After I might now not hear the highway noise from the scenic freeway that carried me into the mountains, I discovered a small clearing within the woods, shimmied my automotive right into a degree place and climbed into the again. Gathering my tenting range, I stepped outdoors into a lightweight rainfall and, below a tall cover of timber, lit the burner.
All night time I’d been enveloped in a thick foggy haze: not a lot to see, wipers working full tilt. I hadn’t interacted with anybody in days, and now even the panorama was hidden from view. However the rain appeared to be letting up — sufficient on this small glade, at the very least, for me to warmth a pot of water for a solitary cup of tea. Within the morning, I believed, if issues cleared, there’d even be hope of seeing the encompassing mountains of their autumnal glory.
So it went, it appears, with a lot of 2020: our lives — and our nation — enveloped in a haze of uncertainty, with out our realizing whether or not the subsequent day would carry a modicum of aid or a deepening of our solitude. In October I set off on a visit to witness and doc this singular second in American historical past — to look quietly and intently at our nation, to parse its surroundings.
To restrict interplay and stop publicity, I outfitted my automotive as a makeshift camper van, eradicating the rear seats and putting in a sleeping (and residing and dealing) platform of their place. After stocking up on meals and water, I headed southwest from my hometown, Hudson, Ohio, largely avoiding highways and preferring as a substitute to move extra slowly by means of much less populated areas. Most nights I spent at distant, unimproved campsites — away from any developed campgrounds — in our sprawling community of nationwide forests.