This summer, on my way home from visiting all of my good friends between Tucson and the far corners of South Dakota, I stopped at a rest stop on I-25, above Trinidad, Colorado. It was 8:30 at night, terribly windy with heavy driving rain, and I was tired.
Not wanting to do the expense and formality of a rent, a room, turning on the TV and falling asleep, I had prepared a space in the back of the Trail Blazer for one man to stretch out on a camping cushion, with a pillow, and a warm blanket, in the valley between all of my stuff.
After having been cooped up in a house, doing housework, 3 Chihuahua’s and all the stuff going on in the world for a couple of years, I lay down in that space with the rain tapping on the roof, safe, the wind rocking my nest, and slept the sleep of a Weary Traveler for the next six hours. What a great feeling.
Then, trained as I am, I poured myself back into the driver’s seat, fueled up at the first place I found, and took myself home, refreshed and excited without question.
The rest, so hard to explain.