hazard lights, blinking on the shoulder

The sun is beginning to set, though this far north... that doesn't mean much. I have at least 4 hours of light remaining, and as such, I am going to push onwards to the Arctic, so long as I can make out the next few inches of road ahead. Nevertheless, the schedule I once set for myself has already driven further than I.

On the road, every moment is a tradeoff. To stop and pee, or to drive? To see what you've come to see and take a short walk, or to drive? To rest a moment and eat a meal, or to drive? The latter is the most conflicting, frankly.

I am hungry this evening, having already driven through lunch, but a meal is nothing more than another delay. Nevertheless, biology overrides my schedule: On Canada's Yellowhead Highway, I pull into a river overlook. I drop the tailgate, I pull out my stove: for dinner, ground beef and butter noodles. I have always considered food to be more essential rather than pleasure... and so it remains.

The sky is golden, as it has been and will be, and the river beneath is an icy blue. I am an addict, unable to say no: fast flowing freeze always entices me, but in this moment, fear delays. I stand on a rock, minute after minute, unable to decide between an extremely brisk shower or more of my comfortable squalor.

Then I am reminded of the time. And so I take a deep breath, and jump.