The rain from yesterday cleared out in the afternoon, and we were able to find what we thought was a primo “Stealth Camping” site at an undisclosed location in Walkerton, Indiana. We checked the surroundings for security lights. That’s a mistake from the Duanesburg, NY airport that we didn’t want to repeat.
No lights. No clear line of sight from any roads or parking lots. Access to a convenience store and power outlets. Well drained grassy spot that would accommodate our tent. Check, check, check, check, and check. We set up the tent, and were just crawling in for a good night's sleep.
Dad in our train infested camping site - Walkerton, IN
Pro tip. Always check your surroundings for an active railroad track that might be about twenty yards away from your campsite and hidden by a thick stand of trees. Fortunately, not more than fifteen, but definitely not less than twelve trains passed through announcing their presence with a piercing shriek of their whistle followed by five or six minutes of metallic rumbling as they lumbered through the area.
The morning dawned bright and clear, and we headed west. Today was almost all county roads. The traffic consisted of a couple of garbage trucks, an odd tractor or three, and a small handful of rural mail delivery cars. The postwoman drove from the passenger seat, and I’ll tell you that I haven’t quite gotten used to seeing a minivan or a jeep headed my direction with apparently no one at the wheel.
Other than that, it was quiet. The sun warmed our skin, and the breeze carried away our perspiration leaving a glorious cool sensation. The sky stretched overhead in a light blue dome from horizon to horizon.
Westbound county road - Indiana
The only distraction was the crunch of our feet in the gravel, the twitter of birds, the occasional irrigation pump, and the wind rustling the leaves of the trees. That last one always sounded to me like a driverless minivan delivering the post, so I spent a little time looking over my shoulder which is surprisingly difficult while walking with a pack.
Long story short, it the silence prevailed. The road arrowed westward, the blue sky arched overhead, and I was left with my thoughts.
These quiet times are when I realize the extent of my own internal chatter. What were we thinking? What’s our destination going to be like? Will I run out of water three miles out and have to endure cotton mouth at the end of the day. Then I catch myself and look at the sky and the road fading into the distance.
All is well right now. In this moment, I’m good and safe and secure in this one square meter around me. Take the next step, and the rest will work itself out in the time that it’s needed. That’s the rhythm of the road and the message of the blue dome floored in greens and browns, broken by the occasional farmhouse or barn all around me.
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