"For the thing which I greatly feared has come upon me." --The Book of Job
This bust of Lincoln sits on the top of Mount Sherman at the I-80 Summit Rest Area East of Laramie, Wyoming, known to many simply as
For all the fretting I've done about the possibility of contracting COVID-19 some 1,200 miles from home, when the infection finally came, it amounted to little more than a really bad sore throat and an embarrassing case of what we'll call Sandbaggers Syndrome. Yes, I was still snoozing on Mount Sherman with 39,000 pounds of yogurt in the box when I should have been waking up in Ogallala. Yes, I probably took seven siestas between Cheyenne and Champaign, but the load did finally get there and, thanks to a generous window on a drop and hook, it even got there on time.
There was that one hard day, though. I woke up in Oakwood, Illinois, unable to swallow anything at all, and would wind up taking no nourishment or hydration for nearly 20 hours. While that might not seem like a big deal to some, when you're a dyed-in-the-wool caffeine addict like me, it's like running low on oil.
Functioning in a truck without a drop of coffee is about as high-risk as it gets for me, these days.
[Related: Midwestern God strikes back: Mild winter gives way to tough decisions this COVID-19 season]
