Life in The Pryde means an enhanced sense of the rhythm of night and day. I go to bed earlier and get up earlier. It just feels natural. But Libby is a little slower in the morning, sometimes protesting when I ask her to wake up and get the diesel turning over. She complains.
This morning, I had to shake off the gloom of last night and going solo. Working through Bernice Ende’s Lady Long Rider helped; it’s been interesting the last few evenings. A folksy tale of riding horses across the U.S.A., Ende’s story seems more alive to me because of this trip. As she talks about farmland in Kansas outside Dodge City, I can see the places I just drove through. As she talks about riding into town to find a cafe just to be around people, I can relate in some very small way.
“Close the roof vent, Sage!” I reminded myself as I packed up this morning. I live in fear of inadvertently leaving the vent open and having it get ripped from atop The Pryde in the wind of highway travel. The highway this morning was 131, with Libby pointed north.
A day of work got me out of the camper, but sunset put me back in it and on the road, bound toward a night at Harvest Village, a small family farm near Cadillac, Michigan. As I pulled into the driveway of the place, everything slowed down. Pretty soon, I was petting sheep, patting scrap-eating hogs, and visiting with roosting chickens. Still a little lonely, but feeling the great value of solitude, too.