Stuff pre-packed and ready to go, 5:30am rolled around, and a quick exodus was made.

No stops for food; just dried mangos and almonds.

The traffic was normal. Untouched by fear of missing out or other anxieties. Just a determination; a mission on the horizon as the sun came further up in the sky, and Illinois came back into view.

Carbondale was quiet when I got there. Small town. Peaceful.

I found a parking lot to station my car, though the old school parking meters had me for a loop. Some were on; others were shut off. No signs were posted on whether they were free or paid today. I plucked some quarters into one anyways.

I had no concrete plan of attack. I figured I would go to SIU, and roam to the same spot I stood with my friend Mike seven years ago to see the eclipse. Would it be lazy not to?

I grabbed caffeine at Longbranch Cafe and Bakery, and parked with my laptop, catching up on writing. In the zone, tunnel vision, that writers ritual. Eyes locked in, meat digits on polymer keys, soft clicks accompanied by letters; modern hieroglyphs on digital tablet.

I blinked, and the place filled up. So did the parking lot. And the green nearby.

Once I wrapped up, I left, collected my things and surveyed the scene. Travelers setting up camping chairs, tailgating, picnicing, and prowling the shops. A few food vendors placed themselves on the park a block down.

… Who is to say that I have to relive the same moments from seven years ago? I would be disgracing the present in doing so. I would be leveraging nostalgia over mindfulness.

So instead, I set up shop, chair and everything, and spent the hour before relaxing. Once there was mention in the crowd that the eclipse was starting, I donned glasses. These things take about 30-45 minutes to get to totality, so between peakings at the sun, I was adjusting my tripod and DSLR to see if I could get a good position for the totality itself.

(Note. NEVER point a camera directly at the sun. Even if you are putting solar glasses film over it. Get an approved sun filter. … I didn’t have one, so I settled to wait for the totality.)

When watching an eclipse, the sensation rolls in phases.

First, its a passive curiosity. A thing to look at and say… “Oh! Interesting!”.

Then, once half the sun is covered, despite the area around still being bright as ever, the realization begins to settle in. Your mind switches gears and pivots from passive curiosity, to present wakefulness. It dawns that regardless of all of the planning, or other things going on inhabiting your world, you’re here for one thing. That thing is a once (or very few) in a lifetime moment.

Flashback. Its the same I felt seven year ago when I was in Carbondale for the previous eclipse. Except that time, a large cloud began rolling in, and my friend and I started groaning. Then I said, “Mike, I’m going for it.”, and I started scurrying down the green. The difference of dozens of feet, perhaps a hundred, could mean the difference between cloud and sky. Others took the hint and did the same. I remember that eclipse totality came in a fit of excitement; me jumping up and throwing my fist in the air. An almost emerald ring. … My running to the side of the road felt like I fought for it.

Return to present, the sky was clear. The air was tense. There was so searching for it, or running away from clouds. This time, its path was determined. It was coming regardless of what you said or did, and your job was to simply be present for it.

The sun took multiple shapes as time went on. … Melon slice. Banana. Fingernail.

People knew the moment could happen at any second, and shouting was happening. You could look around and actually see things go darker at this point.

And then, it becomes night at once.

The stars show up in the sky.

The glasses come off.

Where the sun was hanging in the sky was a halo. A bright circle. A shimmering ring.

Last time it was emerald and glowing. Friendly and shy.

This time, it was shimmering. Radiant. Bright and proud. Imposing, but in a good way.

…

The moment was lived in the theme song of “Sugar Free” by Juicy, which someone was blasting over their bluetooth speaker throughout the phases.

My DSLR simply didnt have the lens to get past the blotch of light. I ended up getting this photo from my cell phone camera zoomed in all of the way.

…

And my own eyes absorbed the radiance.

It almost looked like multiple rings interphased over each other, like its form was not completely comprehensible.

Granted, I’m speaking in colorful language. This is a scientific, astronomical moment that expands ones view of the universe. We hear everything about how we are beings on a planet floating through space, but we never get to see it,… except in photos. An eclipse lets you see it, clearly.

It flips your relationship with the sun and the sky; it is no longer a generic panoramic backdrop that hangs over us; not a firmament. It is an open, endless cosmos of infinite volume. Regardless of us taking it for granted, it has always been open. And you feel like a transient being; a creature of sentience, on a planet, circling a sun, in an ever-expanding universe of countless stars and planets.

Solar eclipses make that known in real time.

When it was over, the sun peered over the crest in a flash. The worldly lights came back on. The glasses came back on. Some yelled at their stubborn friends and family to stop being idiots and put them on again. As you do.

I looked around and socialized with those nearby, taking in our experience and exchanging pleasantries. I offered up the above photo to people who didnt get a chance to get a good one; I figured it didn’t matter if it came from their phone or mine, as we inhabited the same relative space when it happened.

In return, I received some fantastic ones in return, and a time-lapse of me fiddling with my DSLR.

After the 15-25 minutes of us conversing, and peering back up at the sun on the waxing of the moon, we slowly began to pack up and depart.

Place and time can be elusive things, but they can sync up in beautiful ways.

I finally decided this was the time to grab food from the vendors set up down the next block. One of the food vendors, a couple of guys having traveled here with a barbecue grill trailer were cooking some of the meanest steaks, sausages, and porkchops in the area.

As I was waiting, a gust of wind came up and unearthed one of their pavilions. I rushed with a bunch of passerbys to help put it back where it was, and I stuck around to help tie things down. While the food took time to cook, I noticed one of the guys was suffering some back issues and had to sit down. I rushed back to the car, grabbed a bottle of Tylenol, and offered some up. He treated me with some sausages on top of my order, and I was so thankful I virtually forgot to pay; perhaps I misinterpreted the returned generosity in the moment. I swung back, embarrassed, and flashed the cash.

The look on the mans face was simply glowing; he legitimately didn’t think I was going to come back, and me showing up was pure relief. … You know how they say “Everyone is fighting a battle you know nothing about."? … I thought I saw the crest of that over the other side of the hill, like a moment of redemption that overcame all of the days hardship. Maybe I’m looking too far into it, but … in short… he was far more happy than angry. “I mess with good people, man!”

After all of that, I felt like I didnt know whether to absorb anything else Carbondale had to offer, or if I should hit the road and get to a state park.

Took me about an hour of listless wandering to make the decision.

Back onto the road, out of Carbondale and towards Canal Overlook north of The Land Between the Lakes,… a large nature preserve that is cornered between Illinois, Kentucky, and Tennessee.

Before reaching there, I tried to scope out Fort Massac State Park for a campsite. Nope! … Damn, I really need to reserve my campsites in advance.

That being said, exploring Fort Massac was an hour of a historic romp that was up my alley in terms of content to absorb.

Fort Massac. … Built by the French, surrendered to the British, acquired and rearmed by the Americans, restored in the past few decades.

I might expand on it in a future writing of some sort.

However, overlooking the Ohio river, and the bridge down the way felt like I was leaving one land, and entering another.

The flat lands of Illinois gave way to forested curving roads, giving way to forested rocky terrain. The sun had fallen low, and my prospects of camping were about to falter again.

Scanning for cheap accommodations, I saw somewhere between insect-infested and barely upkept places, and expensive resort spots that were keen on killing the sanctity of the road trip.

I decided to gamble on camping. … I rolled into Canal Campgrounds, and prowled with some disappointment, when it managed to find an open spot in an open field not too far from the nearby lake. Unreserved.

I scrambled to reserve it while searching for internet signal again, and began to set up camp. Putting together my tent in the dark is not as much of a challenge as it used to be; I have a clear memory of how it functions in and out.

With the tent completely set up, I was excited to move to the bonfire.

Except I had a revelation. The air was crisp, and delightfully in the lower 70s. … What did the forecast say? … Shit. Rain and storms in the morning. … I took the tent back down with an amused smile on my face. So it goes.

I could still set up the fire, and crash in the car.

Thus, I ended the night with a campfire, sipping Liquid Death lime seltzer water with gin poured into it. A road gin and tonic.

A beautiful moment. The fire crackling, drink in my hand, and the lights of a large freight ship peers through the trees. The ship motors listlessly across the panorama with the humming of engines, and a single horn blaring not-too-loudly just to make its presence known to those in the campground. A quick snapshot of rural, blue-collar Kentucky waving to me as the fire died down slowly.

I pulled everything into the car, and positioned the drivers seat best I could.

Onto the next day.