July 16, 2010

I left the splendor of my accommodations in Ottawa, IL, today, stalling as usual, before embarking once again on my open road journey of a lifetime. Upon every departure from companionship and comfort, an internal struggle emerges that garishly highlights the trials and discomforts of my solo travels. I suddenly long, I mean L-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-N-G, to belong to either the thing I'm leaving or the thing I'll be traveling to. It could be a town, a neighborhood, a group of campers nearby, a family BBQ'ing their hotdogs, a litter of kittens...

It's just something that comes up with such regularity upon all my departures, that I know it by name now: I call it "Longuay Frumholme". I always think it's going to sabotage my journey joys, but it doesn't, actually. It just wears a scary mask to taunt me. But when I climb behind the wheel and set my course, it takes off the mask and becomes an enthusiastic traveler, bouncing around in the back seat of my brain, asking "Are we there yet?"

I drove about 100 miles today and lucked in to a fine campsite at Rock Cut State Park, in northern Illinois. It's gorgeously shaded with hardwood trees and offers miles of hike/bike trails and a swimming beach on the lake. I'm flanked by friendly, merry-making families. Their laughter, crackling fires, and the scent of their BBQs simultaneously comfort and ruin me. (I hear Ms. Frumholme fumbling with her mask!) AND I will gladly fall asleep listening to their homey noises.

I'm heading further north tomorrow to Madison, WI, in search of cooler temperatures. But first, a little adventure on the trails and a game of water fetch for Jubilee!

If you look closely, in the photo, next to the white building and the glowing sun, there are two young folks engaged in "belonging".