At 4 am the grumbles began. When the area internal to your bellybutton starts shifting around, it’s not good. Just about everyone has experienced this kind of dread.

After lying in bed in the dark for awhile I decided a walk would get things moving. It worked for a bit. I thought hey, I've got this. I do yoga (I mean at least once a week for ten minutes). I know which poses work best for motility. So I did twist after twist with the added level of difficulty of doing performing this in the "hallway" of the trailer which is about as big as me lying down. I thought the universe might award me extra points for before-dawn yoga under very cramped circumstances.

It was not to be. Today we were switching campgrounds we had a substantial drive; seven hours and at least two tanks of gas were ahead of us to get across this state and most of the next. We had started packing the trailer when my stomach started talking a little louder. At this point I was confident that since it would be so inconvenient to be sick today, it simply would not happen and would fix itself.

As we hitched up the trailer the inevitable came to pass. I walked over to the edge of our campsite which conveniently dropped into a scrubby canyon. Bent down and waited for the very few contents of my stomach to become earthbound again. This is typically a process that comes only when I believe I can't stand it anymore, I am not someone who throws up easily. I have a desperate jealousy of anyone who can boot and rally.

OK, I thought to myself. That was it, I feel better. Let's go.

Know what's coming next? Yep. the second stoplight after we pull out of the campground. Pull over, honey.

Rinse and spin. I can recommend that no one engage on a road trip with the stomach flu. Ever.

The highlight of the day was squatting in my pajamas (my last clean-ish clothes) in a neglected square of dirt at a random gas station in a midsize industrial town in the Southern California valley. Having at this point been through quite a bit, my brain evidently decided a short break was in order and turned out the lights.

After regaining consciousness I had a mouthful of dirt and random cuts on my face. Stumbling into the gas station to clean myself up I wondered what other station patrons were thinking. Trafficking victim? Domestic situation? Terribly irresponsible person with COVID?

That was not the end. But by the time we got to our destination two sips of water had stayed with me for almost an hour. Could I have shouted hallelujah I would have but alas, stomach acid and throat linings do not mix well.

For the first time in our 500+ days of camping I did not participate in any part of setup. I laid in our glorified tent and stared at the ceiling and said thank you to my intestines for all their hard work. Because for goodness sakes I have taken their daily labor for all kinds of granted.

Bet you didn't think this piece would be a love song to the digestive tract but it is. The common phrase is so wrong; I don't hate guts.

Indeed, I love you. Guts, please keep working. Our time together is so much better when I respect you and you do the same to me. Sorry about all those times when I didn't properly introduce you.

So please, carry on.

This story inspired by events in Hemet, California.