Slept al fresco last night on the lanai and awoke to a still-life version of the sky.

bed on the lanai - puna

Saddle Road stretches languidly between the two big volcanoes, their stately and ethereal landscapes passing by slowly, even as the car speeds by (18,000 cubic miles of material doesn’t escape the eye very quickly). Still, the wide stretch of road urges you to drive fast, and the last stretch heading down towards Waimea is a miles-long, downhill roller coaster.

Saddle Road above the Kohala Coast

Saddle Road was the site of Arvin’s first speeding infraction. We’d gone to Costco on the other side of the island to pick up a new tent for the tractor. On our way back—it was a compressed 5-hour shopping journey, not a leisure trip—he passed a slow-moving car and got clocked by an oncoming cop going about 20 miles over the speed limit. The fact that he didn’t have his driver’s license was gratefully forgiven, representing a savings of nearly $150.

Ticket #2 occurred a few days ago, on our way back from the beach. Passing through Laupahoehoe, again after passing a slow-moving car, he was going 67 and got officially clocked at 62. This time the good officer knocked the fine down to the cost of a basic over-the-limit ticket. Back in Virginia, 20 miles an hour over the speed limit got you a reckless driving citation.

Off to Hawi to write in solitude for a couple days. Will drive the limit, I suppose.

Something about travel both fills a void and creates one.

pololū valley overlook, big island of hawai

The void that is filled is the one that yearns for new places…new spaces… unfamiliar experiences. It is a bucket with holes in it, though, and sometimes the holes are small and recent adventures retain and percolate, only slowly seeping away; sometimes though they flow like water through fully opened floodgates and disappear.

lapakahi hut

The void that is created is the void of loss: all loss, our losses, all time gone by. Visiting historical sites that were once thriving, if struggling, communities, now earmarks on downturned corners of a tour guide and casual photo opp’s. Their significance is discernible but not entirely tangible. (Who can truly imagine the essence of a place a hundred years after its demise?)

The void is history. The void is that desire to know but to be unable to grasp.

lapakahi - ancient hawaiian fishing village, Big Island of Hawai

The wind that blows today on the north Kohala Coast of Hawai’i is the same blustery wind that blew on the Hawaiians of the fishing village of Lapakahi centuries ago. These days, folks visiting Lapakahi get back into their climate-controlled cars when the wind gets strong and head back to their hotel, the beach…whatever’s next on the list.

There’s a certain hunger we all have to know what it would be like to not have that option. To only have the hut with pili grass roof to guard against the elements. To have to build and maintain and wonder if our skills are solid enough to keep our walls sturdy enough. We’d like to know if we could do it, but most of us don’t really want to find out if we can.

wind in hala tree, lapakahi, HI

This is where Arvin and I stayed on our overnight visit to Hawi. The Kohala Village Inn is affordable and nice. Classic old Hawaiiana. The real article. It’s a little bit noisy at times, but that’s what you get for staying in a village inn in the middle of an old, once-sugarland-now-artsy village on the green slopes of the Kohala coast. If you stay there, spend a few minutes and talk story with Annie, who’s been working the desk for 7 years. She’s a delight. Genuine. Born and raised.

If you go to Hawi, you must have dinner at Bamboo Restaurant & Gallery. Or lunch. They’re closed Sunday dinner and possibly Monday.

Kohala Village Inn, Hawi, HI