Summer sport with distractions

I pedaled as fast as I could, trying to keep up with my sister, avoiding tree trunks and rocky bottoms of dried out puddles. There was no time to admire the serene beauty of the forest. Bird-listening, heather-admiring, pine-smelling, and moss-stepping were not on the agenda. Burning calories was the goal.
"Look! There's a chanterelle. Can we stop?" My sister obviously had more energy and time to observe the surroundings. As soon as she spotted the little yellow spots off the road, her basic food-gatherer instincts kicked in.
"No. Not now. Right now we are doing sports. You're supposed to help me get fit, shape my figure, shed the guilt for eating the last piece of chocolate. Keep pedaling." I was aware that I was kidding myself with the power of the bike ride. It would have taken thousand hours of biking, swimming, walking and some time-reversing magic to get me back in the shape I dreamt off. I recently read somewhere that happy people don't lose weight easily because they have less motivation to change their eating and exercise habits. Happy people can also be fit, and maybe being fit would make me even happier. So whether it was 5, 10 or 15 kilometers we would accomplish, it would still be better than nothing.
I was pretty sure I heard a small whimper.
"Fine. We'll pick the mushrooms on our way back." I knew there was no stopping my sister, when she wanted to pick mushrooms. It didn't matter that mom's friend had recently sold us three kilos of chanterelles, that my sister had carefully cleaned and then sauteed in butter. For once there was enough, so she allowed me to taste some straight off the pan, instead of smacking me with a spatula, when I tried to steal some. I knew my sister would never leave the golden taste-bud-pleasers hiding in the moss. I knew this because last time she had picked some mushrooms on our bike trip, even when she had nowhere to put them. She had taken off one of her crocs to store the little treasures  and pedaled home with one foot bare.
She had explained to me once before that finding and picking the mushrooms was the best part of the process. For most people it's the savoring of the taste in their mouth that constitutes pleasure. Once, about fifteen years ago, when I was in a hotel in Munich, people recommended me to order something special. At that time I was not familiar with the names of pasta sorts nor knew names of mushrooms. When people suggested ordering farfalle in chanterelle sauce I had no clue what to expect. I couldn't even imagine what delicatessen I would get. My hopes were high. When my plate arrived, I was rather disappointed, because what was offered was a common home food from my point of view - simple macaroni with mushroom sauce. I have tried to lessen my culinary ignorance since. I also have come to appreciate more and more that in the country side I get to eat simple delightful meals that others order in the restaurants for high price.
I kept my promise. My bottom numb from the cycling and legs wobbling underneath, I helped my sister as much as I could. There wasn't much, but just enough for a small mushroom sandwich aka chanterelle bruschetta.

mushroom picking 2011