28 Saturday Aug 2021
Posted in Guide Dog 2.0, Ultimate Blog Challenge
Tags
I got the email in the spring: I’ve now been accepted to train for my second guide dog! I’m both excited and nervous, and it feels like things are both moving too fast and too slow. I’m not ready, even as I know that Jenny is nearing the age where she needs to retire. Thankfully, though, she’s not quite there… yet.
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04 Wednesday Aug 2021
Posted in blindness, Ultimate Blog Challenge
Tags
“Hey, need a lift?”
If you have a driver’s license and reliable access to a vehicle, you’ve probably asked this question at one point in your life – maybe even regularly, sometimes to the same person or people.
For obvious reasons, I do not drive. I am overwhelmed sometimes by the number of people who are willing and able to drive me places. I am regularly driven to or from long Sunday runs, turning what would be a 60-minute bus ride into a 10-minute drive with pleasant company besides. A few times a year, I need to run errands where taxis or rideshares are either impractical or prohibitively expensive. Before I started my new job, I was invited to a house party in the middle of nowhere, and had multiple offers of rides to get there and back. The generosity of strangers and friends alike is something that both makes me extremely grateful, and extremely uncomfortable.
I don’t feel guilty for calling a taxi or taking an Uber. I pay the fare, the driver provides the service. When I had to provide an urgent signature for legal documents, I ordered an Uber; I didn’t want to leave anyone hanging out downtown for me to take an hour in a law office. But there’s a certain uncomfortable feeling when accepting a ride from someone you know when they are driving you somewhere, even if they have a reason to go there themselves.
There’s a certain power imbalance. The person with the wheels, the keys, and the license, has the ability to make any decisions they see fit. If the driver wants to leave before the passenger is ready to, or doesn’t want to run that errand or attend that event, the passenger needs to locate their alternate transportation arrangements – if there are any at all. If the driver wants to stay at the party, the boring meeting, the holiday dinner, then the passenger performs some form of mental gymnastics about whether their desire to leave is worth bringing up at all.
I came to this realization when discussing travel with a friend. I’ve taken multiple trips over the years, sometimes alone, and sometimes with my (now former) husband. My friend asked me what my favourite trip was, and of all the ones I’d taken, I couldn’t help but realize that New York and the intrepid Journey were, by far, my preferred trips when I take a tour down Memory Lane. Don’t get me wrong, the Epic Road Trip of Awesome was… well…. awesome! But I realized that the fondest memories I have were on trips that didn’t include large amounts of car travel. In new York, the only car trips we took were the trip to and from the airport… and the ride back to my B&B with a performing jazz band; the rest of the trip was all made on foot or by Subway, giving both my husband and I an immense amount of personal autonomy. The Intrepid Journey may not have covered as much ground, or been quite as scenic as the Epic Road Trip of Awesome, but I realized that I could do whatever I wanted, held only to the timetables of the inter-city bus trips I booked (and got canceled before traveling, but that’s another story). In both cases, I could travel when and where I wanted, go back and sleep if I wanted, try new things that would bore almost anyone else on this planet… but I didn’t require the consultation of anyone else, beyond a courtesy “I’ll be back at place X by Y time… I’ll text you if anything changes.” I wonder if this is what driving feels like; it’s just on two feet rather than four wheels.
I am truly grateful for my army of support who are more than generous in sharing their wheels. And yet I am an ungrateful passenger. I’m frustrated by the need to ask – even though a part of me knows that rides wouldn’t be offered if they weren’t offered freely. I feel frustrated by any sense of mismatch in timelines – if I’m having fun, I have the feeling like I’m keeping someone somewhere they don’t want to be; if I’m exhausted and just want to go home, I feel like I’m taking someone else away from their fun for my benefit. Maybe it’s not the wheels I resent so much, but the perceived and actual casualness that comes with possessing them.
15 Monday Mar 2021
Posted in Exploring Edmonton
Tags
It’s cold, it’s dark, it’s winter in Alberta.
It’s also what turns out to be the midway point of a two- to three-month period where social and business activities are severely restricted.
I work from home. I am not legally allowed to have people over to my house, and it’s too cold for outdoor social gatherings (which aren’t allowed either). But I need to be around people in a safe way. And I need to get out of my house. And my partner and I want to get to know the city; there are places I’ve been that he needs clarity on, and there’s others he’s encountered more recently than me. As visually impaired people, I believe it’s important to learn your environments whenever possible. It’s not always possible, but if you’re planning on encountering certain spaces more than a time or two, I believe it’s important to familiarize yourself with those environments. I’m used to doing this myself, as is my partner; if a blind person is used to going through spaces first with the aid of a mobility instructor, please don’t change anything you’re doing because of reading this blog, unless you have safety supports in place.
So, with a sassy black guide dog and an adventurous spirit, we take a haphazard, if purposeful, approach to exploring Edmonton: Let’s prioritize a couple places, then figure the rest out as we go.
Funny… the thing about exploring with someone else? You kinda have to tell them what you’re thinking…
It’s mid-January. It’s not too cold, but it’s ugly enough that we need to be judicious about where we go. My partner wants to get to know City Centre better; I know the main floor and LRT access like the back of my hand. Jenny targets the entrances, the elevator, even shows us where the pickup window for Tim Horton’s is. We pattern it a couple times, just to make sure my partner doesn’t get lost in the dungeon-esque pedways (I use them regularly and can give people excellent directions). It’s cold, we’re tired, we’ve got the January blues…. but we’ve found success.
Our next outing sends us back to City Centre, but not before a trip to Best Buy. Our thermostat is eating through batteries every 2 weeks – at most – and we need some rechargeables. After making our purchase – and flawlessly encountering another service dog team – we head over to the Corona LRT station (and, yes, that’s what it’s actually called). We get to the corner of 109 St and Jasper Avenue, and I angle myself to cross Jasper Avenue, which will have the green light first. My partner tells me I’m going the wrong way; I tell him I’m not going the wrong way to cross Jasper Avenue. Turns out, we have VERY different ideas of how to get to the station. We both regularly access Corona Station from opposite sides of the street – I always access it from the south side, my partner accesses it from the north. It might help if we communicated that. After struggling to find the entrance to the station, which is situated street-side in freestanding “shelters”, we make our way down to the station. My partner familiarizes himself with the station, and also takes the opportunity to fulfill one of the requirements for my guide dog application process. We use our two-way radios to indicate our location – after realizing it’s best for him to “ring” me rather than just speaking into the radio. We hop the train, then head over to City Centre to get more footage. I know where I am – I can do this in my sleep – and Jenny is so thrilled to use the pedway that my partner struggles to keep up! In the end, my partner knows Corona Station better now, and I have one more piece of the application process complete. Since we’re near the train, we head over to Bay Station to catch the bus home. Since there are a bunch of exits, and neither of us has spent much time there since the construction last year, we end up completely confused and turned around and don’t have much concept of which street we exit onto. After crossing the street erroneously – twice – we make our way home, with a clear sense that we need to figure this out some more.
It’s February. It’s gorgeous… until it’s not. The deep freeze settles in. It’s cold. It’s so cold that even the thought of exploring isn’t nearly as appealing as curling up under blankets and eating soup. When we do go somewhere – when it’s warm enough to walk anywhere – we pick up items made available to us through a local Buy Nothing group. We’re getting to know our immediate area, as the group is for items located in a few select neighborhoos of Edmonton (including ours). We learn the importance of asking for good directions (one pickup point offers no more explanation than an address). We learn which secondary streets go through and/or have good sidewalks; they aren’t necessarily the ones you think they should be. Only one of us steps in a puddle…
Once the deep freeze loosens its grip, we decide to figure out Kingsway. It’s a large enough mall that I’m familiar with, though we soon discover that hopping off the bus at the transit centre and walking down is…. complicated. There’s islands in the middle of the street, and the pedestrian signal doesn’t work. Using traffic cues to figure out the light patterns is nearly useless because they just go through anyway, and all of them travel at an angle. It’s so stressful that we decide to navigate another way. After a couple false starts (heading to the McDonald’s because Jenny thinks we need fried food), we make our way to the mall. There’s enough landmarks to act as orientation points, but it’s challenging enough that you can definitely get to know it over several trips. My partner needs a new keyboard, and we pass the store no fewer than three times (my partner is looking for different visuals, and I don’t honestly know where the store is). Once we’re done, we discover walking down 109 St to the bus home is so much less stressful – and takes less time – than monkeying around with the transit centre. WINNER!
Speaking of malls, neither of us is familiar with Southgate. I’ve only been there a handful of times – the most recently probably about three years ago. My partner points out the easy way to get from the bus stop to the mall, which I previously had to go all the way around the station to get inside. We pop in to the LRT station to check out the pedway. There’s just enough doors to get yourself confused if you’re not familiar with it. The trains aren’t running today, so we need to do the full exploration from the platform at a later day, but without the stress of a schedule or a place to HAVE to be, we’re free to explore. Once we get into the mall, I let Jenny figure stuff out. She reliably shows me the exits, flawlessly guides through the food court, and thinks I need to get my nails done. She tries to direct me to the Apple store – which she’s been to once or twice with me – when we’re unceremoneously stopped by someone who we can only presume is a security gard, though he doesn’t identify himself. He orders me to stop, then tells me they only accept appointments. Forgive me; the whole storefront is wide open… We fly through the mall to get back to the bus, and both feel like it was a well-deserved outing.
In the time of COVID-19, I’ve noticed a couple things. First, people leave me be. I’m not forced to be polite when the fourth person in a row demands to know where I’m going or what I’m doing and please let them help me. My partner describes things non-visually, but provides enough visual context that it’s useful for me to know, even if I don’t use the visual cues. I can decide where I go, and when, and either go on my own or with my partner. In a time where people are talking about freedom, I feel that, in this small way, I’m free to be me, to figure things out, to ask questions of myself and my city, and maybe be able to contribute to someone else’s experience along the way.
16 Monday Apr 2018
Posted in The Intrepid Journey 2018
I hate the saying “everything Happens for a Reason.”
Sometimes, there is no reason.
But, in many things, I find myself embracing new opportunities where once I had seen closed doors.
Does opportunity knock, or do we make our own?
Are both true?
I’ve made a decision since last I wrote: I’m skipping Missoula. Sure, I booked a bus ticket to Missoula (and not using it will leave me out $30), but other bus route cancellations have made visiting there impractical. I’m spending an extra day and night in Flathead County, making my way to Great Falls by train and bus a couple days earlier than originally planned, which leaves me some time to spend in Butte! I’ve heard both amazing things about Butte, and have been told by other people to skip it. But since I was able to easily find accommodations in Butte (compared to the hostile reception by multiple Missoulian AirBNB hosts), and there’s a ton of historical stuff within walking distance, I figure I can’t REALLY go wrong. I’ve also been able to locate places to stay in Bozeman and Billings, which now completes the accommodation search. YAY!
Transportation is still a concern (though research has told me that there may be schedule changes later this month); and here I thought that would be the easy part of trip planning!
WRONG!
But… opportunities.
Wonderful opportunities.
I’ve been toying with the idea of running a half-marathon for the past couple years, and I happened to Google what races might be running in Montana while I’m in the State.
And I found one.
I have signed up for the Montana Marathon in Billings! It’s a day earlier than I planned to get there, but there’s a half-marathon! I’m tired of saying that someday I might run a half-marathon… I am going to run a half-marathon five months from today! I’m still working out some logistics – when I will get into town, who will be my guide runner, and how I plan to train both at home and away – but this is honestly the most right-feeling thing about this trip. It’s yet another way I will grow and stretch and push myself and meet more people… I couldn’t be happier!
Without the canceling of bus routes and shuffling my itinerary and putting it all back together again, this wouldn’t be possible.
So I’ll be running mile after mile, doing squats and planks and stair-climbs, thanking Opportunity for knocking when I was in a position to answer.
Please consider supporting this trip and help making it the best it can be!
03 Saturday Mar 2018
Posted in The Intrepid Journey 2018
Well, not quite… but mostly.
Since my previous post about my three bus cancellations, I’ve been waiting… and waiting… and waiting. In addition to the three tickets I was alerted had been changed canceled, further research has shown me that one more ticket had been altered, making my accommodations in Helena nearly unusable. I was able to get that ticket refunded as well, but that leaves me in a position of having multiple accommodations and no safe way to get from one to another, unless I book alternate arrangements and/or change my accommodation bookings.
I’ve booked one flight – the one to get me to Seattle – and one bus ticket that appears to have been unaffected by route and schedule changes. Beyond that, I’ve been doing mental gymnastics trying to figure out whether to keep my existing schedule and hope transportation figures itself out or making changes, forfeiting one unaffected bus ticket and hoping things don’t change further.
I am tired.
I’ve also decided to create a crowdfunding page. Many readers have read my Epic Road Trip of Awesome series and expressed their enjoyment of it. Because I plan on blogging about The Intrepid Journey, I’m asking faithful readers to consider supporting this trip to help make it the best trip it can be. 🙂
Please consider supporting this trip and sharing the crowdfunding page (even sharing can help out!)
I’ve got a generally clean slate, and that is both exciting and aggravating.
06 Saturday Jan 2018
Posted in The Intrepid Journey 2018
Tags
AirBNB, best laid plans, Bozeman, discrimination, Greyhound, Jefferson Lines, Missoula, Montana, plan B, road trip, travel
A dream of a solo journey through Montana was born while driving down a highway in the summer of 2017, passing cities I thought might be fun. I hadn’t even unpacked my bag from that trip before I started looking up bus routes to make this next trip happen.
Four months later, I’ve waffled almost constantly between excitement, ambivalence, and apprehension. The first thing I booked was my train ticket from Seattle to Whitefish, Montana, splurging on a sleeper car; it seemed like an appropriate celebratory purchase when my work position went from a term contract to a permanent position. Any time I had some extra spending money, I put it into bus tickets – as of this writing, five of them had been booked. My wonderful husband gave me an Alaska Airlines gift card for Christmas, so I’m just waiting for my flight from Edmonton to Seattle to possibly decrease in price; and I’d have no money at all if I booked my flight right now from Denver back home. But that will come.
As for accommodation, my goal is to meet people, which pretty much rules out the segregation and sterility of hotels. An accommodating AirBNB host in Cheyenne put up no resistance regarding Jenny, though he did express concern regarding me navigating his basement steps (and lest anyone think it’s a blind thing, he posted about it in his listing itself, so I doubt it). A friend in Denver has offered to put me up for a weekend (though I won’t identify them at this point). I snapped up pet-friendly accommodations within my (admittedly cheap) budget in Seattle, Helena and Great Falls, with hosts who appear to be more than welcoming. Just this morning, I booked my one night in a hostel in Whitefish – who can go wrong staying in a spot with storage for bags and a vegetarian restaurant and smoothie bar?
And then there’s Missoula.
I’ve had service dog refusals before, but I’ve had two notable AirBNB hosts in Missoula who have been incredibly unwelcoming and rude (not to mention discriminatory and in violation of AirBNB’s inclusion policy regarding assistance animals). Correspondence with AirBNB on this issue has given me little more than reiterations of the policies I already know.
So I promised myself – both as a way to save my pennies for now and a way to preserve my own mental well-being – to put my 25-AirBNB-listing Missoula wish list (and my smaller ones for Bozeman and Billings) on hold temporarily.
And it’s a darn good thing I did!
I got a call from Greyhound this afternoon, telling me that my scheduled trip from Missoula to Great Falls had been canceled outright, and my revised trips from Helena to Bozeman and Bozeman to Billings (thanks to cancellations of my purchased daytime routes) would involve arriving at the bus station in Bozeman in the middle of the night. I had hoped to avoid overnight travel altogether as much as possible, and I found myself standing in my bedroom, laughing uproariously at the absurdity of all this; if I didn’t laugh, I guarantee I would’ve been crying. The Greyhound representative refunded those tickets that had been impacted by the route cancelations, and I’m in contact with Jefferson Lines (the partner company) to see if there are plans for revised daytime schedules in the near future.
My sister-in-law, Sarah – who many readers got to know through my Epic Road Trip of Awesome series – recently described me (and this journey) as “intrepid”. I am resolute and dauntless about this trip, even though I have no idea how it’s all going to pan out. Never has it felt more true – or more freeing or more scary – at this moment.
So, I’ll be putting bookings on hold for the time being, just to wait and see how the stars align in the next few months.
But, hey, I’ve got some extra cash thanks to those refunds, and can start saving more. Maybe I should book those flights!
03 Friday Nov 2017
Tags
Two months ago today, I wrote a blog post just hours after returning from a road trip that changed me deeply. I came face to face with myself, and it wasn’t always a pretty picture. That trip made me grow up in ways I never thought I needed, and it created new dreams, presented once-in-a-lifetime opportunities, and strengthened relationships.
let’s look back a little bit, shall we?
Total trip distance: 5449 km (at minimum, detours make this hard to calculate)
Total Traveling Time: 64.5 hours
Tanks of gas: 16
Times we pitched our tent: 5
Times we changed our itinerary: 5 major trip changes
Places we missed out on: 2 (Mount St. Helen’s itself, Garnet)
Once-in-a-life-time experiences: Countless, but two stand out (Sleeping under the stars, and Old Faithful)
Number of inside jokes: Too many to count
Catch phrases: “A bucket of chili!”, “twenty Minutes to Bozeman”, and a bunch more
Regrets: For me, that the trip was so fast that we never got to settle in, and missed out on some cool experiences; others may have different feelings
I created the previous blog posts through a combination of memory, audio recordings I made at the time, facebook posts, text messages, photos, and, where applicable, speaking with the others involved. In particular, the exhausted monologues of day 1, Day 5, and day 7 provided great jumping off points for me to tell my story. All impressions are my own, or are impressions or thoughts that have been directly expressed to me by those who went through them. Many of you have thanked me for writing this blog series about our trip, warts and missteps and all, and for that you have my gratitude. It would’ve been very easy to sugar-coat things, to paint this amazing trip in the rosy glow of remembrance, to put all of us in the most positive light possible. But it wouldn’t have been raw and real and authentic, and it certainly wouldn’t have been this road trip. I took great pains to describe feelings and conflicts and impressions as accurately as I could, with greatest emphasis on my own reactions and feelings. Others’ words, actions or attitudes may have coloured my reactions or thoughts, but I am only responsible for how I respond to them.
As to why I wrote this? It’s a remembrance, to the person I was before and the person I’m becoming. I don’t want to lose sight of either incarnation of her.
In the weeks following our journey, fire devastated huge swaths of area we had previously covered. Oregon’s I-84 was closed in portions we had traveled less than a week earlier due to the Eagle Creek Fire, which is still burning two months later. Over a million acres of Montana land have been scorched by multiple wildfires that have devastated land, property, and air quality; even now, some roads have just recently reopened. If we had taken the same trip even a week later – or if we take it in the future – it would look and feel and smell completely different than it did on our journey. I feel like we were given a gift, some of the last glimpses of this unspoiled land before it all burned away.
As for the four of us personally, we’ve all had to go back to “real life” (to our jobs and our homes and our countries), but flashes of the Epic Road trip of Awesome still linger and pop out and unbidden moments. The roof bag is still stuffed with camping gear, my toiletry bag is already stocked for my next adventure, and the T-shirts I bought in Montana are among my personal favourites. We temporarily misplaced the bag from the Montana Gift Corral containing the plaque and bracelet, and I frantically messaged them when we couldn’t find it to see if we’d left it behind somewhere and maybe someone had turned it in. When the answer was “no”, I considered re-purchasing the items, but shipping to Canada would’ve been prohibitively expensive. Sarah found it in her duffel bag a few weeks later, and you can now frequently find me wearing the bracelet she and Ben found for me. I was right about how it fit, though; I’ve started to dub it the “boomerang bracelet” because I’ve lost it so many times and always gotten it back. It, like so much of this trip, must have been meant to be.
If you follow me on social media, you’ll know this bit. That dream of traveling around Montana has started to form concrete dimmensions. I hadn’t even unpacked my backpack before I sat down and spent hours researching ways to get from Alberta to Montana by bus (hint: you can’t do it). I researched planes and trains and started looking into accommodations. The idea gripped me so fiercely that Ben and I agreed that we’d forego our original plans for next summer so I could take this trip in the fall (he’s planning a different excursion of his own). I’ve spent hours on travel sites, configuring itineraries, changing plans, mentally organizing it in my head on nights when I can’t sleep. When my current job went from a temporary contract to a permanent one a month ago, I felt safe enough to book my train ride into Montana, and extending the planned itinerary from two weeks to three. It’s getting real now, not this abstract “someday” concept anymore.
So, ladies and gentlemen, I’ll be back in Montana in September, 2018. Not only will I be touring Montana, but my trip will branch out into Washington State, Wyoming, and Colorado. I will be on my own, carrying nothing but a backpack on my back and a guide dog’s harness in my left hand. I’ll be looking straight into the future, doing things that – if I think too hard – I might talk myself out of because they’re new or unpracticed and a little scary.
Maybe I will rediscover my “brave.”
If you’ve ever supported the work of this blog, please consider buying me a coffee and help make this trip possible.
In Bozeman, I bought a black T-shirt that feels so very soft to the touch. On the front of it is a phrase that is apt, and I close with it now.
The mountains are calling.
I must go.
31 Tuesday Oct 2017
Posted in Epic Road Trip of Awesome
Sunday, September 3, 2017
I am pulled from my sleep by a combination of factors – my need to use the washroom, Ben’s snoring beside me, and Jenny’s whimpering beside the bed (indicating she has similar needs to my own). I try and be as quiet as possible when slipping through Sarah and Dwight’s room to the washroom. It’s not easy; any time you try and be quiet, you make so much noise you might as well not have bothered. I want to hang out in their room for a while, because it’s nice and cool, while ours is a veritable sauna.
I quickly feed Jenny while I’m making noise anyway and take her downstairs to answer nature’s call. Another hotel guest has a dog with her. This dog is either on a flexi-lead or is not leashed at all. Jenny just wants to get down to business, but three times this dog tries to interfere, and three times the dog’s owner tries to call her dog back to her. I’m too tired to chew her out for her dog’s horrible recall, since my dog’s not on duty at the moment anyway, and I go back upstairs to wait for the others to wake up.
It’s 9:00 before we clean up our garbage and load most of our unnecessary items into the trunk of the car. We make our way to the hotel restaurant, where I am asked (for the second time in three days) if Jenny is “my” service dog. I smile and say yes, and the four of us are seated, ordering our coffee and juice (thanks, Dwight, for being odd man out). We consult the menu, and I order Idaho trout with potatoes and toast.
As soon as we place our order, we talk about the trip home. The plan has been to make a stop in Radium Hot Springs, but I think all of us are tired and just want to take the shortest distance home. We’ll have to visit Radium another time.
Over our breakfast – including big cubes of potatoes – We reminisce over the past days and think about what we’ll do with our day off tomorrow. We drink more coffee and Dwight drinks more juice, and we mentally prepare ourselves to hit the road again.
Once our breakfast bill has been paid, we swing by the gift shop. I find another T-shirt (my fourth this trip, if anyone’s counting). It’s blue with a picture of the Montana state flag, and it says “Montana – My Happy Place” across the front. I can’t resist.
We leave the unopened alcohol in the room, with a note for the cleaning staff to help themselves when they’re not on-duty, do one more pass-through to make sure there’s no more garbage unaccounted for, and pick up our backpacks and trek downstairs to check out of the Izaak Walton Inn. We’re told that the highway through West Glacier National Park is closed due to wildfires in the area; this would have been the route we would have gone to get to Radium. We’re glad we didn’t have our hearts set on it today.
We load our backpacks into the trunk of the car and then find one of the refurbished train cars to take pictures of each of us wearing the communal jacket. We laugh at the absurdity of it all, this small leather jacket being worn by four people, and are grateful for one more memory to carry home with us.
We get back to the car and Ben runs inside again, bringing the two propane bottles we purchased earlier in the week – one full, one empty. We can’t take them with us across the border, so the hotel staff might as well get some use out of them.
Ben gets into the passenger seat, while Sarah takes the wheel. Jenny’s not limping anymore, so the frequent massaging seems to have made her more comfortable. There’s so much leg room now that there’s no food in the car that we can reconfigure the other bags so that all four of us can enjoy it.
Sarah starts the car, and we head north toward home.
We plan on getting gas in St. mary, but the driver in front of us is driving unnecessarily aggressively. Ben marvels that this driver’s car has Alberta plates (proof that Alberta has the worst drivers), then he and Ben exchange words at the gas station. I have no idea what’s going on, but it’s times like this I am glad I don’t drive and don’t have to deal with it.
Our tank full of gasoline, we continue to drive north. I reflect on this week, and realize I’m not the same person I was when we loaded up the car nine days ago, and that’s a good thing. I ask Ben and Sarah about their experiences, how they feel, what they experienced. They also admit they’re not the same individuals either, and their relationship with each other (and with me) has strengthened and changed in unexpected ways. Dwight agrees and thanks us for inviting him along. We thank him for providing some much-needed perspective and levity; without him, we may have self-destructed as a group.
I ask the others about their favourite experiences (Little Bighorn and Yellowstone being most popular) and most memorable stop for food (The “zen Wendy’s” and KJ’s Truck Stop prove unforgetable). Who has the worst drivers? Alberta, hands down. Favorite wildlife sighting? The boldness of the wildlife in Idaho was incredible, but Wyoming has some amazing natural beauty.
We cross the border into Canada, and are instantly struck with the irony that we’ve spent the past several days with friendly people. The border officer is noticeably abrupt, and fellow travelers we encounter at the Canadian rest stop are likewise pushy – so much for Canadian friendliness!
We stop by the Nanton Candy Store to indulge our individual sweet tooth. We’ve been in the store for a couple of minutes when the store owner approaches me and takes me aside. I have a feeling of dread that he’s going to ask me to take Jenny outside, but he surprises me with his respect and discretion. he makes it abundantly clear that I am absolutely welcome in his store accompanied by my service dog, but he tells me he has an employee with severe allergies and asks me to be considerate of that. Our conversation is so discrete that even my traveling companions have no idea it ever took place. I used to often wonder what I would do in a situation like this – where a very real severe allergy is present – and now I know: treat this man and his shop with the respect he just showed me. I pick out a Jones soda and pay with some of our leftover American money, then walk outside to wait for the others.
We top up on gas in nanton as well, and this leg of our journey feels so very long. Home is within striking distance, REALLY, but we still have hours to drive.
Sarah puts on some of her music as a sound track, since Ben’s music is repeating the same songs over and over and over again. Dwight, Ben and I dose now and then, sometimes asking questions about the bands or vocalists we’re hearing.
Traffic crawls through Calgary, and it starts to rain as we top up the tank for the last time in Innisfail. We stop at Peter’s Drive Inn just outside of Red Deer and order big burgers and milkshakes. The sun peaks through the clouds as we hit the Edmonton city limits, and a sense of deep sadness fills the car. We’re home! But we don’t want this epic road trip of awesome to end. Ben toys with the idea of just driving around Edmonton for another couple of hours, holding the magic in this little Nissan for as long as we can. But this trip needs to end sometime…
We pull up in front of our house and divest Hoshi of all of her extra baggage. Everyone grabs their own backpack or duffel bag, and only Sarah removes her sleeping gear from the roof bag. Our kitties greet us noisily, and it’s like we’ve never been gone. We invite Sarah to stay for coffee, and she eagerly accepts. We put Pink Floyd on the record player and just soak in the music; too many words would devalue the experience. It’s hard to believe it’s all over.
But soon enough, Sarah picks up her duffel bag and takes off for home. Ben, Dwight and I are all exhausted, and turn in early.
But for me, it’s not over.
Not really.
27 Friday Oct 2017
Posted in Epic Road Trip of Awesome
Saturday, September 2, 2017
We’ve got no particular plans for today, but we continue our habit of being up by 7:00 AM. Ben’s use of the larger air mattress has given him (and by extention us) a more restful sleep.
The campers in the site next to us have brought a young kitten with them. This cat has spent most of its time in the car, meowing its little head off. Sarah notices this, and it makes me sad.
The four of us make our way to the showers, where I notice that not only the showers but the washrooms have curtains rather than doors. I think I like it; it’s easy to keep clean and free of mold.
I’ve changed into a pair of shorts and the T-shirt I bought from Mark earlier in the week. The back of the shirt says “Will Run for Pie”, and I am on a mission to eat pie while wearing that shirt. I refuse to be denied!
I’m in the tent, rolling sleeping bags, when a woman comes by our camp site to see if anyone has lost a bracelet. Turns out, it was mine! I had placed the bracelet Dad gave me for my birthday beside my toiletry bag and promptly forgotten about it. I thank her profusely for returning it to me, and the four of us meet our campsite neighbors with the kitten. The kids don’t seem to care that I can’t see, as I snuggle the little ball of kitten fluff. I think of Wolfie, who’s still growing, and remember Dash, who’s the only kitty I’ve ever had be that small. I’m missing them more fiercely than ever, and as much fun as I’m having, I just want to go home.
We pack up the roof bag for the last time, putting all of our camping gear on the roof and cramming our backpacks in the trunk. Dwight wonders why we haven’t always done this, and I don’t have a good answer for him.
We hit the road back to Bozeman, and hoshi is still holding her own. we definitely need to visit a mechanic when we get back to Edmonton, but the immediate crisis is over.
With Jenny, it’s not going so well. We pull up in front of Cafe M, and she limps slightly as we walk to the door. Sarah notices, too, and makes a concerned comment. I wonder if it’s because her paws are tender from the heat of yesterday, or if it’s something else. Sarah has trained with horses for years and describes where she sees the origin of the limp. Thankfully it’s not her hips, but her hock. I worry about my guide, who wears her big open Labrador heart on her sleeve. For her to show this level of pain breaks my heart.
We enter the cafe, and I immediately smell something lemony. Could this be pie? might I have pie with my breakfast and complete my mission of getting a picture of my eating pie while wearing this awesome shirt?
It’s not pie.
We order breakfast – surprisingly large and savory portions – with our coffee, and chat about what we’d like to do in Bozeman today… and the party we’re going to throw in the hotel room tonight. At one point, I get up to take Jenny outside. her limp is more noticeable the longer we walk. I’m not gone for more than ten minutes, and when I come back inside, ben’s gone (for some reason he never shared with me) to go get more money out of the bank machine. Little matter that I have plenty of cash with me; he HAD to get more, and get charged through the nose by our bank for the privilege. I’m more annoyed than I should be. I’m having so much fun here, but I seriously just want to go home, and home has never felt so close – just within my grasp – and yet so far away. It all boils over into an emotional overreaction that makes me feel like crap.
We finish our coffees and walk down E Main St. We pop into brick buildings, new and old. Dwight buys a nice pair of pants – “with ALL the pockets!” he gushes. At every place we stop, I massage Jenny’s hind leg near her hip. She seems to feel better, and she walks a little smoother each time. Sarah notices, too,and thinks that she – like us – is stiff and sore from so many hours curled up in the car, but will otherwise be fine.
Then we pop into the Montana Gift Corral. We are greeted warmly and offered coffee, and I just know I could spend hours here. I browse around for T-shirts, and find one that’s the softest fabric. It’s black, with a saying I love on the front. I zip into the washroom to try it on, and it fits nicely. I come out to the front, triumphant, and Ben shows me what he’s found.
He’s found a small plaque with a picture of a black Lab that says “Never camp Alone”. My eyes well with tears as the poignancy of this whole week, camping with this beautiful guide, hits me full force.
I’m standing at the counter, paying for my T-shirt, when Ben tells me he’d like to give me a bracelet. It caught Sarah’s eye, and Ben agreed it looks gorgeous. I try it on. I like it a lot, but it fits a little big, and I worry about the clasp staying closed and the bracelet remaining on my wrist. The words don’t come out right; I don’t want Ben and Sarah to think I don’t appreciate it – because I do! – but it doesn’t quite suit me. At a loss, I say only that I worry about it staying on my hand because of its size and my wrist because of the clasp. The bracelet is purchased along with the plaque, and once again, I feel like crap.
We walk up and down East Main Street, as the day heats up and smoke lingers in the air from ever-present wildfires. Ben seems equally as edgy as I feel, because without warning he goes off to be alone for a few minutes and the three of us continue browsing Main Street. When ben meets up with us a few minutes later, we come across a small park, and sit down to wait a few minutes before making our way to a tattoo parlor that opens at noon. We get to that place only to find them closed. Sarah finds another one up the block, and she walks down there as we make our way back to the car. Less than 30 minutes later, we pick up a newly-tattooed Sarah and hit the road for our hotel.
We’re all weary and exhausted. Bozeman has been just as hot as Billings was yesterday. We just want to get to the hotel, let our hair down, and PARTY!
The miles go by as we fly down the interstates. When we reach Butte, I’m disappointed we have no time to stop. When helena is within spitting distance, I realize I can’t add to the list of state capitals I’ve visited. I muse dreamily about how it would be to travel Montana by bus, from city to city, and the spark of a dream was born.
We stop in a small town near Augusta, where we pay for fuel at a station that feels like it’s entirely made of wood. The floors creak, the washrooms are so small that they might as well be called closets, and the muggy air is blown around by a single fan near the cashier counter. It feels good to stand around and chat, but soon it’s time to hit the road again.
We make it to Browning right on schedule – 5:30. We stop at one grocery store, who doesn’t seem to have anything we’re looking for. We go back to the car and go to another store, where we buy a fried chicken meal from the deli, the best of the meagre chip selection that seems to be prevalent in the States, and enough alcohol for a group twice our size. We come out paying less than $20 a person, and giddily drive the next hour to the Izaak Walton Inn.
We check in just after 6:30 and get our room keys. I ask if the restaurant has pie, and am told they don’t, but the bar downstairs should. I’m giddy; I might JUST get my picture!
It takes us two full trips to carry our backpacks, food, booze, and other supplies the three flights of stairs to our room. It’s huge! There’s a queen bed in each of the two rooms, along with a twin bed and a twin futon. We chill 4 drinks in the sink as we dig into the chicken. ben wants to go take pictures of trains, Dwight and Sarah want to go down to the bar, and I want my pie! The three of us go downstairs as Ben goes to take his pictures.
My hopes for pie are dashed… again.
There is no pie.
But there IS cobbler!
I’ll run for cobbler!
My T-shirt says “Will Run for Pie”, with “Cobbler” written on a napkin. You can also see the cobbler
I have already had one drink, plus the chicken, and I’m not feeling well. I think it’s the chicken, so I guzzle a ton of water while picking at my delicious cobbler. I make a comment that the piano in the bar is out of tune, and Dwight and I disagree about whether it sounds harmonious or not. Dwight says he’ll refrain from telling the bartender that I play, for which I thank him profusely.
Eventually, Dwight and Sarah go for a walk outside, leaving Ben and I alone for a few precious moments. We are now relaxed, more relaxed than we’ve been in a while, and we talk openly about this trip – what we wish had been different, our personal highlights, what changed in us. I tell him about my dream – of traveling Montana by bus – alone – and he’s surprised. I think in a way he’s a little hurt, too, or maybe confused is a better word. But the idea has gripped me so strongly that I know it’s something I need to do. The pieces haven’t fallen into place, but I’ve fallen in love with this state and its people, and I have a feeling I will learn even more about myself on this upcoming dream-trip than I have on this awesome adventure we’ve been on for the past week. It’s not logical, it doesn’t make sense even to me, but it’s something I know I just HAVE to do, and I’ll work out the details later.
Sarah and Dwight come back, giddy with alcohol and the night air, and we break into the chips and the drinks and a rousing game of Cards against Humanity. Over the past year, ben’s collected almost all the expantion packs, and the game is spread out over the bench seat. Dwight sits on Ben’s and by Bed, while Ben takes the couch and Sarah and I grab chairs. We keep drinks out of the way of hands and feet, laugh uproariously at the questions and answers, go on rabbit trails, talk more, drink more, eat more chips…
The clock strikes midnight, and we’re suddenly exhausted. Ben and I retired to our bed, while Sarah and Dwight stay up later, chatting. Their voices and laughter soothe me to sleep as our last night in Montana draws to a close.
14 Saturday Oct 2017
Posted in Epic Road Trip of Awesome
Tags
best laid plans, Billings, blindness, Bozeman, camping, Idaho, inadequacy, Montana, Old Faithful, personal, road trip, shopping, travel, Wyoming, Yellowstone National Park
Thursday, August 31, 2017
I don’t notice the time, but I can hear vehicles driving down the highway. A slight breeze ruffles my hair and I burrow deeper into my sleeping bag. For some reason I can’t quite explain, I am more content than I have been in a long time, and I drift off to sleep again.
The next thing I hear is someone’s alarm. It’s 6:30 (though my phone, stuck on Pacific Time, tells me differently). Ben says he woke up at about 2:00 and saw this full complement of stars above his head, and wishes he could’ve shared that moment with Sarah. Sarah, for her part, says SHE woke up at 2:00 AM and saw those stars. I think of those drowsy contented moments with the breeze playing with my hair, and think that maybe, just maybe, we all unknowingly experienced simultaneous magic.
I stretch and we start rolling up sleeping bags and deflating our mattresses. Jenny, annoyed at being cooped up in the car all night, bounds out of the back seat and starts sniffing the area vigorously. After a quick pee and breakfast, she’s further annoyed at being put back in the car so we can load up the roof bag and search for showers. We’ve stuffed our dirty laundry into the bags that normally contain our air mattresses. The glorious foot room from yesterday is no longer available, and I hope this changes soon.
We find washrooms… but no showers.
Ben has cell reception, and he confirms the campsite lists “showers” as an amenity. We drive around the campsite in case we miss something and…
No showers.
After the long drive yesterday, there is no way we are going without showers!
We pull up alongside a couple of women – campers? – and ask if they know where there are showers. They pause (“oh, gosh!”) and consider it, before recommending a nearby campground, or possibly a truck stop in Idaho Falls. Ben rolls up the window and thanks them.
Idaho Falls looks like our best bet.
After fifteen minutes or so of driving, we locate KJ’s Travel Center and pull in to the parking lot. Ben goes inside to see if there are showers. And hallelujah! THEY HAVE SHOWERS!
We pay $7.50 per shower and are handed keys, towels and face cloths. one of us needs to wait for the fourth shower to be cleaned, and Ben says he’ll wait.
I have what I can only describe as the most amazing shower of my life. I want to stay under the spray for hours, but everyone else will be annoyed, and I’m hungry, so I turn off the water and nearly slip in the puddles my feet leave on the floor. It’s only now that I notice a mat I could have used to avoid this…
Changing in to clean, dry clothes, I shove yesterday’s clothes into my toiletry bag, pick up the towel and washcloth and make sure I’m holding the key before I let the door close behind me.
To my astonishment, I am the first one out of the showers! As the others meet me in the hall, everyone agrees that those showers were incredible! Ben notices a little room off to the side, and we’re thrilled that it contains washers and dryers! We tromp back downstairs, move the car to a better location, and four humans and one dog haul all of our dirty clothes up the stairs. Sarah gets quarters for the washer and dryer and buys soap from the little store downstairs, and we load two washers with the dirty camping clothes of four people.
While the washers spin, we go back down the stairs to locate the diner. When Jenny and I enter, you’d have thought no one had ever seen a dog before! We are stared at, but otherwise left alone to pile into a booth and order our food.
The waitress comes by and asks us if we’d like coffee. We all say “yes!” so emphatically that she asks us if we’d like a pitcher.
A pitcher of coffee!?
Yes, please!
Sarah holds the magical coffee karaf
We drink our coffee, marvel at the showers and our night under the stars, and order our food. I’m itching to try Idaho potatoes, so I order a basic breakfast with eggs, potatoes, bacon and toast. The intermittent Wifi signal brings me a notification “written” by our cat, Annie (translated by our friend Keith), stating that she’s mourned our departure and thinks we’ll NEVER come back, but is glad for all the space on the bed and the new guy who seems to come regularly for kitty scritches. I chuckle and share it with Ben.
Just before our food arrives, Ben goes upstairs with a bunch of quarters to move all of our clothes from the washers to the dryer.
Our food arrives, and we tuck in. In my opinion, the food isn’t quite as good as the coffee. It’s greasy and heavy and hits the spot, but my potatoes are all clumped together and my bacon is only warm, not hot, and definitely flabby rather than the crispy bacon I prefer.
We finish our breakfast, and Ben and I pay the bill, leaving a generous tip. It’s now time to souvenir shop!
Jenny’s struggling with this building for some reason. Either she’s discombobulated by the open space that gives way to sudden tiny pathways or she’s mad at me for last night’s “abandonment” in the car. She keeps taking me to exit doors and is seemingly disinterested in guiding, though she’s calm and collected, so I work with what I have.
There are key chains in the gift shop. I’m thrilled to find a big heavy one with a spinning centre piece showing the Idaho state flag. There are no badges for jenny’s travel blanket, so I make a mental note to order one online. Ben and Sarah try on trucker hats, laughing uproariously before each choosing one.
We climb the stairs to the laundry room, where our clothes continue to tumble around in the dryer. After a few minutes, I go downstairs to use a washroom and get Jenny some water. I’m just about to pick up her water bowl and empty out the excess water when a woman pushes open the door, sees Jenny, and lets out a shriek. I say nothing, dump the bowl into the sink, wipe it dry, and put it in my purse. The woman apologizes for her reaction. I still say nothing and leave.
Jenny’s still not taking me to the base of the stairs. There’s something blocking easy access to them, and they’re incredibly narrow and steep to begin with. We ultimately make it upstairs, where I join the others lounging on the comfy couches. We all tease each other some, wrestle a bit, then sprawl out on the couches again and tune each other and the world out for a few blessed minutes.
The dryers are done and we pry them open…
And our clothes are still soaked!
We have a brief team meeting. Our options are limited. We can either run the dryer again and hope this dries our clothes or suck it up and hope we find a dryer on the road.
It’s a quick decision. It’s pushing close to 10:00 and we really want to get to Old Faithful sooner rather than later. We load our damp clothes into the mattress bags and stuff them in the trunk, fill the car with gas, and change our riding configuration for the trip to Wyoming.
For the first ride of any distance, I’m in the front seat. Ben is driving, while Sarah has taken up a position with Jenny and Dwight in the back. Once we’re ready to go, it’s easy to marvel at the landscape we’re leaving behind. We see more wildlife as we cross through Idaho, which continues for at least another hour from Idaho Falls. There are more Mormon temples seemingly in the middle of nowhere, and a Holy Rosary (church?) likewise situated. Once we cross from Idaho into Montana, the speed limit increases from a quick 70 miles an hour to a blistering 80 on the Interstates. We call our hosts for tonight at Grandview Campground and play phone tag due to the spotty reception Ben’s getting. We finally connect with them and let them know we’re planning a late evening checkin, and are asked to call back when we have a more solid ETA.
The scenery is gorgeous as we travel through a small corner of Montana and into Wyoming. Sarah passes out GoPicnic lunches, but we snack on them sparingly; we’re still full from breakfast. We pay the entry fee to Yellowstone National Park on the Montana side of the park, and it doesn’t take long before we’re suddenly into Wyoming. In less than 90 minutes, we’ve crossed three state lines. We see tons of wildlife. A bison stands in the middle of a field close to the highway, just hanging out and minding its business, and Ben adds that to his tally of animals seen on our trip. There’s more beautiful senery, including other geisers, that Ben and Sarah definitely want to photograph on the way back down. No complaints from me; they’ve earned these pictures!
We reach Old Faithful just after 1:30. I expect us to have to take a small hike to get out there, but instead we pull into a parking lot and travel along sidewalks to small cafes, shops, and the visitors center. We stop in a souvenir shop where I find two awesome tactile keychains (one for me and one for a friend back home) and a badge for Jenn’s blanket. I’m paying for my purchases when Sarah tells us she’s heard that Old Faithful might erupt in a few minutes! I’m afraid we’ll miss it, because (again) I’m expecting a hike and a trail, but it’s only a brief paved walk to a wodden outlook.
I’ve imagined Old Faithful for months. I’m expecting some great rushing force of water, like a reverse waterfall. But instead, I hear nothing but fellow tourists as I stand on the boardwalk.
It’s 2:16. Time for the expected eruption.
And nothing happens.
A hush falls over the crowd as a faint smell of sulphur fills the air and Old Faithful bubbles slightly.
More time passes.
Another brief scent of sulphur, another slight eruption, more silence.
As time passes, people inch away and go back to the shops and their cars. Murmurings of Old Faithful being a tease and a let-down can be heard behind me. I inch closer to the edge of the overlook just as Old Faithful, in a final show of strength, erupts.
After a 20-minute tease, Old Faithful erupts!
It’s not at all what I expect. The faint scent of sulphur is not present here. The strong powerful sounds of gushing water I expected are definitely absent as well; instead, it sounds like faint ocean waves.
After a couple of minutes, Old Faithful settles down, and many people clap and start to move away. It’s kind of weird to think about, Sarah says. It’s like everyone is congratulating earth on being earth… “YAY! Earth!” But I just HAD to get a picture with Old Faithful in the background.
Me and Jenny crouched down with a calm Old Faithful in the background
We zip inside another store for road snacks. Dwight buys a bag of grapes for $8 and Ben buys more road cheesies. I get a Gatorade and Sarah buys her snacks – we all spend a small fortune on road food.
We take our last bathroom break before piling into the car. Jenny – as she’s done all the way through this trip – finds the accessible stall without my asking her to do so. Sarah keeps telling me how impressed she’s been with Jenny on this trip, and while I can dwell on Jenn’s mistakes and missteps, I have to agree with Sarah. Jenn laps up the water I set down for her by the sink, and we’re all ready to hit the road.
We keep our travel configurations from this morning as we pile into the car. Ben’s got a Google map on his phone and is hopeful that he can still navigate in these areas with no cell service. Just twenty minutes out of Old Faithful, Sarah spots the geisers they wanted for pictures, and Ben pulls in.
Dwight and I stay in the car, talking. We haven’t really had an opportunity to do so on this trip, and I confess my feelings of uselessness. I’m not a seasoned camper, and Ben and Sarah seem to frequently have everything under control. Sure, I’ve rolled a sleeping bag or two, or helped set up the tent, but to me it doesn’t feel like nearly enough. Dwight offers some perspective that I desperately need – that I have been contributing, but that I need to temper my need to be needed with the practicalities that come alongside camping with experienced campers. My blindness has nothing to do with it. I’m not sure I feel any better, but I feel better for having talked about it.
Sarah and Ben come back to the car, thrilled with the pictures they’ve taken of this area. It’s called the Painted Pots. There are signs that state that you must stay out of the water; it’s so clear and so hot that you would never come out.
The Painted Pots
We’re ready to go again. Sarah and Dwight chat in the back while Ben follows the route he sees on Google maps. There’s a motorist in front of us who keeps speeding up and slowing down and speeding up and slowing down. Ben finally gets so annoyed that he takes the first available turnoff and hopes it’s the right one.
The highways are well-paved and well-maintained. We’ve driven for about half an hour before Ben thinks he made a mistake – turning left instead of right. His google map is useless up here, and he asks me for directions. I pull up Nearby Explorer, put in the address of Grandview Campground, and start giving directions (basically, keep going straight and take one turn or another).
As we travel, Dwight and Sarah nap while Ben and I chat. I talk to Ben about my feelings of inadequacy, and he’s quick to reassure me that I have pulled my weight – heck, I’m the one navigating on this leg of the journey!
The signs for Bozeman appear, and we are all tired. It’s 20 minutes to Bozeman now, and someone points this out. Dwight says that’s a perfect name for a band, and we all laugh and agree.
In Bozeman, we stop for gas. We’re getting hungry and find a burger place with a drive-through. We order massive burgers and fries, and we’re all impressed as we munch. Only Ben seems disappointed by his waffle fries (I try one and agree that my traditional fries are better). Sarah has cell reception, so she calls Grandview and tells them our ETA appears to be about 9:30. They thank her for her call and tell her they’ll see us when we get there.
As we drive through Bozeman, Ben and Sarah express a strong liking for the city. The architecture looks cool, and now I think we’re all sorry we won’t get a chance to explore it further.
Nearby Explorer continues to map our route – go straight. we pass small towns and lovely scenery as the sun sets. Even I can see the sunset filtered through the trees, with mountains in the background on either side. I’m blown away by the majestic beauty of this sunset as I munch my fries and tell Ben to continue to go straight, through county after county, past unpopulated areas or tiny hamlets.
We reach Billings. It’s a big city, too, and we all agree that tomorrow, we will go into Billings, split up for a couple hours, and do our own thing. As we leave the city limits, I start to worry about directions to Grandview. The email says GPS can sometimes be wrong, and we have no cell service to contact them if we get lost.
I worry for nothing. As we pull into Hardin, pass the gas station indicated on the email, the sign is clearly marked. We pull in to the drive at 9:00, and Ben and I get out of the car. Lori arrives just a couple minutes later and opens the office/gift shop. She’s warm and welcoming and she’s thrilled we got in earlier than we’d estimated and gives us a rundown of the campsite information. We’re given directions to the showers and our campsite, change for the laundry facilities (open 24 hours), a Wifi password, and kitty cuddles from the resident cat. We can dry our clothes! AND see kitties? With showers and wifi, we’ve hit the camping jackpot!
We get back to the car and tell Sarah and Dwight about our good fortune. We pull up to our assigned space, and the guys get to work on pitching the tent. Sarah and I haul the mattress bags full of wet clothes to the dryers. The first dryer eats Sarah’s quarter, so we have to go back to the car and get more. We move the wet clothes from one dryer to another, and I constantly drop them. Sarah and I laugh giddily as she loads the second= – hopefully functional – dryer with our clothes. They fit in one load, and the dryer takes our quarters with no fuss.
We get back to the tent, which has been completely set up. Our air mattresses are inflated and sleeping bags unrolled. Jenny is bounding around the camp site like she’s never seen such a beautiful grassy area, and I’m struck by the sound of crickets I hear. If you’ve ever seen a movie that has a night-time scene with crickets in the background, these crickets sound like that. It feels like I’m in a movie, and I’m so happy I could burst.
We check on the clothes in the dryer, and they are – miracle of miracles – all dry. We stuff them into the mattress bags again and put them in the car; we’ll take care of them in the morning.
It’s 10:00 PM, and I’m ready for sleep. I crawl into the tent and bury my face in my pillow. Jenny will not leave my side, squishing my legs under the weight of her Labrador frame. The movie-crickets sing me to a restful, contented sleep.
Life Unscripted 