[x_section style=”margin: 0px 0px 0px 0px; padding: 45px 0px 45px 0px; “][x_row inner_container=”true” marginless_columns=”false” bg_color=”” style=”margin: 0px auto 0px auto; padding: 0px 0px 0px 0px; “][x_column bg_color=”” type=”1/2″ style=”padding: 0px 0px 0px 0px; “][x_counter num_start=”0″ num_end=”5″ num_speed=”1500″ num_prefix=”” num_suffix=”” num_color=”#2ecc71″ text_above=”Rode for” text_below=”Hours” text_color=””][x_gap size=”45px” class=”x-hide-xl x-hide-lg x-hide-md “][/x_column][x_column bg_color=”” type=”1/2″ style=”padding: 0px 0px 0px 0px; “][x_counter num_start=”0″ num_end=”310″ num_speed=”1500″ num_prefix=”” num_suffix=”” num_color=”#3498db” text_above=”Covered” text_below=”Miles” text_color=””][/x_column][/x_row][/x_section][x_section style=”margin: 0px 0px 0px 0px; padding: 45px 0px 45px 0px; “][x_row inner_container=”true” marginless_columns=”false” bg_color=”” style=”margin: 0px auto 0px auto; padding: 0px 0px 0px 0px; “][x_column bg_color=”” type=”1/1″ style=”padding: 0px 0px 0px 0px; “][x_text]Despite my best intentions, I find myself running around the house. Throwing gear into bags. Making last minute decisions. The extra jacket stays, the skateboard is coming. A yoga mat will fit under Baylor’s bed, but the jar of honey will have to stay.
Usually I try to leave a place cleaner than I find it, take extra time to tidy my space before departing. Except, apparently, at mom’s. Where I work on projects till the last minute and dash around like a maniac before suddenly hitting the road. I would say that I’ll do it differently next time, but that’s probably not true. This routine is a comforting reminder that there’s a place in the world where I can be my messiest, craziest self; a spot where that’s loved and accepted.
Baylor stands next to the sidecar as I cinch down the last of the gear. Looks at me for assurance that he won’t be left behind, waits patiently for the load up command and treat.
Being back on the road is both strange and familiar. Simultaneously feels like a lifetime ago and just yesterday that we were headed for Alaska. Leaving Bend I had no idea what to expect. Had only ridden Rufio for a couple days. Didn’t know a thing about pistons, bear hangs or the goodness of people on the road.
Now, 6,000 miles later, I still don’t know what to expect. Can’t yet know all that I don’t know. Imagine there will be plenty of obstacles and mistakes along the way, but as Winston Churchill said,
Success is walking from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm.
The drive through southeastern Colorado is a trip down memory lane. To visiting grandparents, to running wild with an army of cousins, to spending all day exploring canyons and corn fields.
Stopping in La Junta we get a proper send off from G Bub. He’s been near everywhere in this country rodeoing, making friends and seeing the sites. Has taught me countless lessons, supported all the adventures. And though it’s small in comparison, I aim to give back by taking him along for the ride. Postcards, pictures and stories the makings of an epic armchair adventure.
Colorado silently flows into Kansas. Mile after mile of farmland. Dry fields of sheared corn stalks. Seas of milo swaying in the breeze. Silos looming tall over small towns, making it known that these communities are all about the agriculture.
Night approaching, we find a campground to call home for the night. Resume the daily ritual.
Tent up, dog in, treat dispersed, good night.
104 days down. Many to come.
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