Gears and fuses.

July 14, Fort Bragg, California.

Today is my national day, le 14 juillet, not anywhere but in English-speaking countries known as Bastille Day.
Much more important is that Dylan turns eight months today. He's as happy as ever and it is increasingly hard not to fall in mad love with him.
We're back on the coast after a brief stint around Clearlake and in the heat of the inland areas. The road down here, highway 20 west, would never end, curve after curve after curve, up and down and up and down we go. Going 20 to 30, 33 miles can seem like a long time.
Driving without dashboard lights, last in a series of truck mishaps that started with the brakes going out in Oregon. We couldn't move the truck in the last location we played, Lakefront, because the reverse speed has been increasingly difficult to handle. Euphemism for both hard as hell to engage, and impossible to take out if you don't get in neutral while the truck is still in motion. I thought I had when I parked but it was stuck and wouldn't come out (Jose finally wedged it out) so we stayed exactly where we were, no moving the trailer to level it or unhitch the truck, no opening the slides, two days of off-kilter living and no crawling around for a baby that turned out to have a short fuse when he's not free to roam (don't we all.)