We are …
Driving all night to get there.
Eating breakfast in a seat-yourself café next to a gas station.
Setting up tents in late afternoon and wondering if 6 p.m. is too early to sleep.
Sleeping on earth and adjusting hips and elbows and backs to accommodate her.
Cuddling only when comfortable and until the other says, “I have to adjust.”
Cooking on a picnic table at the base of a mountain range, and when it’s raining, migrating to the teepees.
Lighting a fire that won’t burn and cursing bad wood we found on the river bank.
Following trail markers to nature’s windows and turning around when canyons run too deep.
Laughing at ourselves, each other.
Napping in cars and switching the driver’s seat and waiting on the side of the road.
Hiking across open plains and in deeply gouged canyons and smaller ones.
Rolling on rocks and pulling each other up over ledges and rock faces.
Walking on land inhabited by ancient people and admiring their artwork on mountain walls.
Drinking beer and margaritas and eating hamburgers at mountain lodges.
Talking to strangers and giving directions and learning he’s from Bardstown, Kentucky and his son watches an eagle’s nest for the government in Arizona.
Meeting people from California and Colorado and a lot of people from home.
Driving dozens of miles every day to get to our hiking destinations.
Listening to NPR because there are no radio stations.
Conversing at night in the dark about Forbes lists and mentors and finances and $3 pieces of toast.
Admitting we’re too tired for much outside of cuddling.
Washing with baby wipes in the tent and not showering for five days.
Camping primitive-style and relieved there’s a compost toilet.
Eating kale chips and apples and carrots and hummus and vanilla bean almonds for snacks.
Talking about the U.S. inmate problem and applying for grants and designing our house. We are vacationing
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