Black pavement, rust colored earth. The tour starts today in a land where life finds living the hardest. Nearly two years have passed since my first days in the wilderness as the wilderness. I could never have imagined what those years would look like; the good fortune they would bring, the miles I’d be covering on roads that buzz and tear beneath the wheels of these silver machines. The things we don’t know about the future is what makes this day so very worth living. We pull up to a truck stop 60 miles outside of Tucson and I let Doris, my terrier, out for a quick walk. It’s already 90 degrees and barely 8am. She’s not used to this heat or the lack of vegetation and I can’t blame her. She fell asleep in the mild damp of a California June. Doris will be 9 this year. My mind wanders briefly to the mess I was in when we first met. I try not to linger there, this morning or any morning for that matter. Still, it’s hard not to look at her and wonder how she sees it. This mad road down which she’s followed me so faithfully. Coffees are collected, forgotten charging cables are replaced with new generic truck stop brands. Half awake, poorly groomed musicians, managers and road crew migrate from the station to the bus. We’re leaning towards the horizon at a good clip now. The sun has pulled it’s fire frame through the bottom layer of sand colored sky and will likely ride out the rest of it’s day in the blue. The night though, that is when we come to life.