The Spoked Traveller | Cause you…ski ski ski
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Cause you…ski ski ski

Cause you…ski ski ski

Cause you, love love love. When you know I can’t love. You love, love, love. When you know I can’t love. You love, love, love. When you know I can’t love.

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I listened to Iceland’s Of Monsters and Men while skiing today–a raspy foreign whisper and church bells felt like the soundtrack to the fjords, the black blue ocean, tall pines dipped in snow and cold air that stung my cheeks.

There’s an old voice in my head that’s holding me back…well, tell her I miss our little talks.

The parking lot was full at 10:30am on a Tuesday.

We climbed to the intersection where we had lunch the first day and got stuck the following day; this time a woman came up and over the crest with two duck tolling retrievers on leads, one on each side. I let out some ridiculous coos: “Oh babies… look at you!” She laughed and kept going, her companions dutifully trotting beside. Amazing. It made my heart full to see this.

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And you, love love love. When I can’t give love

Bjornar tried giving me some skiing tips; it’s amazing how inefficient you can move without even realizing it. Step down on the arch of your foot and then don’t let your leg over go past 90 degrees; any more extension and you’re not able to properly push off.  The other thing I learned last year: dig your pole into the ground perpendicular; again, same principle: too forward or back and you’re not getting any leverage.

I’ll be here to hold your hand… lionheart….lionheart…lionheart

After about seven kilometers of rolling hills, we stopped into the lodge for hot chocolate. A Hansel and Gretel style log cabin in the woods, Elgsethytta was built in 1959 and overlooks the Trondheim fjord. A Christmas tree in the middle and a fireplace warmed up a hodge podge of skiers: a man in the corner was alone intently reading his book; two women were chatting and throwing back their heads in laughter, as you do with best girlfriends, while three teenagers joked around jabbing each other in the ribs and an old man looked out a window.

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Tucking my poles most of the way back down the hill, I couldn’t wait to rest. Sore hip flexors, numb fingers and raveous—all the tell-tale signs of a good ski day.  

 

 

Once there was an animal; it had a son that mowed the lawn, the son was an ok guy. 

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