Desperate to Escape

Frantic. It had been way too long since I'd travelled, and I was desperate. Life had caught me up in its grip, and where I can usually carve out a weekend for myself once in a while, that just hadn't been possible for nearly three months. What with us buying a house, packing, moving, unpacking, and general busy-ness I couldn't even take a break for two days to get the recharge I knew I needed. I become a grumpy, moody bitch when I am stuck in one place too long (ask Jared, I'm sure he'll tell you how bad I can get, and why he practically pushes me out the door when I do have a trip planned) and I had reached that point and far surpassed it sometime in January. It wasn't until the middle of February that I got a chance to run away for a weekend, and I jumped at it.

I had a general plan in mind to hit as many state parks between home and the western border of Texas as possible in two days, and so took off immediately after work on a Friday to put some miles under my tires. Of course, leaving after work meant I hit Dallas in all its Rush Hour Glory. I'm pretty sure I spent as much time at a stand-still on the interstate bisecting the southern part of the city as I did driving from Tyler to Dallas. I'm not the most patient person, especially in bumper-to-bumper traffic, but keeping the fact that I was finally travelling and would be snoozing in a tent sometime that night in mind allowed me to overlook my annoyance and just be happy I was with my adventure pups in a car on my way to somewhere beautiful. I felt my anxieties drain away as the miles between home and I increased. It was good to be back on the road.

The first thing I saw when I got to Abilene State Park was a herd of deer flanking the shoulders of the road, followed immediately by a wild hog running for the cover of nearby bushes. It was well after sunset when I arrived, and I took longer than normal to figure out where the hell I was supposed to pitch my tent on the dark, poorly marked park roads. After I finally figured out where the tent-only area was, set up was a cinch even though it'd been three months too long since I'd last camped. I guess pitching a tent is kinda like riding a bike - muscle memory takes over and you don't need to be retaught how to do it! Callie was just as tired as I was, patiently waiting to climb into my sleeping bag and promptly passing out. Ghost, however, was still wound up, listening to every night noise around us, especially the coyotes. He just wouldn't settle and kept circling the confines of my small tent, looking for reassurance and giving hugs until he finally lay down by my head. Did I mention my tent is small? It's built for two adult humans, and pretty much nothing else. Ghost's body touched both tent walls as he curled up around my head, but at least I was warm and toasty. As I tried to get comfy and use him as I pillow I reflected to myself that teaching Ghost "Hugs" may have been a bad idea... I know most people don't appreciate an 80 pound dog jumping up on them, but I absolutely love his cuddles, and enjoy being able to nearly look him in the eye when he stands up and puts his paws on my shoulders. To each her own, I guess.

Only after we were all snuggled in to the sleeping bag did I realize it was way earlier in the evening than I thought it'd been. That's one of the things about winter camping - it gets dark early. Sure, you can stay up and make yourself a camp fire (if they're allowed where you are), or read, or play cards, or write, or whatever you want, but sleeping has always been my favorite way to pass the evening hours of a winter trip. Where at home I'd be up till ten o'clock or so, when I'm travelling and the sun goes down at six or seven I'm ready to hit the sack. I was doing just that, on cusp of sleep in that lucid state between reality and dreams, when Ghost let out a booming bark and I bolted upright with a jolt of adrenaline coursing through my veins. Even Callie let out a muffled growl from the depths of the sleeping bag, though she didn't stir otherwise. More tent campers had arrived, choosing a site across the deserted tent-only area, but still close enough to catch Ghost's attention. It took me telling Ghost to stand down several times before he finally settled again, though a growl rumbled against my ear every time a voice lifted enough to be distinguishable from the activity of unloading their gear. Trusting Ghost would wake me if anybody bothered us, I let myself drift off. I slept like the dead.

What I'm listening to: Song of Mor'du by Patrick Doyle