1:00 pm (EST)
As I write my first journal entry of our short Upper Mississippi River trip, my mind wonders to our 2015 trip. On April 4, 2015, we locked the door of our 2800 sq. ft. yellow country home and drove thirty minutes with our two yellow kayaks secured to the roof of our Nissan Xterra. Family and friends watched us paddle away from Ft. Recover, Ohio, as we began a three-and-a-half month journey to the Gulf of Mexico.
This morning, we locked the door of our 750 sq. ft. red metal-sided home. With our red canoe strapped to the top of our Subaru Crosstrek, we are driving ten hours to St. Paul, Minnesota. We will spend tonight in a hotel before we pick up our shuttle driver, Denise, tomorrow. He alone will watch us launch at St. Paul on our 10-day adventure. (Until a few weeks ago, we planned to launch at the source at Lake Itasca, Minnesota, but drought conditions forced us to search for water downstream.)
In 2015, we shared the only food item left in our fridge—half a hotdog. This morning, we ate blueberries and the last banana with the remaining homemade Greek yogurt. A full breakfast followed in Monroe, Indiana, at a coffee shoe instead of a bar in Ft. Recovery.
For lunch on the first day of our trip six years ago, we ate peanut butter wraps on the banks of the Wabash River beside a beaver lodge. Today, we are beginning our trip on the road instead of the river, so we ate cheeseburgers in a booth of Burger King across the parking lot from Check into Cash and Rent a Center.
On the first night of our source to sea trip, our tent shook in the wind. Shots fired by a farmer across the field broke through the sounds of nature. I shivered—cold in my sleeping bag. Tonight, I will lay my head on a pillow in a king-size bed. The only wind will come from the air-conditioning vent. A push of a button up or down will ensure I don’t shiver or sweat.
I remember fighting tears during the drive in 2015 to Ft. Recovery (and several days before). I feared the unknown. What would my life look like for the next few months? Although the tears didn’t well in my eyes this morning, I have shed tears in the last few days. This time I am aware of the dangers (my greatest fear is still dumping), but my river life calls. Right now, we are merging onto the toll road. Maneuvering in with traffic at 70 miles per hour intimidated me when I was a new driver. Now, it is a part of my normal. I have to remind myself that the probability of crashing on the highway is greater than dumping in the river. The familiar, even though more dangerous, is comfortable.
I just realized we have entered the Central Time Zone. It is 1:00—again.
7:13 pm (CST)
We are relaxing in our 72-degree room at the Hilton Garden Inn in Rockford, Illinois. The first thing I did when we entered our room was push the thermostat button up from 68 degrees to 72 degrees. When the temperature is 68 outside, I put on a jacket. In the winter, if our house if 68, John stokes the fire. Comfort is easily accessible in our society life.
Not much more to report. Boring is good.
Tomorrow, onto St. Paul, where we will lay eyes on the Mississippi River. I feel like I am going home.