On the road

When traveling, one should always choose  a companion willing to drive further than you yourself feel capable of doing.  That person should also possess a certain cleverness in packing, and an understanding of the impact of wind on wood, should you be carrying, say, an assortment of 100-year-old pine on the luggage rack.  His arms should be strong, his hands steady, and his disposition inclined towards tranquility.

As we crossed Nebraska, the two of us agreed on nearly everything.  We knew we wanted to make Cheyenne, regardless of our fatigue or the earliness of our rising.  We had gotten a late start but neither of us complained.  I only felt a little regret about some of the things which could not fit in the RAV4:  My schomley (ph — Austrian for “little bench”); the clothes which he had washed for me the prior evening; most of my art collection.  Still, my next trip to Kansas City will provide a chance for shipping, and so, vehicle full with a peekhole to the back window left to spare, we travel west, toward the spot where my tiny home awaits.

Now we’ve stopped at the Best Western.  Hot cups of herbal tea rest on the bedside table.  A family chatters in the hallway but here, in this brown and beige room, silence settles on our aching bones.  We have seventeen hours left in this trip.  We hope to make Elko, Nevada, by nightfall on Saturday.  We’ll stop in Salt Lake City for a few pieces of hardware that we’ve decided we need for the projects which await us.  Then we’ll press onward, closer and closer to my beloved Pacific.

It’s the fifteenth day of the forty-eighth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

Nebraska sunset

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