The hiker-biker-paddler camping area is packed. There’s a retired guy on a 50-day kayak trip, two young guys testing out gear before a seven-week trip in Japan, and two young women cycling I don't know where for I don't know how long. The women offer up dairy-free mac and cheese and get a wary yes from the dudes, who are riding huge miles all over the island because that’s what dudes do.

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I sit near a cliff edge until darkness falls and then stumble back to my tent. An east wind builds and shooting stars dash across the sky.

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The younger site-mates have a lot to talk about. They try to recall what sashimi is. They think back on drunken parties from years ago and which friends from Bellingham they might have in common. They debate the finer points of coffee and how it makes you shit five times a day.

It goes on and on. The kayak guy lays awake in his tent and reaches the point where he's fed up, so he starts making snide comments into the black every few minutes.

"Oh! That's so interesting!"

"Oh! You don't say!"

"It's not like we're trying to sleep or anything!"

Problem is, he's far enough away and the kids are having a great enough time that they can't hear him.

I get up to go to the bathroom and he hears the zipper on my tent and thinks they're headed to sleep.

"Oh finally! You're done!" he cries out.

But they aren't. They keep the idle chatter going for at least an hour more and I find myself filled with delight.

It’s good to be back on the road.