Jen and I are night-people. I’d like to say that we were night-people, because we sort of assumed that once we were rested and recovered, we’d be rising with the sun every morning. That hasn’t happened–we’ve kept our nocturnal circadian rhythm here on the road. You may have noticed that nearly all of our pictures are sunsets. It’s not a coincidence.
While there’s nothing necessarily wrong with waking up late, we’ve noticed that our fellow campers tend to be the opposite. I’ve stepped outside our trailer many times to find most of our neighbors gone by 8 am.
The fact that this has happened not just once, but on a regular basis, has sown some seeds of self-doubt. Like any normal person, I’m attempting to deal with that guilt by writing a poem. The first verse (or the last?) is below. Any constructive criticism of the poem–or our sleep habits–is appreciated.
Ode to the late-waking hiker
Your neighbor’s campfire is already smoldering
He’s probably cliffside, repelling or bouldering.
Four other Spartans have already packed up
They’re up on the mountains, rolling in buttercups.
Even the kids with the case of Bud Light
Whose poor taste was heard the whole of the night…
Oh wait, they’re here, don’t self-ostracize…
Oh wait, they’re back, from fishing at sunrise.
Yup, you were so popular, “Everyone liked her”
‘Til you were exposed as a late-waking hiker.