D: Why do you wear shorts in bed when you’re in the van?
A: Guess you never know what’ll happen and it’s an advantage to not be naked when you have the step outside.
D: Oh.
A: Goodnight.
A: Goodnight.
Silence, wind, silence.
Spit of gravel and engine rumble. Another truck pulling in for the night. Quite close. Very close.
Thump, smash, grind. We shunt forward a few feet off the parking into the bushes. For fucks sake! Fumble for tent zip in the darkness.
Legs out and jump down to ground. Not naked.
Maybe because we’re a dark green van in the dimly lit corner of the truck stop, maybe because the driver had been driving 49 hours with nothing but mate to keep him awake. Either way, once again our van is smashed, this time more seriously.
Police are called, statements given, ID and paperwork. Gaffertape a temp cover over broken window. Look at each other, shrug and climb back into tent.
Silence, wind. The spit of gravel and rumble of engine, close, very close.
D: You know, maybe we should move to some where brighter.
A: Yeh.
Climb back out, drive to other end of park. Reset ladder, back to bed.
The wind blows harder in this less sheltered spot, the dogs bark. I spend 6 hours ‘waiting’.
And now it’s now and we are grabbing coffee in the service station before going to see the police (again), find a mechanic/body shop, convince the Chilean insurers we are good people, and fix our shit.
Travel yeh, character building.
