Last night I felt the tickle of a sore throat in the works so downed about three liters of water before going to bed. Unfortunately, it didn’t help. When I woke up, I knew I had the makings of a cold. I was furious! I couldn’t afford this, especially not now! I had a music festival coming up and I definitely wanted to be in full health for that so I could drink myself silly! I wallowed in bed for a bit, then excited to catch up on all the blogs I’ve been behind on, I got my shit together, had some oats for breakfast, packed up and manoeuvred my way out of camp. Ruben was still in his Astro so I didn’t get to wave him goodbye. I got to the top of the hill no worries and hit the highway going south. On the way up, the sky was dotted with hot air balloons, enjoying what I’m sure was a sweet view into the Sedona Valley. I was aiming for my local café in Camp Verde with the incredibly comfy couch.

Once in Camp Verde, I stopped in at a pharmacy to get some remedies for this cold. I asked the lady at the desk for betadine, thinking I could gargle it and kill whatever was growing in the back of my throat. The lady took me through the isles to try find it but she didn’t have what I was after. When I told her I was getting a cold, she suggested some salt water gargle, gave me a Vitamin C supplement and a drug called Zicam which is supposed to kill a cold before it even starts. I trusted her good judgement and bought the lot. I was glad for her advice.

Around the corner from the pharmacy, I was seated on the comfy couch inside the café, orange smoothie in hand (orange for the vitamin C factor), writing away. I was so behind I stayed for a good three hours, bloody starving by the time I was finished. I could feel the cold getting worse as I drove south, but I remained optimistic with the plethora of drugs I’d gotten.

I got into Phoenix an hour or so later and met my friend Bo at a park called Arizona Falls. I met Bo in Florida what seems like years ago, he was one of the players in the tournament and floats around in a van between tennis meets and places to ride. First things first, we got into his van and did a run around the block because he had a squeak in the back he wanted me to find. Unfortunately the roads weren’t rough enough to root cause, so it was just a tour around the block really! I knew I probably shouldn’t have been running around, but Bo got his gear out and we went to one of the courts for a quick hit.

Having not hit a ball since my days in Florida, I was surprised at my good form, my backhand even had a bit of style. Bo was consistent as ever and even got me into a bit of power playing. It was good to run around the court again, even though I was taking it easy. We played for nearly two hours, just hitting back and forth and I managed to hit only one ball over the fence in that time. A successful mission I think! When I had to bail to meet Dan, we fist bunted goodbye to prevent any transfer of disease and a plan to maybe meet up in Utah in a few weeks.

I drove back through Phoenix to the lake. I was planning to park outside to wait for Dan but on my way he said he’d be getting off late so I paid the $6 entry fee to drive in and keep Cleo company. When I parked up, I met the boss who was standing in the shack. I explained that I was a friend of Dan’s and she told me how he was out rescuing someone who’d flipped a jetski. I made some food which served as a lunch/dinner and when Dan came over to see what I was making, he got in on it too. Cleo was happy to see me. I hung out with her by the shack while the workers did their thing finishing up for the day.

Before long, Dan was done for the day and we were off. He hung back to quit his job, but couldn’t get a minute with the owners so he left his gear on the back step of the shack and peaced out. We were on the road to Ocean Beach, California. We head south west on the highway towards Yuma. It was nice driving to begin with, through the desert, but it was soon dark and uneventful. To pass the time, I wrote a rhyming story for Dan and texted it to him one line at a time, much to his amusement. I won’t call it a poem because there’s no way I’m claiming to be a poet.

At around 9:30pm, after a good three hours of driving, we’d reached California, Yuma and some huge sand dunes. We stopped at a rest area that was a brilliant camp with trees galore and a nice parking spot. I cooked up some food to settle my sore throat then we were in the Astro for the night. Even Cleo got to sleep with us, despite her recent toilet troubles. When I met up with Dan at the shack, he told me about how he’d been out drinking for the night only to smell and step in Cleo’s firey diarrhoea when he got back to the van. He spewed his guts up and immediately cut out the piece of carpet with a Stanley knife. Dan and Cleo knew that if something like that happened in the Astro, our friendship would be over.