We woke up Saturday morning to a lovely frosting on the ground. Chocolate donuts for breakfast (are we noticing a trend here?) but, unfortunately, we didn’t have power to the electrical outlets to make a pot of fresh coffee. DW, however, being the rough-and-ready former Girl Scout, had brought along a couple of cups of a pre-made, microwaveable coffee product, optimistically labelled Mocha Latte. It was thick, brown, and syrupy, possibly chocolaty, with no hint of coffee flavor that I could determine. DW announced it an acceptable substitute. I did not.

I settled instead for one of those unnaturally flavored bottled waters. You know the type: they look like orange drink, taste faintly of orange, but – other than the water – have absolutely nothing natural or even organic used in it’s manufacture…

… which is more than I can say about the Mocha Latte.

Speaking of natural fluids, we had another interesting discovery at the Poor Farmer’s Campground: they specialize, it seems, in their own brand of mineral water. Unfortunately, that mineral is sulphur. We had used the campground facilities the night before, and we both thought the previous users had merely failed to flush the toilet. This morning, however, we noticed the water from the campground faucet had the same golden tinge.

It still beat the Mocha Latte.

We were in no hurry to leave, as BS’s (Beloved Son’s) cross country race didn’t begin until noon, and it was only an hour’s drive up the road. But we eventually got the GyrFalcon (and ourselves) into road-ready condition and found a scenic country route into Lima.

The race was being run at a country club on, of all things, a golf course. It was politely explained that participants were not welcome in the club area (porta-potties were provided) and all the greens had been decorated completely around the perimeter with lovely yellow stay-the-heck-off tape. Some were even decorated with pumpkins.

Despite the somewhat snooty surrondings, we had a great visit with our son. It was a fantastic day for running, and the course had only mild slopes – a wonderful opportunity for a personal best. Unfortunately, the fates are not always kind. It was a good, strong run, but no personal records were broken. The company and conversation, however, were enough to raise the spirits. I really wish we could find the time for more visits like that one.

Unfortunately, all too soon he had to catch the bus back to the university, and DW and I were left to our own resources, again.

Now, DW and I have lived in this area ninety percent of our lives, but – amazingly enough – neither one of us had ever been to Indian Lake; so we decided we’d take the back roads down to Indian Lake Campground and take a look around, to see what there is to see.

Indian Lake, for those not in the know, was a summer vacationing hotspot way back when I was young. Yes, they really did have vacations back then. There was even a song about it that made the charts for a while:

Indian Lake is the scene you should make with your little ones;

Keep it in mind if you’re looking to find a place in the summer sun…

Well, you get the idea. It was a place where thousands of people could herd together in the campgrounds, on the beach, in seasonal mobile parks … probably the reason DW and I never went there.

It’s off-season now, and I have no idea if it still gets crowded in the summer, but on this day it was still, and quiet, and colorful – absolutely wonderful! We had an entire section of the campground to ourselves. We hadn’t brought our bikes, because the forecast had been rain, but there’s wasn’t a raindrop in sight. Some very dramatic clouds, yes. Rain? No. We should have brought our bikes. But we got some excellent walking time together, and the sunlight was just at that point where everything in its rays reflected golden. Some very nice photos were taken. (Photos in side bar.)

Yes, the campground facilities were showing their age. The place would have been nicer with a bit of tender loving care. But still, some days are timeless, and no amount of repairs or fresh paint (or clean stalls) could made the day any better. After all, it’s not where you are that makes life living: it’s who you’re with. In that manner, on Saturday, October 29, was a grand day, and I felt I was the luckiest man in the world.

Synthetic orange drink, organic coffee and questionable mineral water notwithstanding.

What else needs to be said?

P.S. For those who read the Day 1 blog, who caught on to the fact I’m going to be drinking REAL coffee Sunday morning, but are puzzled because they know I can’t use the electric outlets to power the coffee maker: I ran an extension cord outside to the 20 amp service Saturday night just long enough to brew a pot of coffee. Sunday morning, 9 am, I reheated it in the microwave.

Mystery solved.

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