I’m on my way home. It’s early morning, and the air is clean and clear. Everyone on the bus is asleep, and eventually I succumb to the drowsiness.

Half-way through is the Log Cabin, a Greyhound authorized stop that’s a combination convenience store and restaurant. Out of the dozens of times I’ve traveled this route, I never get off the bus. It’s some phobia I have of losing my seat, or losing my place, or forgetting to get back on, but this day I grab my camera and step off, giving up to my wanderlust.

This shaggy, old building, located on the side of a two-lane asphalt road stretching endlessly, is surrounded by wilting trees and grass. There’s nothing else around but an abandoned red structure 50 metres away. I walk behind. To my surprise is a frozen river running parallel to the highway, a stark winter scene I rarely get to see. The elevation and vegetation keeps this hidden from my view on the bus.

And once again, I’ve taken a chance, and this is my reward.