Some days you just feel so far away from everything. As though every moment that comes next takes you further away from who you once were. Life on the road has given me an interesting perspective. I feel like I’m always at the crossroads of missing the places I am leaving, while feeling anxious about where to go next. But there is always the need to get to the next place. My contempt for the familiarity of a place comes on after a while and I wonder what is up ahead. What is around the next bend in the road.
Tonight, as I write these lines, I am missing my family. It’s not often I admit this. I don’t have much of them left. I know Penny misses my folks. She gets so bored with me that she attaches herself to anybody we meet. She became the Shop Dog at the last two places I stopped to get work done on the bus. Getting scratches behind the ears and visiting people coming in to the store. Oddly growling at some people who work there and not others. Being an adorable pain in the ass.
Maybe my bout of homesickness was brought on by being at altitude in Utah, above Cedar City near Parowan Gap. In the distance, the mountains are still frosted with snow and the winds drop down from them with a chill that will set your teeth on edge. My diesel heater has some problems I still need to work out, but it does the job once it gets going. I’m getting spoiled by the inside of my bus being 60 degrees F when it’s below freezing outside. Once you get used to the ticking of the fuel pump, and don’t mind the weird dreams you get from that sound, it’s pretty nice.
I think back to Fridays of the past. Four years have gone by when nights like these were spent lighting up cigars on my back porch with someone special, sharing a bottle of wine or some beers. I can feel these Fridays in my bones sometimes, like muscle memory. It’s been since October in Santa Fe when I had my last cigar. I don’t miss them, but I do miss the company. The ceremony of slowly smoldering ten bucks worth of tobacco and blowing smoke into the night sky.
Tonight I find myself in St. George again. A couple reasons brought me back down from the high plains. The cold. A video call (which didn’t happen). And soon I will be checking out Zion National Park and likely the Grand Canyon. It’s been 35 years at least since I’ve seen either. It’s weird to be able to say that. New tires on the bus and a diesel heater mean I can be less limited to the places I travel. I can go where there is snow and mud and cold–within reason.
Life on the Road and Choosing a Direction
I have only a dim idea of where I want to go next, and to do it without going back over the lines that have already been drawn on the map. Mostly for the economy of travel. Throughout December and January, I circled around and around in Arizona and frankly I became bored with the desert. My thick mountain blood still told me 72F was too hot to sit around in a bus and try to work. I have incorporated the siesta into my schedule. Driving days take a chunk out of my productivity, and cold nights wind up with me buttoning up the bus and drinking copious amounts of hot beverages until bed, rather than writing.
You have to find that sweet spot. That intersection of caffeine, inspiration, comfort, and unbalance that inspire. St. George isn’t a bad place to get some work done. I have a deadline coming up and the next few days will be a challenge to keep me in one spot to get it done.
But still, I have nights like these where I miss the people in my life that I care about. My folks, kids, family, and friends. Friday nights where you find a night of distraction and laughter or calm. Tonight I am writing. Penny is snoring. The bus has new tires and I’m thinking of where to go next.
I can worry about money, gas prices, loneliness–or I can trust the process. I can continue to move forward. After all, I’m going to be just as broke sitting in one place punching a time clock and paying for the privilege to work the 8to5 as I am doing what I’m doing. The difference between the two is freedom. Living. Experiencing these places. Experiencing life.
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