Truck stop showers are, first of all, a total boon. You pay $10-15 for an hour and a half in a sparkling clean room furnished with a shower, toilet, sink, bathmat, and towel. Usually also a washcloth. Sometimes you can hear convenience store soundtrack, which is often modern country. Also the room is cold and there’s no door on the shower but the water gets and stays hot, usually. Once, i had a massive tub.

i have historically not been into showering, and even now am happy to wait well over a week between the experience of being wet and warm but also cold in spots while i try to exfoliate. i did have to improve my camp cleanliness strategy, though. After recently going through a baby wipe usage crisis, i made my own. i visited a thrift store to get a big glass jar with the rubber closure and metal clasp, you know the one, and then some washcloths and a pair of scissors, which i tested on the fabric in the store. My jar is clear with painted tomatoes, onions, mushrooms, and leaves. Along with a lot of water, i used a bit of concentrated, natural liquid soap, body oil, and essential oil, all of which i keep on hand.* Now my sponge baths are much more pleasant and thorough. Bonus: i’m making less waste to wrangle around in my car.

i do enjoy my weekly-ish shower, though, these days. i like it because i can clean everything that isn’t clothes. (i do not hand wash clothes unless in crisis.) As i pack for my shower, i love going into my little kitchen and pulling out everything i can scrub. It’s like five dishes and three silverware but it feels so nice to be able to clean it all thoroughly.

Camping on the road and doing dishes is annoying. i only use a few but it takes water, and usually either soap or effort or both, to clean them. i’ve gotten into the habit of collecting water. i fill my drinking water from the machines outside stores, reusing bottles as long as i can stand them. Other water i am happy to gather anywhere, and lately—at the same thrift store but less on purpose—i found the perfect water spout thing. It slides into my trunk next to the bed and is stabilized by the same bungee that holds my bookshelf. Next to this 1.75l blessing is a box containing a dish sponge, homemade liquid soaps—one for skin and one for everything, towels, and ironically, baby wipes. To use my little sink i open the hatchback and unhook the bungee from the cargo position into a more useful attachment, allowing the spout to stretch out from the rear of the vehicle for use. It’s a really good way to do daily dishes, and i mostly don’t take them all into truck stops anymore.

The strategy of truck stop showering is to take up the whole time, use every second of your hot, running water. i do a full series of skin and body care that usually starts with a face mask while i make sure all my things are where they need to be. When i’m ready, it’s dishes first while i stand in the hot water. i like to get the first layer of adventure rinsed off before soap. After bathing, i take advantage of the private space, too, and stretch in that mirror as much as possible. It feels important to move when my body is so completely warm. i put on all my lotions while i dance around.

i do miss baths, but i like getting good at new things. Everything is so much easier to enjoy when you do your best at it. i will probably never stop visiting truck stop showers, nor strategizing my tiny home furnishings. i owe some of my skill in these rubber tramp enhancements to those folks i’ve met along the way, but these things are born too of personal necessity. Sorcha, my car, is specific to me now. Her corners fit my rhythms, everything according to how i move myself and use my things. This kind of optimization is full of reward, and potentially unending. Just out here doin’ my best.

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*If you’re considering doing this, i truly mean just a bit of each, maybe a teaspoon of the soap but 1/4 that of body oil and a few drops of essential in a quart container. Put the cloths in before the water, then the ingredients. Close, shake, let settle. Squeeze excess back into the jar before use. Rinse and reuse as needed!

Anyone thinking of owning a prius should know that mice are kind of their biggest fandom. Apparently these particular engine blocks are highly hospitable to guests, and whew, do i have tales of tails. Just now, just tonight i caught one in the act. i heard the familiar noises and had gone through my regular routine of turning on the car and a podcast and having a smoke. That’s right: there are familiar noises and a regular routine for this. i been living in Sorcha for a cumulative seven of the past ten months, so i am learning. Usually my deterrent routine is pretty effective, along with maybe a flashlight under the steering column. Often i can get some rest. Ah but no, this was a special guest.

i tucked myself in again thinking i might sleep. That hope was quickly dashed. i listened carefully as i turned my body around toward the front of the car. No sooner had i angled my searchlight when i caught the creature perched comfortably atop a gallon water jug i keep on the floor. We both stared and i shouted, “WhatTheFuckGetOUT!” affronted. That wee animal was too scared to run but i was offended at seeing it look fearless. After it took off i laughed at us both, and waited to see what would happen.

This tiny mouse had bulging black eyes, small ears, and a light brown coat over a bright white belly. It looked healthy, maybe even new. It looked like a teenager, reckless and gorgeous. i know this because i got to see it not once, but twice more, before my pitch reached an effective octave. It’s true that as the battle continues the urge to act out in anger increases. Upon our final encounter i made such a ruckus that this whole two inches of svelt rodent responded by stretching wide and flattening itself against the floor of my car in the way cartoonists admire. Despite appreciating this, i banged on the dash and shouted at it to get the fuck out you are not welcome. Let me also say i had asked politely before even seeing this dude, and several times since. This time, it scampered off and i’ve heard nothing since. That doesn’t mean i can sleep, not after so much excitement. Maybe i’ll see dawn.

On the busy, forested two-lane highway outside of Warm Springs, the speed limit signs say 55 but the trucks scream seventy. The narrow road slices through wild land, speckled with snow this time of year, surrounded by densely packed conifers and muddy winter detritus breathing. Somewhere in that wood sodden with spring, somewhere astride the paved road, a smaller sign peeks out. It’s just tall enough to spot, with that sugary, highway green background clashing gently against the evergreen landscape. The sign is predictably squarish with simple white lettering.

45TH PARALLEL

HALFWAY BETWEEN

THE EQUATOR AND NORTH POLE

You can barely grasp all the words going past—it’s these times i’d like a buddy—before you’ve crossed this invisible, mostly meaningless meridian. If there was a pull-off it was snow-covered. Just a humble sign reaching out of a gorgeous forest to lend you a fact that would be useless if not for being so utterly delightful.

If ever electricity appeared in midair it was when their eyes met mine for the first time. The recollection remains a bodily experience–still now i feel the shock. In the years since, one can follow the conduction: letters mailed, dirty pictures, poetic missives. How impudent then to crash into each other again in the desert: claro que there was a fire. A shower of sparks, embers singeing ignored as we basked in our own heat. Feral animals. i’m not sure we escaped unharmed, but i know the coals still burn. Neither of us feels like getting out of this alive. Perhaps a less violent explosion when next we meet. Perhaps more frequent meetings.

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She confronts new beings with her belly up. Non-threatening, excitable. My response is a toe-tap dance of delight. We sniff each other’s butts, nip at ears. Tentative, eager. Watching stars in the dark, i can catch her shimmering. These distant days we whisper to each other of old difficulties, new miracles. We find words for the sweet and sacred. Someday soon, we will roll in the surf. Juntos. Our soft fur soaked, frosted by pebbled sand. Our yelping laughter engulfed by the ocean.

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He found a seat among the roots of the tree closest to the fire, directly opposite me. i recognized this by straightening myself to face him. He caught my eye and arched his brows in invitation. The party had long since died and the fire was going, too, before i realized i’d been captivated. A week later i listened to the shorebirds as he told me he’d be leaving town, probably soon. Coyly i suggested that there was something i wanted to do with him first. i barely finished saying it as he leaned in, beaming, to put his lips against mine for a happy first time. Of so many delicious, happy times. When he does leave he kisses my forehead; my gluttonous heart intact.

i pause my idiotic tv show to grab my now-warm meal from the front seat. i’m getting so good at this. i charge all my stuff in my battery-operated car while my dinner cooks in an electric pot called “Little Dipper®️”. i am sure this is not the intended use of the little pot, but i like to think i saved it from an eternity on the thrift store shelf after a few nights of cheese and chocolate. Instead, stews and soups, often with fresh veggies. So i reach to grab my erstwhile fondue pot from the dashboard, then scoot myself til i can safely rest it on my table. The table and i are both on my bed. i’m getting so good at this.

Upon completing my adorable table setting, i notice the birds. Again with the chirping! The singing! i realize it’s dusk as i peer into the trees. The creek nearby seems louder and i remember the thunder earlier in the day. i prepared for it but stayed dry. The creek is telling me somebody got rain, for sure. i was watching TV while this news was being broadcast. Whoops. i consider admonishing myself, then realize i’ve spent the better part of the past twelve hours listening to and watching this landscape. i used to say i’d look forward to doing that kind of thing in retirement. Anymore though it’s most of my life.

Holy forking shirtballs we interrupt this blah blah for a real adventure, per the universe. i heard a little noise and paused my writing, alert for the next sound. Out of the corner of my eye though i saw movement. It was down on the ground near my doormat and soft boots. Then i realized it was actually my boot that was moving! It was toe-tapping on the mat as something very small tugged at the outer heel tag. i leaned over the rear bumper: “Hey! Who’s doin that?” It took me like two more minutes to finally reach for my boots, shining my headlamp under the car first. i then used the light to do a full check on them inside and out. They were altogether unharmed but for a frayed heel tag. In the one that had been under siege i found two perfectly oblong, minute turds.

Somewhere in the vicinity of Mount Hood, more than 4,000 feet above sea level, it’s 60 degrees Fahrenheit well before this spring midday. It is a world of deep, dirty snow, and pine. Signs say the lake is a two mile walk.

There is another human on the road. We greet each other, wander differently. i like to be alone and far behind, if i can be. i stop to watch some birds in a budding, green meadow before the other hiker doubles back. “You’re turning around?” i asked her.

She explains that she has been losing the trail. Hiking in snowdrifts isn’t easy. i realize i can help. This may be a first for me; i have forest eyes now. And sick boots. My frustrated new friend is determined—it’s her last day in town and she struck out at Mount Rainier yesterday when all the trails were closed. Wildfire prevention and snow have set me back recently as well. i’m stoked to find the path and lead us onward toward the lake. Every now and then my friend’s sneakers break through until she’s knee deep. “When does this even thaw?” i wonder as i stop us, sweating, to take off all but my bottommost layers of clothing. i lace my boots up, not for the first time with sincere gratitude at owning them.

A golden retriever runs up out of nowhere as if delighted to be greeting old friends. He romps around politely, refraining from jumping except for his familiar doggy tap dance. His owners are nowhere in sight behind us, but we hear them call. He hesitates, then offers his goodbyes.

Priscilla and i keep walking, much in silence now we’ve found the way. i show her the blazes, suddenly easy to spot. The lake peeps between the trees, sapphire deep and glazed with sunlight that seems to radiate directly from the giant watercolor background of Mount Hood. Even the pines are gleaming. Later Priscilla and i will find cute, fat salamander swimming in this glorious mountain lake called Trillium. We’ll identify a pair of Goldeneye ducks. We confer and discover they’re the uncommon Goldeneye. Another delight.

Priscilla has to get back to Portland and i am left to walk the lake. There is a path at the water’s edge that i’m interested in. Along the way i pass different kinds of campgrounds, and a rock-hewn amphitheater. It all looks well-loved, and busy. But not now, in the hot but snowy in-between time. There are skiing signs as well, places i as a walker should yield. All the while the lake is there. Occasionally through the trees i can still spy Mount Hood. i’m halfway around the water, thoroughly enjoying myself, when i find a huge portion of the trail flooded and closed. i really do not love doubling back. i make a lame attempt at possibly fording the wet, but wiser energies prevail.

Recently, in a forest not far away, i was out with a pal and thereby able to roam and romp at will. i am not trusting of my own skills enough to enable myself that particular freedom in the wilderness. Being with another person—especially this very experienced one—always makes it easier. i spent that time delightedly climbing and tiptoeing, jumping up to say hello to every new plant. Have you ever spent a full minute walking the length of one dead tree trunk? It had been well over a decade since i’d been reminded of the game Chutes and Ladders. We played a lot in those snowless, warm spring woods.

Now at a crossroads, this wilder fire well-stoked within me receives a fresh draught of air as i realize i know exactly where the first road is. i could walk directly toward it and not have to retrace any steps around Trillium Lake. Of course the area i needed to finagle was the most unkempt along the entirety of the water. Tentatively stoked, i started forward, my boots finding wells in the snow a bit too easily at first.

This isn’t the walking on top of snow on a road, path, or even boardwalk like i’d been doing. It’s also not the woodsy romp of my other recent experience. i am forging through sharp, clingy spring snow and mud in a woods full of debris. i take the clearest paths, but i’m the biggest animal to come through here in a while. Undaunted despite the unending scramble, i look toward the ridge up ahead where i know my original trail will be.

It’s a stream. Okay, but i remember hearing water from that road. Priscilla heard it too and optimistically thought that marshy floodplain was Trillium. i’d said something about it being a lame-ass lake. It wasn’t long after this critique that we spied the real beauty. Bolstered now by this recollection, i move through the woods using every technique i know to avoid sinking or slipping, on mud, ice, snow, or wood.

While we were sitting lakeside watching salamander and ducks, Priscilla had checked our hike. We’d already done five miles by then, tiptoeing and sliding on the snow. We talked about whether sand or snow is easier; she definitively chose sand. Whenever there was solid ground i made sure Priscilla was on it. This is all to say that i’ve been on this new, truly off-road leg of the adventure for a bit now and my old, exercised legs are not loving it. The first parts would have been plenty of hike. Of course, of course this is when i get hurt. It’s over before i knew i was doomed, which is how it usually goes when i get banged up instead of broken. i don’t make any noise, oddly, besides a clenched-jaw groan and a sucking of air as my hands go to my right knee and shin. i’m wearing only my under layer of pants; they’re softer than i’d like to be hiking in, i’m only just realizing. i expect them to be wrecked. It’s a confusing relief to see they aren’t torn at all. i’ll be bruised and swollen, but not bloody. Gotta walk it off.

i plod forward, dogged, wondering if that’s the right word for how stubborn i now feel as i climb the steepest ridge so far, expectantly hoping for the road to appear at the top. i crest breathless and the dependable road is under me again. i giggle and walk on, much more comfortable now back on top of slippery, packed snow. In a hundred feet or so i spy the old lake perimeter path catching back up on solid ground. Of course i forge through some brush to return to it.

Above the lake now i can see a raptor, and hear it. An osprey, i know before i check the book. When i look up again the osprey is gone but there is a bald eagle. i laugh out loud. The eagle finds some trees, then there’s a turkey vulture hovering. “Everyone’s here!” i am a little delirious, but now watered and fed, ready to hike the other two miles back to my car. (It turned out Priscilla and i had chosen the road less traveled. Who’s surprised. We weren’t.) The last part of the adventure feels long, and i’m excited for dinner. Two miles, all uphill. On snow. Surrounded by spring and pine. Slow but steady, i sweat and sing toward home.

i heard a femme voice in the woods near my campsite. On the phone giving directions to where we were while a dog wandered and romped not far away.

Along a creek i’d found a spot where i planned to be for at least two nights. The forest surrounded with well-spaced, tall, skinny, old conifers. They mingled with a kind of foresty scrub brush all around, none growing higher than my own hips. (A botany book is sorely needed in my reference section.) The effect of forest like this is radiant, calm, continuous sound and light. The branches of these trees don’t begin before my head, and are never dense. It is a bright forest; warm, melodic. Smells amazing, too.

The dog came closer, ahead of its human, more tentative. “Hello,” i said to the tall, inquisitive quadruped. “He’s friendly,” offered she just off her phone. Soon Finn came to snuffle at the foot of my bed while his person admired my setup.

“Are you camping nearby?” i asked presently, trying to take the focus off myself.

“Ah no, but I did get jealous when I saw you here. It’s one of our favorite spots.” The hiker then explained that her car battery had died while she and Finn were out. It was clear she’d had no intention of asking me for help, but i have a little digital jump pack that i was thrilled to offer. She practically skipped away with it. We were both excited at the possibility of calling her partner—to whom she’d been giving directions—off from the rescue.

When she came back she was driving her car and had a beer for me. i cheered. “Do you live around here?” she asked.

“Oh yeah i mean i live right here,” i pointed at my car, and kind of chuckled. “i’ve been on the road for a bit now.”

“So does that mean you’re hanging out nearby for a while? Do you have a destination? Maybe just heading back East? Or…” she trailed off, having offered enough possibilities.

i thought about it. “You know, yeah i’ll be around here a bit, and i’ll head back East. i don’t have a destination though. This seems like it for now, just living on the road.”

She called me her hero and admitted that she’d had a shitty day. i was effusively glad to have helped, claro. My new friend CJ then gave me her number and offered any assistance or advice she could, whenever. “Or I’ll just randomly text you like, ‘Where you at?’”

“And i’ll send a picture of whatever i’m seeing!” i rejoined.

The beer was a local IPA and delicious.

warmth. on my lids. eyes still far away. i roll my back toward the light. almost feel your arms. curl up. drift off. warmth.

sleep turns me again. heart on a spit. i kick off some covers. crusty squint and feeble groans. ensconced. exposed. my dreaming eyes take in. light. my sticky mouth no bother now. i reach for a kiss.

i swaddle in the stars. i have been spooning with the sun. a volcanic peak now mountain still reaches for each cloud. five new moons i’ve welcomed from my home along the road. countless bliss.

tonguing my dry lips. ears awake fully to a glory. a roaring river at migration. such noise. what flurry. everyone and no one sounds in a sweet big hurry. and i’m ready.

in your presence. lids lift. sleepy smile. my grin grows. unkempt. unwilled. alight. to take up my whole face. my waking eyes take in. the full force of your blaze.

my love.

You caught me not knowing the color of your eyes. Picking up this stone reminded me in the moment that i still didn’t know. That i was shy and nervous both too much to look at you that directly. i didn’t know what you would see if i did. i didn’t know what i’d see.

The shop owner told me it’s a Hawk’s Eye stone, and as i examined it i realized slowly that i couldn’t fathom it all. i’d never be able to memorize the intricate, beautiful details of its visible makeup. i wondered if, given these unknowable qualities, a stone like that could still grow to feel familiar in my hand.

Like this stone, our relationship seems to me smooth, attractive, inscrutable, captivating, brilliant, unfamiliar. i had written only the night before that you were a poem i wanted to read over and over again—not to memorize, but to feel the lyrical beauty, revisit the warmth. i supposed i could start by looking you in the eye.

Perhaps our relationship will continue to be as mysterious to me as the inside of that stunning stone. So very little is known—there’s so much more to be explored. i hope all of it is as delicately detailed and gorgeously hued as the gift itself. Worth a good look.