Note: This post is transcribed from a written journal entry, dated June 6, 2015.

Saturday.

One week and two days to go. I have already packed, unpacked, packed, and unpacked again.

Last time, the lead up was exciting, but not eventful. We planned, we executed, we travelled. Three people, together.

This time is both easier (because we’ve done it before) and harder (because we are traveling separately).

So it goes. The giddiness and worry of a big trip still hits hard.

The prep is different though. The cat leaves me tomorrow. The last day of work is Friday. There’s no extra pre-holiday time. But then again, there is. Stef is coming to Pullman. I miss her glowing smile and fiery persona.

Our relationship is complicated and I anticipate the reunion just as I anticipate the return to Scotland. We’ll eat, we’ll ride. We’ll surely talk and watch some football. Just like old times.

And just like old times, it ends with a trip out of town. Nobody ever claimed this shit was easy.

In the mean time, my “prep” has consisted of sitting on a rock next to a river, listening to crickets chirp and waves lap against the shore. Corey and Cheryl are just visible half a mile away upstream. It’s a shame my camera is at home.

It’s not ben a bad day so far. Lazy Saturday mornings kissed by the June sun are tough to beat. Top it off with an evening ride and a run tomorrow and I have a full weekend. Not bad for this loner in life.

Not bad at all.