Roads to Joy

Our connection for the morning’s ferry was crucial, that day we left North Uist for Harris. We had to dash on up through the Outer Hebrides to Stornoway on Lewis for the second ferry back to the mainland in Ullapool. It was to meet a sad, but not unexpected date for a family funeral. Still, we were two days from home, and the rest of the travel to northern Ontario loomed ahead. So we were first in the queue, that morning.

The remainder of the trip, to Canada and back, seemed to fly by in a blur, all out-of-focus and rushed as arrangements were met. I haven’t felt much like travelling, since.

But I’ve noticed, over the past couple of weeks, that our thoughts are turning again to the possibility of holiday breaks ahead. Life goes on. We’ve begun to think, sometime early April, maybe, get Harry Hymer ready for another adventure? I’m pretty sure this longing sense of maybe needing to get away, have a break, escape the winter doldrums and find a change of scene, this wanderlust is a feeling shared with lots of other folks. How many clichés have we developed to describe this modern day phenomenon, anyway? Talk about the many different names for snow that the Inuit have — in how many ways do we describe our vacations?

Besides the itchy, antsy feet though, there’s the preparation effort which helps to build the excitement. I’ve got new plans for a better electric hook-up (that’s EHU in the camping, caravanning and motorhoming community) arrangement for the old motorhome, which will accommodate the three extra leisure batteries we carry. Just now, we daren’t charge these reserves by the normal single EHU or risk frying most of the service on board. So that bit of finessing occupies my mind as we begin to plan for the new adventure.

We might, probably will, head back into Scotland for another twirl around. But first, I’m going to delve deeply into electrical connections and special gear, losing myself in the joy of putting things together. I can while away whole days at that! Sometimes I wonder if the simple pleasures of being lost in the preparation work, the concentration required for that joyful flow state of mind, aren’t as good as the actual holiday!

Good thing then that old Harry Hymer is always needing attention, of one kind or another.