Moosimin, SK.

Ehler and Manon just passed me and honked. I was 17 miles ahead of them until then. The next berg is Whitewood, I think, another 17."


Yep, this is Whitewood's welcome - impressive garden under the flags of numerous countries within these gigantic rocks.

Wapella Boxer: At Wapella, in the late afternoon, I found a shady mowed area on a side street where I lay down on my fleecy and fell asleep instantly. Hot day.
When I awoke an hour later, I decided to go through the village to look for a TD bank so cycled down the first residential street.
Suddenly, a large male boxer came rushing at me from behind a bungalow. Gave me a good chance to try out the shrill whistle that Murray gave me for protection.
I stopped short, jumped to the ground as he reached me, whistled shrilly, and decapped the bearspray.
The boxer stopped short when I did, then advanced slowly.
A couple of ten year old girls came running.
Since I didnt want to traumatize them by having their dog screaming in pain, I just waited with the spray can pointed at the dog. One of the girls pulled the dog away saying 'Be nice, Basil. Be nice.'
The way I look at it, a boxer hanging onto yer butt could be a real pain!

Isn't it great when you've cycled and cycled your little heart out on the southern prairies, you're waiting for your first glimpse of the next town, and then you top the next hill to see ahead of you the grain elevator towering high above the town in front of you.
It can't be more than a mile away.
Right?
Wrong!
It's four, five, six, or maybe even still another 10 miles (not kilometres) down the highway.
Man! It's simply not fair.

One thing I meant to mention is that years ago I used to watch PBS lectures by Leo Bascallia.
He suggested then that you smile, talk to people, join them when you can.
When I first got to Moosimin to a restaurant, an older gentleman (81) just getting out of his car had a few nice words to say, and I followed him into the inn.
A few minutes later, I notice he was sitting by himself, so I asked him if he would like company. Bill said yes. His wife had died of cancer only 3 months earlier, and we chatted all through the meal. When he was younger, he used to farm in Wapella. Now his son has the farm.

Outside afterward, at my bike , before the storm chase, I met Maxime and her daughter, Emily. Maxime mentioned that they both knew Bill, and had both lost their husbands, also, to cancer. Maxime's husband had died only a month ago. Both men were formerly farmers, too.
Emily's brother, Maxime's son, was also dying of cancer a few yrs. back. His wife bolted him into his room one day, and wouldn't open to door. Five days later he died. He had a sink in there from which he was able to get sips of water in the cup of his hand. Very sad story.
The wife didn't do jail time but died 2 yrs. later of bone cancer. Maxime says what goes around, comes around. So much cancer here although the brother and wife lived in Brandon, about l44 km away. So sad. Maxime now has his poodle.
It was a sad story, but I was so astounded by the number of cancer deaths in the area. Sure makes one wonder about the chemicals that farmers work with.
Wouldn't it be sweet if Bill and Maxime became close friends now.
As I was cycling later, I imagined Emily making the two of them a nice patio lunch, hamburger soup like Bill said his mother used to make, and BLT's.
Left late today. Had to dry out after the rain."

When I stopped for dinner, the weather was sunny and hot.
After dinner, I rode west a bit, back up the road towards a campground, and ran into rain. It soaked my clothes, of course, and I forgot about the 2 blankets on the top of my tent.
I turned around and went back to the motel - no room at that inn, nor the other 3 across the street. Remember, this is one of the 4 best tourist weeks of the summer, and anyone wanting a room stops at 4 pm to procure one.
The rain had stopped but the sky was black and streaky to the west very close.
Like a rabbit, I cycled to the east end of town thinking to go on to the next town 10 miles down the TransCanadaHwy.
There I realized I couldn't possibly outrun the storm so headed back west toward the campground. It was 3 km. away. I was so tired I couldn't go fast, but somehow I made it before the storm. The best camp so far. Private, and lovely, similar to an Ontario prov. park. Stone buildings made with the round colourful large stones such as Milt McRae used in Stony Lake for his castle. The fellow in the office said that Sask. storms often swirl around back and forth and often don't even reach you, and so far this one hadn't hit.
I was put in a spot a distance away from the office, but somehow managed, with prayer and extra effort, to get the tent up, and all the stuff thrown inside before the thunder, rain, and lightning actually came. The storm had stayed just a few hundred feet to the west until I crawled in - snug as a bug, or more like a turtle in the safety of its own little shell.