Good thing we struck the tent when we did, or we would have been awakened to a downpour. Instead, we were off down the road by 8am, headed for Virginia.
We opted to take Route 522 from Lewistown, PA, to Winchester, VA. I would have taken a photo but it was too dark all the way. I tried to do a quick sketch in Photoshop of how black the shadows in the trees were, and how gloomy and dark green the solid vegetation was ... pretty much all the way to Abingdon, Virginia, where we stopped for the day because we were both so tired. At least 1-81 was more than a two-lane. That was kind of claustrophobic under the trees.
I quacked a little along the way about wanting to detour to the Atlantic Ocean, but a good look at the map showed that would put us two if not three days behind where we wanted to be, and that isn't a luxury we can afford.
We did note that we had been in four states: Pennsylvania, then Maryland, West Virginia, and Virginia. Sounds like a lot of traveling when you put it that way.
During the ride, we were fairly quiet. Not because we didn't want to communicate with each other, but because the silence was a communication in itself. It was a firm agreement of appreciation of not chattering unnecessary words. Neither of us asked, "NOW what are you doing?" or "Why are you out there by yourself?" or "Oh, were you working on something?"
We just don't feel a need or a desire to be constantly conversing in order to know that we're alive and in contact... or for reassurance.
Maybe that's it. Bernie and I are almost always close enough to touch each other; we hold hands, touch shoulders, caress (not sexxy-like!). We know that we are most important to one another -- we say so frequently -- so we don't need the attention of chatter to make us believe in the importance.
Funny we're both like that, when our mothers are/were non-stop yakkers.
I have to stop and chuckle; I suddenly remembered that the only time my mother was quiet was if she was madder than hell and someone was going to pay for it. Maybe she felt that silence was punishment, and so her voice was an assurance that things were okay.