I always expect my time with nudists to be a little crazier than it ends up being. Largely, it’s a group of retirees who either live on the ranch, or have been there for the past couple months. Many are wearing crosses around their necks, and I had to describe what polyamory was to the young naked woman next to me in the hot tub this morning.
I woke up to silence around 8am, used their workout space, baked cinnamon rolls in the communal kitchen (the extras went to the ranch staff), and made an ass of myself to a nice gentleman who was on his way to the dentist. he introduced himself, I went to shake his hand, then he lifted up the sleeve of his robe to show that he was paralyzed on the right side. I don’t know if it was that or the fact that his robe was open, but I was thrown, reached out, and shook the limp hand. He said, “I’m still working on that one – try this one,” as he extended his left hand for a proper handshake. I said it was nice to meet him, and I made some lame excuse to walk away from my embarrassment.
It’s good that I did though, because it started to drizzle, so I needed to take my tent down quickly. I got it down and into the car just before it started raining heavily. Luckily though, my clothes didn’t soak through because I wasn’t wearing any. I hung out in the hot tub until the rain stopped, then got on the road.
Presently I’m in the middle of a very long stretch of farmland, using voice to text to write to you from my driver seat – where I have been for the last four hours, and where I will be for the next four. Woe be unto Omaha, whose bars will bear the brunt of my restlessness.