It is hundreds and hundreds of kilometers of rattling and swaying and dust. It days and days of no showers and no proper coffee, (but rarely no cold beer). It is pulling tents out after dark and packing them up again before sunrise. It is shivering breakfasts and sweltering lunches, but goldilocks campfire dinners. It is the Sisyphean sweeping of the truck, the flapping dry of dishes and the heaving of bags in and out. It is clogged fuel lines and missed turns and tedious borders and terrifying toilets and laughing running waving children. It is stunning night skies you will tell your grandchildren about and vast boundless untouched lands your grandparent's told you about. It is stitching together a meandering line across a great continent like a ship from dazzling port to dazzling port. It is the sudden creation of a community of people from four continents, a rolling village, cooperation and friendship and goodwill spontaneous and unquestioned. It is laughter and stories and shared wonder. It is a life within a life, a distillation of what we can be and what we should be.
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