Plainfield, In. (Pop. 36,074)

After a good night's rest for Dana and a semi-decent one for me, we got up and started preparing for the day. We were just beginning to make coffee when Jenny texted to say that breakfast was ready and the coffee was brewing. Without hesitation, we put on our jackets and retraced our steps from last evening’s nerve-wracking excursion through the nighttime dangers. This time, we walked in a light drizzle, with distant thunder rumbling in the background. Strangely, we felt less afraid.

Breakfast was a comforting spread of freshly baked oatmeal, yogurt, and a piping hot cup of freshly brewed coffee. We sat, chatting for a while, until we heard the thunder grow nearer. Saying our goodbyes, we stepped out the door and headed up the lane to the PLUM. We quickly readied ourselves for the journey back to civilization. This time, I hurried through the mud puddles, and we arrived safely at the semi-main road—far from the hungry bears and lurking bobcats.

I plugged in our route for the day. We were headed to Dana’s sister’s home in Plainfield, Indiana—a fairly straightforward drive of about seven hours and twenty minutes. About half an hour into our journey, we turned off the main road and started north. Ten miles later, we turned east, only to be greeted by a sign warning of a road closure ahead. I’ve always seen these signs as a challenge. I stopped the vehicle, contemplating my options. Just then, a car approached from the direction of the closure. I rolled down my window, and the driver did the same. He told us he had just come from that road and had turned back—it was completely covered with water. Heavy rains in recent days had saturated the ground, making flooded roads a common sight. Exercising good judgment, I turned around and returned to our previous northbound route.

Five miles later, we turned onto another westbound road, following Google Maps' instructions. Two miles in, a small sign warned that the pavement would end ahead. I thought, well, we just came from the ends of the earth—this can’t be that bad. Half a mile later, we reached a washed-out section of road where water poured over the remaining pavement. Should I gun it and see what happens? Instead, summoning every ounce of wisdom I had, I turned around and headed back toward the northbound road.

However, the road engineers had overlooked the need for a continuous northbound route. The only options available led west, slightly south, and occasionally north. Our choices were limited: either follow a road that would add over an hour to our trip or take a detour that would add an hour and a half or more. At this point, my wisdom was flowing as freely as the water over the washed-out road. We pressed on.

Eventually, the directions guided us onto a road heading east and north. I should mention—we were still deep in the heart of the Ozark Mountains. The roads were winding and steep, with breathtaking uphill climbs and lovely downhill stretches. As the hours ticked by, it became clear that our supposed seven-hour journey was evolving into a ten-hour odyssey.
But I’m newly retired. I have nowhere else to be.

I also failed to mention that we drove through rain for most of the day. And, of course, we crossed into the Eastern Time Zone—so we mentally added another hour (sort of) to the day's adventure.

Finally, at 7:00 PM ET, we arrived at Dana’s sister’s place. She had a pot of taco soup and a chocolate bundt cake waiting for us—a perfect antidote to a long day of travel. Without hesitation, I devoured two bowls of soup, a slice of cake, and a generous scoop of ice cream.

We traveled. We laughed. We stressed. We ate.

Let’s call it a good day.

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” — PlatoLæs mere