Keeping up with my journals and photographs is sometimes overwhelming. I sit here in shabby motel room. A cheap fan whirs back and forth and the sound of diesel trucks grinding gears sneaks through the slotted windows. My motorcycle boots caked in mud lie on the floor next to my dry bag. Various clothes are spread across the foot of my bed. My jacket hangs from a hook on the door and I lean on lumpy pillows with my computer on my lap. I think of the past few days and start banging out the stories. I get stuck. Perhaps tired. The adventure is incredible. The people I meet interesting. And the ride is phenomenal. But it does go fast. As the fuel is burned and pavement fades in my rearview, I fall behind. But I’m too tired to write tonight. Not interested in staring at this screen and viewing the photographs I’ve taken over the last two weeks. But it’s important. I must.
But tonight I must relax. Take a night off. And stare at the ceiling. Meditate to the drone of the fan. Reflect on what’s been and what’s to come.