It's eight days into a 12-day trip. We've driven nearly 2,000 miles. The trees lining the straight Wyoming roads blur by as if on a infinite film strip. My mind is constantly wandering as the yellow painted passing line flicks by. Not even the drawling of the road trip playlist breaks the monotony.
There's no way I'm going to do it. All I want is to sleep until the sunlight taps me on the face. No alarm. No stirring wife. No smell of coffee. Just the warm embrace of a beam of sun that has found its way through the curtains. That's what I want.
There's no way I'm going to do it. I just want a slow breakfast of scrambled eggs, a piece of bacon, and maybe a freshly-baked muffin. I want a cup of tea steeped until it bursts with flavor, still hot from the kettle. To watch the giant bumble bees float from flower to flower, lazily spreading next year's marvelous colors. That's what I want.
The alarm blares, tossing everything I want in the bin of lost dreams. The eggs are cold. The biscuits are worse. The tea is lukewarm and full of nasty floaters from steeping too long. The sun won't even open it's eyes for another hour.
The cab of the truck is freezing. It never warms up. Even the herd of elk meanders aimlessly across the road as if sleep walking.
The first tinges of gray hit the eastern sky. The race is on.
The truck bounces across the washboard and skids through gravel. The dark gray turns lighter. I put the accelerator to the floor. Tea slushes in its travel mug.
The tires hit pavement. I yank the truck hard to the left. Barely acknowledging the stop sign. The tires grumble in protest in the cold air, as if they too want to be back in bed.
Suddenly, there it is. The brakes squawk. The door thumps. The three legs of the tripod hit the ground simultaneously.
Then, here comes the sun.
I was wrong. Of course I wanted this. How could I not? Even the clouds were dancing in the morning light. Yesterday, that hot breakfast and lazy morning seemed far more desirable. Today, all that was forgotten.
In this moment, even the cold cup of Twinings tasted like it was just brewed in
Piccadilly.
Yes, I'll be tired when we drive tomorrow's 500 miles. But, right now, I don't care.
Here is where I want to be.
Like the wild flowers - catching the first rays of the morning sun.
The things I would have missed were I still abed.
Yet, even as the sun begins its climb aloft, there is a still a full day ahead.
The
Tetons create near perfect reflection in an offshoot of the Snake River.
When the caffeine has worn off, there is little left to do, but find that sweet cocoon of sleep that I had once wished to hold onto so tightly. I was so wrong. I'll never look back on the day that could have been. Only the day that was.
Catch the rest of the Road Trip:
