I reckon I ought to tell y’all how I got mixed up with this here, Southern Writers’ Guild business. So the stories below.
12-18-25 Well I made it back into Goshen to pickup just before the lot closed last night. I’m lucky Mary was working, as I was technically past time. I pulled in through the exit at 11:45pm. But it’s all good, she knows what’s up. I found this unit no problem and was out of her way by 11:56! I’ll finish hooking everything up before I pull out the morning. I hate that I gotta make the other pickup with my numbers on, but I doubt they’ll know or care. And I’ve seen no signs of any kind of surveillance… Of course, I’m usually just grabbing a couple dab-pens for me and some gummies for Brooke, maybe a few pre-rolls. But it’s been hella slow this winter and we need some cash. And Tanner’s lawyer buddies are always looking for bud – pay top dollar too! I got lucky with the Omaha load, and now I’ve got just enough funds to make it happen. You know, on second thought I think I’ll get an Uber from the Red Roof down the road, there’s no reason to chance it. And I’ve got plenty of time, the coordinates Beau sent aren’t but a 7 hour drive from here. Better get this day started.
I closed my journal and checked my phone, it was 28 degrees. No wonder it was so warm — I’m used to it being much colder up here. I tipped my Little Buddy over, just enough to extinguish the propane flame and pulled my pants on. The 6 AM alarm trumpeted as I was walking into the Hampton Inn. I smiled and greeted the clerk at the desk with a, “Good morning,” just as a regular guest would, and I made a beeline for the restroom around the corner.
This was my third day out, so I thought about shaving. But decided that since it ort-to-be a fairly short day, I’d stop later and get a full shower. There’s a Flying-J just before the Kentucky line that’s usually pretty clean. Not the Deadman’s store, that’s over on I-65. I’m gone be on 75-South most of today I reckon. I’ve got a little time this morning, the dispensary doesn’t open until 9am. So after I emerge from the restroom with my business complete, I start me a waffle and load my plate down with bacon and powdered eggs. By the time I’ve got my coffee and OJ on the table, my waffle’s beeping done.
I sit there for almost an hour — get the logs all straight, and my day mapped out. Then I hop on Substack to see what my fellow writers have going on. I run through my notifications — answer a few comments, then read and share both primalbeet and Gray’s stories from yesterday. I just love the community I’ve found on Substack — it’s jam packed with gifted and talented writers like those two, and I’m excited to get to meet them tonight!
By 7:30 I’ve finished up everything left undone from last night’s pickup, and have my pre-trip inspection logged. I’mma run with my numbers on today so my logbook has got to be correct. I don’t mind it in the grey area, but I don’t take any unnecessary chances out on the road. And since I’ll be riding dirty on this trip, there’s no room for error — everything needs to be buttoned up real tight. I map the Red Roof sitting just across the Michigan line and pull out.
Phase one goes just as planned, and by 10 AM I back in my pickup watching the Uber pull away. Pleased with my mornin’ so far, I stash my little bag of contraband in my backpack as usual. And I’m grinning ear to ear when I realize that I’ve got a huge bag of cannabis, sitting on my front passenger floorboard.
“What the hell, Cotton.” I’d overlooked the fact that I was hauling flower.
I grabbed my carry-on, and replaced the pillowcase with my dirty clothes in it with the bag of flower. I don’t like it, but it’ll do for now. Then I rip this morning’s logbook page out and start a new one, that way I can hide those two hours in last night’s stop. That’ll help me this evening too — pushing my start time back, gives me more time on the backend. I texted Brooke to let her know I was on the road — punched in the GPS coordinates that Beau sent me, and headed toward I-75 South. ETA- 5:37 PM, which’ll probably end up being around 7 or so.
I’m making good time, and I’m approaching Dayton at noon when I have an idea 💡 there are a pile of hospitals and such, just north of Cincinnati. I type in, ‘medical supply store’ and boom, a half dozen populate my right on my route. I select ‘Pop’s Med Supply’, which only adds +4 minutes to my route, and am walking out half an hour later with a red cooler that says, HUMAN ORGAN + For Transportation, in bold white letters on both sides. I put my dirty-clothes-pillowcase back in my carry-on and stuffed the three, quarter-pound bags of sweet sticky Michigan flower into the red cooler.
I’m feeling much better about the whole thing now. I mean, it’s only technically illegal — I did purchase it all legally. But, it is certainly illegal to cross state lines with it. Which is ridiculous no doubt — only I’m not sure what Beau and Gray will think about it all, so it’s probably better this way.
By 6:30 PM it’s full-on dark, and I’m running 40mph on a tight-ass Kentucky backroad. The trip couldn’t have gone any better. I stopped and got good and cleaned up — I even took a few minutes to sit and eat a bite, and video called Brooke. The map says I’m 12 miles and 20 minutes from The Porch, as Beau had called it. And when I pulled up they were both sitting right there on it. I’m hardly ever separated from my backpack, it’s got my passport in it. But I decided I’d leave it all in the truck for now.
The Bluegrass evening feels delicious, and as I’m walking up I spy a great spot to hang my hammock for the night. I pause when I reach The Porch — it feels like I’m home, only I’ve never been here before. I stand there a moment longer, just to get my bearings.
Beau finally says, “Chair’s honest.”
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