Pushing my bike into motion on the gravel roads this morning took a force of will.  It was raining, and the soft loose gravel was even less appealing wet than it was yesterday.  I had said no when the woman serving me breakfast had offered to drive me to the nearest town to get past the gravel roads.  Once again, Latvians prove to be the nicest people on earth — this is one of the few  times I’ve encountered when someone offering to help me while cycling actually suggests something useful to a cyclist’s logic.  I toyed with the idea, but my completist self prevailed.  Unlike guided trips, I’d planned this one with no transfers after the train to Sigulda.  And I was going to do it.

Anda had made me a vast breakfast, and I tucked away a cheese sandwich in my pocket. Something told me it might be…