DAY TWENTYTHREE

Even at first light at the campground I can hear the couple down the way arguing with each other. She’s had enough of his shit and I hear a car start before she drives away. Through the early morning fog I can see there’s another vehicle at the site. Almost like this was planned or has happened before. The man stands shirtless near the edge of the grass as I ride by. He looks my way and gives me a nod then turns and sits heavily at the picnic table. Around the corner a couple are making breakfast in a the embers of a fire. They smile knowingly and wish me a safe ride. 

The hills begin early today and I know I should eat. And then keep eating. The road sign reads closed ahead in 1 mile soI pull into the Burger King near the truck stop. I’ll eat and then grab some stuff from the DG. I haven’t had a flame broiled whopper in 25 years and I forgot how distinctive and good they really are. I wonder how much of this flavor is from a chemical bath the beef soaks in as I fill up my water bottles. The highway is divided and getting to the DG involves a short walk pushing the bike on the shoulder against traffic. Not one of my favorite activities. I buy Oreos and sour cream Pringles. Climbing food.

I, again, ride around the road closed ahead signs and before long I reach the work zone. The road is demolished all the way across with about an 18” drop down into som freshly packed gravel. There are construction vehicles everywhere, some of them are running, but not a soul in sight. Lunch break? I get a bit of post apocalyptic heebie jeebies  and the find a small gravel ramp they’ve built to move machinery in and out of the road pit. I’m over the next hill and gone without any personal encounters and I imagine them returning to discover the tracks left behind by a solo traveler pushing a heavily loaded bicycle snaking through their area. Leave no trace.

The hills are really beginning to hit now. It’s not the long slow elevation gains I’ve grown accustomed to. Instead, it’s roller coaster hills and three or four tiered tabletops that barely let me ease up before I’m locked into spinning hard to climb. My navigation says to continue for 21 miles and I pull over for some cookies. Traffic is almost nonexistent, so that’s good. Just me and the road. A ribbon that rises and falls dramatically ever forward. 

A couple hours pass before I see the sign for the town I’m staying in, Cunot. At a bend in the road There’s a tavern and a DG. I pull into the tavern and the people outside look through their cigarette smoke in the hot afternoon air and declare I must be crazy. They’re polite about it but I can tell they trust their judgements. Inside, it’s the bar by the lake we’ve all know. I can’t tell the staff from the customers. I ask how to pronounce the name of this place and one lady responds “Cloverfield?” in a bewildered voice before her compatriot declares her a dunce with a swig of beer and slowly enunciates Cunot as CUE NOT. “Like a pool cue, NOT,” and the bar erupts in chuckles. I appreciate a crowd where the laughs come easy. I order the grilled chicken salad like a total dumbass and get what I deserve, neither grilled chicken or salad. These are American taco toppings on a plate - shredded iceberg, shedded cheddar, diced and nearly frozen tomatoes and cubed chicken bits all drowned in ranch. I eat what I can and pay. As I leave the whole bar is fussing with the jukebox to make it work. Drinks in hand they bicker over each other and laugh. 

The campground is a mile or so up the road and it’s no climb at all. I arrive and the kind lady gets me squared away. She’s young with brown hair that frames a thin face and dark eyes. She know’s the trans am route and cycling and calls her partner to discuss where I’d be best suited for the night. They agree on a spot down the hill that has water, but no bathroom, close. I ask about firewood and she tells me she’ll drive some down and show me the way. I haven’t had a good fire on this trip yet so I’m due. I don’t care how hot it is, I want to get lost in the flames and relax. I don’t even realize what I’m in for yet.

She leads me to the last spot beside a gravel road that enters a mobile home area. This was definitely an RV site that has been abandoned. A patch of gravel marks the location of the previous tenant, in the rocks are scrap two by fours scattered around that once held tires in place and random bits of another life - a pair of glasses and one flip flop. Perhaps they left in the night, avoiding the settling up and demanding the open road be free of charges. One flip flop on the gas pedal, squinting into the distance and cursing their missing spectacles. The lady throws plenty of wood next to an already trash filled fire ring. There’s a pile of sticker brush and multiple cardboard and pizza boxes next to an old end table. In the ring are more items of interest including a full set of plastic measuring cups, a dog bowl and a toaster oven smashed nearly beyond recognition. She calls to me from the edge of the woods as she pulls a water hookup out of the greenery and assures me it’s potable. I reserve judgement and thank her. She tells me the whole area is mine and to burn anything and everything and leaves me to it. I pee in the treeline and then pull anything plastic or metal that I dare touch out of the ring. I build a raging fire and do my best. It’s the most fun I’ve had in awhile and as folks drive by I imagine them thinking how happy they are someone is burning all that shit. The toaster oven pokes out of the bushes next to the yellow cups. 

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Two things - I’m missing my readers and the last place I saw them was in the office here and it’s closed now and the other is this kid I saw riding his bike near me. He was prolly 8 or 9, dirty with a summer shaved head and no shoes. He pedaled up the road past me and disappeared. A while later he came around the turn and stopped at the gravel T. A young girl of the same age and just as filthy came out of nowhere and climbed onto his back pegs. They rode off together and left me to my imagination. Summer vibes in the sticks.

The fire glows through my tent wall as I fall asleep thinking about being a kid. The whole world in front of me but no real direction. The night stars aligning over some lake where no streetlights could ever take hold. Summers teeth sinking into my bones and the joy of getting lost in youth.

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