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| Bozeman, Montana |
The first time I was in a COVID-caused lockdown, the whole world was in a lockdown. The coronavirus was still just an abstract idea to me then, brought to life by ascending graphs and pictures of empty cities. I was stuck in a house with six people, and we got along very well.
Somehow, I avoided, with a few minor exceptions, so much as knowing people who became sick with the virus. I got vaccinated. Yet nearly two years into the pandemic that has killed more than 739,000 people in the United States, I began to feel a sniffle come on. I thought little of it, until my partner, Ruth, also started feeling ill, and then could hardly leave the bed. I got a rapid test before my next shift at the Chronicle, and I immediately recognized the feeling of the walls closing in as the test turned positive.
This time, we were much more alone. We spent most of 2020 building a tiny house on wheels, in which we now live. I quickly recovered from my symptoms, but Ruth remained in bed for days. We were grateful for the people offering to bring us soup or groceries, and to have our house parked in a big yard with a funny dog.
When I isolated the first time, I rode my bike a lot. I would point my tires in some direction and pedal for the whole day, and then ride home. I loved it. This time, I put my bike on a trainer stand and reveled in the feeling of blood exploring my legs, while I went nowhere.