I've just gotta laugh. The clenched teeth and tight jaw mimicking a hideous grin will come later, as we get back on the road for the second time this morning. Because by then the freezing rain will have arrived. Question answered: Can we outrun the storm?

Emphatically, no.

Got up at 3am, put the coffee machine and slideables away, did our safety check, and sped off into the early morning darkness. We were in high spirits, our plan activated, with many hours stretching before us to get many miles past Oklahoma City before the ice. Hubris.

We proceded—as we must—ignorant of what lay ahead. We were one exit from Stroud when there was a small noise (what was that?) (i don't know!) under the hood. The next bigger noise brought Knowledge, the apple's cutting edge. It was the fan belt. Thus we were destined for another incident on the shoulder, a wait for a tow truck, the state police arriving to cover our back. So I've just gotta laugh.

Yes, here we are again.
And it's another occasion for it-could-have-been-so-much-worse gratitude*:
The giant tow truck was close-by, from Stroud.
Trish at *55 with the State Police said we were lucky it was Millers Towing.
The tow man knew of Jody's garage in Stroud which opened at 8am.
Following the tow truck we were at Jody's by 7:30am.
Jody was early and got to work immediately!
We went off to a satisfying breakfast and toured Stroud.
That gave me a satisfying, affectionate review of small town Oklahoma.
We returned and Jody was finishing up, having been given the correct fan belt the second time
from the parts store next door, also open.
As Andre paid, a fine rain started quietly falling.
Still, we drove away and onto the turnpike at 9:56.
We drove off it about 25 miles later—
still in control of the vehicle,
right into a Flying J,
filled up with gas and propane,
parked perfectly with doggie lawn outside our door
with the Flying J buffet behind us!

If we're fortunate, we might be able to drive away tomorrow afternoon. Or not. Now, it looks more like Wednesday. Meanwhile, though wifi is enticingly close, and we're willing to pay, we can't get on.* Out on the highway traffic is slowing but moving and sirens screech intermittently. The parking lot here is getting slicker. And I have time on my hands.

I sit at my laptop creating this—the current story of my life on the road. Insular, self-absorbed, out of touch with most of the people and places that help me recognize who I think I am. (One reason to travel?)

So I search for words, I write, I revise. I try to connect with "my audience" questioning all the while who would really want to read all this? Someone else with nothing better to do? Quite possibly, only me.

Then I smile, remembering how, days ago, writing, I hit 3 keys intending to create italics. Suddenly, my own words were coming at me from my computer in a soft female voice that feathered out some words and cut others short; the voice of a foreigner who loves sounds without quite understanding what they mean. "Gradually, it is becoming real...," she said, carefully caressing each syllable. And so on.




*We have wifi when we can get the signal, for 24 hours!