The aggressive rain startles me awake. Staring into the middle of the night darkness, I remember where we are and feel grateful I didn’t set up camp any closer to the creek. I push my jacket around creating a better pillow, readjust the sleeping bag, cause Baylor to stir with my movement. He gets up, circles, sets his butt down and slowly lowers his body so there’s not a sliver of space between us. It’s a habit he’s taken to lately. I’m pretty sure it’s only a first step in working his way onto the sleep pad as I increasingly find myself awaking on the ground dog firmly in my place, but I find it endearing nonetheless. Roll over, wrap arms and blanket around Baylor and fall straight back into slumber.
Early light filtering into the tent, I stretch. From the sound of it, the rain hasn’t let up at all. Crawling around the dome, I get dressed, add layers. Recognize it’s an exercise in futility as I’ll surely be soaked through in short order, but sometimes it’s just about feeling you made an effort.
Emerging from the tent, I’m drenched almost immediately. Soggy camp packed up, I carry everything back to Rufio. This is crazy, I tell Baylor. Smile, shake my head. It all seems a lively, damp adventure since I’ve a warm, dry cabin to stay in tonight. It’s funny how promise of something good on the horizon makes all the difference. If I had to camp again tonight, I’d surely lament that nothing would ever dry out. Mope that we’d be in for an entirely wet and cold day. Without worry of future unpleasantries, the present moment is quite enjoyable.
Pulling on the highway, my face shield begins to fog up. I try breathing less. Find it’s not a viable solution and pull off. Try to wipe it clean and dry as the rain beats down on us. Put the helmet back on. Watch as it fogs up immediately. I remember a pair of goggles I’ve been carrying around since the beginning. Dig them out of the sidecar and roll back on to the highway.
They work great. But with the face shield up, cold rain zings against my exposed face. I try wiggling my lips to offset the cold sting. If it were only a short ride that’d do well enough, but we’ve got a couple hours drive ahead of us. I pull off, remove the goggles and helmet. Dig in the tiny sidebag. Feeling like a ninja, only my eyes remain visible under the baklava. Helmet on, goggles adjusted, I look at Baylor, Okay, now we’re ready. He stares, I don’t know what you mean by this we business, I’ve been ready the whole time. I roll my eyes, turn onto the highway.
I’m sure the drive is lovely, would be downright breathtaking in the dry sunshine, instead it’s just a wet expanse of highways, cars and roads. On and on. Wet, gray, continuous. Not as cold as the Yukon, but not particularly warm.
Stopping for fuel, I toss Baylor a treat. Take a small bag into the bathroom and attempt to make myself somewhat presentable for the upcoming lunch. Drying my puffy under the warm blow of the hand dryer, I giggle remembering the man who asked me about gear suggestions. He had a wonderfully organized list of questions about the best riding gear for various conditions. A full suit versus separates, a go-to waterproof glove or a combination, and so on. I really wanted to be helpful, but eventually just had to reply that I probably wasn’t the best person to give advice. Pouring water out of my boots, I smile, I’m sure he’s glad I pointed him towards other resources instead of sharing my method.
Struggling to get my hands back in the soaking wet gloves, I envision Ivan’s look of horror the last time we met in the rain, “This is what you wear in rain? How do you stay dry?
Oh, I don’t. I pretty much just end up soaked.
He raised an eyebrow. I shrugged.
I’m sure there will come a point where the soggy annoyance of it all is more than I can take. But I also can’t help but feel that insulating myself too much will lessen the adventure, limit the lessons learned. It circles back to a perverse need to be miserable every now and then in order to really appreciate the good times. Some desire to embrace discomfort in search of growth and personal improvement.
Of course, that’s much easier when a hot meal and dry cabin await.
Glove battle won, I check my mirrors. Nod at the man sitting in his truck, staring. Moto happily towards the comfort-filled future.
150 days down. Many to come.
