Pulling open the door, I watch as all eyes turn. True to its name the Cowboy Cafe is full of local ranchers, here as much for the early morning breakfast as for the opportunity to socialize, keep up to date on who’s selling and buying, where the best prices can be found, how the weather’s shaping up to rule the coming days.
Smiling, I nod at the line up as I slide into the booth. Wrap my hands around the steaming mug and crack open the Dolly Parton book. Grinning at her honesty and antics I find myself wishing – not for the first time – that we were best friends.
Day fully in place, temperatures increasing pleasantly, we load up. Head out to make some miles.
The drive is a blur of high deserts, plateaus, highway. Having grown up in the west, I’ve spent plenty in this type of landscape. Find myself taking it’s rugged beauty for granted in a desire to just get across the state. Despite my best efforts at being present, I fail. Just want to make my way onto the next.
Sun low in the sky, I pull into the gas station. Fill the water jug, get a 25 cent hot chocolate to warm my hands. Walking Baylor around the parking lot, I review the map. Note the dispersed camp area I’ve scoped sits about 40 minutes south. It’ll be a race against dark, but we should make it. Just barely.
Loading Baylor, I look up.
Oh wow you’re really inspiring me. I’ve traveled around quite a bit, but now it’s totally different, the woman says gesturing to the cherub cheeked girl at her side. We just moved into the RV and are trying a few test run days. Then I want to head west towards Seattle.
Is there a spot for me? the little girl interrupts, looking at the space Baylor is commandeering. She walks to the front, tries to balance on the nose of the sidecar, I could sit right here, I promise.
I laugh, It’s tempting, but it sounds like you’re already on an adventure of your own.
Wishing each other luck, we head out to pursue our respective dreams. Appreciate the ways they’re the different, the places they overlap, the moment of connection with a nomad-souled stranger.
Bumping down the dirt road, I slow, turn left. Continue on, dodging puddles, assessing mud holes, noting the ever increasing patches of snow.
Light grey and fading ever so quickly, we arrive at the turn off for the camp spot. Slowing to a halt, I look it over. Remember mud stuck moments from the past. Decide it’s not worth the middle of nowhere risk. We’re already on National Forest land and will only be here for a night. No real need to find the absolute perfect, remote spot. Turning around, I head for a free of snow spot. Pulling off, I park Rufio behind the trees. Hope the Junipers will provide cover from the wind and any travelers that may pass this way in the night.
Unlatching Baylor, I grin at his enthusiasm. A Coloradan at heart, he delights in running, jumping, sliding across the hard packed, icy expanse. Smiling, any annoyance that our home for the night is an unexpectedly snowy mountain fades. Without a doubt this moment’s joy in the snow is worth spending the night cold. Laughing, I throw the stick. Happy paws win out over cold toes any day of the week.
251 days down. Many to come.
