I am sill scratching the 8452 mosquito bites that I collected on Sunday. The fiance and I woke up and decided to load up the mountain bikes and head out to Kettle Moraine for the day. Fun! Until we tried to load up the bikes. S looks at me and says, “Didn’t we lock up the bike rack in the garage?” (We live in an apartment building with a communal garage) Me – “I don’t know, did you?” Him – “I think so. But I don’t know where the key is.” The ripping apart of junk drawers ensued. No key. We had no choice but to cut through the cable with a dinky little wire cutter (surprizingly easy, and a good advertisment for the U-lock). So a couple hours behind schedule, we were off. We made the 45 min drive to the Southern Kettles and suited up. I lead us to what I believe to be the easiest trail as a “warm-up.” I quickly realize we are not on the easy trail. After almost taking myself out on a large rock while peddaling uphill on a narrow trail, we stop to rest. This is when we are attacked from all angles. I have never witnessed so many mosquitos in my life. I am flailing all over the place and smacking myself to no end. They are covering my legs. My arms. My neck. My ears. They are relentless. “We need to keep moving.” I said it as if we were being tracked by a mountain lion or a sniper. Or a squirrel. We slowly made our way though the rest of the loop (again, not the easy trail) and back to the parking lot. S says “I want to come out and do this a lot more next year.” I will be stocking up on bug spray.