🎶 I’m Back in the Saddle Again 🎤

I’ve sung this many times when we’ve gotten back on the road after a long stay in one place, but this time I mean it in a bunch of ways.  

Saddles

One saddle I’m back in is a literal saddle, the one on my bike, finally. After basically six months of waking up early to do physical therapy exercises on the floor of the trailer, it’s time to get back up on that horse.

The first time I tried riding, I could barely make myself lift the second foot off the ground, and then I crept along at a pace slower than a walk, so afraid of what might happen when I put that foot down. I had to relearn the weight of my bike, how the brakes work, the gears.

But now I’ve been riding at a snail’s pace every morning, back and forth on the gravel campground roads, making an S then an E, controlling the bike downhill so I don’t slip on the gravel and pedaling slowly uphill to make the most of the workout on my knee.  

I’ve ridden around old ladies walking their little dogs and behind young ladies walking fast. One morning an ancient little man with actual war medals on his chest asked me if he should push.

I yelled out, “No thanks! I wouldn’t get any exercise!” 

He yelled back, “But I would!”

A reader asked me how in the world I can live in such a small space with someone else and depend on him to get out. (Was that you, River? Why I don’t drive the truck is a long story involving a herd of buffalo, but the bottom line is that, in the mad rush to leave, I simply didn’t learn how.) My point is that the way I can stand close quarters and not driving is by walking away and riding my bike away. And, finally, I’m getting back into doing both.

So, another saddle I’m back in independent propulsion. I am very grateful.

I’m also back into campground pools, doing underwater pedals while the other folks in the pool show off their fulltiming chops with inane stories.

One guy here for surgery was turned away from the operating room three times in quick succession for different reasons, finally to go under the knife, as he calls it, on the fourth attempt. I now know way more about carotid arteries than I’m comfortable with. Another guy, wearing only his fancy underwear plus a hat like me, gave a holier-than-thou mini speech on UV rays as he got out. Of course, he turns out to be the guy walking to the only other Airstream in the park. I keep my mouth shut in the pool. And wear a bathing suit.

More Characters

Just as we’re getting back in the saddle for traveling, Tracy’s actually formed friends in our loop. That’s because he’s been walking all four Banjo shifts.  Not only are there loose local dogs running around, but at least two folks leave their dogs off leash in the mornings, and I just can’t. Tracy to the rescue, again, with the benefit of saying hi to the neighbors routinely. 

There’s the single Australian guy and his two adopted yellow labs in a small fiberglass trailer kind of like ours. He stops to chat with the blazing road between his dogs and Banjo. Everyone is too hot to raise any hackles. Tracy gave him a ride to a truck dealership in the next town, and he gave me advice on adjusting my bike seat to better suit my frame. Super nice guy, found by Tracy!

Then there’s Banjo’s new favorite person, Sue, who is staying here with her husband while they go to medical appointments, too. Sue steps out of their class A motorhome every evening to give Banjo a treat, and then she and Tracy chat in the shade. We’ve been talking about sitting together to swap stories from the road, but it’s just too damn hot.

Man, do I want to chat with her. They’ve been on the road for 20 years! They meant to find a good spot to settle down in, but they just kept on going. They’ve spent 17 winters in a small village in Baja, Mexico, and summers traveling Canada and the upper U.S. If I get to hang out with them in the few days before we leave, I’ll report back, you can be sure.  

Fall Planning

Right now I’m invigorated by the prospect of simply leaving east Texas. This land is flat and hot, and the people are very poor, the economy seemingly very depressed. I went to a medical appointment in a one-story-hospital town where you can get in with a specialist the very next day, which shows you how many people can afford to see specialists there. Turns out the median income for a household is $27,000, and the largest employer is a Texas state prison. Talk about a company town. Something like 1 in 4 people have a family member either in the prison or working for the prison. So many sketchy-looking compounds, so many Trump signs and flags and banners.

We have an escape route planned through October, with the main stops being 1) the Airstream service center in Ohio (can’t go long without help from the mothership), 2) time with Finn in Michigan, and 3) our first Airstream rally. We’ll see friends along the way and hit up a national park and several towns we’ve never seen.

I’ll fill you in on the deets as we get closer to each. It’s gonna be a fall full of Airstream-flavored koolaid, that much I know. And, I hope, lots of bike riding, socializing, and getting my mojo back.