Having spent the past 15 minutes waiting in the parking lot, I pull open the door promptly at 9am.
Smiling, I greet the woman at the front desk and launch into my spiel. Explain how we arrived on a motorcycle-sidecar. Did I mention he wears goggles? How we don’t have an appointment. We’re traveling across North America, just passing through. How Baylor has developed a hot spot across his adorably, excessively droopy neck. Yep, he’s got pretty sensitive, is prone to to skin irritations.
She nods, confers with Jared, leads us into the back.
Bag of meds in hand, I thank them again for squeezing us in unexpectedly. Open the door so Baylor can mope across the parking lot, upset from a mixture of itchy discomfort and naked neck embarrassment. He immediately leaps into the sidecar and lies down. I crouch next to him. Scratch his ear and scroll around the tiny phone map. I’m sorry you don’t feel good bud. I’ll figure something out.
You ride that thing?
I turn, stand, smile, nod.
The man shakes his head. I thought it must be a man riding it. But it’s you. A real adventure girl. His eyes drift down and up. And you’re wearing a dress. He smiles, puts his fist out and we bump knuckles.
Skirting the convertible, he opens the drivers door. Looks again from me to Baylor to Rufio. Shakes his head. Pulling out of the parking spot, he looks over one last time, Man, I shoulda married an adventure girl.
Pulling into the shady spot, I try to coax Baylor out of the sidecar. Wanna sniff around the park a bit? He doesn’t budge. Okay, let me check a few things. Sitting on the curb, I call the campground, confirm they’ll have a spot available later in the day.
So is that a KLR?
I turn, smile, nod.
Putting out the cigarette, he points at the adjacent building. Come on over to the museum if you get a chance. I’ll show you around a bit.
Art tour complete, we decide to grab lunch nearby. Walk along the perfectly maintained sidewalk as Shea tells about the area and the history of the museum. Baylor stops, gulps an entire bowl of icy cold water. I’ve offered you water all morning to no avail. Beelines into the low-lying shrubbery as we approach the patio to do his business. Come on man, you couldn’t have done that at the park? Sits down next to the table, promptly hacks up most of the icy water ingested five minutes prior. My goodness, this is a rough day. Sorry.
Lunch complete, I wish Shea luck on his upcoming adventure. You’ve got exciting things on the horizon, let me know how it goes.
Coming to a stop under the tree, I pull off my helmet. Happily lose the jacket before completely overheating. Offer Baylor a bowl of water. Try to talk him into drinking a bit. Slinging the water across the hot pavement, I tuck the bowl into the sidecar. Give Bay a kiss on the head. I’m sorry baby. I’m doing my best.
Happy to be at the camp spot, I angle Rufio to create the most shade possible. Pull out the tarp, create a cool place for Baylor to rest.
Okay Bay, hop out. He jumps out momentarily. Gets right back in. Come on, you gotta get out so I can unload everything. I need to wash all our stuff and can’t get to it if you’re sitting there. I reach down to nudge him out. Employing classic toddler tantrum tactics he goes limp like a sack of potatoes. I sigh. Wrap my arms around him and lift. Halfway out, he lets out a single, wild kangaroo kick. Breaks a chunk of the sidecar windshield clean off.
Bay-lor! I set him on the sidewalk. Dude, I know you don’t feel good, but I am about to karate chop you. He looks up. Walks over to the tarp and lies down in the shade. I take a breath. What’s done is done.
Piles of dirty, nearly worn out clothing, shoes, camp gear and books spread across the cement pad, our camp spot looks like the scraggliest of garage sales. Dark setting in, I tuck Baylor into the tent. Liberally apply bug spray and continue cleaning out the rig and repacking in the light of the headlamp. Noticing a brazen raccoon approaching camp from the trees, I grab my airsoft handgun. Sit cross-legged on the cement and wait patiently. Bandit face mere feet from my still form, I take aim. Ping a plastic bb off it’s forehead. Watch as it turns and scurries into the woods for the night.
Lying down, I marvel, Was it really just two days ago that we were carefree kayaking? Splashing, laughing and having the easiest of times. I close my eyes. After a day like today, it feels like an eternity ago. Not a bad day, but certainly one of those days. Days that seem to exist solely to test patience and instill empathy. The next time I see a dog acting loopy, a Mom wrangling a rioting child, a guy at the end of his rope, I hope remember today. Remember that really, even when it doesn’t seem like it from the outside, we’re all just doing the best we can.
187 days down. Many to come.
