Trafika Europe 3 - Latvian Sojourn

burning, my socks are twisting around my shins. My gait is aggressive, ugly, but I keep an enviable distance – see ya’ later, sucker! – and he turns off, as if he’d been planning to go that way all along, to avoid defeat. Because he can’t pass me. Now that I’ve gone into sprint mode, there’s no turning back. Full speed ahead. Sweat pours down, gluing my eyelids shut, drenching my eyebrows – I can’t see and have no idea where I’m going, but the running continues, I run and run.

>>>

From control point CP-9 to control point CP-8

I had this dream with my eyes wide open: wilderness orientation.

Pioneer camp. A Spec Ops orienteering race through the woods, the thick grass in the rain. Xenon, the camp dog, a big, black German shepherd, zigzags left and right, but – thanks to his border guard genes – doesn't bark.

We run around using compasses to search for invisible lines, azimuths, hidden among the trees. Once we guess the

133