Day 22: Hunkered underneath the campground’s front office porch, the rain is keeping us from the few hundred feet to our actual camping spot for the night. Instead, our sleeping bags are spread across the porch. We may only sleep a few hours and pack up before we are noticed.
For the last forty miles, sheets of rain have peppered our face. Cold, damp clothes melted to us like a second skin as we kept our heads low and pedaled through the steep hills and darkness. Our day started with rough gravel trails in the smoldering summer sun. We spent all of our collective quarters on a car wash hose to cool off, and tonight regretted that decision when the rain left our clothing and gear soaking wet and we stared inside a campground laundromat quarter-less. In the rain, we stopped under the gas station canopy for momentary shelter. I sat down, back to the wall, legs falling in front of me. My bones melted into the concrete and could have sat there forever. During the ride, twenty miles out, ten miles out, five, my eyes were tempted by every public and private canopy I laid eyes on, “Should we just sleep there?” I wondered if these thoughts were going through the kid’s minds as well. Clearly, none of us were happy, but we knew we didn’t have much of a choice. We left our trailside camp spot this morning with two days to cover 170 miles to New York City. Moving forward is the only option, regardless of weather. We got to the campground, found hot showers, a sheltered porch, a place to lay our somewhat damp sleeping bags. A sense of fulfillment filled the air and changed the mood from drudgery to peacefulness. There’s something about that. Being stripped of comfort and ease, then melting away on any dry surface available for a night’s sleep. It’s unlike the rest of life, where we fill a need the moment it is desired. Our demands die in the hills and rain out here, and we’re left satisfied with whatever is left.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorKatie Elizabeth: Writer, Wonderer, Wanderer. Archives
April 2022
Categories |