The big temporary separation started this morning when I took Caroline to the airport in Portland, Maine, for her flight to Phoenix via Chicago. Afterward, our car got an oil change, which was about 1,000 miles overdue but proved impossible to get done in Canada, where a couple of places couldn’t do it because of either a lack of parts or staff. From Highway 114, I was soon transitioning to the 202, where things started looking familiar. Sure enough, this is also Route 9, the Franklin Pierce Highway, that we traveled on our way to Kennebunkport, Maine, so many weeks ago, though it feels like something more than a month or two. I didn’t stop for a single photograph; the one I took of the New Hampshire State Line was taken from a traffic backup out of my car window. Having taken over 6,800 photos on this vacation thus far, I hoped to drive away as far as possible from the congested area of the New England States and aimed the car at Cobleskill, New York, while taking a break from photography.

There’s an incredible void in the car. What’s missing is Caroline’s banter, enthusiasm, and chatter, her pointing things out, suggesting places to pull over, or asking what I think about particular detours. I tried listening to music to mask the silence, but her input about what could play next was obvious, and I soon tired of my choice, so I just kept driving, growing hungrier but still wanting to put some serious miles behind me.

I want to hear my wife’s voice or know she’d landed in Chicago. That didn’t happen until about 3:30 after I pulled into Keene, still in New Hampshire, where I found somewhere that sounded reasonable for lunch; maybe this is an early dinner. A text arrives: she’s maneuvering the frustrating labyrinth of O’Hare Airport and telling me about her trek. Once she’s situated at her next gate, and I’m done with my meal, we’ll talk, and my experience says I’ll only miss her more while wishing she had another week of vacation to share the drive of nearly 3,000 miles ahead of me.

Spending 24 hours a day, seven days a week together doesn’t create the tensions others might think could arise. The opposite happens: we grow fonder, more affectionate, more enchanted with the unfolding world we hope never stops.

Now, I have to fight the urge to bolt home because being out here in America allows me to catch up with the neglected 12 days of writing. If I were to arrive in Arizona without having at least tried to knock out some of the estimated 20,000 words I’ll likely pen for those posts, I’d fall into talking with various people at coffee shops back home, delaying everything well into October and pushing out the continuation of working on my book that’s been on hold for more than a few months by now.

My lunch is done, and I still have 137 miles ahead. Google says it’ll take me 3.25 hours to cover that ground, probably because I’m avoiding major highways and toll roads. With my lunch bill paid, it’s time to get to the car and call Caroline to whine about how much I miss her.

As obnoxious as those damned Subway restaurants, dollar stores of whatever brand are of an ilk I despise. Today, it will serve a useful purpose, and I should appreciate that, but my senses tell me that these blights on the landscape are here to prey upon the poor while facilitating the never-ending loop of poverty. The details are superfluous, but that’s okay; what I share in my writing is allowed to dip into banalities. Caroline forgot the USB charging cable for her phone at the motel, and there was no way we would drive back, considering that at that time, we were also looking for breakfast, which was not easy somehow (we ended up settling on Starbucks). After trying a major grocery store and Target, we had to give up, and I gave her my cable. At Family Dollar outside of Bennington, Vermont, I was able to get what I needed, but the effort of walking into this store sapped any remaining energy I could muster, so I altered my route, saving me two more hours of driving. I turned in at the Catamount Motel in Bennington and collapsed in shame.

Writing that last sentence, I smiled to myself but realized I couldn’t let it stand. No matter how much I may have wanted to end this post on that perfect little tidbit of drama, I do not wilt that easily. Note to my editor: do not contradict me, or else. [….right. Caroline]