the bottom of my heart to Debbie, my college girlfriend who owned a VW, for seeing beyond the geek, and dating me nonetheless. I decided that 5 miles wasn’t a stretch, so off I pedaled.

Nothing puts you in the mood to go to church more that pedaling by the sea, through beautiful fields and sensational scenery. I arrived at church to discover that I read the schedule wrong. I’m in the region of too many churches, not enough priests. I contemplated pedaling to the nearest church, but there wasn’t enough time to make the service. A little prayer, contemplation, taking in the cathedral of the natural world, and I decided to return to the campground.

I was at the crossroads, something you hopefully will find yourself after attending church, and was deciding upon my route, when a very nice lady asked if I was OK. I explained that I merely looked really old, but I was OK, and then took off on the wrong route back to the campground. Did I say that it’s been a number of years since I’ve used the bike regularly? Not a problem with the operator, but a problem with a slow leak in the rear tire. Add to that a malfunction of the nut that holds on the left pedal, and the ride became less than fun.

I was about five miles into the wrong way back. Actually, I wasn’t heading back, but I was headed in a direction 180 degrees from where I should be headed. I got myself turned around, so after a 10 mile detour, I was on my way back to the campground. I will add that I was feeling good at making the attempt to go to church even though my only transportation was a bike. The saying “Pride go’est before the Fall.” came to mind several times. God has a sense of humor; you just have to be in the right frame of mind to accept it.  By the time I got back on route, the left pedal was falling off every tenth of a mile, the road was uphill, so there was no coasting.  Fortunately, by the time everything went to poop, I was only about ¾ of a mile from the campground, so it wasn’t a bad walk. Things could have been worse, came to mind in a big way.

I finally arrived at the camp ground check in. There was a soft sofa, air conditioning, and soda. I think that I took a nap. After the snooze, I went to the campsite and had the lunch I was dreaming about the entire ride back. It was a warm day. I had made the bed earlier, so since I was tired, I laid on the covers, and took a nap. Summer Sunday’s can be beautiful if you just go with the flow. It had turned into a camp day, I decided that it was a good day to do laundry and clean the RV. I’m not real big on cleaning the house, but the RV is different. So, while the laundry became renewed and clean, I swept out the RV, washed and waxed the floor (I really like the way the floor squeaks when you walk on it after it’s been waxed.) The cabinets were polished with wax, and the front carpet was vacuumed. The clothes were folded and put away, and it looked like someone who knew how to keep house was in residence.

I entered Canada with a Lemon. You are not allowed to enter the US with citrus, so it was either throw it out, or use it. The idea that a lemon came from the US, and could not return to the US irked me. I found a recipe for lemon chicken, and voile, dinner. The thing that was gratifying was that I had all the ingredients. I’ve never made lemon chicken before. It’s pretty easy.

I had a large bag of firewood, so a fire was in order. There are two types of firewood. The type that will burn, makes beautiful flames and a great fire, and crap that pisses you off, makes smoke, and somehow turns into charcoal without ever exhibiting a flame. Guess which type they sell here. The cigar was good, a glass of wiskey made it better and the fire struggled.

A great day, a productive, lazy day. All of life should be this relaxed and sweet.