Day 5 unlike all the previous days in the trip does not start in a Motel; rather I find myself stiff, sore, and crabby. Mostly I am crabby because I am stiff and sore and not getting any attention about it. Well, so be it.
Meagan is making breakfast as I stagger blearily out of my tent. As I make my way over to the picnic table she tells me it's going to be rice pudding. mmmm, I like rice pudding. However, this is rice pudding on remarkably few supplies, so really it's just rice with blueberry yogurt poured over top. Well, who am I to complain, so I stuff my face and pack up.
My plan, with which Meagan whole heartily agrees is to take today easy. We are about 30 KM from Boston Bar and I don't intend to go any further than that. Meagan strikes out about 30 minutes ahead of me, and by the time I am on the road she is long gone.
Well, after I pass through a couple tunnels, I see in the distance that the highway is navigating its way up the hill on its way to some faraway distant tunnel at a considerably higher altitude than the one I am currently on. In the distance I can see Meagan pushing her bike with my trusty set of binoculars, and I resolve to try and catch her.
Well, this plan lasts until I am about three quarters the way up the hill (about 40 minutes from the start) when I turn around and notice that the flag which normally adorns the back of my trailer is missing. Gasp! Oh No, I must have dropped it! I cannot lose that flag, I have carried it with me for the thousands of kilometers and recovered from many almost assured losses.
Now the question is, should I descend the hill or just say so long.
I go after the flag.
Naturally, I don't encounter the flag anywhere on the way down the hill. In fact, it is only as I make my way to entrance of the last tunnel before the climb that I find it lying innocently on the side of the highway.
Oh well. The climb takes me a full hour and half at this point, and I stagger into the Elvis Rocks the Mountain (valley maybe?) cafe at the summit and call out for water.
The rest of the trip into Boston Bar is painful. My legs, which have been sore up to this point are now constantly throbbing, and as I pull into a cafe my only thought (other than where Meagan is) is to dull the pain.
Anyways lunch is bought for me by my next door table mate, and I eventually see Meagan trundling down the road.
Meeting a number of the town locals while looking for a backyard in which to to camp, we meet a remarkable character by the name of Donald. He is so talkative it is almost impossible to get a word in, unfortunately he cannot host us, however, we find lodging behind Betty's house.
The rest of the evening is spent chatting with a local tradesman by the name of Rick who teaches us about his beard and what life is like for him these days.
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