Welcome back to Tire Mom! It was just Wolverine (my Suburban), Gimli (my gnome), my Tire Angel and me now as we started Loop 2 of the journey. I was delighted to be returning to New England, and my mind teemed with memories as I drove the 6 hours to Adirondak Loj. Our family camping in tents at picturesque Heart Lake and hiking up Mt. Marcy and Mt. Joe.
Just being in nature filled up my soul, now as well as back then. During my time at the lodge, despite the deluge of rain and high winds, I felt safe and snug.
By the time I left I was eager to get to Kenneunkport, ME, where I planned to visit the DMV to procure their drivers’ manuals. More fact-finding. But when I arrived, I made a disturbing discovery: my wallet, which I kept clipped to my belt loop, was missing.
I ransacked my pockets and practically turned the inside of the Suburban apart, but the wallet – with all the money, the credit cards and, oh, you know, my DRIVER’S LICENSE – was no where to be found. I had no choice but to backtrack an hour and a half to the only two places I’d stopped, which were rest areas. Even when I retraced every step — No wallet.
It was one of those moments when you realize it’s all on you. Know what I mean? No one to run the possible solutions by. No one to say, “No, worries, I’ve got enough to get us home.” I had to figure this out myself.
There is nothing like the kindness of friends. I drove to the home of two good ones, who put me up for the night and gave me $100 for gas and a bite to eat as I made my way back to Rochester.
Is it any wonder I called this part of the journey the Lost Loop?
All was not entirely lost, however. I had another realization: if I was going to do this on my own – and I was – I had to have my head in the game. All. The. Time. Come to think of it, we should probably be that way in every situation, yes?
If you want to comment – and I hope you do – can you share a time when not having your head in the game cost you time, money or worse? I hope you had kind friends nearby. You certainly have them here.
Diana Hubner, The Tire Mom