“Write.”
(TW: This post briefly discusses opioids.)
You know how easily a profanity slides off your lips reacting to something like, say, spilling your morning coffee on your shirt? The word falls out as effortlessly as gravity in-action. “Shit.”
It was with the same level of involuntary ease I commanded myself into action. I wanted to capture exactly what I was feeling in a moment that felt too special to let it go undocumented. My phone camera’s attempts just weren’t doing it justice though.
Snap, “meh”, delete.
Snap, “not quite”, delete.
I had already been thinking about how it’s been some time since I’d posted a blog. And whether it was the guilt of lapsed time, or just seeking a better way to hold on to the moment, I heard myself loud and clear. “Write.”
The scene itself: It was early Wednesday evening. I’m laying on my bed in Pam, drinking a hot chamomile tea while the breeze is blowing through the cranked out windows. Kev is snoring on the ground next to me. We are cloaked in equal parts serenity and joy. Reunited with our ‘happy place on wheels’ for the first time after a six-week mechanic shop hiatus. The separation was punctuated by no less than $2,000 in repairs, 350 miles, and 3 state lines.
It all happened at the end of March on a journey north from Florida. We were halfway through North Carolina at around 5am pulling a long, steady highway hill when I said “go” and Pam vehemently said “no.” Being the bigger bear in the fight, she had the final say. We limped to a gas station off I-95 and ‘camped’ there for 2 days until the transmission shop opened Monday morning and the tow truck could take us there.
Side step in this story: There have been less than a handful of instances I’ve actually been scared for my safety on the road. This ‘camp out’ - knowing I was completely stranded and unable to get away - is a recent addition to the list. I’ll be brief on specifics because it’s not my point with this post, but on two occasions over these two days stranded, I was ‘visited’ by a pair of townies: the first time, they came over to pay very particular attention to my mini bike and how it was affixed (ehherm…double-locked) to my van. The second time a day later, they used Pam as a shield to hide from plain view of the road to inject…
Another mini side step then I promise I’ll get us back to the point: I’m a well-traveled person beyond this vanning thing. In my relatively short 2.9 decades on earth, I’ve lived in places all too familiar with the tragedies of the opioid epidemic. From my hometown, to rural hills of Appalachia, to major metros of New England - no matter where you are in America, drugs and addiction rear their ugly head - but more inline with solo travel fears and this particular scenario, I was keenly aware in that moment, peeking through Pam’s shades hardly able to breathe, that addiction can make people do risky and sometimes violent things. Being immobilized in the van witnessing this go on while they were intentionally using it as a shield from being seen was not a good situation to be in. What if Kevin barked or I sneezed and shook the van? Surely I wasn’t feeling like I was in a good place.. So, perhaps needless to say, I was sleepless my last night in Pam before she was shuttled to vehicular purgatory.
Juxtapose my last stressful evening to the very relaxing Wednesday evening that inspired this post: our first night reunited in a safe place and restored to good mechanical health. It was a moment worth capturing that a picture alone just couldn’t.
My girl is back. Though to be honest, I’m not sure if it’s more accurate to say “Pam is home” or “we are home”. Both are factually correct, yet the latter feels more appropriate. Either way, we are together and right where we should be. My little corner of the world feels right.
I’m planning some ideas for trips this summer between races including crossing off more states our dynamic trio has yet explored. I’ve promised myself to write more often, which is good for all of us, because I think this next chapter is going to be a really good one.
Until next time (which, yes, will be soon.) Always in motion.
