Hurgh, the trail.

Jiminy crickets, my people.

Rick keeps making awful comments about adventures. Tranquility is the spice of life – pretty sure that’s how that sentence goes.*

*Nobody ever writes stories about sunshine and peaceful sleep, with growing flowers, and oh we ate dinner today wasn’t that pleasant? Nobody cares. It’s not adventurous. Well, “adventure” is stupid. Regular dinners and peaceful sleep are underappreciated and Rick keeps telling me that these occurrences “make it more of an adventure.” No. Some adventures involve falling off cliffs, too. If everybody fell off of cliffs, would you fall off cliffs too?…That’s lemming talk.

I am under a roof in Portland, ME, right now. My backpack is in Denver.

Why is backpack in Denver? Because adventures. Duh. I didn’t even know it was in Denver until this morning; before then, it existed in an ethereal limbo we like to call, “magical airportland,” where you are in one place, and your toothbrush is in another, and all you know is that you are probably inhabiting the same country but your mouth is all full of yesterday’s chicken wings and your toothbrush is somewhere else. Guess we’re not headed up to Millinocket just yet.

Contrary to popular onion (that’s like beets, except less healthy), this is not that distressing. We already killed lots of germs this past month, got to see fam and some few friends, read books about life and camping, and spent days blizzard-prepping winter gear in case of the untimely advent of more adventure. A few more days waiting hundreds of miles from where I’d like to be is ok, especially when it involves roofs.

I will write you stories a couple weeks after I get back on trail…

Whenever that is. Email me and tell me about your lives, please.

Stay dry, and well, and eat regular dinners, especially if you’re getting hit by this hurricane that’s coming up the East Coast.

Love,

Sail.