Friday, May 28, 2021: IL – IN

I can’t keep track of how many trips we’ve canceled or postponed since March 2020. Leading into the departure date of our Southern road trip, when friends asked me if I was excited, I typically responded “I still won’t believe we’re going until we cross our first state line.” As I started packing my clothes, I felt like I’d forgotten all of my usual techniques and was forgetting half of my necessities.

Kurt and I finished work on a Friday afternoon, then began packing the car, and that felt slow-going and strange as well. It took two hours to get our gear loaded, then strap the canoe and kayak to the rack, as we searched the house for a misplaced bag of ropes. We locked up the house, loaded our dog River then ourselves into the Subaru, got on the expressway…then sat in gridlock traffic in the pouring rain for two more hours. Vacation!!!

Then finally, the road opened up, the rain lightened, and we stretched our cramped and atrophied wanderlusting souls across the Indiana landscape as we flew through a field of wind turbines, their red lights blinking in unison at us like an affirmation. Believe me, no one has romanticized the state of Indiana more than I did in that moment.* This past year has been a LOT, on the global and personal level, and I needed to do something again that helped me remember my true self, and that thing was eating a Wendy’s chicken sandwich off my lap while traveling 75 miles per hour.

We reached our hotel in southern Indiana just before midnight. We had a pet-friendly room, and River was overwhelmed by all of the smells of her first hotel stay (she could not stop zig-zagging to new spots on the carpet, which only made me more suspect of how gross this place must be). The artwork in our room had an addendum left by a recent guest, who scribbled “Legalize it” in paint pen across the bottom of a pastel landscape. Ah, vacation. I’m so happy to finally be here.

*maybe John Cougar Mellencamp

Saturday, May 29, 2021: IN – KY

After we crossed the state border into Kentucky, a light rain returned and the temperature hovered in the high 40s. We sailed through Louisville early, making our way towards our planned destination for the next few days, Daniel Boone National Forest. But first, we needed to make at least one stop on the Bourbon Trail. As we traveled down a windy road lined by horse farms, I queued up Elvis Presley’s “In the Cold Kentucky Rain” on Spotify. Kurt and I took turns checking out the gift shop and exploring the picturesque grounds with River. We noticed that the tasting line died down, so we wandered over for a midday bourbon cocktail, as one does. The bartender provided River with some dog treats and a copper dog bowl to match our Kentucky Mule and Classic Old Fashioned.

After putting some BBQ in our bellies, we continued southeast. Watching the landscape rush by my window, I loved how even the trees look different whenever I visit a region outside the Midwest. The road curved around mountains and across bridges spanning river gorges. When we reached our destination, the familiar ’60s-style brown and yellow National Forest sign greeted us. Vacation was really truly happening.

We drove up and down gravel forestry roads looking for a good spot to do some dispersed camping for the night, but as the sun grew low and the best-looking options had already been claimed, we pulled over to the side of the road to regroup. Not one, but two cars pulled up next to us to see if we needed any help; people are definitely friendly around here. I found a nearby primitive site on private land on HipCamp.com, so we booked it and headed over. We drove along winding country roads until we reached the Kentucky barn described in the listing. The property owner greeted us then led the way to the site on his John Deere, checking with us first to make sure we had all-wheel drive. He guided us to a forest clearing at the top of a hill at the end of a long private road, complete with a fire ring and picnic table, all we needed. Surrounded by thick trees and with the nearest site way down at the foot of the hill, we had total privacy.

I stepped into my usual job of setting up the tent and unrolling our bedding, while Kurt prepped his outdoor kitchen and started a campfire. After our dinner of chicken burritos, a light sprinkling of rain returned–not enough to send us into the tent, but just enough to block out the stars. We stayed by the campfire drinking wine for a while longer until eventually calling it a night. I cuddled into my sleeping bag, listening to the soft rain and the moo of nearby cows, looking forward to a week of adventures. I just hoped I got all the ticks off of River first.