OMD Travelogue | Day 254

Crouching down, I stretch my arm into the nose of the sidecar, pull out Baylor’s bowl. Walk to the stream and fill it with water. Arriving back at the tent, I look up as a car pulls into the nearby parking area. I guess it was foolish to hope we’d a have the place to ourselves considering we’re only 15 minutes from town and this space offers up legit free camping near running water.

Watching the group unload. I wave slightly, frown as they seem less than sure about being friendly with me. Shrugging, I turn, scratch Baylor’s head. Looking down I can’t help but laugh. There are moments during this journey that I fear I’ve gone too far, that I’ve set sail from the normalcy of society and will never again be able to return. Standing here in beat up riding boots, a cinched up napsack, curls rioting raucously in a fuzzy mess, this is surely one of those moments.

No wonder the fresh arrivals gave me a wide berth. They weren’t sure what to think of the colorful, camping, on-the-precipice-of-hobo woman. And to be honest, I’m not so sure either.

Giggling still, I crawl into the tent. Switch into a dress, make an effort to tame the helmet bed head. Emerging, I peek in the moto mirror. It’s not great, but it’s an improvement. Good enough for some time in town.

Work complete, we leave the patio, cross the parking lot.

Okay, load up, I say. Baylor jumps in. Waits anxiously for his cookie. Patting his head, I look up as a car pulls into the spot next to us.

The gray-haired woman rolls down her window. Looks us over.

You rode all the way from Oregon on this?

I smile, Yes. Actually we went to Alaska first and then to Florida and now we’re here.

She raises an eyebrow. Where are you from?

I grew up in Colorado.

Do you have family? Brothers, sisters, parents?

Yes. I have two sisters. All my family’s still in Colorado.

She remains skeptical.

And my Grandpa’s our biggest fan. I send him postcards everywhere.

Shirley smiles slightly. Nods succinctly. Hm, well I should give you my address so you can send me a postcard.

I smile, that would be fantastic. I’d love that.

Folding the paper, I place it in my pocket. Show Shirley one of our cards. Starting to explain how I share stories online, she shakes her head, holds up a hand. I don’t do anything with computers anymore. Only computer I worry about is the one between my ears. That’s the important one.

I smile, nod. Sounds reasonable to me.

254 days down. Many to come.