June 19, 2021
This day five write begins on the heels of last night’s write. I haven’t gone anywhere. It’s the least traveling I’ve done since I began this travel journal. I did rearrange my body at some point in the night to get under a sheet. Hard to believe my little battery operated fan cooled me down enough to want to do that.
Last night’s write proved to me again that mornings work best for writing. My eyes were giving out by the end. The brain was no longer leading but being lead—pulled like an old horse that doesn’t want to go anywhere. It was all I could do to drag and drop those pictures to finish the write—and I’d had such high hopes. While still in the restaurant parking lot I’d brushed my teeth and prepared the camper shell. (Another boondocking tip to prepare yourself before arriving at your parking spot.) I threw a novel and my new road atlas in back for perusing. I even put a hand-written list back here that I thought I’d transfer to my computer. High hopes indeed.
I’m not sure if this waking in the wee hours is a nervous habit I will have boondocking. When I was parked below the cave, I slept through both nights waking at a reasonable time. Maybe knowing I had permission and a friend within screaming distance gave me a different level of security.
But I don’t feel insecure here. Five hours ago, when I settled in I had my worries about it being a Friday night in Tucumcari. Those worries were unfounded. This town is shut up tight. The most partying going on right now are a few birds that seem to think 3:30 am is a good time to start celebrating the coming sun. Their pitch is sort of a low, bicycle-wheel-squeak—not as high as hummingbirds that make the sound of rubbing on a balloon with a wet finger—and not so fast. It still sounds like a DJ scratching a record except this DJ has been sipping mojitos all night and there is only one drunk guy left on the dance floor and the scratch isn’t about starting something but shutting it down.
About an hour ago I heard someone park near me. I listened. The person got out and shut their car door quietly—something I didn’t know you could do with a car door. No footsteps though the next thing I heard came from a more distant place—the barely perceptible rubbing of keys, the turn of a lock, a small squeak of the apartment’s front door and then the door closing—again quietly.
Now if I don’t go back to sleep tonight—which I probably won’t—I’ll definitely need a nap after hitting the road. I plan to fill up my gas tank before I leave and also the red MSR container that goes with the used Whisperlite International that I bought at a camping supply store back in Moab. Did I mention that? It was a good find. Apparently used ones are hard to come by. I knew my friend Marlow would have a good recommendation.
I woke thinking about the number of places I lived in Denton, Texas: six. A new thought came to me that in today’s world, especially for a single person or a young couple, that really isn’t much. But my parents did have us kids. My sister is almost three years older than me. I was a new eight when we arrived in Texas. Leslie would have been ten, soon-to-be eleven.
One theory I have about why my folks moved so much was that my parents were trying to escape each other and didn’t fully realize that to do that you have to move without the other person. Another notion is just that they were sort of adventurous and liked new things. It was probably a little of both.
My parental units did eventually escape each other after my sister and I had left the nest. Were they appreciably more happy without each other? Not sure. I think so.
There is a rooster crowing now in this town of empty lots, broad streets and small houses. It’s a sign. I think I’ll see if I can go back to sleep.
Spotty West Goes East 