I really should learn to take this stretch of trail a bit more carefully. The one that runs precariously alongside the edge of a lake, dipping and getting muddier right at the point when it’s easiest to gently stumble into the water if you’re not paying enough attention. The one which seems the only passable route around a mountain to the final cabin I’ve yet to visit in this autumnal stretch of Canadian backwoods. I really should be more careful, I lament as my Land Rover sits uselessly slumped on its side under the waves, its engine having drowned a good five minutes ago.
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