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Journal Three: Diary of the Open Road

Diary of the Open Road

Diary of the Open Road: Day Sixteen

In some ways, it feels like we've started over, as if today was day one repeated. We've spent the last week in the small, hidden gem of a town, Childress, Texas with one of the sweetest families you could imagine (they put southern hospitality to shame, which is saying something). Our stay there was not in the original intended route, but I would not trade the last handful of days for anything. They were truly a gift. A time to recharge, figure out the electrical issues with Vince, and form friendships I now hold so dear to my heart. 

And as we ventured back out into the open road today, it felt like a new beginning. Only now, we actually know what we're doing. 

That's definitely a lie. 

We KIND OF know what we're doing. 

We know more than we did. Let's leave it at that. 

Two days ago, "Jan the fly'n man" a.k.a. the coolest pilot/kindest human/our honorary southern dad, flew us to lunch in his plane. Literally. We flew to Amarillo to go to The Big Texan and then flew directly back. That's what you call "fast food" folks. On the flight back, we took a detour and explored Palo Duro Canyon from a birds-eye view. Unreal. It was absolutely unreal. 

From the moment we saw it, we knew we had to get ourselves to that canyon. 

And so we did. 

We hiked to lighthouse rock.

IT WAS STUPID COOL.

That's all I have to say about that. 

We ended the day by passing out in a Walmart parking lot in northern New Mexico. It's fine Mom, we're alive and well. 

We're currently tucked in the loveliest coffee shop catching up on some work before heading back out again and seeking out another canyon to get some more hiking in. 

If Vince decides to cooperate, we'll be dipping our toes in the Pacific Ocean this time next week. I can't wait to breathe in the salty air. 

Until then, I'm just waiting for my first rattlesnake encounter where I will have the opportunity to say, "Rattler, you messed with the wrong Canadian". 

And then back away slowly. 

 

 
 
 
 
 
sarah kierstead