I finally got my truck out of the shop late Friday afternoon. I then loaded and secured an over sized load, an airfield snow scraper, heading for an Air National Guard base in Bangor, Maine.

I moved the load down to the southern end of WI, just before the IL line, and called it a day. Illegal to haul over sized through IL after dark. Besides, it was my birthday and I wanted to enjoy a few adult beverages to mark the date.

I went across the street from the truck stop to a bar/seafood place and enjoyed a few beers with my pipe of Larson 1868 tobacco. While enjoying some relaxing time, chatting with whomever was near me at the moment, a couple of older ladies seated themselves at the bar a little downwind from where I sat.

One of the ladies immediately sniffed and said to me “Oh that pipe tobacco smells wonderful!” She then mentioned it to her friend, who agreed. Her friend then asked me what tobacco I was smoking. I showed her the tin and she said “I have to get some of that for my husband to replace that terrible smelling stuff he always smokes!”

I couldn’t help but laugh as well as to pity her husband who probably really enjoys his “terrible smelling stuff”. Some of my favorite tobaccos have a less than pleasant aroma (room note), and so I don’t smoke them out in public.

Over the weekend I made way across to New England so I could deliver my load on Monday afternoon. As I made my way up the coast yesterday I took a small detour over to highway 1, which skirts the coast proper. I found a spot to pull my rig off the road, filled a pipe, and walked down the shore.

There was something about the bite of the chilly Fall ocean breeze, the sight and sound of the surf, and the sounds of the sea that made my smoke especially enjoyable. The warm bowl felt good in my hand.

I could imagine how it may have been for those long ago sailors as they stood watch at the railing of their three mast sailing ships, smoking their pipes and watching the sea for signs of trouble.

It was a very enjoyable smoke, but as the air was indeed quite chilly I didn't linger longer than it took to finish the bowl. Besides, I had a delivery to make. I tapped the ash and dottle out of my pipe, climbed back into my rig, and drove the rest of the way to Bangor with a relaxed but slightly melancholy feeling. I had spent years on the sea and, until yesterday, hadn’t realized just how much I miss it at times.