Divide and Conquer

Posted on August 10, 2019 by Molly

Compromise isn’t always the answer. In the interest of marital harmony, there are times when doing your own thing is the best route to take. This was one of them.

The tour itinerary offered three options for the day. 1) Cycle from Sortland to Storvagan, a distance of 83 kilometers. 2) Add a detour to skirt the northwestern edge of the island, adding 46k. 3) Cycle 28k to Stokmarknes and take the Hurtigruten ferry to Svolvær, then cycle 7k to reach Storvagan.

Anyone who knows me, can easily predict my preference. Being a purist, I wanted to stay on my bicycle, not a ferry. And I hankered to do the full 129k. Still nursing his sore ribs from a tumble early in the trip, Rich sensibly opted for the ferry. I agreed with his choice, I just didn’t want it for myself.

Rich was opposed to me cycling alone. We had limited means of contacting one another, and my mechanical skills with a bicycle are woefully lacking. He had a point. Roadblock.

Salvation came with breakfast. We shared our respective plans for the day with Hector and Alexi, the other couple on our tour while scooping up meusli and slicing fresh warm bread. “We’re going to do the full route with the detour,” they told me. My mind raced and my heart leapt. “Would you mind if I cycled with you?” I asked, holding my breath.

What else could they say? “Not at all,” they replied. And I already knew Hector was capable of changing a flat tire. With a grin on my face and Rich’s support, I rushed to get ready for the longer journey.

Rich and I left together, enjoying the tailwind and waterside route. When I split off with Hector and Alexi, it became a mad dash to catch the short ferry we needed to the next island. We arrived with just five minutes to spare, granting us more time to For our extended route.

Our scenic detour began directly on the other end of the ferry. Instead of the busy main road, we took a small local lane that clung to the water’s edge. It drew us out to the open sea then circled back inland around the perimeter of a fjord. Then repeated the routine. The temperature swung with our location, hot and sunny inland, brisk and cool in the ocean winds.

The whole tenor of the day changed on that road. “We like to stop and take lots of pictures, and see things,” Alexi warned me. They also drifted apart then reconnected as interests and paces dictated. I took their lead and relished the freedom to savor the silence of the countryside, the majesty of the mountains towering over me. Hurry didn’t apply here.

Mid afternoon we cycled out to a small fishing village just off our route. Eating the sandwiches we’d made from the breakfast buffet (standard practice for this tour) on the edge of the harbor, we spied a local coffee shop. It called to us, and we lingered over lattes and cappuccinos and shared a decadent slice of chocolate torte. The sun beat down on our sheltered picnic table, rare warmth on this trip.

Turning inland to complete our detour, we found ourselves surrounded by mountains. Nothing but towering peaks in all directions. I realized they hadn’t given us the elevation profile for this detour, and a niggling feeling invaded my serenity. At first, we followed a fjord, which kept us on the flat. I couldn’t see any kind of mountain pass or road carved into the soaring hillsides. I cycled on, marveling at our lack of altitude gain. So far.

Nature came to our rescue. One fjord ended next to a lake, followed by another lake. Then a fjord originating from the other side. We slid right between all those peaks over delightful rolling hills and smooth pavement that delivered us all the way out to the main road.

Afternoon was waning by the time we approached Svolvær, and we could see the enormous Hurtigruten ship heading for port. Racing it to the terminal, we arrived just as it reached the dock and delivered Rich with his bicycle.

“We went right into the Troll Fjord and spun around in that narrow space!” he reported. I responded with enthusiastic praise for cycling the opposite coast. The seven kilometers to our hotel passed quickly under our tires and we gushed about our respective experiences over a late dinner.

The energy of that evening was as palpable as the tension in the morning. It was the right thing to do. To divide and conquer, reuniting refreshed and fulfilled.

Tunnel Etiquette

Posted on August 6, 2019 by Molly

We interrupt this bike trip to bring you… another tunnel. We’ve cycled through far more long tunnels in three days than we have in all our years of bike touring. Yesterday alone we cycled more than 5 kilometers underground. But it’s a welcome disruption, given the alternative! And we’ve mastered the art of navigating these dark caverns.

First – turn on blinky lights. I have them on my bike, front and rear. And atop my helmet.

Second – Replace sunglasses with regular clear glasses.

Third – Put on headlamp. Oops, I forgot to put it in my panniers…

Fourth – Hit the button to illuminate the sign. “Cyclists in Tunnel”

Fifth – Start pedaling and hope for low traffic. Watch out for the pillars that often mark the edge of the road.

Not all tunnels are created equal. Some are wide, well lit and have good pavement. Others not so much. One tunnel started out fairly bright but degraded to near darkness in the middle. This one was a lot darker than it appears, due to Rich’s flash. But you get the idea.

Our longest tunnel was 2.2k long. One was a constant incline for 1.2k. Anther was downhill all the way. But seeing the light at the end of the tunnel is always a relief!

When there is no sign to warn motorists of our presence, they provide reflector vests for cyclists. There is a receptacle that looks like a post box at each end of the tunnel, to pick up and return the vests. The size XL swamps my body but I wear it anyway. I have a vested interest in staying alive.

Although the whole purpose of tunnels is to avoid going over the mountain pass, it often requires a decent climb, perhaps even involving switchbacks, to reach the entrance. But the payoff is in the views en route. After a grueling ascent, we reached this unique roadside viewpoint, with a 44-meter long curvy platform for ogling the fjord down below. we weren’t the only cyclists stopping there for the view. And the rest.

Not all scenery involves tunnels. I rather enjoyed scrambling over the rocks to get closer to the Devil’s Teeth.

Today we did the unthinkable. We skipped a tunnel and a bridge in favor of the old road over the pass and around the fjord. Even Rich agreed it was well worth the extra effort.

Next time we’re likely to return to our senses and mind our manners, as we pedal through the tunnel.

Reflections atop a fjord

Posted on August 4, 2019 by Molly

My back toasts in the sun while the ocean breeze cools my face and hands. I sit on a high rocky outcropping, the surrounding hillside covered with scrub grass. Across the way craggy peaks line the fjord for its full length. I know because we cycled its length today, following their majesty shrouded by local clouds. Their sheer sides are carved with narrow vertical crevices resembling dry waterfalls, likely the remnants of ancient glaciers.

Far below, the deep blue waters of the fjord ripple and a small fishing boat races for port leaving behind an ephemeral jet stream. His home is the same as mine tonight. A small fishing village nestled on a bay near the mouth of the fjord. The buildings hug the shoreline, hemmed in by another mountain range behind.

I set out to walk the breakwater, but got diverted. The notice board showed a map of local hikes. The words Peak and View attracted my attention. It was an short easy climb to the top of this rise. And it just invited a stay. For no reason other than to breathe deeply. Reflect. Ponder the beauty.

I hear water falling. The afternoon shadows on the mountainside behind me hide the stream tumbling in a narrow column to the seas below. Soothing. Like the wafts of thin grass bowing to the wind before me.

There is a lot more to bike touring than cycling. This tour in particular has a slower pace. Fewer miles, less time on the bikes. More opportunity to be spontaneous. To follow a sign. Sit high on a peak towering over a Norwegian fjord. To be grateful for the day’s memories.

Waiting for the morning ferry

Rich cycling up another mountain pass

Navigating four tunnels

A picnic lunch by the fjord

Passing through a colorful town

Arctic Perfection

Posted on August 3, 2019 by Molly

Anticipation is half the fun of taking a vacation. And in dreaming about that upcoming adventure everything is always perfect. The weather, the activities, the food and lodging, the scenery. When bike touring, throw in good roads, little traffic, easy navigation and smooth riding. Today, day one of cycling in Norway, was all of that and more.

Our route took us 62 kilometers from Tromsø to the far outer edge of that region of Arctic islands. Starting off with 22k on a wide bike trail was an unexpected bonus, and a nice way to ease into the ride. That was followed by roads that got narrower the further afield we got, yet cars always made room for us. I couldn’t help but wonder how they could have such good pavement when they have brutal winters like ours.

Most of our biking followed water. First we skirted the outer edges of the islands as we moved from one to another. As long as we were next to the water, it was easy flat riding. Yet we had plenty of mountains to ogle in the distance.

Moving inland, we had a steep climb to get up into a mountain valley. Just like Duluth, as soon as we left the water it got warm! Traveling down the valley the rocky outcroppings were dotted with pools of leftover snow and ice.

At the end of our descent at the far end, we met Nordfjorden. We cycled right on the edge of this fjord where a narrow band of azure blue water followed the shoreline. My favorite part was going all the way down one side and back on the other around a narrow inlet lined with houses and boats bobbing in the water. The tidy colorful houses with steep roofs epitomized my expectations of a Norwegian scene. Even the lawn ornaments complied.

That let to wider sections that eventually opened out to the open sea. The stiff ocean breezes were chilly but invigorating!

Our final stretch took us out to a small island facing the sea. More azure water greeted us in the sheltered areas, along with sandy beaches. It seemed a study in contrasts.

Reaching our lodgings on a quiet cove while still under clear blue skies clinched it. Cycling in Norway was all I’d envisioned it to be. And then some. No matter how the rest of the tour goes, the first day attained perfection.

A Dramatic Departure

Posted on July 23, 2019 by Molly

Norway, here we come! Our next cycling tour adventure will take us above the Arctic Circle through the coastal islands of northern Norway. We’re calling this one the Arctic Islands Cycling Tour. But the destination is not the only unique aspect of this tour.

First, we are traveling in prime tourist season. In the Arctic, there is a limited window between snow melt and the onset of winter. If we wanted to see the beauty of this land, it had to be in July or August.

Next we discovered that the rest of the world wants to be there at the same time for the same reason, and accommodations are scarce.

It was time to call in the experts. For the first time in our cycle touring history we are handing the reins over to someone else. Rather than traveling as a self-supported duo, we booked two back-to-back cycling tours with Discover-Norway.

The appeal of these tours is that they are self-guided. Each day we will be handed our itinerary and we are on our own to make our way to the evening’s lodgings. Most of our meals are included. Oh, and our bags will be there waiting for us when we arrive. We only need carry extra clothing layers and the day’s supplies in our panniers. Sweet!

Speaking of bikes, they are providing those as well. After some minor trauma taking our own bikes to Scotland, we opted to rent bikes for this trip – one small, one large. Heck, we even bought off-the-shelf Norway cycling jerseys instead of designing our own.

I have no idea who our fellow cyclists will be, or even how many of them we’ll have. But I rather like the idea of swapping stories with them at the end of each day.

Perhaps the biggest adjustment for me will be adapting to the pace of this tour. I have to get into my vacation mode. My sightseeing and stop to smell the flowers mindset. Our daily mileages range from a measly 10 miles to 37 miles. This isn’t about racking up the distances, it’s about taking in the scenery and experiencing life on these coastal islands. I’m expecting the views to work their magic on me.

All this takes place above the Arctic Circle. We start in Tromso and work our way out to the barrier islands, using ferries where necessary. The Arctic Coast Tour tour lasts eight days, taking us to Svolvaer. From there we immediately join the Lofoten Islands Tour for another six days. That takes us down to the very tip of that archipelago, where we ferry to Bodo on the mainland.

For the next four days, we have added two out-and-back side trips on our own – mini adventures more in our usual style of cycle touring. Just to remind us what it’s like. And believe me, Rich booked those lodgings months ago.

Our finale will be hopping aboard the Hurtigruten Ferry, a near-cruise-ship vessel that hugs the coastline. After four days of close-up shoreline views it will deliver us to Kirkenes, just miles from the border with Russia. The end of the line for the ship. A dramatic ending to our tour.

Wrangling the Cattle Grates

Posted on March 30, 2019 by Molly

The motions were familiar. Clad in spandex and strapping on my helmet, I clipped in and pedaled down the driveway. Heading out of town to explore the countryside. That’s where the familiarity ended.

We had planted ourselves in the heart of the Texas Hill Country, where spring was a real season. The sun radiated warmth and wildflowers bloomed in abundance, unlike the cold snow melt weather back home. Here the countryside held the promise of carefree cycling.

I had already done my homework. A visit to Bicycle Works, the local bike shop, yielded the friendly advice I expected. The woman behind the counter stopped working on the bicycle she had up on a stand to fill me in on the local routes. Tracing the colored lines on the maps that they produce, she narrated each option. It didn’t take me long to note that the routes varied in length from 30 to 100 miles. This is serious cycling territory.

The town environs of Fredericksburg rapidly dissolved into wide open spaces. I followed mile after mile of quiet farm roads, flanked by ranches large and small. Sprawling affluent homes shared borders with tin roofed shacks. Chickens roamed the yards, fluffy lambs with jet black faces stared at me and goats remained intent on grazing. Big cows dominated the scene, including the iconic longhorn cattle.

Each time I turned down a new lane, that little nagging thought wiggled into my brain. I sure hope it’s not a dirt road… But I needn’t have worried – every road in the county is paved! But they do come with a hazard. While the roads were in remarkably good condition, they were frequently sliced by tubular metal grates that rumbled and shook my entire being as I passed over them. Timid at first, I crossed the cattle grates slowly, hesitantly. But with practice came confidence, if not full speed. They also came with a warning: “Loose Livestock” Sure enough, I passed directly between Bessie #73 and her cousin #99 grazing on opposite edges of the road.

It wouldn’t be the hill country without a heavy dose of climbing. Roads ranged from long straight stretches to twisty windy curves, and all kept me pumping up and gliding down the hills. Frequent stream beds introduced spillways for flood season. For now they were all dry, but each involved a steep dip followed by a climb. It’s not a coincidence that I saved these routes for solo rides.

In contrast, Rich had a knack for mapping out routes with a purpose. Our first took us out to a local winery, where we were careful to limit our sampling to ensure a safe return ride.

Luckenbach was our next destination, visiting on a quiet morning to take in the musical venue.

Ranging further afield, he devised a bike ride east of town. It took us through the tiny enclave of Albert, where the Dance Hall appeared to be very active, flanked by a BBQ Pit, an Icehouse and an historic school. It made us wish we could return on a lively evening to see it all in swing. On the final stretch, we cycled Ranch Road #1 right through the LBJ State Park and across the river from the LBJ Ranch.

In nearly two weeks, my bicycle and I covered a lot of ground. By then ranch country became a lot more familiar. Even the cattle grates.

Bluebonnet Bounty

Posted on March 26, 2019 by Molly

When you’ve seen the best, how can it possibly get any better? That’s what we thought when we heard that this year the Texas Bluebonnets were a bumper crop – the best in 10 years. We found it hard to believe that they could beat the ubiquitous blue carpet we saw back in 2015.

If the roadsides were any indication, our skepticism was well founded. We didn’t see the same dense pack of spiky blue blooms lining the roadways. Patches here and there, yes, and occasional islands of color. But still not up to par.

So we set out to cycle the Willow City Loop. This 13-mile winding country road is the epitome for bluebonnet viewing. Cars inch along as passengers ogle the flowers. Everyone ignores the “No Stopping” sign, pulling off when they can to take pictures. Grownups hunker down into the flowers, posting for the camera. Propriety is tossed aside in the presence of the state flower of Texas.

With the benefit of a car this time, we parked at one end of the loop and doubled our pleasure with an out-and-back ride. Starting shortly after sunrise in the crisp cool air, the low angle of the sun’s rays cast a golden glow. We were alone on the road at that hour, well ahead of the traffic yet to come.

Relishing the silence, we also reveled in the pace and flexibility of our bikes. We lingered and took it all in as we passed in slow motion. Stopping was as easy as parking our bikes, allowing plenty of angles for photographer Rich, and even a few cheesy poses of our own.

As the miles went on, so did the bluebonnets. Deep into the fields. Crowding the roadsides. Encircling the prickly pear cacti. Swarming under fences. Whole hillsides of them. The scene began to match the one we held in such esteem. Yes, we ultimately agreed, this could be just as good. Maybe even better. Photos tell it best.

After 26-miles, it really didn’t matter. We knew we’d seen a bounty of bluebonnets. That was good enough for us.

Tetons’ Triumph

Posted on October 1, 2018 by Molly

It’s not fair to play favorites. But I have to say that the Grand Tetons topped Yellowstone this time around. However, it wasn’t a level playing field.

While we were enamored with Yellowstone’s rich offerings, we were constantly on the go, traveling from place to place in order to see it all. We walked miles of boardwalks built to protect nature’s attractions and accommodate the large volume of visitors. We followed signs to scenic overlooks and followed well-worn paths. Throughout it all, we attempted to curtail our activities so as not to worsen Rich’s ill health. But we failed. His misery deepened as he spiraled down with pneumonia. Clearly our experience was tainted. I stopped myself short of buying a coffee mug, my favorite souvenir, emblazoned with a bear and the words Yellowstone National Park. I couldn’t bring myself to burden Rich with bad karma each time he opened the cupboard.

In contrast, the Grand Tetons offered a respite. Through sheer luck, we secured four nights in Jackson Lake Lodge. The grand lobby with soaring windows overlooking the rocky mountain peaks and Jackson Lake offered daylong access to cushy couches and chairs for relaxing and absorbing the view. A coffee bar, restaurants and a bar/lounge were within mere steps. Knowing Rich’s condition, the staff ensured that our room was just a short distance away. It felt like a haven in the wilderness.

But the real benefit was the nature of the park. The mountains, the lakes and the wildlife were the draw. The natural beauty to behold. There were no must-do sights compelling a visit. We could do as little (Rich) or as much (Molly) as we pleased. We had a central base from which we could explore, either together or separately.

Hiking alone is a consideration in bear country, so I limited myself to safer routes – still accompanied by bear spray. Taking the trail to Grand View Point afforded me views in two directions, out over Jackson Lake and the Tetons and overlooking Two Ocean Lake with forested crests on the other side.

Naturally, Rich ventured out in search of birds and wildlife. I accompanied him to the Willow-Moose Road, where we found a pair of moose. We watched the bull for close to an hour, as he kept tabs on his cow moose. He was an expert at camouflaging himself behind bushes or branches that obscured our view, but we persevered and enjoyed the show. Oxbow Bend was another favorite, just a couple miles down the road from the lodge. Fall colors were in full display against the backdrop of the Tetons, and it held the promise of bird and wildlife viewing.

We found the Grand Tetons to be far more bicycle friendly than Yellowstone. The 20-mile long multi-use paved trail attracted my attention. I had my heart set on cycling it the full distance from Jenny Lake to Jackson and back again. Although it parallels the highway, I relished the safety of the path and the constant companionship of the mountains that flanked the route. I even experienced a cycling wildlife jam, when motorists stopped and flooded the path to photograph a herd of elk at close range.

Rich tested his mettle on the Jenny Lake Scenic Drive, a short one-way road with a bicycle lane. We cycled up and back, marveling at the blue-green waters of Jenny Lake. The sun dappled route on a warm afternoon was good medicine for both of us.

Some of the park roads had good wide shoulders, allowing us to cycle right from the lodge. A trip to the Colter Bay picnic area brought us right down to the lake and a rock beach. I ventured a little further to reach the National Park Service and University of Wyoming Research Station, a peaceful perch on the lake.

The Tetons afforded us a more relaxed pace and the ability to make plans at will. And a chance for Rich to recuperate. Even just hovering around the lodge environs was a treat. It’s not often we splurged like this. It was worth savoring. And I bought my souvenir mug. It says Grand Tetons National Park and has a moose on it.

A Fitting Memorial Day

Posted on May 28, 2018 by Molly

It is far too easy to treat the day as just another holiday. Spring’s long weekend. The traditional date that signals the start of summer. A sign that school is about to let out. I am guilty on all accounts. Not having family members who were lost in our country’s wars, I have no personal remembrances to honor.

By all appearances, this Memorial Day would follow suit. It was cabin opening weekend, and I alternated play with spring chores at our treasured retreat on the lake. For Memorial Day, Rich and I planned an early morning bike ride.

Up before dawn, we were treated to a beautiful red sunrise reflecting in the calm waters of the lake. It was still shady and cool when we started our ride, with high hopes that the early hour would yield some wildlife sightings (me) or birds (Rich). We saw neither but were privy to the woods awakening, streams calmly wandering and copious bird chatter. A rendezvous with friends at the Effie Cafe for breakfast allowed us to catch up, share some camaraderie, and to investigate their new e-bikes.

Whittling down the miles back to our car, we spotted a congregation of cars parked up ahead on the quiet farm road. At Fredheim Lutheran Church, American Legion members from Effie along with family and community members were gathered for a Memorial Day service. In the warm summer air and sunshine, we passed by. Then thought, why not? Returning to the site, we parked our bikes and were heartily welcomed by the assembled folk. The 1907 church – the first in the Bigfork Valley – felt like a most appropriate backdrop for this occasion.

“See the woman with the color guard?” a bystander asked. “She’s 95 and served in the Marines.” I looked on with awe. “She’s still the organist at our church.” I was humbled.Seven men in uniform lined up with their rifles. Amidst instructions from their leader and some good natured banter they practiced their moves. What they lacked in precision they more than made up in earnestness.

The ceremony was short, to the point and moving. From the Pledge of Allegiance to the strains of the National Anthem, it was the intimacy of the gathering that made it poignant. The message delivered by one of the veterans was simple yet brought the message home. He challenged one and all to live our beliefs, starting that very day.

As the final shots of the 21 gun salute echoed into silence, I couldn’t help but think long and hard about the names that were read and what they had sacrificed. I felt grateful for what they had given for our freedom. And thankful that we had stumbled on this ceremony.

It wasn’t just another holiday after all. It was a most fitting Memorial Day. For a change.

Be Prepared

Posted on May 4, 2018 by Molly

What’s good advice for Boy Scouts also applies to bicycle touring. Our preference for rural roads and small towns means that bike shops are in short supply. We have to be self-reliant when it comes to repairs. The key word here is “we.”

I travel with my mechanic. As much as I yearn to be able to do it myself, just watching Rich strain to stretch a tire over a new tube – especially if it is an unyielding new tire – I doubt I would ever have enough strength. I have watched the process numerous times, even practiced the steps on my own under watchful eyes. But I lack the confidence to believe I could accomplish it alone on the roadside.

Four times in three consecutive days Rich had the opportunity to demonstrate his repair prowess on our Two Timing Texas Cycling Tour. Despite cycling on flat-resistant tires, road debris found its way through this armor to puncture his inner tubes. Between that and defective tubes, our inventory of spare tubes dwindled from six to two, and our single spare tire was put into service. My sole contribution to the repairs was to hold tools and hold my tongue. If you can’t be useful, advice under stress is generally not appreciated. By the third unwelcome stop, I knew enough to cease taking pictures of the repair process as well.

Rich flat tire 1 Rich flat tire 2

Surprisingly, Walmart carried an off brand of our specific inner tubes. Depleting their stock boosted our comfort level for the next six days until we could properly restock both tubes and tire in a proper bike shop, 276 miles later.

Between us, we carry an array of bike tools to address other mechanical issues. Rarely have we needed them, but when my gear shift cable broke, those tools earned their extra weight. And Rich came to the rescue again.

I recently added a new apparatus of my own, which I finally mastered on this trip. Rich convinced me to upgrade to a bike with disc brakes last year. This was actually a preventive maintenance move, as my traditional brake pads had been plagued by issues in the past. In his mind, the investment was easily justified by the greater reliability of the new braking apparatus. In other words, less wear and tear on him and fewer complaints on my part. Who was I to argue?

Loving my Specialized Vita Comp bike, I chose the exact same model for its replacement. By then, it was only available in a carbon fiber frame. It took only one ride on my new steed to discover an immediate deficiency. The purists of cycling frown on kick stands, and this bike intentionally lacks the framework for installing one. I knew this fact, but completely underestimated the impact of this loss. We stop frequently on roadsides, linger to take pictures, rest in the grass, pause to add or subtract layers of clothing. These places provide no structure on which I can rest my fully loaded bike. It sounds trivial. It is not. At least to me.

Enter the Click-Stand. After much research online and rejecting other contraptions, I settled on this simple device. Made to order from a one-man operation, it is an ingenious solution. Operating like a tent pole, it self-assembles in seconds with a cradle that easily rests underneath the frame to hold up the bike. The other essential component is an elastic band that engages one of the brakes to hold the bike still. Voila! Almost. On this tour I discovered one tweak that clinched it. Finding that the cradle tended to slip, I placed it behind my seat where it holds securely. Almost as good as a kick stand.

Click stand holding bike Brake bands

We never did need those 10 extra inner tubes. The rash of flats subsided after the first week. But we were covered. Just as the electrical tape came in handy when my fender broke. I undertook that fix in a hurry, just to silence the incessant rattle.

I have to admit we have been incredibly lucky on our tours, avoiding fatal breakdowns. But in large part it comes from having one handy husband. And being prepared.

Superior Footprints

Life and the Outdoors in the Northland

Tag Archives: Cycling

Divide and Conquer

Tunnel Etiquette

Reflections atop a fjord

Arctic Perfection

A Dramatic Departure

Wrangling the Cattle Grates

Bluebonnet Bounty

Tetons’ Triumph

A Fitting Memorial Day

Be Prepared

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