On my return from Prague, and after battling yet another British passport control officer who seemed to think I looked more like a representative of Al Quaida than an American woman travelling alone, I received an invite to go camping in northern England from Graham. You remember him, right? He's the guy who took me for a totally responsible ride on his Triumph a few weeks ago. Well, despite being ill, I accepted the invitation. That decided, I headed north on the train to a village called Edale. Graham picked me up on his bike at a pub nearby the train station and delivered me to the public land and working farm that would be my home for the next five days. I was already in awe of the scenery. I had no idea that such
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