Cycling Tips & Stories

Horseshoe lake, though remote, is accessible by a dirt road. During the summer months a succession of tent and trailer campers cluster along the shore near the foundation of the old railroad station. We crept past, not wishing to disturb any of the residents tucked cozily within their tiny circles of yellow light. By now I had begun to realize how the ghostly appearance of our fandangled contraption, looking halfway between a peddlers wagon and a small blimp, might affect someone should we descend upon them out of the dark.

Leaving Horseshoe lake, we both gave a sigh of relief. The worst had passed. The track from here stretched nearly straight, and sure. The air felt warm. The moon glowed bright overhead. And, our adventure began to feel more like what we had imagined.