The day is a blur of cornfields, milo and cows. Mile after mile after monotonous mile. Fun, boring, continuous. Real life.
It’s obvious we’re not from around these parts each time we stop to fuel up. Pulling my helmet off, all eyes are on us. Locals come out of the convenience store, from behind the counter. Give Baylor scratches, ask about the trip. Reactions range from envy to horror to utter confusion. They don’t necessarily understand why I’m doing it, but Baylor wins them over. They wish us well, tell me to be safe.
Cruising into the evening, I’m liable to go crazy. Thoughts swirling back and forth my only company, I chew on the same ideas over and over. Replay the past. Dream of the future. Force myself into the present. More than 900 miles till I get to Asheville and I’ve already grown tired of myself.
Seeing a sign for a historic water tower I veer off the highway. Barrel towards Beaumont to escape the non-stop farmland and mental churn.
Weaving down the uneven street we pass a truly adorable hotel. Give a friendly wave. Park in front of the water tower. Entertain ourselves taking pictures, playing on the train, imaging if we’d chosen the boxcar kid life instead of moto dog life. Basically the same thing I would’ve done as a 6-year-old. Guess some things don’t change much.
Autumn shortens the days. Dusk settles in early, takes me by surprise.
Playtime ending, we load back up. Get ready to make some miles before nightfall envelopes us in total darkness.
Home is packed in the saddle bag. Now we just need to find a spot to call ours for the night.
105 days down. Many to come.
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