The flannel lined jeans I've worn for days, with and without long underwear, have finally been deleted to the dirty clothes. Our truck stop nights are over for the next few days, while we plug in to an RV park in Fayetteville near my sister Jeanie and her partner Bob.

This after 5 days on the road from Chatham, generator on at night to ensure adequate heat until morning; pulling over to rest, or to eat, or to enjoy the luxury of our in-house toilet; walking Sam and Phuphu and letting them sniff and annoint; stopping for the night. And if we can, rapacious dining at a Flying J all-you-can-eat-buffet. Or if not, Petra. Real mashed and beef brisket. But never, never again, TA or Travel Centers of America, where it seems everything past the festive entrance is designed to cause deep depression. Even though it was named after my childhood hero, Davy Crockett, and made me think lovingly of the Davy Crockett pleated skirts Grandma B made for me and Jeanie, covered with pictures of Davy meeting up with bears and other formidable opponents.

Heroes. Our everlasting yearning for them. January 20 at a rest area I prepared lunch while Andre put up the satellite dish, and we tuned in to the inauguration. Lowering the shades to cut down the glare on the screen, we ate while we watched and listened. But for me the tears came with the first invocation, and eating became impossible. We heard the music, saw the oaths taken, heard the address, the poem, the final prayer. I remain deeply moved. Deeply grateful. I thought of Margaret and Susan watching in Shelburne Falls. Jay in California. The thousands pressed together in the cold in DC. I wondered if the occupants of the trucks parked nearby were tuned in too, or thinking about it at all. So many of us joined in this heart-deep current of feeling. At this monumental moment of arrival and departure—the long journey to, and forward. I pray that we ourselves might be heroic now, rather than demanding it all from this one man.

As we traveled through Virginia and Tennessee, we were passed by busses on the highway, parked with them at the rest stops. One stopped across from us and the passengers—all black—disembarked. Finally, I pulled back the side window and called out to one woman "are you coming back from the inauguration?" And she smiled and said "yes we are." Jubilation in the air.