In which Katie struggles with stairs, stoves and a sky minus sun.
It’s 9:23 at night and pouring rain outside. I’m lying in my truck bed. No, not the bed of the truck…the bed I built in the backseat of my truck. I love being 5’5”.
I woke up to my elevator being blissfully out of order. This prompted 12 or 13 trips up and down four flights of stairs to get the truck completely loaded. By the time I finally got on the road, the hardest part of my day was over. The eight hours of driving that followed were pleasant and uneventful, even though the sun never managed to break through and I felt like I was driving through every gloomy music video for every breakup song ever recorded.
Something strange did happen on the road, though. I always look for omens and signs that connect me to my surroundings and my adventures, and today I saw license plates from both Kansas and Texas…both states that I have yet to see tags for in Montana. It was almost like these cars were luring me towards the Central Flyway, telling me I was headed in the right direction.
I conquered my fear of campstoves, and did so in aforementioned pouring rain. I celebrated by feasting on steaming sweet potato soup. Maybe I’ll eventually have the courage to boil water. Coffee will be an absolute necessity tomorrow morning…maybe it will taste even better than usual since I will have flirted with pyromania for it.
Fingers crossed for some cheerful sun tomorrow. I’ll be on my way to Teddy Roosevelt National Park and then Bismarck by mid-morning. My Ladies of 90s Country playlist might run out by then. Hopefully my courage doesn’t fly out the window with it.