Suggestion : Print this out in draft form, on scrap paper, and use it for some bedtime, bathroom or weekend reading. Our journals are more like a chapter of a book and this is 10 pages so enjoy!
Photos: Special thanks to Panasonic for the camera equipment and Shutterfly for photo hosting. Check the link at:
Growing with Zambia
Growing in Zambia
Greetings from Kisumu, Kenya where my mother Carol (aka Mamacita) and I are rockin the west and heading to Uganda. I’ve been super busy with filming the expedition and music but will finally catch up one day with my newsletters one day!
So for those of you who read my tales of struggle and adventure in Zimbabwe will be kept on your toes in Zambia as it was also a tough yet rewarding country for me as well. Zambia, as the title of this newsletter suggests, is a country that has a lot of growing up to do in many ways. But this fact was also a catalyst to some amazing personal growth for myself, namely on the topic of tolerance and acceptance.
When I crossed the border I made every possible effort to take with me the fond memories of Zimbabwe and leave behind the unpleasant ones. I kept an open mind, ignored the warnings of uneducated and inexperienced travelers, and crossed the border in the late afternoon with my close Zimbabwean buddy Lance for a quick ride to Livingston.
After crossing the bridge border and getting a pleasant soaking from Victoria Falls we were soon pedaling in peace with deep conversations flowing and kilometers clicking away on the flat, scenic terrain. Fat Bilbob trees and wild African landscape blended with a perfect temperature as the sun began to add to the magic. We arrived at Jolly Boys Backpackers in time to redeem our free meal vouchers included with the 3 day stay, which was integrated into my 25 dollar visa waiver—a bonus if you are traveling by land from Zimbabwe.
Jolly Boys gave Lance a free meal and allowed him to camp in my tent for free and we enjoyed our last night together in the peaceful town of Livingston. Lance and I built a solid friendship while I was grounded in Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe and connected in many ways, both sharing a passion for the peace, love and the arts. After Lance left I spent the next three days getting my bike and camera equipment ready for the trip, connecting with my good friends Rob and Marie, and preparing myself mentally to open myself up and trust new African strangers once again. I had been out of “Peace Pedaling Mode” for a while and in the safety of the backpackers in Victoria Fall and the thought of going out alone was honestly a bit frightening.
The day finally arrived when I was ready to begin my ride from Livingston to Lusaka, about 460KM of raw Zambia. My plan was to detour down to Kariba Lake to give out malaria meds to the lowland villages and loop backup to the capital Lusaka for some music and urban adventures. And when this day arrived, I found myself without fear and full of excitement, optimism and enthusiasm to know and seve the people of Zambia.
I pedaled off into the mid morning sunshine, lathered in sunscreen and ready for adventure. It was not long before I picked up my first guest rider Monga who was walking with a big bag full of more bags back to his house. I strapped the bag o bags onto the trailer and off we went. He spoke pretty good English and it was not long before we were chatting away and building \my first Zambian friendship from nothing but strangers passing on the road. He has a family of 4 children and a wife he adores, and is a farmer by profession. We rode for about 18KM and when I dropped him off at his turnoff he almost had tears in his eyes. I felt blessed to meet such an open and friendly man and he felt the same. I’ll be back to visit him one day no doubt.
I was off to a great start and my spirits were high. A mean afternoon headwind came rolling in but it was not long before fellow cyclists came to the rescue. They were all in a line behind me talking about the big tandem train speaking the local Bemba language. I soon motioned them to take the lead to block the wind and before I knew it my speed went from 12KM per hour way up to about 18 and I was surrounded by friendly Zambian cyclists. One by one they all went their own ways but one man Randolf stayed with me even past his house to make sure I was safe and had a wind guard. I felt protected and cared for by these total strangers who cared enough to watch over a fellow cyclist.
After Randolf went as far as he could the headwinds quickly melted my tender, out of shape legs and I knew it was time to look for shelter. Just as I had that thought I passed a brightly colored orange business on the side of the road that was too cool to pass up. I pulled in with a huge smile and was greeted with the same from a short chap named Kingsley. He was an educated man with a rich history but only 38 years young. He is the owner of this bright business that offers phone service to the local community, but it’s also an expression of his passion for making a difference in the world. We got along great from the first moments!
As I sat in the shade I shared my story and told him I was interested in staying in his village that night. He was a bit hesitant at first and told me he was afraid he would not be able to live up to my “western expectations” of a host for the night. When I told him I had my own tent and zero expectations whatsoever except to experience life as it was he relaxed and we were soon pedaling up the dirt road to his cute village. I recruited the local kids and adults to put together my 3-man Sierra Designs tent up on front of his one room shack and we were sorted!
His neighbor Limia is an excellent cook so we decided to hit the markets, buy a ton of ingredients and Limia was soon cooking up a huge meal for her family, me, Kingsley and all his neighbors as well. We ate a fabulous meal under the stars of Shima (the local Maize meal), greens and a mystery mix of what appeared to be cassava and plantains. Kingsley told me about an orphanage his mother worked at up the road and we decided on the next days plan—a visit to the orphanage followed by a 60KM ride to the next town of Kalomo.
It was a cold, wet night but I slept like a baby and woke up to a soaking tent from the nightly fog. We left the tent to dry and rode to the orphanage together where we gave rides to about 25 adorable orphans who, as always, laughed, giggled and felt special and loved from our visit. They all got Peace Pedalers bracelets and stickers and we left feeling elated from all the smiles and hugs.
The rest of the day was nothing short of amazing as we had long, soulful discussions about life, love, relationships, peace, tolerance and more. His on-camera interview was on the bike with a perfect road just before the evening rains. We ended the ride with a bright African red sunset that left our jaws hanging and smiles pumping into the evening. That night I invited him to stay with me as my guest at a roadside guesthouse and at first he was hesitant as he did not want to impose—a rare character trait of Africans in my experience. But he finally gave in and we spent the night looking at photos, grooving to music, sharing stories and building our friendship.
The next day I was sad to see Kingsley go, and he was almost crying as we hugged goodbye. As I pedaled my bike out to the road I noticed the gears were skipping and not holding in one place. Upon more inspection I realized that the hub had deteriorated from my apparent fix I did in Zimbabwe. My main mission in Zambia was to get this Malaria medication out to the Kariba Lake region so I decided to take some transport to the start of that section to make sure I could ride that section before the hub failed totally. I got a free lift from some NGO workers to the town of Choma and did my best to tighten up the hub to prepare for the journey to the lake.
My ride from Choma towards Lake Kariba is where my trip took a turn for the worst. It all started fine with a nice tail wind, flat roads and a cheery guest rider named Ndone I picked up in a tiny village outside Choma. Ndone farms his small piece of land for Maize to feed his family of 7 and was told me long tails of his struggles to get by. His clothes were tattered, torn and filthy and he was clearly malnourished. Unlike Kingsley, who was educated and raised with love, he had a tough childhood of abuse and neglect. His English was limited, but we managed to have what felt like a friendship-building chat and pedal to the turnoff road to the lake where I offered to buy him lunch and a bus ticket back to his village after our 30KM ride.
At the chaotic restaurant I offered to buy him lunch and he refused and asked if I would buy him a beer instead. I generally don’t buy people alcohol but since all the others at the restaurant seemed to be drinking their lunch with a toxic maize brew served in paper cartons like milk I decided to make an exception. I bought him one brew and I ate my standard meal of maize shima and greens.
After he finished his beer I could tell he had a small buzz going and he asked for another beer. I immediately told him no and regretted my decision to buy the first. He pleaded and begged with conviction but that only made me want to pack up and leave faster. As I walked to my bike to get ready to ride I noticed in the corner of my eye that he fled the bar quickly. When I came back I realized that he had stolen my favorite pair of cycling gloves. For the first time in 26 countries and 4 years of Peace Pedaling, somebody broke the sacred bond between me and my guest, the pilot and the stoker, the loving intention to build friendship and the acceptance from a stranger on the road. I was crushed. My idealistic vision of making it through the world without a guest being dishonest to me was destroyed. I had no idea how much this would affect me.
I immediately turned down all the offers from other potential guest riders to join me for the afternoon ride towards the lake. I pedaled off sour and bitter. As I pedaled I noticed the front derailleur was acting up again and, in my frustrated and tattered mood, I decided to stop and tighten it up. I guess I did not know my own strength and, combined with my bad mood, I violently tightened the bolt to the point that I broke then front derailleur! I was now stuck with just one choice of gear in the front range. Not good in the hilly terrain I was planning to be riding in!
I stopped in the shade to make an expensive cell phone call to my partner Garryck to tell him to have my mom get ready for an emergency shipment to Lusaka and ask for advice. Garryck is a pro mechanic and told me it was my fault this happened, and he was right. You should never force anything on the bike, and now I had to pay the price as I used duct tape and bungee cords to try to keep the front derailleur from slipping. But I carried on forward to the lake determined to help some folks during the Malaria season.
About 60KM into the ride I met a charming man named Peter who ran a tiny roadside business on an ant hill and he invited me to stay with his family for the night. Peter was a member of the Batonga tribe, which I knew I would be encountering all around Lake Kariba. This tribe used to live on the Zambezi river before the dam went in and flooded their homesteads. They now live dotted all above the relatively new Lake Kariba. We rode together to the store to stock up on some supplies for our evening meal and he gave me a bed to sleep where his kids normally sleep in the terribly smoky kitchen hut with my own baby goat to keep me company. My sour mood quickly changed and I was feeling fine and dandy once again.
I took a lovely outdoor bucket shower and ate a huge meal of Shima, Guinea Fowl eggs and greens with his beautiful family of five in their adorable mud and thatch home lit by one paraffin candle. This is my favorite part of Peace Pedaling—staying in the villages with local families and sharing a slice of life together. I slept like a baby after my huge meal but I had to create a little cage with my inflatable mattress to keep the baby goat from wanting to hop into bed with me. It was pretty classic. Great footage ;)
The next morning we chowed down the loaf of bread and drank smoky tea with the family. Peter sent me off with boiled Guinea Fowl eggs and a huge ear of boiled maize for my journey. I left Peter and his village a bunch of Malaria medication, which he was extremely grateful as malaria death in that region is amongst the highest in the country. Peter had to work that day so could not hop on the bike to take me to the lake. We hugged goodbye and off I went with the kids chasing me all the way back to the tarmac road giggling and cheering me on.
The road to Lake Kariba was truly stunning and my legs got a serious workout having just one ring to choose from due to the broken front derailleur. The scenery was truly breathtaking with endless views of rolling hills speckled with cute Batonga villages of thatch roofs, woman carrying the daily water and firewood on their heads, and men working the land. But even with the dozens of potential guest riders ripe for the picking, something kept me from stopping to invite people to come ride with me. Looking back on the experience, it is clear that the petty theft and broken trust from Ndone had left me feeling closed and colder than normal. I spent the entire morning hammering steep hills by myself but battling a desire to share this awesome cycling experience with the locals.
After my lunch of the boiled eggs and maize I decided to open myself to a guest rider and fought my fear head on. I met an old man who claimed to be 35 but was likely 65 who carried a bag of food and a huge machete. Even with the knife, I invited him to hop on and ride with me to the next town of Sinazongwe. Before we knew it we were spinning along the mostly downhill ride and hacking through a basic conversation in broken English and Batonga. He was a gentle man, now retired with 7 grown children and a young wife he said was just 30—maybe add a few years I suspect. We did not say much but I felt safe and connected, and was happy to be riding again with someone!
We finally arrived in the town before Sinazongwe and I was feeling more open and back to my normal self. I told the huge crowd surrounding my bike that I was planning to ride onwards to the lake to the town the lake and I was willing to take anyone heading that way with me. Within a few minutes I met a boy named Themba who said he was waiting for a ride in a truck to the same town and he would love to take a ride and save the bus fare. Sounded like a win-win to me. So it was business as usual out Peace Pedaling, so I thought. Little did I know next blow of trust breaking was about to happen…
Themba was a young man of 24 and he told me he wanted to go back to school again to study more as he was not able to complete his secondary school. He seems like a nice young man and I had no reason to distrust him at the time. The final kilometers to the lake were extremely hot and dusty, with temperatures close to 40 degrees and we both had to dig deep when the final steep, rutted roads appeared as we grew closer to the lake.
When we finally arrived at the lake I noticed a business called “The Houseboat Company” to my right and recalled one of the owners of the backpackers in Livingston recommending I pay the owners Wayne and Lucy a visit. By the time I was lakeside I was totally exhausted, dehydrated and boiling hot. I knocked on the gate and soon the owner Wayne came out smiling ear to ear and invited me in to escape the heat. I told my guest rider Themba that this was the end of the line and offered to buy him a meal that night at a local restaurant to reconnect after I showered and cooled down. But this is where it gets a bit sad…
Turns out Themba was less than honest with me when he accepted the ride to the lake. He said he was heading my way back in the beginning. But now he began an elaborate story how he “just wanted to help me get there safely” and he actually lived 60 kilometers away and needed 10 US dollars for multiple forms of transport to get back home. Just when I was starting to trust again, this guy comes in for a blow of totally deceit and it was totally clear to Wayne and I that he was full of you know what, dishing out lie after lie.
I told him I did not appreciate this nonsense and sent him on his way. I hung my head low and hit the shower feeling bummed once again. Luckily, Wayne and Lucy were two of the most amazing, giving, hospitable people I’ve ever met and they helped me get over my sulking with fun conversations on their balcony. I told them my story of Ndone the glove stealer and now this guy who flat out lied to me right to my face after our ride together. They were compassionate, but soon assured me that they too were struggling with the dishonesty and disseat in the Zambian locals and urged me to try to shake it off. On top of this, the next morning when I was taking a walk with Lucy, Themba started stalking us and giving more and more lies about this, that and the other. It was depressing.
The last thing I felt like doing was remounting my bike that day and battling the heat and broken bike after this double dose of deceit. Luckily, Wayne and Lucy had their deluxe houseboat booked for 16 travelers coming in from Malawi for a 2 night, 3 day houseboat trip and offered me a free room on the boat to give me some time to recharge and lick the wounds a bit. Bonus! Turns out this overland truck was filled with joyous travelers celebrating their last big party together and I spent three glorious days diving off the houseboat, fishing, checking out wildlife, lying in the hammock and dancing with genuine, fun travelers from around the world who I could trust. This houseboat is truly amazing, by the way. If you ever want a special adventure on Lake Kariba, check out www.thehouseboatcompany.com and chat with Wayne or Lucy.
After the 3 days off I was ready to continue my journey. But I was told that the original road I was going to take on the lake was nothing more than a rocky, hilly trail with several deep river crossings. With my bike in the current state and the heavy load of my gear Wayne suggested I stick to the paved road to Lusaka and, since he was heading up there anyhow in his truck, he gave me a nice lift back up the hill. Double Bonus!
With butterflies in my stomach I packed up my bike with Wayne at the corner of the main road just a few meters from the scene of my first theft and bid farewell to my new friend. I invited a man with a broom making business to come aboard as the rain began to fall but he asked me how much I was going to pay him so I quickly canceled it and rode away as the rain began to fall.
About 10KM down the road I stopped to invite a man using his plastic bag of random items as his umbrella out walking in the rain to come aboard. He gave me a huge smile and I set him up with my special “guest rider rain jacket”, a lightweight Sierra Designs jacket that I was saving for just this purpose. We pedaled away and I soon realized that this man spoke literally no English and my broken BaTonga was proving worthless. This is not a rare occurrence and normally just the bonding experience of riding the tandem together, some genuine smiles and hardy handshakes are enough to create a unique bond that I’ve grown to love over the years.
He only wanted a lift about 8KM or so and soon motioned me to stop as he wanted to get off. He gave that hardy handshake and grateful smile then proceeded to walk away. But, in this case, he was walking away with the jacket still on him. I was balancing my huge tandem so I was in no position to chase him down for the jacket so I yelled for him to stop and motioned that he needed to give me back the jacket. He simply shook his head “no” and carried on walking away. Yikes!
So I had no choice but to lay the bike down and chase this joker down! Unfortunately, when I did lie the bike down I broke the Topeak mirror off, which went flying into the street. I chased him down and did my best to tell him that I needed that jacket to keep future riders dry in the rain, but he was not listening. He kept saying, “I need”, “mine”, “I want” as he pointed to the jacket. His kind smile was gone, and my patience was running thin as my heart pounded and adrenaline raged. I knew I could take the guy, but I have not fought in years and was not going to, especially over a jacket.
Soon a crowd began to form and it became clear to him that he was not going to be able to get away with this. So he violently took off the jacket and threw it on the ground and walked away like a sour child. I was gutted. I stuffed the wet jacket in the Ortlieb pannier, transferring the man’s anger into my own frustrated stuffing motion. I pushed all the bystanders out of the way in a manner I’ve never witnessed myself ever doing, and remounted my monster bike, filled with Malaria medication, gifts of bracelets and stickers, and all my filming equipment to do a soulful program highlighting the beauty of Zambia and my desire to serve the nation.
My rear shifter was not shifting very smooth for some reason and I was having to force it into place as I went higher into the gears. I planned to fix it one day, but as I pedaled up the first hill I was furious and used all my strength to put it into the high gear and, you guessed it, I broke the front shifter! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh! I put the bike down on the side of the road and cried. I was in a state I’ve never been in before. I was done. I had no desire to ride anymore, to meet anyone else, to connect, to serve, to document, nada.
I pedaled just long enough to film my feelings and describe my situation to the viewers of my program. I then hitched a ride with a truck all the way to Lusaka. I had a new passion burning inside me, and it was the passion to share how horrible I feel when people are dishonest and deceitful to me to the nation. I was on a new mission.
By the time I arrived in Lusaka I had cooled down a bit. The drivers of the truck asked for an exorbitant amount of money but were forced to accept what I knew was fair. I pedaled to the local backpackers and crawled into bed and prayed that I would feel better the next day. I got a horrible night sleep due to the proximity of my room to the bar but remarkably woke up feeling far less bitter but very determined to expose how I felt with Zambia.
I gave a call to one of my Zambian friends Paul I had met a few days earlier who worked with one of the NGO charity organizations as he told me he would “take me out on the town” when I arrived in Lusaka as his special guest. I was hoping to build my trust again with some cool folks I met on the way and that night he arrived to pick me up in a taxi and show me around. I paid the taxi but then realized that Paul also had some hidden intentions. By the time the bill came for his two Jack Daniels from the posh bar he took me to arrived he was not going for his wallet. I passed the bill to him after paying for my two cheap local beers. He then politely asked me if I would buy his drinks for him! I guess “taking you out on the town” to him meant something different than I expected.
I spent the next few days getting my spare parts list together and decided to focus on filming and recording musicians for the music part of my program. I knew I had a long wait for my spare parts to come from the states and South Africa so I dived into my passion of music. Luckily, I was blessed to meet some truly amazing new friends that helped me heal and recover from my bouts with dishonesty and to learn some invaluable lessons.
I was grounded in Lusaka for two weeks according to the shipping schedule so I set up my tent at the backpackers so long that bugs ate through the bottom of my tent! I went on my quest share with the people of Zambia how I felt by appearing on the top rated television talk show called “Smooth Talk” and getting three articles in major papers and magazines published to be able to reach an estimated 70% of the entire Zambian population. I was famous before I knew it and it felt good to release my feelings genuinely with the people.
The powers that be brought me to two amazing producers Michael and Elijah who own a recording studio and record label called Kula Music in Lusaka. When I shared my vision of the project and my story they immediately saw the vision and became my best friends in Zambia in no time. I pedaled my bike around Lusaka recording world class artists in intimate, unplugged sessions arranged by Michael and Elijah including Cactus Agasi, Paul Mulauli, Michael Munali, Chungu and Zuma ni Moto. I also recorded two awesome artists set up by Alliance France with music from West Africa and Reunion Islands you should check out called Patricia Phillip and Ba Cissoko. Where I lacked good content for the program with the people I sure made up with the music!
A huge breakthrough came one day when I arrived at the studio after my daily bike ride on the tandem with another empty seat. I had been in Lusaka for over a week and had not picked up a single person. I was cold, closed, and bitter still when it came to riding with the locals. When I arrived in the studio Elijah was working on a new instrumental piece. Something about that piece jerked all the tears out of me. Before I knew it I was in the bathroom bawling my eyes out. I cried harder than I had in years. When I came back into the studio I thought the tears were done. But when I heard the music I kept on crying. But something happened during that cry and I woke up from my frigid state. The cry was healing and the message was clear I was meant to learn. And the lesson is TOLERANCE.
I always said that Peace Pedalers was about tolerance and acceptance, but here I was faced with the biggest opportunity to practice what I preach—to tolerate a young nation and its young values that lack integrity as a core belief system. It’s not just me who sees that belief system, but most of the Zambians also see it, and over time I have no doubt that it will change for the better. But until that happens, the best bet is to tolerate and accept the people no matter how they act. And once I internalized this lesson my anger and frustration was transformed into compassion, gratitude and peace.
Once I was blessed with this lesson my entire attitude and perspective changed and I began to build amazing friendships with dozens of remarkable Zambians. I finished an extraordinary 2-week filming session of about eight artists and was able to gather my confidence to ride the northeastern region near the border of Malawi. Just before I was heading out the folks at Holiday Inn (www.holidayinn-zambia.com) offered me 2 free nights of luxury when I came by to pick up my bike parts, which I had sent there as a “safe haven”. My parts came, I fixed up my bike like new, and spent my last night in Lusaka with a new friends John and his wife who helped me with all the tools, labor and workshop to fix my bike before heading to Malawi. I was ready to embrace, accept and even tolerate anyone who came in my path as I rode northeast towards the border.
My last few days or riding in Zambia were nothing short of amazing. With my new attitude of tolerance and a perfectly running bike I rode out of town meeting tons of great people, from policemen to truck drivers to new guest riders like my rastaboy Wilson. I made my way feeling deeply inspired to get north quickly to visit a health clinic where my friend Clair was volunteering at up north in a small town. After some painless transport in a semi truck to make up for lost kilometers from the pit stop in Lusaka I rolled into Katete to start my ride. I rode with a strong and delightful young man named Thomas who ran a bicycle repair stand outside town to the clinic. He was strong, easygoing, and just loved to ride and everything about bikes. He told me that day was the best day of his entire life—the opportunity to take part in the expedition, ride a tandem with a stranger, and meet his first American friend. I was touched. But it gets better!
When Thomas and I arrived there were two babies burning up with super high fevers from Malaria and the local clinic was out of medication. Clair’s eyes lit up and she immediately asked me if I had the Corartem malaria meds with me and told me we had a serious emergency on our hands. We broke up the medication to get it into the babies and sent them home with detailed instructions. There is no better feeling than to save someone’s life, and we saved two precious lives that evening. The looks on the mothers’ eyes I will never forget--with tears of gratitude they looked at me like I was sent from God directly.
My last guest rider was the head volunteer of the health clinic named John who rode with me all the way to the border town of Chipata. John had a full time business as a farmer but still volunteered for free dozens of hours a week to help the clinic. And he was Zambian. So I continued to build my faith that not ALL Zambians are deceitful. John and I talked about how Zambia, like any country, is sort of like an apple tree. There are ripe delicious apples and there are young, bitter apples. You never know what you are going to pick in our case, and when you pick the bitter ones you have to understand that there are yummy ones just around the other side of the tree. I just picked several bitter ones in a row, but learned lessons that I’ll be able to take with me for the rest of my life. I would not want it any other way!
When John and I arrived in Chipata Clair came to meet us to celebrate and the folks at Pine View Guest House hooked me us with lovely free accommodation after recognizing me from the newspaper articles and a bit of sweet talking. Clair is a volunteer who worked hard for the Zambian people and has had to do it solo as her boyfriend was forced to stay in the UK due to an injury. She needed a break so we had a nice dinner, synergized about ideas to help her project, and sent her on her way refreshed and ready for another month of working in the trenches.
My last day in Zambia I’ll never forget. I had a short ride to the border and there did not seem to be many folks walking that way so I rode most of it solo. But about 3KM from the border I picked up one cheery man Benny who recognized me from one of the articles in the newspaper and was eager to get to know me. We rode to the border where two huge busses of Zambians were there waiting to cross the border. They also all recognized me from the “Smooth Talk” TV program and cheered me on and told me how sorry they were that people were dishonest to me. They also said that that there are indeed good people in Zambia and hoped that next visit I meet more of them. It was a special farewell. Even the border police took me into their office and asked me to sign the newspaper article and said sorry on behalf of their countrymen.
I crossed the border to Malawi elated with gratitude, knowing that I did indeed make an impact in the country, and also knowing that I will be back one day to connect again with my great friends and watch the country grow to the greatness everyone knows that it will one day.
I’m finally sending this from Kampala, Uganda where I’m chillin in 5 star luxury at the Kampala Serena. Score of a free room! Now that I have Zimbabwe and Zambia out of the way I think I’ll be finally able to catch up as the rest of the countries until now have been splendid and will be a pleasure to write about!
Big Love to you All!
Specal Thanks to our Silver Sponsors