These are My Favourite Times

Sun. Rain. Snow. We got it all, but the riding trip last week was a good time nonetheless. By the second night, there was hardly a dry square inch of ground to be found anywhere and only by roasting wet gloves over the fire could you make it through the next day. The horses were very good; Ronja treated me quite well. She was happy to follow the crowd but when it came to my personal instructions, she was not always so cooperative (this may have been due to my inadequate equestrian ability: a statement supported by events yet to be described). However, she rarely strayed from the path. Judging by the proximity of her face and the preceding horse’s ass, it was almost as if she were following her nose. She seemed quite content with the view in the picture to the right, and quite unbothered by the smell which followed a variety of interesting sounds.
We did an out and back trip on the second day, up into the hills overlooking Beitostolen. Grilled pulsar and hot chocolate provided brief relief from the cold during a stop for lunch (also the only part of the ride where you can sit comfortably). When the horses are walking its fairly enjoyable and sometimes even a little relaxed, but I’m afraid I have failed to acquire the proper technique needed for trotting. That is bumpy ride. Ronja was the smallest horse on the trip, which meant when the others walked, Ronja had to trot. And when the others trotted, Ronya had to gallop. On one of these occasions, while holding on for dear life as my four-legged companion galloped amid fall-coloured leaves and pristine mountain lakes (which I was unable to appreciate), I began to notice my saddle sliding to the left side, and then the right side. Naturally, I wrenched it back to where it was supposed to be. I over-corrected. With all of the geitost I’ve been eating, I could only hold on to a galloping horse by its neck for so long.
I did live through it, but I think my ego is still out there somewhere, tangled up in a bush on the side of the path.

 

This week’s paddling excursion was the most relaxing of its kind. The weather couldn’t have been more perfect. Not a cloud to be seen, not a breeze to be heard. The paddling took a nice relaxed pace, as many canoes followed a consistent zig-zag pattern, which meant it was easy to keep up. The trip consisted mainly of quiet paddling through quiet waters, but when the night set in, it was a different story. The guitar and song books came out as soon as Magnus (our teacher) went to bed (although he did stay up long enough to demonstrate that a few years at music school makes a nylon-stringed guitar sound a whole lot better). As long as you promise that the following information does not leave this blog, I will also disclose that in two days of camping, I have started my first, and nearly finished my last, knitting project. The girls were quite impressed, actually, but I did require their expertise on more than one occasion when something inexplicably went horribly wrong with my toque. Again, I must stress that this an isolated incident, and that it is best kept secret. In order to ensure that I maintain a manly reputation, I organised this photo opp.
Sometimes, it’s good to take the paths less traveled, and sometimes it   happens anyways (on the map there was a creek here).

In between trips, I have continued with regular mountain biking trips, climbing, and soccer matches (of which I seem to have somehow become the unofficial organiser?). These are some of my favourite times here. I have ridden enough here now that I know most of the trails. I like to ride my favourite singletrack, but there’s always more to discover and its interesting to ride aimlessly down old logging roads, hoping to find a new favourite trail.

These are my favourite times. Times when the trail unnoticeably peters out, but you keep going out of hope that it gets better. Times when your blisters are from belaying and not climbing, but your partner makes it to the top. Times when your sleeping bag is covered in frost, but its warm inside. Times when your hands are frozen to the paddle, but the lake’s so clear you can’t tell what’s a reflection and what's not. Times when your legs are too tired to go on, but the view at the top keeps you going. These are my favourite times.

As a blogger, there are certain rules which I feel inclined to obey. One of these is transparency. In one of my prior posts, there is a picture which I feel does not honestly portray the reality of my overseas experience. I am happy to present to you now, a new photograph, which will hopefully convey my way of life more accurately.

And proud of it!