Can’t complain

Turned around halfway to the prison this morning. All clear here, but snow and slick roads 45 minutes south. My ABS system was squawking when I tried to stop for a driver turning into a filling station. That was enough for me with many miles of hilly, winding, two-lane road ahead. Driving conditions have caused me to come home on only two occasions in seven years. Can’t complain in the least.

But I do miss seeing the men, and there is no small amount of prep time to get mentally ready for my visits to the prison. I’m also aware, however, of the name frequently given to the highway I travel each Wednesday: Blood Alley. Next Wednesday will be better.

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