Sun shining overhead, we break free from the crowds. Head west until the city is but a dot in the rearview mirror. Leaving the masses behind my shoulders lower, muscles soften. Zooming along the straightaway across the Everglades I give thanks for all the fun we had in the city, the exciting projects, the friendships, and, now, the ability to leave it behind.
Car passing on the left, I glance over. Smile. Wave as they stare, snap pictures. It happens daily, but I honestly never get used to it. And it never fails to bring a smile to face to see how happy others are to see Baylor cruising along.
Seeing a sign for panther crossings, I pay extra attention to the road. Think about the times people have noted Rufio’s age. Asked if I ever want a newer, fancier, nicer ride for traveling the continent. And surely there have been moments – stranded on the side of the road, wondering what a piston was, feeling like a pinball – that I’ve thought new would solve all my problems. Fancier would make life better.
But then I think about the broad range of people that give us encouragement on the road and I’m glad Rufio is a wacky, crazy beast of my own making. For I’ve found that quirky has a mass appeal. An ability to bridge all manner of socio-economic divides and bring people together despite differences. No where was this more evident than the past few days in Miami.
There was the man on the corner. Looking worn and tired, he held a sign. Wearily watched cars passing by. As we pulled to a stop a few lanes over, he looked up. Grinned. Waved and gave me a big thumbs up. I don’t know his story, have no idea about the past, choices or situation that lead to his being on that corner. He doesn’t know my story, has no idea about where we’re going, why we’re doing or what lead us to that corner. But in those seconds we shared a human connection. Looked each other in the eyes, smiled, appreciated a shared zest for adventure.
There was the man in the Maserati. Creeping through heavy city traffic, I was on full alert. Coming to a stop, I looked to my right as the man rolled his window down. It’s you! I’ve been thinking about you for days. I saw you coming down from Fort Lauderdale, took about a hundred pictures and sent them to my sister. We love dogs and motorcycles. This is great. I just want you to know that I think this is amazing. I’ll never forget you. Light turning green, we laugh, wave goodbye. We might have a bunch in common, we might have absolutely nothing in common, it doesn’t matter either way. In that moment we shared a human connection. Looked each other in the eyes, smiled and appreciated a shared zest for adventure.
Seeing a sign for a visitor center, I slow, roll into the parking lot. Baylor and I stretch. Wander around a bit, drink some water, read faded signs filled with facts and stories about these swampy southern Florida lands. Reviewing the map, I see the state park campground I’ve picked for the night is less than an hour away. Perfect, Bay. We can set up before dark and still have time to go on a little hike to explore.
Cruising along, I get excited seeing the sign for the state park. Turn across traffic and immediately start scheming a plan b upon seeing the sign announcing: campground closed for renovations.
Remembering another campground an hour or so away, we carry on. Walk into the office as the sun lowers.
Hi, do you have a tent site for the night?
Only if you want to be under 6 inches of water. Everything is flooded. And it’s supposed to storm again tonight, the woman says on the verge of full blown panic.
Hmm, well is there any little spot we could squeeze our tent into? We’ll leave first thing in the morning. Or do you know of another campground nearby?
There’s nothing. Everyone is full or flooded. It’s a disaster.
I thank her, wish her well as I pull open the door. Back at Rufio, Baylor looks up at me expectantly, ready to unload and dive into the tent. Sorry bud, she was a bit of a Henny Penny, there’s no way we’ll talk her into accommodating us. Time for plan c. Perusing the phone, I find a campground about a half hour away. I hate backtracking, but it seems unavoidable tonight.
Pulling through the campground gates, the alarm sounds just as Kenny had told me it would on the phone. He rolls up on his golf cart, leads me over to a spot. Shining his light, he warns of the storm rolling in. High force winds and incessant rain throughout the night.
I recommend you pick a spot on high ground, where a tree won’t fall on you.
I laugh. Look around. Do you have a recommendation?
No, I’ll leave that up to you.
Highest point chosen, I unpack the tent as Baylor sniffs around. Realize immediately we’re in the swamp as mosquitoes swarm. Remember sadly I forgot the bug spray in the paddle pfd. Staking the tent down, I pull the guides tight. Unroll the sleeping bags, grab a bedtime dog treat, and crawl in behind Baylor.
Reaching to close the zipper door, I remember the giant gash in the bug-fighting mesh. Close it in hopes that the massive mosquitoes and minuscule noseeums won’t find the gaping point of entry.
Wind increasing, I grab earplugs to fight the incessant canvas rattle. Laying down, I giggle. Man, we’ve gotten spoiled lately not having to camp as much. We’re kind of a hot mess on our first night back at it. Rolling over, I wrap an arm around Baylor. Smile as he snores softly, completely non-plussed by the campsite scramble, wind, rain, torn tent, or bug infestation. I smile, kiss his head.
Socks secured, I pull a blanket over us in an attempt to hide from voraciously hungry mosquitoes. Find myself lulled to sleep by a snoring puppy metronome. Shut my eyes thinking of the wise words of Epictetus,
Make the best of what is in your power and take the rest as it happens.
218 days down. Many to come.
