This is our last night camping together, and I am caught between my absolute sadness and my will to enjoy these last days with Sara. I find myself just looking at her, watching her eyes, her face, sitting beside her, looking at the scenery but listening to her. Sara is sad too. She asked for a quick goodbye, “Otherwise I’ll have problems, and I don’t like to have problems.”

We sat beside the river for a long while tonight, enjoying a last quiet night outdoors. A beaver swam up to us to lighten the mood for a bit. We tossed rocks across the river and watched the sky get dark. We sat close, not saying much.

When we turned in, Sara suggested we switch sides of the tent for our final night. It is strange to sleep on her side after so long, but I think it’s just a mental diversion to keep us from being too sad. It’s no stranger than what we’re doing now anyway.

The End. My insides are torn up. It is entirely different biking the last miles with such a significant partner. As we headed into the dark 4:30 am mist, I was all torn up inside, not wanting to bike forward because I knew it would result in our parting, but having no choice. We passed from two-lane highway to a lighter road, then a paved road with no centerline. We turned off the paved road onto a dirt road, then a grassy road with two tire tracks and little bungalows on either side. Sara’s house was the last one on the road, right on the lake shore. We held hands and rode through the tape her father and Pam had set up across the driveway, almost falling when the tape stretched and seemed as if it wouldn’t break. We dropped our bikes and ran laughing into the cold water, alone in our own world and alone in our celebration. Some part of my mind separated from my body and watched us hug in an incomprehensible mix of sadness, satisfaction, admiration, and wonder. We hugged long, and went in for the best breakfast of our lives, cooked in her father’s woodstove.