1 September - Happy’s Inn, MT

Long day on the road, though not so long as the day I biked into Coolee City. For one, I’ve made pretty good time (13.5 mph average), there were no 6 mile stretches of 6% grade, and my muscles are probably getting stronger. Nevertheless, a long day. Campsite is by a lake, not sure what its name is. I found a lot of firewood and have a good blaze going. It’s nice not to have to scrounge all over, though it’s fun at times. Last night was nearly ideal: no bugs, almost unearthly quiet up on the lake. Very cold, though, so I had a hard time starting this morning, in fog and near rain. Mom’s trail mix and some toffee peanuts have been invaluable for stuffing my body full of nutrients before going to sleep, and I think I’m feeling the difference. The terrain has given way from cedar and fir—by the way, Montana route 56 is one of the most beautiful highways I have been on—to ponderosa pine and something like the high desert. The high desert holds a lot of memories for me, for some reason. Memory is an insatiable fire at times, consuming time and will. Sometimes I am left only with the desire to repair the past. Sometimes I can’t write for the weight of the words I already wrote.

Home has never felt so desirable as now, not even, I think, when I was a college freshman. The beautiful and the terrifying are nearly the same, I think, and I have to fight more than once a day not to sell myself short on this experience. Yet, I think (an apostrophe I have used once in each sentence so far), we grow to love what we fear, and I suspect that I will find that when this is over and I am safe once more, I will miss it very much.

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