Swimming suit or grey suit? You tell me who's happier today...

Today, while filling the newspaper stands with the latest edition of the Big Timber Pioneer, I had a wonderful moment.

A woman, sitting in her vehicle behind me, was waiting patiently to buy her newspaper. I had hardly gotten the door shut before she hustled over to put her three quarters in the slot and grab the top copy of newsprint. Then, as if she just couldn't wait to get home, she sat in her car and started reading. 


I'm sure I saw her smiling, and I hoped she really enjoyed it. It sure made me smile to think that our hard work each week creates a final product that does a service that our community enjoys. I hope that's the case for the majority, at least. 


I drove to the next stand thinking to myself, 'Self, that was a really nice moment. That's a good one to remember and be thankful for.'


It was the highlight of my day.

Then, I traveled to the big city (Livingston, about 35 miles away) and ate fast food for the first time in nearly two months. Taco Johns, none the less. Ah, be still, my crunchy-chicken-and-potato-burrito-loving heart.


In case you didn't know, I don't get out much.


As I reveled in the cheap, cheesy, potato ole heap of goodness, I thought to myself, 'Self, this is a really nice moment. Don't even tell yourself you have to run it off later. 'Cause you're not. You're going to savor this.'
It as the highlight of my day.


Then, I came home. Home to my lovely little mountain town; home to my quiet little office and my quiet little life. My phone rang. It was a lady from my golf team. She wanted to know if I wanted an air conditioner. May I repeat: she wanted to know if I wanted an air conditioner. That she would help me haul up to my apartment.


She wanted to give me an air conditioner. She wanted to give me an air conditioner. SHE WANTED TO GIVE ME AN AIR CONDITIONER.

If you can't understand what kind of happiness that causes, then you've obviously never lived in a pent house suite (a.k.a., small, attic apartment) through a month of 100+ degree heat with no fans or air conditioning.

For weeks, I've been wearing a swimming suit in my home, sitting on the floor because I'm sick of sticking to the couch and compulsively eating pints of ice cream out of the carton just because I needed something to do while resting my head in the freezer. Weeks, I tell you! My figure can't take any more!

And then out of the blue, this dear, sweet woman just offers to give me an air conditioner. 

As I sat on my couch and basked in it's sweet coolness, I thought to myself, 'Self, this is a really nice moment. You better go finish that last pint of ice cream to celebrate. Ya... to celebrate.'

My day just got hot-yellow highlighted all over. 

Of course, Stones is still unsure of what to think of this new contraption, taking up his window space and limiting his view of the kingdom. But I'm sure he'll come around... while I've been lounging around in my swimming suit to beat the heat, he's been wearing that heavy grey suit all summer long - I don't know how he does it!

A sad farewell...

Goodbye, dear Belle of the Blog! Farewell, sweet followers and avid readers! So long, bloggerverse... I'm leaving you for Twitter. Really, it's not you... It's me. And Twitter.

*gasp!*
*shock!*
*swoon!*
*weeping and gnashing of teeth!*

Wait... Is there even anybody out there?

Mom? CaliAgChick?? CaliAgChick's mom??? Aunt Jayne or Aunt Carolyn????

OK, the gig's up. I was going to announce my official resignation from blogging, but I'm pretty sure I've been absent for so long that nobody would gasp or be shocked or swoon or weep and gnash their grinners. It's far more likely I would get a "Frankly my dear, I just don't give a damn," after the way I've led you all on and treated you so poorly.

And let's be honest... I'm much too Scarlet-like to do anything that doesn't cause at least a little sensation. I refuse to let Belle of the Blog die quietly and be gone with the wind, so I'm here to woo you back, dear followers.

Back in reality... I did have to say a tearful goodbye this week.

CaliAgChick has left me. For her fiancé. I think he is the only one who is really happy about this arrangement. I'm sad, she's sad, her empty cubicle is sad:

Oh wait... Maybe it's just me and the cubicle. She's totally faking it! That dirty Reb couldn't wait to move South!

And OK, I'll admit it.... as sad as I am to lose such a fantastic roomie and Ohio friend, I'm happy she got to migrate back to the western side of the Mississippi and will finally get to be with Big T. 

Aren't I mature and selfless?

We diligently hauled all her stuff down the stairs and out the door last Friday night. It was about a bajillion degrees with 473% humidity and no sunshine that fine Ohio evening. A great reminder of why I was truly happy for her escape... for her sake. Although I think she will miss having a personal poperatzzi.

And so, with the little Tahoe packed with love and care, she shut the door and left me wondering; without my roomie/walking buddy/patio-partying friend, "What is there that matters?!"

 Then hope spreads across my face.... Stones! I'll go see Stones and I'll think of some way to get a roomie back!

He has already moved into his new digs in CaliAgChick's old room. Together, we'll think of something...some way to survive in Ohio without her. After all, tomorrow is another day! 

...well, and she'll be back to visit in a couple weeks. And I'll see her next week in California. I know, I know... always with the drama here...

Life speak 'n' sprinkles

I haven't left Wooster for nearly a month. Four weekends in a row, I've remained confined to Northeastern Ohio. Sure, there have been a few trips north to various malls and eating establishments, but for the most part, my travels have hit a dry spell.

My writing humor has hit a bit of a dry spell, too. It seems as though I've been doing some pretty serious life-speak thinking here lately. Lucky for you, I get to board an airplane this Friday and take a little trip. That means my razor-sharp whit and knee-slapping good humor should be back and in rare form in a jiffy. I think Hampton Inn pillows just have some sort of revitalizing aura about them. Sleeping on them instantly make me smarter, funnier and better looking. Fo sho.

Until then, you have a couple more days of philosophising, life-lesson-learning, meaning-of-the-world-contemplating Laura left before fun Laura gets back.

Therefore, let's talk about something I know we all spend a good deal of time pondering.

Sprinkles.

I love sprinkles. I love sugar-coat sprinkles. I love chocolate jimmy sprinkles. I love rainbow sprinkles and crystal sprinkles and round dessert sprinkles and cake sprinkles. But most of all, I love crunchy sprinkles.

At one time in my life, I thought crunchy sprinkles were the standard. I mean, if crunchy sprinkles were the kind of sprinkles Uncle Fred's pizza/movie rental/coffee shop/catering/computer-fix-it-man-inthebasement Place offered, surely everyone else outside of Pine Bluffs, Wyoming followed suit. Now, I also thought I was going to grow up to be the next Kristi Yamaguchi. My Olympic gold would be followed with a lucrative concert tour with Randy Travis. I had a pretty good grasp on reality at age six.

I was seven when my brother explained that I had to be able to actually skate on ice if I wanted to be a professional figure skater. I ordered crunchy sprinkles outside of my hometown at age nine and was told they didn't exist. I was 22 when Randy let Carrie Underwood sing "I Told You So" and I had to explain to him how detrimental that would be to our relationship. Three childhood dreams; all shattered.

Until this summer, when the Guerne Heights Drive In taught me to believe in miracles. Crunchy sprinkles do exist! They do exist! I don't care what the Cheyenne DairyQueen says, they DO exist outside of Pine Bluffs! Crunchy sprinkles live in Ohio, and they've been 2.7 miles out of my grasp this whole time!

This is what crunchy sprinkles look like:

It's a wonderfully perfect mixture of rainbow jimmies and these crunchy little morsels that taste like a combination of Captain Crunch and Rice Krispies bathed in awesome and coated like Nerds.

When the waitress (and everyone else in a 2.7 mile radius) heard me passionately explaining exactly how incredible the crunchy sprinkles were, she packed extra on the cone and then brought a dish full. My voice apparently carries in small rooms. She all but patted my little blond head and told me I only got the extra sprinkles if I finished my corn dog like a good little girl and didn't fuss any louder about the yummy little sprinkles.

Maybe I should have pretend to be offended by being treated like a full-grown baby child that needed pacified by sprinkles to behave in public, but I was eatin' this up.

Literally. I ate all the sprinkles off my 10% butterfat twist ice cream in about two seconds. Now, I have been known to buy tubs of rainbow jimmies and eat them as a snack by the spoonful, but I had bigger plans for this bowl of sprinkles.

Re-dip! No need to eat plain ice cream here, folks. There's enough crunchy sprinkles to cover every surface. You can just keep re-dipping and re-dipping and re-dipping. It is a fantastic experience.

Even when the ice cream is all but leveled and you don't think you need more sprinkles... you do. At that point, the cone has started to get soggy and you really just need to have more crunchy sprinkles to add texture to the flavor palate. Food critics talk about this all the time.

 Half re-dips are acceptable, too.

So are nub re-dips. At this point, it's like just dropping the last inch of a slobber-covered FunDip Dipping Stix into the sugar powder and then dumping the whole packet back into your mouth.

Stop pretending like you haven't done that.

 If you left any crumb of crunchy sprinkles behind, it's acceptable to scrape the bowl with your finger.

Also: the joy of sprinkles is meant to be shared, folks. Let your friends in on the fun!

And by share, I don't mean give away any of the sprinkles the nice waitress lady set in front of your own face. I mean make sure they get their own special dish that in no way reduces your personal sprinkle intake.

Boooooy howdy... now stick that little feather of wisdom in your hat and go out and kick this week's hiney!

Tweet, tweet tweet!

Big news, folks. You might want to sit down. Pencil out a couple minutes in your Outlook calendar to process this big news.

I joined Twitter this weekend! I'm a tweep. I live in twittersville. Tweet tweet, tweet tweet, tweet. Yes!

I've always thought Twitter sounded pretty obnoxious. I mean, too many people share too much information on their facebook status updates as it is -- there's no way I could handle a constant stream of so-and-so's insomnia or her broken heart for-the-tenth-time-this-month or his terrible grammar.

Then again, I also thought Chinese food was despicable until the fall of 2006. Turns out, grandma was right again. You just never know what you'll like until you try it. I tried Twitter. I like Twitter. I like Twitter a lot. There is such a wealth of information out there folks!

I did some research before jumping in, and the best advice I found was, "Twitter's not about you. It's about the conversation." Basically, avoid the kind of TMI play-by-plays that are annoying on facebook status updates. Instead, join a conversation. Engage people. Seek out new ideas. Share thoughts, not statements. Have fun with it. I am absolutely overwhelmed with interesting people with fascinating information to share.  

All that wisdom about not being so egocentric aside, I've been so focused on tweeting that I just don't have much in me for an interesting blog tonight. Double H Photography tagged me in a little survey today. Since I've been sending my new Tweeps to my blog, this seemed like a good opportunity for them to get to know me better.  So here it goes!

3 Names I go by:
1. Laura
2. Lauria... long story

3. LauraBelle

3 Places I've been:

1. Killarney, Ireland

2. Swansea, Wales

3. Budapest, Hungary

3 Favorite drinks:
1. Fuze Slenderize Cranberry-whatever-other-fruits-they-put-into-that-delicious-concoction
2. Coffee
3. Cattleprods

3 Job's I've had:
1. Industry Information Specialist, Certified Angus Beef LLC
2. Head of Cleaning Operations, LauraBelle's House Cleaning Co. (It was a pretty official business, you know)
3. Editor-in-Chief, Wingspan newspaper

3 TV shows I watch:
1. Dirty Jobs
2. The Sopranos
3. The Office

3 Places I would like to visit:
1. Charleston, South Carolina (Based on reading Charleston by John Jakes)
2. Prince Edward Island (Still in love with the Anne of Green Gables series)
3. Museum of the Shenandoah Valley (Winchesher, VA -- I was there, but didn't have time to go explore the museum. Must go back!)

3 Favorite retro TV shows:
1. The Joy of Painting with Bob Ross
2. Step By Step
3. I Love Lucy

3 Favorite Dishes:
1. Grandma's pecan sticky rolls
2. Aunt Carolyn's Cheesy Potatoes
3. CAB strip steak with avocado salad... well, really any steak with any side. This is just the most delicious meal I had a picture of.

3 Things I'm looking forward to:
1. Mid-year planning meeting at work this week
2. A trip home in August
3. Cuero TurkeyFest!

3 People I'm tagging:
1. Out Past the Pasture
2. Life Be Delicious
3. Caught in the Web

Oh, yes... and to find me on the oh-so-wonderful Twitter, I'm @LBelleoftheBlog. Tweet ya later, alligator!

'Fraidy cat, 'fraidy cat

It's no wonder Stones and I are such good buddies.

I'm a little 'friady cat. Always have been. Probably always will be. Learn some of the back history on page 10. I've toughen up a little bit from the days of making friends drive across town to do closet-checks when left home alone, but not a lot. My 'fraidy-cat ways were in full force last week.

I was traveling in the beautiful Shenandoah Valley for work. Round about 5 a.m., I roused myself from my comfy Hampton Inn pillows and set out in the beefy mini-van to capture the sun rise in the valley. You know I don't see 5 a.m. very often, but I just knew this was going to be worth it.

I carefully mapped out the path to Woodstock Tower, which is suppose to be one of the most beautiful scenic lookouts in the area. I crept up, up, up a narrow switchback path, anxiously awaiting the Seven Bends river view. 

It was about a half-hour drive. There wasn't much time to stop along the way; I knew the best photos would be at the top. So I cranked up the radio, rolled down the windows and kept climbing. The necessity of the Tower quickly became clear. You couldn't see the forest for the tress... literally. There were no scenic vistas from ground level.

Finally, I reached the top. Just like my extensive google research indicated, there was a little pull-off to park at near a small path that would lead to the tower. Giddy with excitement over the pictures I was about to capture, I gathered up my camera and jumped out of the minivan and started my half-mile hike to the Tower.

I got about two feet past the graffiti-covered Tower sign and stopped dead in my tracks.

Hiker goes missing on Woodstock Tower Road

Ohio girl last seen eating breakfast pizza at local Hampton Inn, never heard from again.

I often imagine my life as it would appear in headlines. Working in journalism does weird things to the way you think of words.Sometimes I go ahead and write the whole news article in my head, too.

This front page story would be your typical young-blond-ventures-out-alone-and-meets-grizzly-mysterious end-news report.  

I like to think my disappearance would be important enough to make the front page.

It would have quotes from the nice lady at the Hampton Inn who watched me devour the breakfast pizza and three cups of coffee. It was clear to her I was alone that morning and seemed disgruntled and uneasy. My family and friends would confirm that I was in fact not the kind of girl who ever had her whits about her that close to sunrise, which might offer an explanation. Or was I contemplating the inevitable demise ahead? Breakfast lady would certainly recall something seemed amiss the morning the blond girl set out for her fateful journey. 

Stop it, Laura. Stop it right now. Grow up. Those kinds of things only happen in the news... not to girls travelling alone thousands of miles from home who don't tell anyone where they're going when they depart at sunrise to hike into the wilderness. 

Go back to the van and get your cell phone. Keep one finger on 9 and another ready to follow it with 1-1. That will make you safe. 

Laura, that's just creating a false sense of security. A false sense of security only makes you more venerable. Take a picture of your location and the van on your phone. Then if something happens and your murderer steals the van and all the search party finds is your cell phone, they'll be able to piece together what happened.

Deep breath.

You can do this. You want to do this. You're an adult. Stop being a 'fraidy cat.

I turned around and headed back down the trail. I got about two feet past the location that previously sent me running back to the van.

*snap. crack. rustling*

What was that? Footsteps? A bear? I can feel something watching me. Is that a shred of clothing stuck to that branch? Is that all that remains of the last hiker here?

Stop it. Stop being such a baby. Stop being such a 'fraidy cat.

Another branch snapped under the weight of my approaching doom.

GET OUT NOW! NOW! GET TO THE VAN... NOW!

A half hour later, my heart finally returned to beating at a normal rate. I finally got enough courage to stop on the outskirts of town and try to regain a little dignity.

You're OK. This is a nice, peaceful bridge... you have to have something to show photographic evidence of this little venture.

Wait.. what was that? What's under this bridge? There's a truck coming up... it look suspicious. Oh God... those guys look scary. They're eye-balling you.

The van! Get to the van NOW!

Happy Chris LeTuesday!

Until today, I forgot that in Wyoming's capitol city every Tuesday is Chris LeTuesday.

It's a tribute one of the local radio stations has done ever since the great Chris LeDoux died in 2005. They play two LeDoux tunes, back-to-back, around every hour throughout the day. It's magic, and it's just one little thing that makes me love this part of the world. In honor of how down-right giddy it made me to spend a Chris LeTuesday in Chey-town, here's a little tribute I found to Mr. LeDoux with one of my favorite songs:  

Here's another little reason I love WyoBraska. Well, it's more of a big ol' reason... the big ol' open space:

On this Chris LeTuesday, I'm reaching back a few days to share a couple highlights of my first day visiting the Cowboy and Cornhusker states.

Saturday afternoon, my brother and our friend Robin showed up at the farm, ready for fun. When we were in high school, I can't even begin to count the number of hours our crew of friends spent cruising country roads; driving for hours and hours aimlessly looking for fun, wasting time, causing trouble, solving the world's problems or just "shootin' stuff." The boys were mostly interested in the latter.

Some things never change. In fact, most things about home never change, and that's exactly why I love it. The three of us loaded up in Brother's pickup and spent the afternoon rambling across empty fields, pastures and rutted trails in search of "stuff" to shoot. "Stuff" as in any rodent that dared cross our path.

They're pretty tough, walking into the horizon with their big shiny guns... in search of little bunnies and ground squirrels. Real macho stuff like that.

 This is Brother's newest toy. Between the two of them, they own 12 guns. Overkill? Perhaps. Pun intended.

I, as usual, dawdled along behind them, taking pictures of clouds and cows. <3.

For the most part, I was more interested in shooting photographs than guns. But they did let me shoot the .22 for a while, and let me just say: all those hours playing Big Buck Hunter in college bars paid off after all.

Once I got over the thrill of my successful hunts, I went back to shooting pictures.

But the fun was just getting started. While I was busy planning my trip home, my Daddio was planning a little party of his own. Not a party for me; a party that just happened to fall on the weekend I was home. The guys at Nelson Farms worked calves last week, so we celebrated by frying up the Rocky Mountain variety of oysters.

It was an evening filled with approximately half of Kimball County, including our family...

...fun friends...

...and dancing. Lots of dancing...

We may or may not have "slapped the bladder" a few times throughout the night, too. If you don't know what that means, don't ask. Or go ahead and ask...but be prepare to be disgusted just a little.

Take me back to WyoBraska

Welcome to state line road one, an arbitrary place in the prairie where Wyoming and Nebraska differentiate themselves.

Beautiful, eh?

People in eastern Nebraska sometime forget the panhandle exists. The southeast corner of Wyoming is flatland country, blending in with the panhandle more than the mountains of the rest of the state. Hence the birth of the term WyoBraska. It is my home, and I love it.

Here it is:

View Larger Map
This has created a slight identity crisis in my life. Cops always question why a car with Nebraska license plates is registered to a girl with a Wyoming drivers license, especially now that I live in Ohio. Good thing I'm such a great driver and never get pulled over.

I usually claim Wyoming because UW is my Alma Mater. Buuuutttt.... our home is actually in Nebraska. But I went to high school in Wyoming. But I grew up showing at the Kimball County fair. But I went to Youth Group in Pine Bluffs. But I went to church at the Bushnell UMC. I love Runza; I love Chugwater Chili. I've screamed "Gooooooo biiiiiiiiiiiig reeeeeed....... GO BIG RED!" on the steps of our nation's capitol. I've seriously considered getting Steamboat tattooed on my body. I grew up genuinely thinking Tom Osborne was the most influential man in the world. Cheyenne Frontier Days is the most profoundly wonderful event in the world.

What's a girl to do?!    

Well, share with you fun facts about both states, of course! I arrived back in Mountain Standard Time late last night for my first trip home since moving to Ohio. In honor of this great event, I want you to get to know both my home states. Did you know:

• The largest coal mine in the USA is the Black Thunder mine located near Wright, Wyo.
• Kearney, Nebraska is located geographically dead center of the U.S.-between Boston and San Francisco, each way is exactly 1733 miles on either side of Hwy 30.
• Wyoming is the least populated state in the Union, with a whopping population of 544,270.
• Arbor Day was started in Nebraska City in 1872 by Sterling Morton to encourage tree planting.
• The Wyoming state name came from the Delaware Indian word, meaning "mountains and valleys alternating."
• The 911 system of emergency communications, now used nationwide, was developed and first used in Lincoln, Nebraska.
• The JC Penney stores were started in Kemmerer, Wyo.
• Kool-Aid was invented by Edwin Perkins in 1927 in Hastings, Neb. He changed his soft drink syrup, Fruit Smack, into a powder to make it easier to ship.
• Yellowstone was designated America's first official National Park in 1872; Devils Tower was designated as the first National Monument in 1906; Shoshone National Forest was a first as well in 1891; all in Wyoming.
• The Sand Hills of Nebraska are the biggest grass-covered sand dunes in the Western Hemisphere. They cover about one-fourth of the state. Only the Sahara and the Arabian deserts have bigger areas of sand.

Sources: http://www.50states.com/facts/nebraska.htm, http://www.legendsofamerica.com/WY-Facts.html,

I found this "Black Table" blog this morning with a listing of Six Things You Don't Know About: (fill in the blank). It had entries for both Wyoming and Nebraska. Pretty good stuff:
Nebraska -- http://www.blacktable.com/munson040616.htm
     ***very funny and accurate description of Nebraska. So true in so many funny ways. 
Wyoming -- http://www.blacktable.com/tharp040728.htm
    ***also pretty funny, although I wouldn't agree with the significance of some of these things. For example, calling Wyoming a "hotbed of feminism" isn't entirely accurate. Yes, we were the first state to allow women to vote, etc., but most will tell you it wasn't under the noble context of advancing women's suffrage. We just didn't have enough people. If Wyoming wanted to be a state, it needed more voters. It wanted to be a state, so it let girls vote. Pretty simple. But, that simplicity is what I love about the Cowboy State. Also, I've never heard of the crazies it talks about in #3, but I'm sure it's true. Wyoming's a big state, folks, and people can blend in and disappear here, especially weirdos. We were famous for hiding outlaws in the wild, wild west, and it's no different now.

How's that for an "afterthought?"

I have a very busy and exciting week ahead, complete with a calf fry tonight, an engagement celebration, banquets, pedicures, family, dear old friends, UW's graduation, fundays and Mother's Day. I am so blessed, lucky, and happy to be home!

The pack mule and a marathon runner

 My sister runs marathons. My brother went to college to be a physical therapist. He's a MegaMan. They were both star athletes in high school. They are both coordinated, strong and agile.

I was the water girl in high school. I took stats. I ran the time clock, cleaned locker rooms and laundered, organized and stored jerseys in numerical order with matching hangers. Are you shocked by any of this?

This weekend, Sister had her 20-mile training run. I got to go along. She sold it to me like this:

"Laura, on the Saturday that you'll be in Lincoln I have to go on a 20-mile run. Are you going to come along?"
*silence*
"You can ride a bike while I run."
"Oh. OK. I should be able to handle biking the same amount of time as you run."
"Great. You can be my pack mule."
"Pack mule?! This sounds less fun."
"You'll just carry my snacks and drinks in a bag that attaches to the bike. You can bring your camera."
*snacks? juice? camera?*
"Done!"

Today, we set off on our 20 mile journey. Sister led the way. 

After about three miles of herding her along, I started to get bored. Luckily, the Jamaican Trail had a lot of fun stuff to entertain my camera and I (and relieve me of 20 strait miles of biking). I stopped to play near a little creek:

Somebody forgot their rusty barbed wire next to the creek:

I wandered my way back to the trail to find Sister, still running:

This is where we think the Boxcar Children lived. If you don't know who the Boxcar Children are, you should ask your parents why they didn't make you read more as a youngster.  

 A nice little assortment of broken down railroad cars, semi trailers and various other piles of junk. What a soothing addition to the running trail.

 Don't worry, Sister was still running. I really had to work to catch up to her this time.

Then there was a pretty little bridge.

Sister ran over it.

 I went under it and found a tire. A lot of random crap littered this running trail. 

There was pretty stuff, too.

Guess what Sister was doing?

Yup. Still running. Notice how much further ahead of me she is getting. I didn't notice that at the time, so I stopped to enjoy some more scenery.

Then there was DANGER. This sign suddenly made me realize I had piddled around so long that I didn't know where Sister was. I was under a creepy bridge that explicitly stated it was DANGER, in the middle of nowhere, near a railroad track with abandoned trailers.

Ah! Peddle faster, Laura! Faster! 

After a couple miles topping Earth-shattering speed of 13 mph she was back in sight, although smothered by a cloud of train smoke.  

...still running. I did not want to bike through the smoke, and the amount of energy I exerted trying to catch up with her made me hungry. Boy, was I glad to be the pack mule with all the snacks.

Fruit Smiles might be one of my all-time favorite snacks. I stopped to fully enjoy their sweet, smiley goodness.

But don't worry, Sister was still... oh crap. She's not running anymore.  

 Turns out her pack mule was dawdling and forgot to replenish her thirst. Turns out, her pack mule hadn't really checked in for about seven miles. At mile 15, that's apparently not very nice.

Don't worry, we go her back on the road, hydrated, re-fueled and running like the wind.

 I found a bee.

Round about mile 18,5, I finally caught up with her by the tulips.

She was looking for her pack mule again. Ooops.