Hi Gram,
For every yin, there is a yang. For every mountain, there is a valley. For every activity-filled, sensory overloading, muscle fatiguing day, there is a day or week of recovery. The next couple of days filled that description. I slept in, sore and exhausted from the day before, then did the mindless tasks that we all fall into and beat ourselves up over afterwards. I finished my typhoid pills, stretched, did my brain exercises, then took a nap.
After the nap, I went and got some lunch and did some shopping, but my internal temperature regulation was off and despite it being in the upper 70’s, I was shivering and felt like I was on the tundra. It felt good to get into my sun baked car, and I drove back to the apartment with the AC turned off, seat heater on, and windows up to retain all the heat I could. I put on some more layers when I got back, then did a little work on my computer before laying down for another nap. I felt a little warmer when I got up from the nap and headed out for my daily walk to get the blood pumping.
The place I’m staying has a few acres of grass and borders a walking path that led into the park across a stream. It was a nice easy path, easy to zone out and just listen to the music in my headphones. I saw a family having a picnic and playing games under a pavilion, people throwing a frisbee back and forth, and kids playing on a swing set. I love that so many towns have these walking paths and parks to encourage people to get outside and enjoy their surroundings.
After my walk, I headed into town to get some groceries, fill my gas tank, and wash the car and bike. Driving the dirt roads through the park had caked both of them in a crust of dirt that scratched my legs getting in and out of the car, so it probably wasn’t good for the paint jobs on either vehicle. I got back, took a shower to warm up, and headed to bed early.
The next day wasn’t any more exciting. I woke up a little earlier and did my stretches and brain exercises before having some breakfast. After finishing off my yogurt, I threw the sheets and towels in the washing machine to help the cleaning crew and packed my bags. I’m always nervous that I’m going to forget to pack something when I leave, so I double and triple checked every room and closet to make sure I had it all. Confident that all my stuff was in the car, I got on the road, stopping first to grab a slice of huckleberry pie to eat later. Huckleberries seem to be the pride of this area, so I wanted to give them a second try since the shake was a let down.
I stopped in Havre at Simon Pepin Park to stretch my legs, do my daily walk, and eat my pie. Life is short, so I started with the pie, which did not disappoint. Amped up on all that sugar, I walked around the neighborhood while I called my buddy David that I haven’t spoken to in a while. Funnily enough, he had just sent me a text message seconds before his phone rang and there was a little confusion of him thinking that I was calling because of the text message. I always enjoy speaking with David. He has an encouraging word for everyone he speaks with, asks stimulating questions, and has a natural conversation flow that just makes you want to keep talking with him. I found out that I’m just going to miss seeing him in South Dakota, somewhere far from where either of us live. He and his wife Jennifer are heading to Badlands National Park in a few weeks, a spot I’ll be visiting in just a few days. I’m considering slowing my travel so we can meet up and see the park together, but not sure what I’ll do with myself for ten days while we wait for our calendars to intersect. We wrapped up the conversation and I found my way back to the park where I’d left my car.
I listened to some more music and podcasts as I shuffled further down the road and ended up stopping in Glasgow for the night. I found a quaint little old hotel in the downtown area, like you used to see in old movies. It had an old-timey elevator with a manual door and ornate woodwork and details throughout. My room was spacious and well appointed. You could tell the proprietors had put some real effort into restoring and maintaining the hotel. I headed across the street to a real bar named Oasis for dinner and ended up chatting with the son of the woman who runs and rehabbed the hotel. He told me stories of how his 67 year old mother painted and refinished each room herself, including hanging the sliding barn doors on the bathrooms. That’s the Midwestern hard-working character that we all read about but rarely see for ourselves.
