Seeing the sign, I turn right. Pull into a parking spot, scan the area. This actually looks it could work, Bay, I say looking down.
Baylor leashed, we walk around the library perimeter. Legs stretched, I head inside to assess. Find the jackpot. A spot to work with an outlet, next to a fireplace, featuring a clear view of Baylor and Rufio. Plugging the computer in, I head back outside. Move Baylor to a grassy spot that puts him squarely in my line of sight. Adjust his sleeping bag, fill the water bowl, scratch his happy head and walk into the library for a work session.
Sun lowering, I check the map one last time. National forest spans for miles, should be simple enough to pull off the highway and find a spot to disperse camp.
Pulling on my gloves, I note how quickly the temperature is dropping. It’s Arizona, but we’re in the mountains. It’ll be a chilly evening ride, but we’ll be off the road by the time the coldest moment’s set in.
Climbing, twisting and turning higher. The cold air cuts, I look down. Baylor’s cozy in his sweater, tucked into the nose of the sidecar, snoozing without a care.
Seeing a turnoff up ahead, I slow excited to set up camp. Barely pulling off the highway, I scan the road. It’s a slushy, muddy mess. I sigh. I forgot about spring in the mountains. Just because it hasn’t snowed lately, doesn’t mean it’s inhabitable. Everything is melting, in a few weeks it’ll surely be a lush, green oasis, but right now it looks like a trap.
Pulling back onto the highway, I hope the next pull off will be different. It’s not.
Heading down the mountain, I hope a lower elevation will improve things. It doesn’t.
This is not what I had planned.
Jaw tight in annoyance, I pull off the highway. Take a deep breath. Hand Baylor a cookie. Scratch his silky puppy ear. Smiling, I realize these moments of frustration are what the adventure’s all about. After all I committed to a big goal precisely so I’d have no choice but to figure it out along the way. If this was just a weekend trip, I’d give up, go home, enjoy being comfortable.
Instead, I pull my jacket tighter. Tuck Bay into the sidecar. Motor into the dark, cold, mountainous night. Unsure what I’ll find, knowing there’s no option but to carry on.
252 days down. Many to come.
