OMD Travelogue | Day 260

Pulling off the highway, I try to remember if this is the same road I headed down a year ago. During last year’s road trip we found a lovely free camp spot along the water. Zooming in on the map, I wish I’d written down exactly where we went. The passage of time has made the specifics rather fuzzy in my memory.

Desert sun beating down, I squint at the screen. Look over at Baylor and shrug. I guess this is it.

Cruising along, I try to recall if anything looks familiar, but it’s no use. The red rocky bluffs, the dry deserty expanse all looks familiar in the way these landscapes do. Nothing particularly stands out, yet there’s an overall feeling of having been here before.

Miles and miles logged on this offshoot, I see something in the distance. Brow furrowed, I slow. Stop next to the entry gate. Learning of the fifteen dollar fee to go any further, I consider momentarily turning around. Partly for frugality’s sake and partly from the principle of it, knowing that I once found free camping around these parts. Looking at the park map, I see I’d have to backtrack for over an hour to get to where – I think, maybe, perhaps – I’d previously camped. Noting the sinking sun, I sigh. Fork over the cash and carry on.

Turning right, we follow the power lines. Bump along the washboard road trying to determine if going faster helps, if slowing down eases the jostling. Seeing the road I’m looking for, I veer left. Note happily that we’re now headed distinctly in the direction of the water.

Bumpy dirt road giving way to steeply banked sandy road, I immediately wish for the jostling washboards. Feeling the pull of deep sand, I work to maintain a constant speed. I know I don’t want to slow down too much in this, wonder if there’s a sidecar equivalent of sawing the wheel.

Road sloping consistently to the left, I feel a constant and uncomfortable stress having the sidecar higher than the motorcycle. Visions of tipping over still fresh in my mind, I breathe deeply. Look for the flattest areas, while surveying sand depth.

Spotting the water up ahead I give a sigh of relief. Pulling into the open dirt parking, camping area I look around in annoyance. There are campers and tents all along the shoreline.

Pulling over, I kill the engine. Pull my helmet off and walk around to unstrap Baylor. Frowning, I strip off the riding jacket and throw it in the sidecar. Well, this is annoying. We had to pay to get in, the access road was way worse and now all these people, I say looking over. Baylor glances back momentarily, turns around unconcerned. Trots off, tail wagging, to explore.

You’re right. If I didn’t have something in mind to compare it to, I’d be perfectly happy with this find.

Heading towards the far left edge of the cove, I consider the sign. No motor vehicles past this point, but there’s no reason we can’t carry the tent around the point. Baylor busy sniffing and marking, I make an executive decision. Park Rufio as close to the sign as possible and begin unloading.

Bags slung over my shoulder, I whistle for Baylor, begin the rocky trek away from the camping masses. Rounding the point, I see that the entire shoreline is uninhibited, beautiful and rocky. So, so rocky.

Throwing the bags down, I look over as Baylor laps up water. Laugh as he comes over to rub his drooly head on my leg. What do you think, Bay? I’ll just rearrange some of these rocks and make us a nice little nest here. It’s not prefect, but it’ll be good enough, don’t you think? He sits, scratches an ear, looks up at me and walks back to the water’s edge. Okay, I’m gonna take that as a yes.

Last of the day’s light bouncing across the water, I unzip the tent flap. Invite Baylor and settle in. Lying back, I work to shift a few more rocks. Unfortunately the inflatable camp pad recently popped, but I’m pleasantly surprised to find the pile of clothes and sleeping bag creates a rather comfortable bed.

Scratching Baylor’s ear, I listen as his breathing lengthens. Thinking over the day, I can’t help but recall a quote from Eric Hoffer,

Disappointment is a sort of bankruptcy – the bankruptcy of a soul that expends too much in expectation.

Sound of canine snoring filling the tent, I smile. Close my eyes in contentment and wish that I may do better tomorrow. That I’ll remember to hope for much, to give thanks for all, and to expect nothing.

260 days down. Many to come.