Rural Growth

It's one of my favourite routes on which to cycle.

I leave my neighbourhood, in Barrhaven, and head south, on Longfields Drive, until I reach the neighbourhood of Stonebridge. A quick jaunt on Cambrian, until I reach the Minto Recreation Complex, and then I continue south, on Greenbank, until I reach its end, Prince of Wales Drive.

Suburbia fades to farm fields, but only for a bit.

The most-treacherous stretch of my ride comes along Prince of Wales, where I use the uneven but paved shoulder until the right-turn lane for Bankfield Road begins, and I move into the left-most part of this lane, where cars tend to travel at 80 kph or faster.

Where the left-turn lane begins, I make a shoulder check before I take the lane. I make sure that I have plenty of room to cross over into the left-turn lane, but that still won't help me if, once I'm in that lane, a distracted driver doesn't see me. I can't continue to look behind me as I approach the intersection.

I relax once I've successfully turned left, onto Bankfield. The road slopes downward and I put my bike into top gear, pedalling hard. It's one of the fastest parts of my ride but doesn't last long: about 250 metres ahead, I turn right, onto one of my favourite roads of this route, First Line. I will ride the road for more than eight kilometres.

I like this road because for the most part, it's straight. I can see cars approaching well ahead or me. There are gentle dips and climbs, and there's a good mix of houses and farm fields.

Because I've been cycling this road since May, I've become quite familiar with it. And over the spring and summer, I've watched farm fields change from barren earth to plowed rows, from first growth to pre-harvest.

One of the farms that I pass is on my left-hand side, as First Line rises and just before it bends slightly to the right. The field that I see before the barns and silos is rolling, with plantings of corn. But over the past few weeks, the structures have seemingly been sinking in the rows upon rows of cornstalks. Where I once could see the entire structures of the barns, only the rooves are now visible. The silos have shrunken in height.

I've told myself on numerous rides that I should photograph this field before the weight of the corn bends the stalks downward. I've wanted to photograph this spot for a while, now, but once I'm moving on my bike, it's hard for me to stop unless I have a strong enough reason.

On yesterday's ride, my reason became, "it's now or never."

I made a quick stop, just shy of the top of the hill, and pulled into the gravel, just before the road falls away. I unclipped my smartphone from my handlebars, took two shots, returned the phone to its holder, and continued my ride.

A four-way stop at Roger Stevens Drive, on the outer boundary of Kars, ensures that I can safely negotiate this left turn. There's a bit of a climb, for about a half-kilometre or so, and I have to do another shoulder check before I cross over into another left-turn lane, and cross onto Rideau Valley Drive, which itself has a further climb.

Just past the top of this hill is the halfway point of my ride. I'll follow this road for nearly 12 kilometres, passing through Manotick and ending at Prince of Wales Drive. Crossing over, I'm back on Longfields Drive and the steepest climb in my ride. I gear right down and if I maintain momentum, I don't have to stand up from my seat.

Back to suburbia.

I negotiate various streets, prolonging the ride to ensure that when I pull in my driveway, I have at least 40K under my belt.

I love this ride, from the suburbs of Barrhaven to the farm fields on the way to Kars. There is growth in both communities, as Barrhaven continues to develop and grow. But it's the growth in the rural areas that impresses me the most.

Happy Friday!

Off The Wagon

I honestly thought that chips would be the first thing that would break me down and tempt me into eating. I'm a savoury sort of fellow and chips will draw me in every time. But no, I've resisted the mighty crunch of a potato chip.

I had no fear that I would be drawn into cracking open a can of beer, even though I was still ordering from local breweries. The cans were simply placed in my mini-fridge, chilling until August 1.

Even when DW tried a new cider, made with added Pinot Noir wine, and held her glass out for me to have a sip, I stayed true to my commitment. "Buy more and I'll have some in August. But it sure smells good."

The truth is I don't often crave anything sweet. I like baked goods and the occasional soda, and love chocolate, but I typically have them only when they are offered. I don't go looking for sweet things when I want a treat.

I broke down, the first time, in my Dry July challenge, after one lunch, when I was looking for something to munch on. It was early into my challenge. DW and the kids had all kinds of baked goodies in the house: a lemon meringue pie and all sorts of cookies, all within eyesight and arm's reach. I had resisted.

But when that craving hit and I was close to some fortune cookies that we had left over from a Chinese food order a week or so earlier, I helped myself to one. And, as fate would have it, the cookie came with no fortune inside.

No luck for me.

When DW and I were driving home, after our camping and kayaking trip in Algonquin Provincial Park, we realized that we hadn't had lunch and were starving. After all, we had only eaten instant oatmeal for breakfast, before paddling back to the High Falls water slide for one last ride, returning to camp, packing up, and paddling back to Achray Campsite, where we loaded everything back into and onto our car.

When we approached Petawawa, we decided to make a stop for a late lunch/early dinner. We found a place, The Shed, which made Halifax-style donairs.

Perfect.

I ordered a small donair and DW ordered the donair poutine, and we were asked if we wanted something to drink. I had planned to drink the water that I had filtered out of Stratton Lake, but our attention was drawn to a small fridge that advertised various flavours of Newfie Crush, which were only available from Newfoundland.

My eyes fell on a pineapple Crush, and I couldn't resist.

"I've burned far more calories today than I've taken in," I told DW, "I deserve this."

Man, was it sweet.

As an additional sign that my body craved calories after an active morning, I wolfed down my Halifax donair and helped DW with her generous amount of poutine. (The Shed is a little treasure in Petawawa: highly recommended.)

The next day, DW rose early and went to Farm Boy to get some groceries. She returned with a package of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls.

"Screw it," I said when I saw them, "I've cut a lot out of my diet and have been good for the most part. I should have only said I wasn't drinking alcohol in July, or just not eating potato chips. I've lost nearly three kilos this month." I reached into the package, pulled out the cinnamon bun, and scarfed it down.

I then went to another package that contained sugar cookies and ate two.

When I fall off the wagon, I fall hard.

I felt awful afterwards and stuck to water until dinnertime. I cycled more than 40K before dinner, trying to burn off those unwanted calories.

I can finish my Dry July challenge with the knowledge that I held off on alcohol and chips, lost a good amount of weight, and shrunk my belly. The even-bigger challenge, moving into August, is ensuring that I don't put the fat back on.

I need to earn any non-essential calories.

Water Slide

The Naked Truth about Camping

Warning: If you don't want to see my bare, 56-year-old ass, don't read to the end of this post.

When I was a young kid, I used to love camping. I have fond memories of Lake St. Peter Provincial Park, just to the east of the southern point of the more massive Algonquin Provincial Park, where we went a couple of times. There were many other times that my older mind remembers, though the names of the campgrounds are forgotten.

Perhaps I enjoyed camping as a kid because my parents would tend to setting up and tearing down, as well as cooking and cleaning. My sisters and I would simply play on the beach or explore the woods. As a family, we'd also hike some short trails.

As a teen, I went camping at Mosport, a motor racetrack south of Lindsay, Ontario, but that was a weekend in Hell that nearly cost me some friendships. From bouts of drunken mayhem, a stabbing, lost items, and a storm that reduced our tent to a mound of twisted metal and canvas, it's best that I forget that weekend ever happened (though it's ingrained in my brain).

Our trusty, one-pole, two person tent.

When DW and I started dating, my love of camping grew. Even though we were responsible for setup, teardown, cooking, and cleaning, we both loved the experience of exploring wherever we went. We invested in decent equipment, from lightweight, easy-to-set-up tents to portable cooking gear, we could easily throw our camp stuff into the car and go wherever, or pack it all into a backpack and hike where no car could take us. We even took camping gear with us, to the UK, when we explored England and Wales.

Many years later, our equipment was still good enough to pack up and take with us when, as a family of four, we canoed from Kingston to Ottawa. Even though we had kids in tow, we still enjoyed camping.

For a while.

As much as my heart liked camping, my body was starting to complain. In my late 30s and early 40s, I found that I didn't sleep as soundly as I used to. When I was young, a bomb could go off next to me and I'd simply roll over. As soon as we had kids, DW and I would both wake up at the slightest sound, making sure our wee ones were okay.

With four people in a tent and lots of forest sounds at night, I found it hard to fall asleep. And because I lay awake in my tent, I discovered that sleeping on a thin mattress, on the ground, was harder on my body. Some nights, I would barely get more than a few hours of restless sleep and would be irritable the next day.

That Kingston-to-Ottawa trip was hard on me.

In 2014, when we travelled to France, we again brought camping gear with us and spent a week travelling from Honfleur, in Northern France, through the Loire and Dordogne, camping all the way. On the last night of camping, when we were in Beynac-et-Cazenac, with a beautiful castle above us, we sat in a restaurant and I lovingly told my family that while I loved them dearly and cherished our time together, this would be my last night in a tent.

Yes, this was the view from our camp site in Beynac-et-Cazenac, in 2014.

If they loved me back, they'd never as me to camp with them again.

DW asked me again, last year.

I have to admit that as much as I love my kids, I have discovered that I don't like camping with them. I still don't like sleeping on the ground in a tent, having bugs attack me at every turn, or cooking and cleaning outdoors, but there are aspects of camping that I still enjoy. I enjoy the beauty of nature and falling asleep to the sound of chirping bugs and the call of a loon.

I love the locations where camping takes us: I just don't like the technical aspects of camping.

There are lots of things that I loved about camping, this past weekend, on Stratton Lake in Algonquin Provincial Park. Here's a list:

• kayaking around gentle, beautiful green hills
• sitting by the edge of the lake, after sunset, and having a beaver casually swim along the shore a few feet away
• being far enough away from other sites that I could change my clothes outdoors, rather than struggling in a small tent
• watching a full moon (not mine) rise over the trees and reflect over the lake
• the smell of dried pine needles, burning in the campfire
• the croaking of a nearby bullfrog
• the call of a loon
• exploring and photographing the High Falls water slide

There are lots of things that I didn't love, including

• being bitten by mosquitos and deer flies at every turn
• trying to figure out a bug tarp for the first time and finally giving up
• using a thunder box, being careful not to brush past the poison ivy that grew around it
• using a thunder box, period
• trying to fall asleep with moonlight flooding the tent
• trying to fall asleep on ground that was at a slight slant (but was the flattest part of the site)
• trying to fall asleep near a frog that croaked every minute or two (and hearing other frogs, kilometers away in several directions, answer the call)
• worrying that our bear bag was high enough in a tree and far enough down a branch to keep bears and other critters away

Do the bad aspects of camping outweigh the good? I don't know. The biggest obstacle in camping is that I don't get enough sleep and I wake up sore. I don't think that's going to change, especially as I get older.

DW has booked us one more camping trip this year, which will be next month and takes us to the northern shores of Georgian Bay. She's also looking ahead to next year, but I've told her to hold off on those plans until this year's excursions are over.

I love being out in nature. I can feel that I'm at one with nature. I'm just not sure I can live in it.

On Stratton Lake

For me, no matter how long or short a camping trip is, it seems an eternity.

Just this past weekend, DW and I packed up the car and drove to Algonquin Provincial Park for a one-night getaway, and I feel as though I've been away from home for more than a week. Perhaps this is because we gathered all of our gear and food together on Thursday evening, and made sure that everything would fit in both of our kayaks, as we were leaving our car behind and paddling to our site.

We arose early on Friday morning and packed the back of the car, and secured our kayaks to the roof. It takes about three hours to drive to the Achray Campground office, where we left our car and paddled out on Grand Lake. Having camped here more than a year ago, and having paddled all over this area, we were familiar with our surroundings.

From the campground office, it was about another hour of paddling across Grand Lake, following a short channel that includes a 30-metre portage—our kayaks weighed about double with all of our gear—and down the length of Stratton Lake until we found a vacant camp site. With interior camping, you cannot reserve a site in advance: you simply hope that you find an available spot and that it isn't next to a mosquito-infested swamp.

The route from Achray Campsite to our site, on Stratton Lake (courtesy of Garmin, Google Maps).

Our site was about three-quarters down the length of Stratton Lake's north shore, before the lake bends northward. While most of the site was sloped upward, we had a couple of levelled spots where we could set up our tent and cooking area. It was lunchtime by the time we were set up, and we had all of the fixings for pita sandwiches, stuffed with salami, cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes.

The main attraction for this trip was the High Falls water slide. The smooth rock formations along this set of rapids makes for a natural slide and is also one of the most picturesque locations in this part of Algonquin Park.

We had decided, after lunch, that it would likely be better to visit the falls later in the afternoon, when many people would either be leaving the park to head home or were heading back to their camp site for dinner. Because this is a popular attraction for campers and day-trippers, we expected that the afternoon would be one of the busiest times.

Instead, we hung out around the camp, familiarizing ourselves with our surroundings, setting up our bear bag, capturing photos, and just relaxing. We set up a hammock between two trees along the shore of our site, and because there's no cellular or data service in Algonquin Park, I had a cat nap instead.

Waiting to visit High Falls until later in the day was a smart move. We arrived around 5:00 to find a father and his young-adult son, and a few teenagers who seemed to be packing up. The trail from Stratton Lake to the falls is not an easy one, and I'm sure that families with youngsters wouldn't want to tread it when the sun was sinking.

For the better part of an hour, I felt that we had the place virtually to ourselves. When a group of hooting and shouting 30-something lads arrived, we knew it was time to head back to camp.

Only one incident put a damper (literally) on our return to our camp site. As I was climbing into my kayak, the keel at the stern sank and came to rest on a rock, and rolled me into the lake. I was holding onto my paddle and a dry bag that contained my D-SLR camera. Only moments earlier, I debated whether to seal the bag or not, because I was planning to take photos on our paddle back to camp.

I'm glad I made the decision to seal that bag. I had more than $3,000 of gear inside it. My pride, on the other hand, was thoroughly dampened.

My 360-degree camera was running at the time but I have yet to decide whether I want that in the video I plan to make of this trip.

Back at camp, DW was set on having a fire, so I tended one while she made dinner, a pizza that she made on our miniature stove, which she could convert into a pseudo-oven. It was actually pretty good.

When the fire burned down and the moon began to rise, the mosquitoes proved to be too much, so we retreated to our tent, where DW convinced me to play a game of Cribbage. (I had a different idea, but oh well... .)

Because the moon was full and we kept our fly open for a cross-breeze, the tent interior was lit up almost as brightly as it had been with our solar lantern on a low setting. We closed our eyes and nothing but the sound of the wind through the trees, the buzzing of crickets, the croaking of a nearby bullfrog, and the occasional song of a loon could be heard.

It had been only one day in our two-day excursion, but with all we had done since we had first awakened, the day seemed as though it had been several.

I'll have more to say about our camping trip, tomorrow and through the week. Oh, and just as a heads up about tomorrow's post, there will be a bit of nudity in the photos of our trip. It'll be of me, so you might not want to come back until Wednesday.

You've been warned.

Back Out On the Water

We're off, again.

I promised DW that I would go camping a maximum of four times, this year. Our first weekend getaway was cancelled, due to pandemic restrictions, but I still count that as one of the trips because we had booked it.

We recently went for a two-night stay at Samuel de Champlain Provincial Park, and we had gorgeous weather, though I still don't like sleeping on the ground, in a tent.

Today, we're heading out at the crack of dawn to Algonquin Provincial Park, where we're doing some interior camping. We're leaving our car at a parking lot, loading up our kayaks with equipment, provisions, and camera gear, and we're paddling to our camp site.

Not only will I have to sleep on the ground, there is no comfort station. This is what I dislike the most about camping.

Mercifully, it's only for one night, and I think I can survive it.

I'll let you know, on Monday.

Happy Friday (send me positive vibes, please)!

Back When We Didn't Call Them 'Proms'

No, it was called a 'grad.'

You graduated from high school and you had a big party with your graduating class. I still call it a grad, even though my kids call it a 'prom.'

My kid's limo ride.

With the pandemic restrictions, our youngest daughter wasn't able to enjoy a large grad, but that didn't stop her and her closest high-school friends from organizing their own special evening. They all dressed to the nines, had a special dinner, and then enjoyed a limousine ride around the city, with a photographer in tow, before being dropped off at a downtown hotel for the evening.

(Everybody involved was fully vaxxed, in case you were wondering.)

The limo ride reminded me of my grad, in 1984. My school had organized a party in the revolving restaurant atop what is now the Marriott Hotel, and some friends and I had reserved a room, later, at the nearby Delta Suites.

To get to the grad, a few friends and I had rented a limo. The only photos that I have of that ride are from when the driver picked me up. My parents took a photo of me and my friends, plus the driver, in front of the limo before we pulled away.

L–R: Don, Rick, me, Neil, chauffeur.

With bottles of sparkling wine to help refresh us, as we drove around the city, I was pretty sauced by the time we arrived for dinner. I remember parts of the party in our hotel room—we had rented a small fountain that spouted Purple Jesus (alcool and grape Kool-Aid)—and I remember that when I had truly had my fill of alcohol, my brain told me to go home, so I walked from the downtown Ottawa core to Parkwood Hills, arriving at my front door just before sunrise.

How was your grad... or prom... whatever you called it?

Happy Thursday!

An Evening Walk in Ottawa

Through a Smokey Haze

Did you see the sun through that haze, yesterday, as it began to drop toward sunset?

Fires in Northern Ontario have created a haze over Ottawa, casting a filter over the sun and giving it a peachy-orange glow.

A cold front is supposed to cut the haze today. But it's funny how something so bad for the environment can create something beautiful at the same time. I like how the effect makes everything appear in greyscale, affording colour only for the sun.

Happy Tuesday!

Up the Mississippi (and Back)

The last time that DW and I paddled the Mississippi River (not that one, the one in Ontario), we took our kayaks only a short way, following the current from Pakenham's Five Span Bridge toward Galetta. Feeling really ambitious, I was hoping that we'd make it all the way to Galetta and turn around before the dam forced us to stop, anyway.

Knowing that was going to be about 10 kilometres each way, I thought that we would aim for the Highway 417 overpass, which was about the halfway point, and see how we felt.

We didn't even make it to the Upper Dwyer Hill Road overpass, about a half-kilometre before Highway 417. Instead, we turned around about four-and-a-half kilometres downstream from Pakenham. Our total distance for that excursion was just over nine kilometres.

We promised ourselves that we'd be back again, wouldn't spend so much time stopping to photograph the birds and turtles, and quit frigging around with my 360-degree video camera.

Yesterday, we were back on the Mississippi.

This time, however, we decided that we would explore the river from the other side of the Five Span Bridge, working our way upstream to see how far we could go. And because we're planning another kayak-camping trip, this coming weekend, we wanted to get a good distance of paddling in.

Because of the falls and rapids at the Five Span Bridge, we couldn't put our kayaks in at the same point. This time, we drove into the village of Pakenham and parked at Fred Millar Field, just a bit upstream from the narrow, old bridge. A gravel put in was shallow and easy access for our kayaks.

Checking our map, we figured that we could paddle all the way to the bottom of Blakeney Rapids, just under 8 kms away. We packed our mini cooler bag, which held ice-cold cans of sparkling water and a can of cider for DW. We had stopped at a Tim Horton's and picked up sandwiches (and a donut for DW), which we also threw into the cooler, and stuffed into my aft storage compartment.

As with our first paddle on the Mississippi River, we remarked at how calm it was, and in spots the water was like glass, casting a perfect reflection. We stopped a couple of times to photograph the wildlife—mostly birds and turtles—but DW spied a deer that came right down to the river's edge, and we were both able to capture it with our cameras.

I left my 360-degree camera at home, opting to mostly use my Nikon D7200, with a 70–300mm lens, and my smartphone.

For the most part, we made good time, covering a kilometre every 10 minutes. After about an hour and a half, we made it to the bottom of the rapids. We put our kayaks in at a rocky outcrop, grabbed our cooler, and made it to a ledge just above the last chute through the rapids, before the Mississippi emptied into a basin and became a wider river again.

After our snack, we powered almost non-stop back to Pakenham, averaging a kilometre in about nine minutes. It's about the fastest I'd ever want to paddle in my kayak, and I know that sometime today, if not already (by the time this post is published), my shoulders, arms, and back are going to feel the burn.

With the kayaks secured to our Niro, I had the biggest craving for an ice-cold beer. With my Dry July challenge, however, another sparkling water had to do.

DW and I will definitely be back to the Mississippi River and will paddle back to Blakeney Rapids. We'd also like to finish our first paddle, making it to Galetta and back. And who knows? Maybe, we'll even see what lies on the Mississippi River, upstream from Blakeney Rapids. Can we paddle to Almonte?

Stay tuned.

Exaggerating to Accentuate

When DW and I went camping, last weekend, I gave thought to the cameras that I wanted to take with me.

Even though we were car-camping and we had space for all of my camera gear, I was thinking about our next trip, where we won't have our car and will have to carry everything in our kayaks to our camp site, I wanted to give thought to what I needed to carry, versus what I simply wanted to carry.

I knew that I wanted to take my 360-degree video camera, to capture all aspects of our trip. I always keep my smartphone on me, so that was another camera with three lenses built in. But I also wanted to bring one of my D-SLRs to capture some high-quality stills.

As it turned out, I rarely used my D-SLR. I had packed my Nikon D7200 with my 70–300mm lens, thinking that I would use it to photograph any wildlife we encountered. But I forgot to pack my dry bag and couldn't take my D-SLR in the kayak. I missed out on capturing some birds and several beavers that we came upon as we paddled the lakes and rivers around Samuel de Champlain Provincial Park.

So I relied heavily on my Insta360 One R and my smartphone, and that's okay. I wasn't able to zoom in tightly to any wildlife but I did get some decent photos, especially at sunset.

In post-processing, I exaggerated some of my photos to better-match what my eyes had picked up and to add a bit of drama. On one evening, as we paddled around Moore Lake, we kept close to the vast growth of pickerelweed, which seemed to go on forever. The purple flowers poked just above the green leaves, and the contrast in colour was stunning.

The sun, which was ever-sinking toward the treeline at the distant shore of the lake, lit up the flowers and seemed to make them glow. I took several shots but in looking at them afterward, the camera didn't quite do the scene justice.

So in post-processing, I pumped up the light contrast and upped the colour saturation. I lowered the highlights to give more definition to the clouds and sun. I reduced the shadows, so that the colour and details of the background trees matched what my eyes could see.

Here is the end result of one of my favourite shots of that evening.

What do you think? Too much?

(Note: if you look just below the sun, where the pickerelweed meets the forest, you can just make out DW's paddle, as she kayaks through a gap in the marsh—you can click the photo to enlarge it. Kinda gives you an idea of how tall these plants are, doesn't it?)

Sometimes, I feel that you have to exaggerate to accentuate. You have to over-compensate to convey not only the visual but the emotional aspects of the scenery.

What do you feel when you see this photo? Too much or just right?

Happy Friday!

Piling on Challenges

I feel the weight of July resting heavily upon me.

As if the challenges of living under a pandemic isn't enough for all of us, I've somehow layered on more challenges, this year, particularly in July.

There are some fun challenges: the virtual challenges that I've signed up for since January have me artificially visiting some beautiful and fascinating countries, such as Spain, England, Scotland, Germany, and now, Iceland. All while getting real-time exercise. As of Tuesday evening, I have covered more than 3,800 kilometres through walking, cycling, and kayaking.

I have also signed up for three additional virtual challenges: the next, a 503-km trek from Florence, Italy, to Vatican City. I've been to both places before, but it will be interesting to see the countryside at a slower pace, stopping at various towns and cities, and avoiding the freeway.

After finishing this trek, called St. Francis Way, I head to the United States. I've already said that I'll never set foot in that country again, but with this challenge, following Route 66 from Chicago to Los Angeles, I can still see some beautiful scenery, virtually, without having to deal with anyone in reality.

This is a major trek, covering 3,670 kms, and will likely take me into 2022 to complete.

Finally, I'll be virtually returning to the Scottish Highlands, completing an 805K loop that starts and ends in Inverness, and covers much of what I missed when I participated in the LEJOG challenge.

All of these virtual challenges are fun and they have helped stave off the travel bug that has been gnawing at me since DW's and my European vacation was cancelled in 2020. But in doing these virtual challenges, there is a real challenge that causes some stress.

Because I always want to keep moving the needle on these treks forward, I feel pressure in getting on my bike, walking in my neighbourhood, or setting my kayak on a body of water. I enjoy doing all of these activities, but if I think I want to rest for a day, the needle that indicates where I should be in my treks—the pace car—keeps moving forward as well, and I don't like it to get ahead of me. Instead, I'd rather have the pace car chase me than be chasing the pace car, myself.

And so there is pressure to keep moving, to complete the challenges.

A few months ago, I traded my Samsung smartwatch for a Garmin device, and I've loved it. Importantly, it's accurately counted my steps and flights of stairs, and it's been easy to set up cycling, kayaking, and walking activities, and these activities automatically sync with my Conqueror virtual challenges, so that when I've finished an activity, it's automatically logged on the app.

But I've accepted some of the challenges that the Garmin Connect app offers, and they add pressure to keep moving. Sure, I don't have to take on these challenges, but something in the back of my head tells me that by not accepting some of these challenges, I'm not getting the true value out of this watch.

(I know: that's a bit of a 'me' problem.)

July has me taking on some of the biggest challenges, where I'm doing a Dry July: no alcohol, no sugary sweets, no potato chips, and nothing that I don't absolutely need. And so far, this challenge has worked.

In two weeks, I've lost nearly a kilogram. Since starting my virtual challenges, I've lost just over three kilos. I feel better than I've felt in years. And while I haven't really missed the beer that is in my mini fridge, I've felt pangs when I see the home-baked cookies in our cookie jar. I try not to look in the cupboard above our refrigerator, where DW and the kids have several bags of chips.

The toughest time of the day is shortly after lunch, when I'd usually give myself a snack: a bowl of chips or a couple of cookies. DW or the kids would want to head over to Tim Hortons, and I'd ask them to pick up a sour-cream-glazed donut for me.

None of that now.

I take solace in the cans of flavoured sparkling waters that we've picked up for me. I really like the Farm Boy Orange-Vanilla sparkling water and the President's Choice cream-soda-flavoured sparkling water. They allow me to feel that I'm cheating, while having no sugar at all.

Now that I'm halfway through this challenge, I'm wondering if I've piled on too many challenges. I have no problem with taking a hiatus from my beer, but I feel hungry all the time, especially on days where I get on my bike to cover another 40 to 50 kilometres for my virtual challenges.

For example, since last week, into the weekend and at the beginning of this week, I have

• cycled 40K and walked 3.2K on Friday
• kayaked more than 8K and walked 7.5K on Saturday
• kayaked about 8.7K and walked another 8.7K on Sunday
• walked more than 10K on Monday
• cycled 40K and walked 3.6K on Tuesday

That's about 130 kms in five days. And at the end of each day, I'm hungry. I look at those cookies in the jar, think about those chips in the cupboard, and I crave them. I tell myself that I've burned a lot of calories—more than I've taken in—and that I've earned a treat.

But then I say 'no,' tell myself that caving in to these cravings would defeat the purpose of my Dry July challenge. And so, I reach for the flavoured water, instead.

Dry July is tough, but aren't challenges supposed to be?

Still, with the other challenges I've given myself, July can't come to an end soon enough.

Gotta go. Time to hit the bike...

The Chateau and Canal

Still Don't Like Camping

Nope.

I still don't like sleeping on the ground, with nothing but an ultra-thin layer of material separating me from the elements.

I don't like cooking meals outdoors, away from steady-flowing water or a drain.

I don't like smelling of campfires without easy access to a shower.

I don't like pooping where mosquitos and other insects can get at my bottom.

I don't like camping.

But I love being out in nature, hiking through the woods and paddling on lakes and rivers.

I love nature without having to live in it.

DW and I have returned from a three-day camping trip in Samuel de Champlain Provincial Park, just 10 minutes east of the town of Mattawa, along Highway 17, between the Ottawa River and North Bay. It's surrounded by some of the most beautiful parts of Ontario.

Because we only returned home last night, I'm still going through some of my photos and video of the trip. I'll have more to share in the future but for now, here are a couple of images that highlight what I do like about camping, which is having the opportunity to capture such snapshots of nature, without having to restrict the time in which to spend surrounded in nature.

As soon as teleportation is possible, camping will be forever off my list of things to do.

Energize!