Part 1: Introductions and Misconceptions

Chaotically, a millennial’s first encounter with the idea of Therapeutic Ketamine or Ketamine Assisted Psychotherapy is met with the D.A.R.E.-educated programmed response: “The horse tranquilizer?” And while it’s a question launched dismissively from the perspective of ignorance, it’s not your fault if that’s your first thought. That’s what we were told.

But the first step in learning anything is to clear your mind of your conceptions. Rather than address and repeat more misconceptions, we’ll start with easy truths and then you can do more research about it if you’re interested. We’re removing our egos from this one.

Ketamine is a dissociative anesthetic that has been used to treat depression and chronic pain; it is also being used to treat other disorders, as well as during surgeries of humans and most domesticated animals, but I bring up depression and chronic pain specifically because of its relevance to my story.  It is most often taken intravenously, intramuscularly, orally, nasally, sublingually, and in some other specific methods that are not relevant to this story and not necessarily in that order. Ketamine can be either administered by a doctor or anesthesiologist in a clinical setting or prescribed for use at home. Ketamine is not covered by most insurance companies.

I can’t speak for anyone else’s experience, but know that when I present an experience from my subjective perspective, that it’s unique to me in its presentation and experience. Not everyone will experience Synesthesia in the way that I do. Expecting that we will have the same or even relatable experiences is counter to the purpose of my journey. But I will share some of my experiences so I can solidly document them for myself, and for you, in case there’s anything we may share in common.

Ketamine may or may not be addictive. I don’t believe myself to be addicted to ketamine any more than a diabetic is addicted to insulin. No, we don’t need to debate it. I speak honestly about my use and the work I’ve done with a Ketamine-informed therapist as well as a psychiatrist. I had an inimitable care team, and it was a genuine loss for me to leave this incredible combination of people, but hopefully another will take my place and find what they need to heal.

When Jakki introduced me to the idea of ketamine-assisted therapy with subtlety for the 4th or 5th time, I was ready to try anything. No tests were conclusive. My suffering seemed unending.

Was I making all of this up?

This one ends up being quite a destructive question. Second-guessing yourself is the cornerstone of what we’ve been taught to do. Someone else has to be worse than you in some way so you can’t complain. “He’s not hurt enough to need time off, that lazy jerk,” I’m guilty of having thought of other people before. Our “superiors” (in whatever capacity) taught us that way of thinking so we’d put our needs aside for other people or other “needs.” In their minds, the “lazy” people were too far gone to help and were mostly there to be an example of what you shouldn’t be.

If you’re capable of asking if you’re “making all of this up;” I’m betting you’re a person who was made to learn to suppress themselves in service of others. If you’re not capable of that kind of self-doubt; then I envy you. It’s poisoning to the soul to no longer know if you can trust yourself. I was so far in denial about myself and my feelings that all I could do is keep myself constantly occupied. I was the guy playing a console game with a laptop and a phone out. Before the pain, of course.

Suffering had become more consuming than any job I’d had before. In fact, I was seeing an acupuncturist there for a while. I guess I’d decided that I wasn’t quite suffering enough. You know what the most disgusting part about all of it is? I still had the nerve to ask myself, “Is this pain real? Am I just doing this for attention?”

There’s plenty of reading you can do on the subject of somatic pain or pain re-processing that will lead you to one very simple conclusion. Pain happens in the brain. Everything is stimulus until it’s interpreted by the brain. Regardless of the catalyst, your pain is real. As was mine. But I didn’t trust myself. How could I trust myself? I didn’t even know who I was.

Eventually, I’d meet with a doctor about Ketamine-Assisted Psychotherapy via telehealth protocol, and the conversation mostly touched on what my mental health history is like. “I think I’m fine,” I remember defending myself meekly. “I can’t be depressed. So many more people have it worse than me. Why would I cry for myself?”

The doctor would weigh my soul with a vague story about another patient whose mother would burn her on a hot stove. The thought of a child being physically burned by the person who was supposed to protect her was devastating. The despair that I imagined for a person with no one to turn to for comfort or safety in that moment would be one thing. To imagine it being caused by the person who should have protected her became overwhelming-- I burst into tears. How horrible. How truly horrible.

I felt her pain.

That was my coping mechanism, now that I wasn’t allowing myself to feel anything. People talk about addiction and I have to tell you, there’s nothing in my life that I’ve done more addicting than feeling the suffering of other people. That might sound ridiculous or dramatic, but I think if you’re relating to that mechanism, you know what I’m talking about. At least I could feel something. Or was I feeling something. Was I still performing for other people? There was that self-doubt again.

This doctor would schedule something with me but he’d miss our first appointment due to snow. I remember how upset I felt in that moment, as though everything was spiraling out of control just because we had to start a week later. I took it internally as a message that this wasn’t going to work out. But I wasn’t depressed! There was nothing wrong with me. Let’s talk about how stupid the world is. There. All better. It was stupid to get my hopes up. This is what always happens.

The doctor that I began with preferred IM (intramuscular) treatments but I’d never really gone to any doctor much before all of these appointments. I didn’t know how to prepare for this experience. But I wanted to be ready. “Bring the most comfortable clothes you own and a notebook and pen.” He’d provide the headphones. This all framed at a time you might describe as “peak Covid” so people still cared about protocols. You’d wear a mask until after your injection. Then you’d lay on his leather couch, head encapsulated with Bose cans, breathing inches from an air filter and his MacBook Pro.

After a brief introduction, and some calming words about intention and authenticity, I was under. I thought I’d understood anything he’d spoken of. I understood his words, but they meant nothing to me. I plunged under the surface of our reality and found myself moving, almost on a rail with the pace of the music. Songs I’d never heard before. I found myself absolutely delighted to hear the piano’s sustain lift from the strings, envisioning the suspension of the rosin in the air or the individual textures of the strings; something I continue to seek in my daily life. The drama of the music has enveloped me almost completely, but I find myself experimenting in this space almost as if lucid dreaming. I build incredible forests, I visit otherworldly temples, I am visited by a goddess. She tries to teach me about something but I can’t even tell that’s why she’s there.

My every breath takes me further under until suddenly I’m coming out of it. At the time, I didn’t know I’d been “kicked out” of the experience: a situation I’ll later call being “put out in the bushes.” I’m up a little earlier than most people here. It’s only been about 40 minutes. I’m beginning to be lucid almost immediately as I awaken. Just a minute or two later, I’m sitting up. We talk for a while but I don’t give much. I don’t understand the importance of what I’d just experienced, nor do I understand the importance of what I now had the chance to do.

When I tell people about Ketamine in person, it’s not difficult to recognize the furrowed brow of concern. Don’t get me wrong, when we transition into that conversation, we start pretty well. It’s easy to relate to how I felt. I was not alone in being trained to ignore my needs in favor of others. Or in feeling that there’s something wrong with the fact that you can dig deep and the only feelings you can come up with are outrage and anger. “This guy seems so well-spoken, and he’s just gonna tell me he’s a junkie?”

Honestly, they probably think I’m going to ask them for money at this point. Check out my GoFundMe! I need more Ketamine, Stranger! We’re programmed to think that anything out of the norm is scary. People are used to the impression of how drug users are portrayed in media. Everyone is on guard that something might be a scam unless it’s something they feel compelled to connect with.

But where’s the truth? Again, it’s just more simple. Some people take drugs. Some people have a prescription. Some people do not. You can’t tell me that anti-depressants and alcohol are a good mix. We all know someone who does better staying away from alcohol. I remember my father whispering secrets about someone whom we knew was into some serious chemicals but because they hadn’t done anything too bad, nobody said anything.

The moment I tell people I’m taking Ketamine to work on my chronic pain problem, I see that same (sometimes brief) look of judgment. And again, I don’t blame them: It’s what we’re told to do. Ketamine doesn’t work in a vacuum. Well, actually statistically it does. Chronic pain patients see massive improvements to their condition within the first few treatments. Mental health patients need a little more help. I didn’t know that I was both, but I was. Perhaps we all are.

I still needed help.

I make it seem much easier to just start ketamine than it actually is. I first had to be diagnosed with something. You can’t just sign up to try ketamine and get a poke. I spoke with a really lovely psychiatrist who asked me some questions that I thought weren’t going to amount to much. Maybe some depression, sure. But who wasn’t a little depressed? Right?

If these things sound familiar and it’s the things you’re still saying right now, you need to know that it’s ok to ask for help. My combination of answers and priorities during our conversation led my doctor to a diagnosis that I wasn’t expecting: cPSTD. I can’t really tell you that I had mixed feelings about it. I can tell you that I thought I did. I wasn’t feeling feelings, remember? I just know that I think I was supposed to feel conflicted.

I’d begun working with a Pain Reprocessing Therapist who saw straight through my issues almost immediately when my symptoms manifested but had no immediate explanation, but I wasn’t allowing us to do any measurable work. Not because I wanted to be obstructive, mind you, it’s just how I’ve been taught to view and defend myself. It must have been infuriating to listen to week in and week out. I did my best not to be upset with myself about the cost. Oh, didn’t you know? Pain reprocessing therapy isn’t covered by insurance. In most cases, neither is ketamine therapy. Try recovering from a megadose of guilt and shame with the price tag looming overhead sometime. See if it doesn’t make you think it’s in your best interest to “recover” as quickly as you can.

See, the biggest misconception brought to my sessions was that I was in charge of my own life. I believed I had agency, but I was being run by all of the expectations that had already been built for me and it was tearing me apart. Mostly, I felt the guilt; something that I thought I had control of, something in reality I was in denial of.

I love the song My Humps by The Black Eyed Peas.

I was ashamed of people knowing that I loved My Humps because I would feel like I had to defend it. If I take my ego out of that, I can simply say that I love My Humps. Why? It doesn’t matter. I’m enjoying it. And yet we feel the need to perpetuate that response from other people. We criticize people for even liking something different to what we expect. The anxiety of this reality is that these conversations do happen. It’s not something that you’re prepared for and it’s just this unlikely eventuality. We do it to each other constantly.

But the answer is: “It doesn’t matter.” The question we should be asking ourselves is: “Why does it matter?” But you have to see past your ego to accept that.

The language we use matters. Taking passive stances on ourselves and our boundaries makes it easy to become so passive that you exist only to worry about others, ruminating in your spare time about when you’ll fit into your own life.

I had to wake up.

It’s become this horrific cliché now to hear, especially in today’s climate, so many people telling you to wake up. If you’re an elder millennial, or a xennial especially, you’re probably cringing and remembering the last time you read “Wake Up, Sheeple!” in your high school years, probably on a forum somewhere. Or maybe you were the one saying it out loud. The metaphor of waking up is too prevalent in all aspects of this journey to ignore for any period of time.

I was stricken with a pretty rough habit to break-- the Intellectualization of feelings is something you learn to do when it becomes clear that you aren’t safe to express your feelings (or your thoughts). You start having experiences where your caregivers are making it clear that you are causing problems by feeling or thinking things, and you start eating it; you internalize all of it, looking for a safe way to process it. Not intentionally, of course. That would be ridiculous. Kind of like expecting your children to regulate their feelings. That kind of ridiculous.

You’ve got that sitting inside with you, ruminating, and you’re going to disassemble it. You’re going to start looking at how you affect other people. You’re going to start recognizing those things in the wild. Pretty soon, you’re anticipating things. And people see you doing this. And the most disturbing part of this is that they reward it. People saw me constant anxiety and need for control as “consideration” or “thoughtfulness.” Of course I saw your needs coming! (I was attempting to avoid your disapproval.)

I grew up with the accolades of a “gifted” child. A child whose maturity and intellect was vaunted by parent and teacher alike, who almost invariably heads into middle or high school an emotional wreck or a disciplinary issue. They always ask the same questions. It all gets to the same point. Some of us hold off for longer than others, but everyone eventually grieves the untapped potential. Now it’s your fault that you’re not “performing.”

Almost everything I learned was about programmed responses, not thinking for myself, or even really acknowledging that I had a self beyond being a point of disappointment later. Oh man, it’s almost like those moments of rebellion are an attempted establishment of self, isn’t it? And the better I got at anticipating other people’s reactions, the better I got at getting what I thought I wanted.

Any of this sounding familiar? Then you or someone you know may be a People Pleaser. That’s not the extent of my injuries, but it’s important to the story, so it’s the element that I’ll choose to focus on.

My second session with the good doctor was much more eventful. Certain that I hadn’t “broken through,” he would increase my dose by 25% and reiterate the lessons about being like the river, pulling back further from our interactions in what I interpret to be a calculated move to stir up some stimuli. Perhaps it worked. But I think he was looking for someone more emotionally evolved.

Misconceptions work both ways.

One thing that I noticed during my journaling at this point is that I didn’t really know what to say. That hasn’t changed… but as I worked with the other member of my care team, she began to focus in on the wounds of childhood. I probably can’t possibly intimate to you how unavailable I was to what she was asking of me. Write a letter to a younger version of me? To tell him what? What could I possibly say to make things better?

I found myself stuck there for weeks. And you know how therapists are; I was supposed to find that answer for myself. And since it’s important to be completely clear with you, I was also stuck in my work with the Ketamine therapist.

20 or so minutes into my second session, I woke myself up from my dissociative state:

“You’re early,” he said.

“I’m here to work.” I declared, entrenching myself in the shame I existed in. Knowing this single session had cost us so much, I was determined to be ready to get all of my money’s worth. We had 6 sessions up front,  with boosters being suggested. I had decided that I wasn’t going to need to boosters. I was going to ace therapy and move on.

“Is there no room for play?” he would ask.

I was afraid that all of this was costing so much money and that if I enjoyed any of it, that it made me a bad person. I needed to try as hard as I could. And actually, despite the fact that feeling like that was one of the reasons I had worn myself to this point with self-attacks, I needed other people to see me existing that way. I needed to see myself existing that way.

Inside, the person I’d been trained to be is that person who is always aware of where he is and how much space he’s taking up. I spent most of my childhood being chided for not thinking far enough ahead to know how I was going to affect everyone. So, I created a mechanism for myself. I took to heart some factoid someone shared (that I was never able to verify) about the origin of Sorry meaning “It will never happen again” in the language of its origin. And I would test and then punish myself relentlessly until I felt I could make the correction my new automatic reaction.

Chris Jericho would say of Chris Benoit:

“I remember I worked with Chris [Benoit] once in Japan — tag team match when I started going to New Japan when I started with WCW […] I went for a spinkick and I missed. But I only missed to the point where no one would see it because Chris bumped so fast that we just continued on. It wasn’t like when you screw up or a blatant mistake. It was like I didn’t hit him as crispy as I should of but he still bumped.”

“After the match was done I went looking for him. I couldn’t find him anywhere. I found him in the boiler room doing squats. And I said, ‘what are you doing?’ — and he said, ‘you know I never should have bumped off that that was so unprofessional of me and it was such a bad rookie mistake, I had to do squats.’

I’m not trying to crassly compare myself to Chris Benoit for dramatic effect, but I understand the intensity that other people observed in him. He was crushed by the weight of his insecurities. I find myself able to empathize with that intensity. Do I wish I had a less upsetting example? Absolutely. Don’t be silly. But I remember hearing that story and despite the disgust that most of us have for the situation that led to Chris Benoit taking two lives, or for Benoit himself, it’s important to remember that life is not dealt in absolutes. I related to that level of self-hate. There was much more to Benoit’s story than how he enacted discipline.

For me, though… compliments? I didn’t deserve them. I never earned them. What if everyone found out who I really am without all of the compensations that make them think I’m useful? I couldn’t let anyone know how much that weighed on me. I was too ashamed to share how exhausting it was to be all of this. But who was I if not a constant series of interrupts and instructions? What was I if not just a series of IF and THEN statements? Was I not doing it right? Should I have done it better? If I was doing it right, I probably wouldn’t have ended up here at all.

For the greater part of therapy, I’d say things like, “I did this to myself.” Because that is what I believed. These statements didn’t feel overwhelmingly negative when I brought them up, but I could detect a palpable concern off of the lightly furrowed brows of my therapists. I was hard on myself at every level of my existence. Punishing myself wasn’t just refusing to acknowledge my physical limitations, it started at the very base of my operations. I never allowed myself a compliment because I was never done.

And when something would go wrong, it was always my duty to take responsibility.

Someone at some point put that onus upon me. And I took it. Almost as the consolation prize, in a way; if I wasn’t going to achieve, I damned sure was going to show up for the sentencing. My failures would be just as important to me going forward as they were reaching back. Some of us are told early on that failure is part of your experience. At one point, it became the only thing I could depend on. From the outside, everything looked normal and I was carefree and cool… Ok, well, maybe not cool. But if you knew me, you knew me to be a rock.

Inside, I was a complete mess.

Well, Hello there. -- Prelude to the Ketamine Chronicles

It certainly has been a while since I’ve updated. I wish I had anything better to say than, “I was going through some stuff.”

I’ve wanted to make a point of writing about this not because I believe my experience had immediate value, but that I should really listen to myself and allow myself the opportunity to process this in a productive and meaningful way. If you’re reading, thank you for being the hypothetical person I’m explaining my story to.

If you’ve listened to the podcast, you might have noticed that my empathy was on overdrive. It was certainly the centerpiece to a breakdown that I fell into. I hurt myself one day, while carrying too much weight. The way I felt was new to me; the pain was continuous, unending after more than 3 days, seemingly compounding as time went on. I was willing to see a doctor. I recall Jakki legitimately recoiling in sympathy. Empathy, perhaps. She knew what it would take for me to go to the doctor.

I’ll save you 6 months of appointments, tests, and results. We would find tiny abnormalities and I’d immediately assign them to my situation. Something had to be causing my suffering, I was certain. Jakki became more than my partner, standing up to the role of care team leader and crushing it. Her parents helped us generously and lovingly. The doctors I saw took my condition seriously, thanks in part to the Portfolio of Chronic Pain, a document detailing everything I’ve ever said about the pain I was feeling and every doctor we saw and every action we’d tried up to that point. It would eventually detail a deluge of tests and x-rays and MRIs and injections to see if it would make a difference. I opened my mind to acupuncture twice a week. Not Chiropractors, though, I wasn’t ready for snake oil. Meanwhile, my days dwindle down to waiting for pain attacks.

Ah yes, the pain attacks. What was that like, you ask? Quite a bit like hell.

My back would be seized in spasm for as long as two hours. I would sit in my chair or lay in my bed or writhe on the couch, completely unable to move myself while my left arm would curl in to protect my chest, fist clenched. Sometimes my right would join it. I’d weep and struggle through the pain to describe how I was feeling, believing that holding a conversation would help diagnostically. The pain is categorically a 10, though I’d still find new 10s from day to day. Jakki took a video once. I can’t watch it. Thinking about watching it puts tears in my eyes. Simply talking about it used to make me well up until recently.

I’d regale my therapist of tales of my quest to find a cure to whatever it was that I was experiencing or how I was stuck in a monument to my failure to keep up my end of the bargain while we’d continue this amazing life of travel. I began using marijuana to fill in the gaps in pain so that I could at least be awake for my day, opting to avoid opioids. Jakki would do all of the research for my next steps, partially because I feared the answers that I wouldn’t find, but mostly because I’m deeply afraid that I’ll begin emulating whatever symptoms I think apply to my situation.

My pain events began occurring 3 to 4 times a day, lasting between 1 and 2 hours at a time. Between 3 and 8 of my waking hours were spent at a 10 (or 12), but most of my day was coasted at a 7. I’d get good at spotting the feeling of an attack coming on about an hour or so before. My symptoms would onset with such regularity that I could have a general estimation of how long I’d have before I was busy for a while.

At some point, my spasms made it nearly impossible for me to walk more than 10 or 12 steps before collapsing in pain. We would acquire a wheelchair, and were lovingly gifted a car, and Jakki was there every step of the way. Meanwhile, my general practitioner in Portland is gently pushing me to try anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications.

At this point, we’d run out of ideas and tests. I began speaking to a second therapist, one who specializes in Pain Reprocessing, and I am endlessly grateful for the opportunity to work with her. Speaking to a second therapist felt like a privilege that I didn’t deserve; a fear I’d see soon realized when my first therapist said she could no longer see me because I was stuck in another state and the Covid relaxation of rules was ending.

The guilt of how much this is costs us weighed heavily on my heart and I began to wonder if this is just my life now, managing debilitating pain without any institutional help or acknowledgement. Jakki never gave up, even though it was pretty clear that I had. A few times before, she’d brought something up. “Just something to think about,” She’d say. Again, she presented me with that same curious question: What about Ketamine?

And so that’s where my story begins.

Thank you for indulging my theatrics; I needed to introduce the background. I’m still putting the finishing touches on gathering my thoughts together on this part of my private therapy exercise. This short story ends the prelude to The Ketamine Chronicles: Microcosms and Macrocosms.

Narratively, I think it’s easier to break the story up, so I’ll be presenting it in 7 Parts. I’ll come back and update these links as I post the parts.

1) Introduction and Misconceptions
2) Lost and Found - Emotional Unawareness and Avoidance
3) Inner Comms
4) Learning to Love (Myself) Again
5) Learning How to Cry - Emotional Release is not Feeling
6) Trudy - Darkness and Unconditional Love
7) The Complete Soul - Friendship and Spirituality

Is this a bit much? Isn’t this all a bit heady and pretentious? Of course it is, but I’ll allow it. Case dismissed.

Racism Unfiltered

One of the greatest pleasures that I’ve taken from my travels is the opportunity to meet new people. Not all of us matriculate with the same experiences so it stands to reason that most of us are going to grow up differently. The greatest gift that we receive from the struggles of being alive is diversity. The enrichment that I feel when I experience someone else’s perspective, even if for a moment on a TikTok or a YouTube video or a Twitch stream, access to other people is a treasure and having the opportunity to share in their lives is truly priceless.

Enter our neighbor. I’ll call him Hunter.

When we first arrived at this park, Hunter was a really abrupt introduction. The mercury was flirting with 100 and the sun was brutally beating us down. I’ll admit to a bit of heat stroke. Hunter, being a Southern man, wasn’t fazed by the heat and spotted the cats in the front window of Ol’ Sunbadges. Teeming with excitement, he rushed over to introduce himself while we were docking and after Jakki confirmed that she actually takes Kojii for walks, he brought his own adorable cat out to introduce.

We didn’t have much interaction after that with Hunter and it wasn’t long before we were escaping a record-breaking heat wave by moving on to a secluded part of Washington. While the area we had just left would continue to experience temperatures well into the hundreds, we enjoyed some very humid 70s in the previously unknown Washington Rainforest. We rediscovered our love of nature. It was lovely.

But we knew we’d have to come back to town and we were actually looking forward to seeing Hunter again, in part because he was so friendly, but also because he had a handsome cat. Upon our return, we were delighted to be situated directly next to our wayward friend. Unfortunately, he was out of town. We inquired about him in the office, partially because it had been a month since we’d arrived and we’d still seen neither hide nor hair of him, partially because we were concerned about his cat who would definitely have been long-dead by now. But we’re isolated people. Generally speaking, it’s not polite to go looking for someone else.

Hunter would eventually return from his pilgrimage, as he described it to me. We’d get to know each other a lot better over the next few weeks. Hunter drank a lot, and like most functional alcoholics, he genuinely believed no one could tell. I’d made plans to talk to Hunter about his drinking as it was quite clear that he was drinking and driving. At first the attempts were subtle. I’d ask if it was a good idea for him to be drinking after a really bad day; he’d confessed to me that he was trying to spend more time reading the bible and I tried to steer him in that direction. I’d always confirm with him that it wasn’t ok at any time to get behind the wheel after any alcohol.

At first, he was pretty careful around me. Sober when we’d start talking, then he’d get more and more drunk as he’d step away to “take care of things.” Often 3 or 4 drinks in he’d begin slurring and no interaction with him ever ended without him being well-past stumbling drunk at blood alcohol levels that would likely kill a less-experienced man.

It’s probably pretty important for you to know this about me: I pay attention. It’s not generally nefarious, sometimes it’s a clever survival skill. I want to know what bothers you. I want to know what makes you happy. I want to know what your interests are. And most importantly, I’d like you to feel special in some way involving those things. In most cases, people are very happy to know you were listening at all and all it takes to make someone feel heard is to remember what they said to you two weeks ago.

Unfortunately for Hunter, his memory goes when he drinks. He doesn’t remember what he told you and because of his victim complex, he always changes the story to be a one-sided recounting of events that may or may not have happened and the story always has a clear protagonist: Hunter is a man who the world is pitted against and all of the bad things that happen to him are happening to him despite him trying his best to be a good man.

For privacy’s sake, I won’t disclose any of the information in our conversations but I will say one thing: Hunter lies. Constantly. Hunter hasn’t once kept his story straight between any two consecutive retellings of stories. And I have heard some of those stories a lot. Hunter will pause amidst being called out for reciting Fox News talking points to tell me that he watches “more CNN than anything” because he knows how discrediting it is to be labeled a viewer. On one occasion I was able to preempt his talking points and tell him that they were incorrect. On a couple of occasions, I was able to use empathy as a teaching tool to explain why things like fair wages were important. Unfortunately, those lessons don’t carry over and we’d move on immediately to the next lie he’d learned from Right Wing Media.

That is, when he wasn’t interrupting me. And he did so constantly. CONSTANTLY. He would ask me a question that was a hot-button and then immediately talk over me when I began to answer. In one particular conversation, he asked me about the Iron Dome FOUR TIMES. And I never got to answer. When I finally cut him off for cutting me off, he said, “I never cut you off, what are you talking about?” I’d curtly reply, “Where did we end on the Iron Dome, Hunter?” And he would then apologize to me and confess that he cuts people off constantly.

I’m greatly disappointed that it wasn’t going to work out between me and my newfound friend. Being who I am, it’s not hard for me to immediately empathize with people. Even the ones whom I don’t agree with. Things like taxes and the Iron Dome aren’t really important conversations and in most cases I would diffuse conspiracy theories with a simple observation: If there was, in fact, a conspiracy afoot, there was absolutely no way for me to have all of the information available (and very likely, the actually people involved with the conspiracy would have no idea of all of the parts themselves) so it would make no sense for me to take a position on it.

But I draw the line at whether or not you value human life. Hunter is a man who let Fox News convince him that being White meant that “The Left” automatically assumed he was racist; this in the face of me talking to him. When I would try to explain to him about my experiences as a person of color, he would erase that and tell me that I was “just as white” as he was. Pressed for clarification, he’d repeat his sentiment without explanation. Then he’d open his truck and grab a small bottle of liquor from the center console and take a swig. Hunter had stopped hiding hid drinking (and drunk driving) from me.

The rest of my last, hours long conversation with Hunter would be peppered with proclamations that he’d never used the N word except to describe what other people said, before subsequently describing to me the blight that white N-words brought to society. When I attempted to explain to him how that was still reductive to black people, he’d go off to his truck again. He’d lament how Mexicans were coming across the border and ruin workmanship, but had nothing to say about the businesses that were willing to lower their quality nor any of the white (and I used white intentionally) workers who might be responsible for either the work itself or approving the work.

The end of the conversation and my subsequent interactions with Hunter would come when we would discuss the border situation. As you might imagine, I don’t care. America’s borders are entirely too restrictive and money is the easy pass. The border wall is stupid: if you fine employers massive amounts of money for hiring undocumented immigrants, that pretty much solves the problem doesn’t it? Not according to Hunter. No, after I had to prove to him that the former guy’s wall was completely worthless and easily scalable, he suggested that the correct solution was for him to sit in a deer blind and pick off border crossers.

I ended our conversation and our friendship immediately. This is that kind of situation that Fox News gaslights you into thinking you’re the bad guy for. The Intolerant Left they continue to label us. I thought of that as I put my stuff away and left my drunk former-friend to his own devices. “C’mon! It was a joke!” he’d cry to my already deaf ears. But it wasn’t a joke. “In vino veritas” and “when someone shows you who they are, believe them” were both platitudes that came to mind when I later re-evaluated my feelings.

Concerned about retaliation, I decided to do a few quick searches to see if Hunter had been registered as a dangerous criminal of some sort. I found a lengthy rap sheet, one that proved that it wasn’t just a couple of white lies that Hunter had told like we might do when we’re not seen in the best light. No, I had found some pretty damning proof that nearly everything Hunter had ever told me about himself and his history was a lie. A big lie.

Life is hard. I don’t know that it ever bears repeating but I’m beginning to find that if you don’t repeat even the most obvious things, they get lost in our impossible shuffle. Life was hard and life is harder now because our struggles aren’t physical. Psychologically, we’re doing things to ourselves with computers and media and social media that we won’t know the repercussions of for decades. And as that latest Facebook whistleblower has proven, even when we know the negative effects on even our children, someone is still willing to sacrifice them for extra ad revenue.

I know that it’s hypocritical to call someone out for their struggles, we all have them. Most of them secret. But they do change the way that we perceive and interact with the world. Because of the way Hunter views himself and the way he was raised, he’s incapable of understanding that the actions he’s taking are not the right ones for him or anyone around him. I’m not saying that as some armchair psychologist, I’m saying that as a person who has listened to him recount an assault. Every action he takes is either to “deal with” something else going on in his life, or is in response to what someone else does or says. And all of that are just excuses for his destructive behavior.

The truth is pretty plainly in view. Hunter needs help and it’s never too late. But will he ever admit that he needs help or will he continue to blame everyone else for all of the obstacles in his way?

I have to admit some guilt in this interaction. My paranoia after standing my ground was not unjustified, considering his history. It’s a reminder that my actions do have consequences beyond my own well-being. But I reached out to someone and then I cut them off when I found out how toxic that person was. I’m not ignorant enough to have believe that I was going to change Hunter’s life, but my hope was that the feeling that if even one person cared, he might be able to see a different path.

If it was just the drinking, I’d be ripping that man to shreds for drinking and driving but my support would still be there. Just in case. I’d like for him not to drink himself to death. I’d like for him to remember that we all have struggles and we all deserve some love. I’d especially like for him not to kill someone because his dumb ass drinks while driving.

But I will not stand for racism. I have no regrets. Good luck, Hunter. I hope you find some peace.

Partnership is the Kittens We Found Along the Way

It is a near-constant joy in my life to have cats. You’d probably never know this about me if you had met me in the last 5 years or so, but I’m actually very allergic to cats. I kind of acclimated to it. I’m careful about cross-contamination. I never touch my face after touching a cat without washing my hands. In return, we have the sweetest little orange cat in Clementine and my soul in cat form: Poseidon.

And Kojii is the love of Jakki’s life or whatever.

It’s really interesting to see what the state of love for an animal looks like. While I love my (figuratively) little cat-son dearly, and the thought of losing him to anything is absolutely heart-wrenching, he is a pet and a particularly needy one. He needs emotional reassurance and I’m honored to be the one who he cries to when he feels alone or sad.

But he also doesn’t get to choose. He had no say in it. I just scooped him up from a fostering network and decided that I would keep him for myself. It’s worked out for the most part, I’d say. Moving days are tough, but he loves looking out windows and seeing new birds. The big ones get special greetings sung from the soul of Sisko’s Sixteen Pound Son. I think he thinks of this tight metal tube as home. He definitely has spots that he prefers.

I feel privileged to be a part of his life is what I’m trying to say. And I do my best to let him know. I think he gets it. Yeah. He gets it.

In a lot of ways, what we did was pretty crazy. In a way, kidnapping each other from the world, we set off on this mosey across the western and southern US not really knowing what it’s like to be around another person 24 hours a day. Not in a metal tube with 90 sq ft of space. Nobody knows that until they do it. Recently, I’d remarked in reminiscence about how absolutely insane what we’re doing is, considering the absolute lack of exit strategy. At this point, I’d probably find work driving a bus. Maybe I could be a writer’s assistant.

Jakki asked in response, “How do you think we learned to live with each other?”

I had to pause. I didn’t remember. Or had we never really done it? A happy side effect of having to strugglebus through our first couple of months was the little problems never had time to gain gravity. Remember to be considerate before getting upset. Do your best to accommodate your partner’s requests. There were definitely some terse moments but overall, it’s just nice to be together.

Peaceful. Serenity is found in the space behind your RV where the sun can’t find you. Where opinions over AITAs are exchanged. Ok, mostly I opine and Jakki nods at me like I’m insane. Where we plan what tomorrow looks like. Where we exchange feelings about how those plans transform continuously. Where we dream about leaving the rest of the world behind. A little bit of spice doesn’t hurt.

It ruminates in a way that settles just right, our own GPS-addressed turf to spread out on and live and be and slowly fall away from society the way we’ve begun to on the pop culture front. We get the benefits of modern consumerism. We can still enjoy the creature comforts. It works with a partner. Someone you’re in it with.

I have the privilege of being part of a “we.” There’s no future without the other. No muscle memory for the consideration, even. This is us. It’s nice. Peaceful. Complete.

I do my best to let her know.

I think she gets it.

The Feeling of Being Unwanted

Despite my resoundingly positive review of Southern Utah RV Resort, I actually felt compelled to write about the people of Washington County, Utah.

It’s actually pretty difficult to write this, despite how much time I spent dragging people on Twitter for their inability to empathize with other human beings. I’m sure you’ve noticed in some form or another (PODCAST) that I’m very left-wing for an American. That’s an important qualifier because my beliefs are actually pretty center-ist compared to the politics of other countries.

On top of that, I’m bi-racial; Asian and Hispanic. I wasn’t allowed a sense of community growing up. I’ve gone no-contact with my parents and I’ve never really been close with the rest of my family thanks to the way my parents have always operated. Those bridges don’t exist and I don’t have the tools to build them, even if I found the value there. Which I don’t. Despite my father’s most stringent of rules surrounding the severely misquoted “Blood is thicker than water” mantra, I’ve learned that “The Blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb” through my own experiences.

It's not as simple as close-knit family and friend engagements that I enjoy, mind you. Put me in a room full of strangers with at common interest and I’ll measure out who will fit in and play that character. That probably makes me sound like some kind of psychopath but it’s actually pretty common in the neurodivergent population. We like to fit in. I happen to thrive on it.

And I love to interact. And I love to listen. Combined, those things make for a pretty powerful combo. People find me comfortable to talk to… sometimes too comfortable (the woman who revealed her credit score to me still gives me pause) but I think in general people love the idea of dumping their secrets and fears onto a friendly stranger.

The way we’ve lived our lives for the last year has been a special kind of hell for me. I remember my first encounter with a person the moment after the CDC handed down guidelines for face coverings. Just outside of Elephant Butte, New Mexico is Truth or Consequences, a quiet and isolated town with a whole lot of retail in a small strip and… well pretty much nothing else. I was shopping in Walmart with a neck gaiter over my face (masks were in short supply at this point and I was thankful to have anything) and I was already observing the one-way aisle markers because I’m not a complete asshole. Coming down the wrong way was an old woman, probably in her 70s, also completely mask-less.

“You’re going the wrong way down the aisles,” I said, though the gaiter definitely muffled my speech because that’s just your face smashed flat. “I can read. I’m not gonna give in to socialism.” She retorted. I called her an idiot and left.

And this has set off a very complicated relationship with the public in general and my need for human interaction. Thanks to the actions and words of the 45th President of the United States, about half of the people in the US were unwilling to take steps to courteously protect each other from early stages of the pandemic. And because there’s an incredible superiority complex that comes along with the conservative brand of American Exceptionalism, there is no reasoning with these people. There is no logic. There is no compassion.

It bred a lot of disappointment in me. Eventually this would turn into disdain. Worse yet, our scheduled stays in the blue states became cancelled one-by-one, some for Covid and some for wildfires. We would make the decision to circle back through Colorado instead, and we never really get the chance to find out what it’s like to stay in a city where the majority of people are willing to follow guidelines and wear masks. I recall a specific instance in Pagosa Springs, CO, where I watched a young man (eaaaarrrrrrly 20s) pull his mask off of his face in order to sneeze in a public space.

Nothing about this lifestyle is easy. A lot of people really set about making it harder. When the first stimulus checks arrived, people were still gathering in parks because local governments hadn’t gotten around to handing out restrictions yet. And even when they were, they were violated. Some privately, some not-so-privately. On at least one occasion, we arrived at a park where the staff warned us that there were snitches about who were willing to call the police to enforce social distancing.

And the pandemic raged on.

It’s hard to spend your time in the conservative areas of the country when something so present is so directly affecting so many people. Something so easy.

Consideration of others. Caring. Love.

That’s absent from everyone I’ve ever encountered who is a Covid-denier. It’s amazing to listen to the diatribes of people who believe that Covid was just some way for the government to exert control on us, as their favorite president is running the country. We watched New Zealand beat Covid and somehow that wasn’t evidence enough. Prevalent figures who claimed Covid was not real were sidelined or even lost their lives to it. And you still couldn’t get these people to do the most basic thing in the name of decency. In the name of saving lives.

I’m an atheist and I’m often accused of being a sheep because I’m proud to have been vaccinated. Because I wear a mask proudly, knowing that it is the very least I can do when I’m around other people. Ironically, Christians should be proud of being sheep, shouldn’t they? It’s in the Bible.

Hebrews 13:20-21

“Now may the God of peace, who through the blood of the eternal covenant brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, equip you with everything good for doing his will, and may he work in us what is pleasing to him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.”

I’m an atheist but one thing I took away from my time reading the Bible was that Jesus wanted above all else for us to care for each other. And I don’t see that. And it’s breaking my heart. It’s exhausting.

We keep searching for a new normal. We keep asking when things can go back to the way they were. For Covid, because of those of us who are unwilling to do anything to help anyone else, there will never be a return to normalcy. Covid will continue to be spread among the unprotected and it will continue to mutate and run rampant around people who don’t understand that you shouldn’t have a full vacation with all of the members of your family in the tropics.

But there’s another new normal most of us won’t be able to return to: For a century, we’ve not had the opportunity to make clear the level of depravity required to prevent someone from doing something as simple as putting a piece of cloth on their face to save someone’s life.

And now that I know, I don’t think I’ll ever look at others the same way.

A Pinterest-inspired Park - Southern Utah RV Resort Review

I’ve spent the greater part of a week attempting to quantify how to review parks in a fair and balanced manner and actually the reflection (and a discussion with Jakki) taught me a little about what reviews actually mean to me. I talked about how some parks seemed to have it together for the most part, but there was just a missing or obnoxious element, that soured the stay. We recounted how some parks had staff who initially rubbed us the wrong way and as time progressed, became… friends, maybe, to us.

The only thing I miss about Thermal, California is the color of the sky.

Jakki was quick to remind me that what I care about most deeply is the passion that goes into something. There’s something special about that spark, I guess. That energy fills rooms. It shows up in art, in craftsmanship, in finish. Even when a park is in the midst of being renovated, it’s easy to spot the difference between someone who is proud of what they’re going to be vs someone who has a beautiful park and doesn’t care anymore.

The answer to how to quantify reviews so that they’re fair and balanced is: I don’t care.

Campendium is a better resource. We don’t write this blog to appease anyone or earn ad revenue. We pay for the hosting and update the site as a labor of love. The way it should be.

But surely there are tangible things that are important to me. I know there are definitely things that are make-or-break for Jakki. Things like good internet options, site size and accessibility, shower facilities, reasonable weather, access to society, isolation from society. Those last two don’t conflict, I promise.

We made the decision to curtail our stay in Antique Store Town (Boulder City), Nevada by a day due to risk of high winds and were lucky to be able to reserve the very spot that Jakki had initially booked months prior. There are likely people who thrive on movement (I’m looking at you, van-lifers), but it’s a stress for me. We’re driving a large and largely inflexible house that probably weighs something just shy of 20,000 pounds with a relatively-speaking tiny 7.4 liter V8 engine and a 4-speed automatic rear wheel drive transmission.

Goodbye, Boulder City. And thank you for the Star Trek Pez Collection.

We don’t maneuver well. Slowing down to stop without completely melting the brakes is something akin to Arrested Development’s Bluth Company Stair Car. Driving up mountains is performed around 40 miles per hour while commuter cars make egregiously dangerous moves around us when the passing lanes dissipate. In this vehicle, roundabouts must be taken at a visually estimated 15 miles per hour… because our speedometer doesn’t work.

But I drive it like a boss.

Tangents like this are precisely why I’m not going to worry about a review system. But I digress.

When we arrived, something about this place felt very different. Sure, it’s the center point of some stunning geological features, but that’s hardly new terrain for us especially after our time in Colorado. The sign prominently advertising the cleverly devised Southern Utah RV Resort (which must have come to fruition through some sublime search engine optimization work) looks so… different. Genuinely, it looks like a wedding announcement idea likely constructed of reclaimed pallet wood and shiplap straight from a Pinterest board.

If there is a single flaw to this park, and I feel like I’m giving away the results of the review by saying this, it is that the check-in parking is on a downhill slant. After check-in at what may well be the most beautiful front office building that we’ve ever encountered, we traversed the generously wide roads to our site, a stark contrast to our experiences at Oasis Palms (which I pick on because of recency) and many other parks we’ve encountered. Even the previously broad roads for our stay in Boulder City were put to shame here; I have no doubt that three full-size RVs could sit side-by-side on these roads but they’re so vast that you might still be able to drive a car around them.

I know that I’m gushing. Deal with it. This place is amazing.

You’ll notice that none of these sites are packed together like sardines.

We parked on gravel. It’s a relatively level site and I prefer concrete slabs, but I understand why you might not, especially since this park was built on clay. It’s a strange thing to consider but the way we’ve parked in this site is a first of us. Granted, we haven’t exactly been traveling for 20 years but we feel like a cast iron skillet (well-seasoned, get it?) what it comes to park experiences. No, this is one of 5 sites in the park (and maybe THE WORLD!) that is a pull-in site. Not a back-in. Not a pull-thru (our personal favorites).

Ok, maybe not the world. These sites are probably a hold-over from a time before the mass adoption of travel-trailers and fifth wheels, when you’d pull your Winnebago in and disembark your toad. It’s immensely convenient and saves you the hustle and hassle of hastily un-hitching your hooptie while your neighbors are now blocked in across 4 spots and the person who checked in just behind you in the office now waits impatiently to do the same. I mean, not here, because again the roads are W    I    D    E.

The water pressure is sublime. It’s actually been a few months since we had more than the bare minimum trickle. This godsend extends to the other facilities as well. Electric and sewer are pretty standard across the board. We haven’t managed to trip our breaker, as we have in a few other locations (mostly state parks) but it all looks very new, with 30 and 50 AMP options both represented.

Our site is 60 feet long and 30 feet wide. On paper, this doesn’t seem like a lot but compared to some of the more anemic offerings <cough>OASIS PALMS</cough> it feels expansive. A lone tree on our site will provide lovely shade over the plastic picnic table in 30 years. Maybe we’ll see it again.

Signal Peak, just off the Exit you would take to get to SUR.

Is it cold in here, or is it just me?

It’s a true pleasure to park the pull-in sites, by the way, because they’re smartly facing Signal Peak of the Pine Valley Mountains. If you’re fortunate enough to own a Sunguard instead of a simple curtain, you’re privy to some lovely day views of a gorgeous mountain range, especially in an acutely uncommon post-snowfall scenario; Washington Utah averages 1.5 inches of snowfall per year -- We had 4 in two days. In March. When the average should be .2 inches. I suppose they’re averages for a reason.

The mountains to the south are just as gorgeous, if a bit further away.

We were located approximately 100 yards from the highway and mercifully we’re not level with it. I think this has done a lot to mitigate road noise, but I’d love to see a tree line to filter just a little more out. Utahans don’t seem to use their horns often but they do seem to run slower than the posted speed limits, so engine braking is not uncommon, and it does not go unheard. Don’t misunderstand, I’m pro-engine braking and I think ordinances against it are silly and even dangerous, but I think it’s up to cities or even businesses (and I’m not blaming these particular park owners) to come up with solutions to mute the sound that don’t involve placing yet another burden on Truckers. Or their brakes.

The highway is close. And it gets loud. We were probably 50 feet from the RVs closest to the highway.

Children aren’t a part of our lives, but as SUR is marketed more as a vacation park than a full-time residence there exists a covered picnic area, middling playground, a half-court basketball/tennis court hybrid (with a cage), and a small green area for corn-holing. Or bean bag toss. Whatever, you know what I mean. Those facilities are often populated, so it’s nice that they’re being appreciated and not sitting idle. I don’t want to seem crass, but I genuinely don’t care about children, but I thought it was worth mentioning because it’s directly adjacent to…

The bathrooms.

It’s a new park (or at least seems like a new one) and there are only one men’s bathroom and one women’s bathroom for all of the spots (and honestly, there aren’t THAT many spots), but it’s made clear that the expectation going into the development is that most visitors will be using their own facilities. The Men’s room has two toilet stalls, a urinal, and two shower stalls. Two shower stalls with right angle entry from behind a LOCKABLE DOOR. I cannot explain to you the comfort that this brings me. I know it’s not difficult to unlock the door but there’s a door and not just a curtain to push aside. I mean, there’s also a curtain for the shower. The design of the shower? Definitely looks like more pinterest-inspired aesthetic. The water pressure from the shower? Divine.

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Nearby, it doesn’t feel like there is anything going on. As of 2021, there are two larger fueling stations, hotel, and a diner about a half a mile down the road. A monolithic landmark sign exists to advertise the fueling stations, signaling a day when traversing the currently anemic road will become more complicated with the addition of other businesses, not even addressing the worst 90 degree right turn in the history of US streets. It’s got a massive hump in it. Take it slow. Seriously. This isn’t a knock against the park, but it’s very unfortunate.

In the other direction, things become strictly residential. As a result, SUR feels both ambiguously disconnected from the rest of the world and paradoxically still a part of it. Even better still, just 1.7 miles away as the crow flies, there is a large chain grocery store and a bevy of fast food options. Actually, there are a lot of retail options, including a Best Buy, which is always a source of comfort for me. And it doesn’t end there. Washington, UT and the neighboring St. George are fully functioning cities with no end to options and availability. Probably the only thing you can’t buy there at the time of this review is a Playstation 5.

I mentioned earlier that feeling far away from the city and being close to the city at the same time are not contradictions and I stand by it. The 3.3 miles it takes to get to the Albertson’s is trivial, meaning grocery shopping isn’t quite the same ordeal it has been for the last 6 months of travels.

The same Signal Peak from the front door of Albertsons. Notice the Best Buy.

I love riding, it would be blatant dishonesty to say that it’s an inconvenience for me to spend any time on The Defiant, but the roads we traversed to shop were straight and boring, and in the case of Arizona, dangerous due to reckless drivers. In Coaldale, CO, it was a half an hour ride that was exciting and twisty next to a beautiful river to get to a legitimate grocery store: A Safeway, if memory serves. In South Fork, CO, it was 20 minutes of boredom to get to the nearest full-service grocer and 45 minutes of excruciating boredom if you didn’t want to overpay by 20 percent.

Jakki and I share different but very important duties when it comes to our travel; She’s a logistical magician and planner not at heart but starting at the very fiber of her being while I am an agent of chaos and change. We have roles, and while I pilot our vessel and dock at the front office, Jakki handles initial contact with the staff. While she’s inside, I try to recuperate just enough energy to complete our landing procedure and checklist. This time, Jakki returned with complimentary cookies.

For this reason, I don’t often make contact with the staff until 2 or 3 days after, primarily because I have to recover from what maneuvering this mid-sized monstrosity with my full attention does to my back. I know, I know. I’m old. I’m always a surprise when I show up to the desk looking for a package that they’ve received unwittingly for me and in a couple of cases, I know I’ve gotten some weird looks from some park staff before they encounter me. I know that solitude isn’t an uncommon feature in the nomad category, and that’s a plausible explanation for why I’ve never been confronted.

I believe we’d been here for 3 days before I finally stopped in to the office to retrieve packages and after introducing myself, the staff immediately knew who I was. The interactions are pleasant and professional and also friendly, a difficult mix. The current staff as of March 2021 is just a fantastic fit for this and I’m sure that they’ll be dearly missed when they decide to move on.

It feels distasteful to continue to write about Covid-19 but I still feel it’s relevant to the experiences. I miss the sense of community that the lifestyle we’ve chosen afford us. As a traveling motorcycle rider, my sense of community comes down to the hand signal most of us pass among each other as an acknowledgement that we’re all in imminent danger and still love this enough to continue doing it. Or the tap on the helmet to indicate that there are police abound. But in RV parks, it’s nice to have a quiet conversation with your neighbors about the sights and parks nearby, photo opportunities around a dirt road you’d never venture down without guidance, and wonderful but under-marketed food nearby. My love of the H-E-B chain of grocery megamarkets in Texas stems entirely from a “by the way” conversation with a neighbor about steaks. I do not regret it for a moment. I will always investigate a recommendation, especially regarding steaks.

Clem ended up approving of Pizzaria Limone’s offerings.

The regulars of this park still gather and reunite as family. Ethically speaking, I cannot condone this: we’re still in the midst of a pandemic. But in the way I’ve witnessed their public interactions, these people are family. Their children play together. I would not be surprised if they share meals. They just come back together. This park has been open for a year and a half. We will never be that way for a park. I am too much of an observer to ever let go. And yet, I can already feel the pull of this resort.

I couldn’t call this place home, don’t mistake my infatuation with pleonasm as a lack of enthusiasm; I’m still a scruffy vagrant at heart and there’s still so much to explore, but this stay effortlessly reset my compass so that Magnetic North points to Southern Utah RV Resort.

It’s the little things. And the big things. -- Oasis Palms RV Resort in Thermal, California

It’s the little things. And the big things.

Living the way that we do, it’s fascinating to check in with yourself to determine what is a good or a bad experience. I think it’s easy to become complacent with the experiences when you put on your monocle and stay in mid-to-high end parks. We’ve only been to a couple of parks where something as simple as having a sewer line or running water wasn’t available, but I still don’t look at those experiences negatively.

Electricity was the only site feature in this Southern Colorado State Park.

It’s also easy to get wrapped up in the struggle that you know the smaller parks are going through in comparison to the larger networks of campgrounds, KOA for example. You know that if anything goes downhill, it’s a struggle to fix it. You know that you’re spending that time and money against a diminishing return. A lot of places might just settle in and that’s just the way things are. Certain shared bathrooms we’ve been a party to have definitely had that vibe.

BUT.
But.

We have definitely stayed places that didn’t have anything going on. The bathrooms were far and anemic, campground style. In a couple of situations, I watched people with trucks large enough to chariot for Zeus get 5th wheel trailers stuck in poorly designed spaces. It’s hard for me to remember our very recent stay in Thermal, California with any sort of favoritism and yet the State Park we stayed at near Carlsbad, New Mexico still ranks among my most fond memories of places we’ve been. It took no fewer than 3 miles to get from the spot we booked in Carlsbad to the road. That is not an exaggeration.

Internet availability certainly plays a large part of that. We’re fortunate enough to carry connections with each of the 3 big cellular providers and that has been a lifesaver. In most cases, we’ll arrive to a decent Verizon connection, a good AT&T connection, and no Sprint/T-mobile presence at all. While that might immediately make you wonder out loud, “Why not just drop the Sprint connection and deal with the other two?” sometimes that Sprint connection has been the thin line between viability in a spot and having to lose our deposit for two months because work couldn’t be done.

Thermal can be a beautiful place and I took some beautiful photos. But there isn’t much to the town. Mecca, not too far in the east offers great parks and a beautiful Box Canyon. Palm Springs, Indio, and all of the towns nearby make sure there’s plenty on offer if you need anything. And I do mean anything.

No, really. Sunrise and Sunset here are stunning.

Oasis Palms RV Resort has all of the makings of a great stay, depending on where you’re situated. We stayed in site R11 which backs up against a small piece of land against the pond. Unfortunately, the site was dug against a hill, so our 33 ft Class A was close the to limit of what would fit in the site. Our motorcycle balanced on the edge of the concrete just in front of the RV, making the total limit of RV size probably close to 36-37 feet. There was a small “yard” occupied by a medium-sized orange tree, preventing a full-sized vehicle from parking in that spot but we had plenty of people park in front of our unit and pick oranges from that tree.

I’m kicking myself over not having that one slice of photo.

It’s distressing to watch someone pull up and block my bike and carry ladders and duffel bags to the side of your RV, at least if you’re paranoia-motivated like I am. But that’s just a part of the “experience.” As is the complete lack of parking in the long-term stay loop. People have pretty much just resigned to parking in the middle of the traversable road. If you’re leaving the park at 0700 like we did, it’s very likely you won’t be able to take your rig through the gauntlet. Instead, I made a 3 point turn over the tent camp sites in front of us, which were unoccupied over the winter.

The water is very brown. Very brown. But this beautiful mountain hangs over Oasis Palms RV Resort.

I have to say that it’s difficult to feel as negatively about this park as I do. Most of the staff interactions we had were a positive experience. Most of them. And there’s a gorgeous mountain just west of the park, marking a 24-hour backdrop over what would normally be a very boring and ugly desert park. A berm exists to mitigate road noise, and I’m hoping it was helping because it has never been louder in our home. A lot of military jets (including my favorite, the F-16) flew directly overhead. More than a few helicopters would find their way over us as well. Sometimes the sound could be overwhelming enough to interrupt a phone call.

And I’m thankful that we could make phone calls.

When we book sites… or really, I should say, When Jakki books sites, one of the most important considerations is the availability of internet connections, which is very different from cell phone signal quality. Most of the resources we use when researching sites includes a little signal indicator to express the quality of cellular service where you’re staying. When we parked and settled in, we began our customary internet speed tests to determine what we’d be reserving for Jakki’s work and what our capabilities are going to be.

Panic set in. No joke.

We both sat wide-eyed and terrified. We were immediately convinced that we’d have to abandon our deposits and move on. Despite our phones pulling up 4 bars of LTE service, we couldn’t even complete the download portion of the SpeedTest. Immediately, I looked up everything I could about signal quality and noise to find a solution that would allow us at least passable internet service. I dragged our Verizon hotspot everywhere around the park. There were a couple of locations that offered some really great Verizon service. But nothing else. Our Sprint connection wasn’t working either.

I placed each of our hotspots in every conceivable place, thanks to the MiMo antennas that we invested in for our Jetpack and Nighthawk. In only one place in the RV, the Verizon connection was reasonable… in the afternoon to early evening. Think 5 Mbps down, 2.5 Mbps up. Our AT&T connection never showed up to the party. The Sprint connection was our lifesaver; if I dangled the device from a USB cable hanging out of the cabinet that we keep the printer in, we had “decent” service, meaning about 10 Mbps down and maybe 3 Mbps up. That was our lifeblood for 2 months.

No, seriously. It was bad. This is the kind of thing you experience when you’re not holding your providers accountable for their service goals or when you make it absurdly expensive to file FCC complaints.

As far as winter weather goes, Thermal lives up to its name. During the January and February months (the most brutal months for Minnesotans) we saw lows as low as 34F and highs in the mid-80s. It rained twice. We experienced two wildfires not too far from where we were, and one massive car accident that happened on the highway a mere 90-100 feet away from the front end of our RV. Why is that important? The engine from the car that was hit by a pickup truck was ejected more than 150 feet from the site of the accident.

If you have dogs, the park fancies itself a free-range park. Not everyone’s animals are up for that kind of test. Be aware. There is a very generous dog run that most dogs will find some enjoyment out of stretching their legs in. Not all of the owners have been kind enough to pick up after their animals, however.

I believe the closest restaurant to be a Del Taco some 7 miles up the 86. There was also a Burger/Pizza/Taco place in the gas station/truck stop nearby, a Starbucks, and a Denny’s that doesn’t look like it will be re-opening any time soon. Coachella proper, however, offers some great food, including a good burger that accompanied the best onion rings I’ve had in a very long time. Indio and Palm Springs offer so much food that I think it may be impossible to dine at every restaurant just between those two towns. We don’t eat out often, but we did manage a couple of very tasty visits to Grill-a-Burger. I saw at least one Korean BBQ restaurant that I wanted to visit, but Covid… you know how it is. Hopefully they’ll still be there when we return to Southern California.

The Box Canyon is beautiful. I thought this photo would be a nice way to break this up.

The reality remains, however, that there are no accessible delivery options for food. It’s not a big hit when we consider the “score” in its entirety, but I think some of us like the option to get lazy once in a while, and it simply doesn’t exist here. Full grocery stores require at least a half an hour of hard travel. Make it 40 minutes if you’re dedicated to the speed limit. There are several meat markets nearby, and while your options open up significantly if you’re fluent in Spanish, there’s still no replacing the utility and pricing of a full-on grocery.

I guess while I’ve been on a 2-page long negativity streak, it’s also worth noting that local water is toxic. Oasis Palms offers 3 spots to fill up your water by way of a reverse osmosis filter. If you have your own, this isn’t much of an issue for you, but for us, that meant buying a couple gallon jugs of water and refilling. This is also desert California. Not far from Death Valley. We were doing a gallon and a half to two gallons a day between drinking and cooking. They said it was fine to wash your dishes in, but I made sure to vinegar and a-salt my tea kettle.

The bathrooms are serviceable. But they get everything wrong. On the men’s side, the room is HUGE but there are only 3 showers and 3 toilet stalls. The showers themselves aren’t anything to write home about, except the lack of a close curtain to the shower itself means that you’re spraying water everywhere. On the floor. On your clothes. On the curtain that you can see through when it’s bright enough.

There are signs up in the bathroom/laundry area (and there aren’t enough machines, but there really never are) warning the residents/visitors that the water has not been adequately tested. It’s more than mildly disconcerting; I have a little leftover anxiety about being poisoned. Look up the Salton Sea if you’re interested. It’s only getting worse from here if no one does anything about it.

This photo of the Salton Sea is the one that made me feel like a photographer for the first time in my life.

Jakki and I have very different criteria for what a good or bad stay is. At the end of the day (or this review) it’s impossible to ignore the feeling of anxiety that I STILL feel about this stay. On two occasions on days when I left to go shopping for the week, we had completely lost internet service and one of those times was just before Jakki was running a large, important Zoom call. I made it home just in time to fix it by about 4 minutes, because again, it’s 30 long, boring minutes to the closest grocery store.

It wasn’t rare for the office to be closed during hours it was advertised to be open. The main interactions we experienced were with a person who doesn’t really have a grasp of what customer service is. I’m trying not to be mean, but it wasn’t uncommon for me to enter the office and that he would just be watching a movie and drinking a beer. In one particular case, that same person almost hit me (on my motorcycle) with a truck when he attempted to leave the corner store (by coming to speed on the dirt shoulder and then quickly merging onto the road, or more specifically, into me). I would not be surprised to find out that he had been drinking before driving, nor would I be surprised to find out he was buying more beer. Turns out, potentially killing me leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Toward the end of our stay, an older couple arrived after 5PM and waited for 2 hours when we arrived. They’d taken on a little too much road for one day and arrived exhausted without a reservation, hoping for just a night. Jakki, being the nosey goodie-two-shoes that she is helped them book online (from her phone) and showed them to their spot for the night. No one was answering the number on the office door.

Overall, I can’t give it better than a 2 out of 5. I think this place works great as a home base if you’re into the Coachella world. If you’re retired and looking for a place to get away from the world… this may still not be the best choice for you. When we spoke about it, Jakki was more generous with a 3 out of 5, citing unmetered electricity (which WAS nice, I’ll admit) and very fair booking prices.

I’ll never get over feeling like I didn’t have my own safe space there.

At least she feels safe.

The Science of Withholding

I think I’ve always had a fascination with cameras. The first camera that I ever had was a little blue plastic and black number that had a flip up plastic sight, a shutter release button, and a winder wheel. I’m fairly certain most of the mechanism for the camera was in the film roll itself, being a 110 camera. I loved that thing; even when I didn’t have the film to shoot, I still brought it everywhere.

Dad and Mom had an old film camera that they wouldn’t let me touch. They were convinced it was broken, it wasn’t worth selling, but I wasn’t allowed to touch it. I don’t remember anything of the details about it, I do know that it was a brand I hadn’t seen before and one I don’t remember seeing since. My father worked at a couple of gas stations that were across from each other on a major interstate, and hard-up people were often trading things for a couple of bucks and a tank of gas. This is actually also how I ended up with a Gameboy.

I think I remember asking a photography buff about it one time and they could recall the brand as a low-end film camera brand. There was no light meter or autofocus, so I could believe that my parents had no idea how to use it. It probably turned out a roll of black photos. Later, we’d get an ugly Vivitar Series 1 soap-bar that used 35mm film. It had a little bit of Optical Zoom available, probably 5x, but I think the only exposure measures were an auto-shutter and a flash. I wasn’t allowed to touch that either.

The rest of my adolescence would be spent buying those instant cameras. Sometimes I’d never get the film developed. Possibly because what you see through the “viewfinder” wasn’t really indicative of what you were taking. I don’t really know why. I imagine I’d have been dangerous if digital cameras had been available by then. Non-stop clicking.

I’d own a few point and shoots when digital cameras became prevalent, tricking myself into thinking that taking weird photos was art. My favorite was a little Canon that used to turn out some pretty crisp pictures. Sadly, I lost the hard drive that held those pictures a long time ago, and I’m locked out of the flickr account that holds the last remnants of them today.

It wasn’t until about the year 2008 that I’d buy my very first DSLR. I remember it well: The Nikon D5000. Why Nikon? I read too many reviews and Nikon glass would stand as the most revered through the ages. Why the D5000? It wasn’t the D3000 and I couldn’t afford a D7000. In retrospect, I really wish I would have found a way to buy that D7000. Some of the best photos I’ve ever taken were with that D5000.

That camera is no longer with me. I gave it away long ago when I upgraded to a Sony mirrorless camera. Thinking about that camera reminds me of all of the times I’d brought it to events, shooting small shows for musicians starting out, spending more time trying to figure out what my best shot would be with the tools I had available: an 18-55mm kit lens, a 55-200mm lens of similar quality, and a 35mm f/1.8 specifically for the DX format.

I learned that there is an important balance between capturing the moment and being in the moment, and that you can’t do both at the same time. I learned that the moment you’re looking for will be gone if you’re not prepared for it, but if you wait long enough, it will come again. I learned that going out with friends was a great way to not get anything done.

Constructive Criticism is definitely a hard pill to swallow. And it can be counter-productive, especially when it comes from someone who doesn’t care. The internet? Useless. Never let anyone tell you how to shoot. The best course of action is to learn everything that everyone is doing and see what speaks to you. Unless you want to make money, then mostly you’re doing everything that everyone else is doing.

Concert/performance, landscape, and stellar (with landscape) photography ended up being my real passions. I’d love to rediscover some of the other venues after . But it has remained important to me to watch. How are they holding their cameras? Does it make sense? Do they actually change lenses? What are they paying attention to? Where does the story fit in?

I would pay special attention to Nikon shooters. Surely they would have the kind of equipment that I would want to invest in. “I should buy FX format lenses for the day I eventually buy a Full-Frame camera body,” I would tell myself, drooling over the $2400 D700 and its beautiful 100% viewfinder, and the ability to control the aperture and shutter speed at the same time without having to turn a dial to switch between the two.

After hundreds of hours of observing people with thousands of dollars in flashes and reflectors and umbrellas wander around with light meters and plan out their shots, it remains clear that no matter how much I know, I will never know enough to be satisfied. In all honesty, I’m still not sure what magicks are involved in flash photography and it’s something I’ll get to when I study portraiture again. One thing that almost every Nikon shooter I observed had in common: the Nikon 24-70mm f/2.8G. A workhorse piece of glass. I would make a promise to myself: I could add that lens to my kit when I finally felt like I deserved it.

As a society, we try to frame reward systems as a positive thing. My favorite philosophy regarding human psychology is that we’re simply apes who learned how to speak. If you know me personally, you know that I repeat that a lot. It’s amazing how we’ll take something positive, like a rewards system, and we’ll twist it into something toxic in the guise of something positive.

I never let myself define what it would mean to deserve it. In the political realm, there’s always talk of “moving the goal posts” as a measure of efficacy by the opposition. Unfortunately, a lot of the time, the opposition in our psyche is pretty much the feeling that we don’t deserve something. Good luck trying to feel like you deserve something when the one setting the standard is your feeling about deserving something.

Jakki was kind enough to encourage and facilitate a new lens, knowing that I was feeling stifled by the two prime lenses that I currently operated with. The 20mm f/1.8 from Rokinon has been a wonderful friend, especially when pointing at the sky and the 50mm f/1.8 from Nikon has been a steady performer. I can’t complain about either lens, but I just can’t hit focus on the Rokinon. Even with Focus Peaking enabled.

While it was pretty easy to make the decision to go with a 24-70mm, I looked into the new Z-mount f/2.8 and found it was almost $2400. The f/2.8E wasn’t too much better, adding Vibration Reduction and missing the function buttons from the Z-mount iteration. The f/2.8G was still a stunning $1600, not too far from the $1800 price tag that I often encountered when I first began looking at that lens more than a decade ago. I resigned myself to a Sigma 24-70mm f/2.8 ART lens, which would be no slouch, but a bit of a compromise from my dream in order to keep the price tag under a stack.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t really look down on lenses that aren’t the body’s brand. I’m actually a fan of the cheaper lenses. I have my eye on an extremely well-hidden 50mm f/.95 because it agrees with me, even with the artifacts and vignetting. I’ve never been the person who thinks a technical imperfection is a fault. Just a quirk. Something different.

But the Sigma wasn’t quite what I’d dreamed about. Inside, it was the choice I wanted to make because the pressure of earning the right to own that Nikon was still something I wasn’t quite ready to deal with and saving a full $600 was a fine excuse to use. Outside, it cemented my commitment to remaining lens-agnostic.

That was, until I found a Nikon for sale used but in “like new” condition on Adorama. You see, it’s not that I didn’t consider buying it used. I did. My research was pretty clear on this: don’t buy this lens used from Amazon or eBay. The counterfeit market for these lenses was real and the performance of those lenses couldn’t be counted on. Adorama could be counted on, though. So I got to order my dream lens for just under $1000.

I received it this last Monday. As soon as I got the notification for delivery, I headed to the office and picked up my package. I almost had to stop myself from running in excitement as I brought it back home to peel the packaging clear of the lens. I removed the 3 layers of bubble wrap. And I just held it. I’m not exaggerating when I say my eyes teared up.

You see, I was never satisfied where I was as a photographer. Now I’m not saying that I know everything or I’m some sort of master now, but I’ve found myself feeling at peace with where I am and what I wish to know. I finally let go of other people’s limitations and their definitions of what good is. I’m allowing myself to composite photos and correct little things. I’m forgiving myself.

I held this lens and after 13 years of study and practice, I felt like I deserved it.  

Danger Zone - Or is a Motorcycle the Tow Vehicle for You?

When I was a child, I remember watching Top Gun from the comfort of my parents’ bed. Their bedroom housed the only VHS player in our actually pretty spacious apartment in Suburban Connecticut. Tom Cruise is a man who still commands my respect for his dedication to filmcraft and his love of stunts, even if I disagree with some pretty big fundamentals. I can’t help it. And the Kawasaki Ninja GPz900R that he rode with his bomber jacket and aviators still remains burned into my mind as the portrait of quintessential cool. My father would warn me off of motorcycles, saying I’d never have one under his roof. Moving to Minnesota had pretty much guaranteed that motorcycles would be a 4 or 5 month a year hobby, and not a way of life, and I would quickly give up my ambitions of owning one.

Before embarking on our journey, the expectations of travel were pretty simple. I owned a much more Minnesota-Sensible™ Red 2002 Subaru WRX Wagon lovingly named “Phoebe” and we were going to install towbars and flat tow her across the country. She was almost 270,000 miles on and everything was happy until about 6 months before we left. Phoebe encountered a massive brake failure in the rear right brake that locked it down and destroyed the pad, rotor, and caliper.

Fearing Phoebe’s continuing demise, we decided it would be time to change our plans. Unfortunately, we’d turned Jakki’s leased Honda Fit back in to the dealer already and I floated the idea that we could get a smaller motorcycle, that I would learn to drive it and we would tow it to travel.

In retrospect, this was an insane idea. For most people, the pursuit of a motorcycle education starts with a class and continuing to ride at that level for the rest of their lives. It could have ended with a quick accident and I might have just dropped my ambition to learn how to ride. It would have been a catastrophic waste of thousands of dollars on the bike, the gear, and time. At this point, fixing Phoebe would have been a better idea.

We purchased our new motorcycle, “Ganges.” A 2008 Suzuki Boulevard C50 that I miss dearly. She was reliable, if not a bit shaky from its V-twin design. Under-powered on every level except the learner level. A perfect bike for someone who wants to trade up to a larger-bore Harley or equivalent eventually. Weighing in near the 550 pound mark, Ganges had the equivalent of an 800cc engine to offset the weight, a sluggish 0-60 of 5.4 seconds (Phoebe, a full wagon with rust for a weight modification, was capable of 5.2 before the engine mounts began to wear down), and a top speed around 90 mph. More on that in a bit.

Ganges, on the showroom floor

As a bike, it’s the single most barebones vehicle you could buy. A single disc brake adorns the front wheel, not enough for its substantial curb weight. The rear brake was functional and identical to the first, but ABS? That’s not included. Turn signals? There’s a single light to notify the rider that the signal is on. What gear are you in? Better gear all the way up or all the way down and reorient yourself, because there’s no indicator other than a neutral lamp. The bike being used came with engine guards, which were a fantastic addition. We invested in new seats, a new LED headlamp, bright and quick LED turn signals, a brighter LED taillamp with integrated turn signals, and couple of cheaper universal side cases and a universal top case. More on that in a bit as well.

My first attempt to ride without any training was a massive failure. I’d tried to watch many YouTube videos about how to ride and while I was comfortable learning how to find the friction point with the clutch, I was not confident in how to turn that monstrosity or really even how to accelerate safely. I planted my feet, found the friction zone and cracked open the throttle cautiously… just before the bike slid completely out from under me. It was the end of March, you see, so sand and gravel were plentiful in Minnesota. The 542 pounds of Ganges landed on my left leg, bruising me for the length of my inseam. I’d learned my first lesson: Always be aware of what is and what will be under your wheels.

I was wearing gloves, a riding jacket, riding jeans, a helmet, and regular boots. The next day, as I limped my way through the work day, I’d started to learn my second lesson: Dress for your mistakes, not for your comfort. I’m sure there’s a more concise and catchy way of saying that. Rather than allow myself to be ruled by the fear that should normally accompany a bad experience like that, I began riding to work. I used the parking lot to learn how to estimate braking distances and turning. I became more confident as the YouTube videos began to make sense. And the moment the courses were available with the local Motorcycle Safety Foundation chapter, I signed up immediately.

Never stop learning.

I’m so glad that I learned with the MSF. If you have a motorcycle and no official training, stop what you’re doing right now and sign up for a class. It’s a weekend. It’s important. You may have an idea of how to ride a bike, you may even have a license; but if you haven’t taken the MSF course, stop what you’re doing right now and sign up for the class. Have you been riding dirt bikes all your life and now you’re taking the time to rediscover your love of two-wheeled motor vehicles?

STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING. RIGHT NOW. SIGN UP FOR A CLASS.

The MSF class is boring. It’s painful for me, an ADD afflicted idiot, to have to sit and be taught the things that I already know. Like physically painful. It doesn’t matter. They also teach you how to change your mental preconceptions of what your responsibilities are as the rider, how to constantly be engaged, and how to be prepared. With 15,000 miles a year on a bike, I ride more than most people drive. I can safely say that riding on the road is 40% analyzing the road, 50% analyzing what other drivers are going to do, 5% of putting yourself in the position to react to someone doing something unexpected or dangerous, and 5% actually driving the bike. Even better, the MSF course teaches you that from the safety of a tiny motorcycle that isn’t yours.

The MSF had made my childhood dream a reality. A much less cool reality externally because:

1)      I’m not Tom Cruise

2)      I always wear a helmet

3)      I’m not a fighter pilot, so I don’t have a bomber jacket with giant patches

4)      I ALWAYS WEAR A HELMET

Don’t stop there, either. Continuing education, formal or informal is the best gear you can invest in. Definitely pick up a copy of A Twist of the Wrist II.

Ganges on the Trailer

After we obtained a trailer for our motorcycle, we were set for the road. We took off and immediately found ourselves in Sioux Falls, people inquiring if we were heading to The Rally. We weren’t, we assured people. We had no idea what rally they were referring to. By the way, if you’re ever in Sioux Falls, please stop at a Jacky’s Restaurant and have some ceviche. It’s the best ceviche I’ve ever had.

As we shuffled on westward to have our first dry camping experience on BLM land in the absolutely stunning Badlands of South Dakota, we’d noticed that a lot of motorcycles were passing and waving. We were astonished by how friendly people were being. The road was wide open and winds were a bit treacherous and we had nothing to fear. Until we arrived. We found a precarious cliff to park Sunbadges (our RV) on and disembarked the bike. The path was all dirt. “Path” as a descriptor is also possibly generous. My first time riding on dirt on this motorcycle was with a passenger but we managed. Shopping was difficult because our cases were maybe just a little small for this mission. “That’s fine,” I’d reason, “we’ll just have to shop a little more often.”

We could only run our generator for a few hours a day, so we were eating a lot of junk food. And then we realized that our water pump wasn’t working, so the potable water that we’d charged up with in Sioux Falls was useless. Suddenly, I was making nearly daily trips through dirt to the grocery for three-quarter gallons of water. Jakki was despondent that we wouldn’t be able to survive this way. I’m an idiot, so I mostly just trudge my way through those things. In retrospect, she was definitely right to feel that way. It’s probably only my usually-frustrating bull-headed nature that kept us from turning tail and taking our ball home. I’m not extolling that as a virtue, it’s just how it was.

As we floated over to Rapid City, our dreams wounded but not dead, we took stock of our situation and replaced our water pump only to find that our water heater had blown a huge hole in its tank at some point (something that should have been checked by the morons we paid to ensure Sunbadges was roadworthy) and we noticed how many more motorcycles were suddenly showing up. It turns out that The Rally that everyone spoke of was Sturgis and we were pretty much in the middle of the build up to it.

Strugis, as shot from the Pillion Position

Motorcyclists are an interesting family. We all know the dangers of being on two wheels in a world dominated by “Cagers.” And we all have someone to have disdain for. There are people who just won’t give you “the signal” when you pass them. Either because they don’t believe in it or because they don’t think you count as one of them. One thing is clear, though, if any motorcycle goes down for any reason, every other motorcyclist on the road is going to stop, make sure you’re not dying, pick up your bike, call 911 if you’re not getting up, and hold your hand if you do happen to be dying.

In Sturgis, that family is never more harmonious. It does no matter what bike you’re driving. It does not matter how you ride. Well, you might get needled about wearing a helmet. I did. You’re on a bike so you’re family. At least during the day, I didn’t stay for any night time shenanigans. And as much as I’d have enjoyed participating in a group ride, I don’t think it’s a good idea for any reason other than charity anymore.

We rode to Mount Rushmore, which had a dedicated motorcycle-only parking garage for the week. We saw Buffalo in Custer State Park. We learned to work as a team to navigate tight turns on a bike that wouldn’t see a 40 degree lean.

Our family reunion of motorcycles has become a trickle as we’d departed the Sturgis vicinity. When we turned the corner into Casper, Wyoming, that’s when things got complicated.

On the return from a trip to the shooting range at the Wyoming Gun Company (which, by the way, has the most beautiful shooting range I’ve ever been to), I lost our top case. I must not have secured it correctly. I’m still kicking myself about it to this day. I left the range, made it to the next stop light, looked back and it was gone. Returned to where I’d started within 5 minutes of having left and my case was nowhere in sight.

I lost a GoPro Silver, Jakki’s pair of riding sunglasses, amongst other smaller things. Worst of all, I’d lost our ability to carry 50% of our groceries. Shopping trips became even more frequent but thankfully we had a running water pump.

We limped poor Ganges up the mountains of Colorado and something you definitely take for granted is the ability to breathe. I’m definitely a person who sees more than their fair share of altitude sickness, but it gives me the opportunity to appreciate the mountains. And I love the mountains.

It was Steamboat Springs, Colorado where we had yet another dry camping experience on some State Park land at the top of the mountain. It was gorgeous and cold, even in August. We saw 80s and 90s at the bottom of the hill and temperatures as low as 27 degrees at the top. We still saw some packed snow on the side of the road. We’d regularly drive down to the city and enjoy the amenities during our two week stay, where it became increasingly obvious that poor Ganges wasn’t really up to the task of climbing mountains.

We gifted Ganges to a good friend of ours. May she live a long and uncomplicated life.

As we’d choke our beloved Boulevard up the mountain doing a maximum of 35 miles per hour at a completely pinned throttle, packs of big-bore Harley Davidsons would roar past us at 60 miles per hour (or more) and plant the seed of an idea that was become harder and harder to ignore: Ganges was no longer enough for us on our adventure. Just two months into our journey, we’d outgrown a good friend.

When we landed in Denver, the race was on to find something to replace Ganges. I have short legs and we have specific needs, so there was never going to be an easy solution to our troubles. I looked at all of the online resources to ensure we’d be covered. No big-bore cruiser was going to come with the kind of storage we needed to keep grocery trips down to weekly events. Nor would any sport bikes, not that Jakki would ever be willing to ride pillion on one. We settled on an Adventure bike. As there would be two of us climbing up mountains, we knew we’d be looking for at least a liter in engine size.

We saw a few bikes. The Yamaha Ténéré was a too tall for me. Even on my tip toes, I couldn’t keep the bike up. The saddle of the Honda Africa Twin was too wide for my legs to reach the ground comfortably, but as I’ve learned more about riding it’s definitely the bike I would have taken a second look at. KTM’s offerings were much like Yamaha’s in that they were simply too tall for me, and I wasn’t particularly hurt. In the end, for where I was in riding experience, there was really only one answer. We lucked into a 2015 BMW R1200GS, now named “Defiant” and already built with the factory low modifications, engine guards, and including two aftermarket side cases.

The Defiant on Delivery Day

We bought it and I immediately dropped it. This time with Jakki on board.

You see, the sum of my experiences thus far with motorcycles involved a 28” high seat and such a low center of gravity. Here, at 32” and a bike balanced to keep the weight up higher, I’m now at the limit of my 29” inseam. Yes, I know I’m short. Yes. Pants are difficult to find.

But I dropped it. I still do, when I make mistakes; like that time I was tired and complacent and didn’t pay attention to the gravel in the wide turns at the Albuquerque KOA. I’m extremely happy that the bike has engine guards.

Here now, more than a year on, we’ve ridden up mountains and down mountains, on dirt and gravel, gotten stuck in sand and put more than 20,000 miles on this bike. We changed the anemic horn and replaced the seats. We added a top case. I now have a daily driver vehicle with the acceleration curve of a high-end Ferrari. I get followed out of grocery stores by people curious about how the guy in the nylon riding jacket and helmet can fit a cart full of foodstuffs onto a motorcycle.

No joke, someone followed me out of this Walmart because he wasn’t sure that I was going to fit everything I bought on this bike.

I love to ride. It has gone from a necessity, to a hobby, to a passion, to a full-on defining character trait. While my skill level isn’t yet expert and I’ve only ridden for nearly two years now, I know that it is something I will never give up.

Logistically, the motorcycle is a toss-up. Does it make sense for your only tow vehicle to be a motorcycle? We average about 47 miles per gallon. We have the carrying capacity of the trunk of the late Toyota Yaris. We can park in places no one would expect. It upsets people sometimes — I genuinely can’t understand why. Our tow weight sits just under 1000 pounds and it’s easy to move the setup by hand in case you get stuck in a hard place. As we had to once, when we got stuck doing a three-point turn on a one-way road while we were lost in Kaibab National Forest.

The downsides? Well, there are a lot of them. Inclement weather is tough, but where were you going in bad weather anyway? Sometimes, you can’t stop somewhere because you don’t want to get stuck on sand. Driving on dirt or gravel can get pretty dicey with a pillion. If road conditions aren’t optimal, it’s easy to imagine an accident. You definitely lose some cargo space. And I spend a lot of time worrying that the Defiant won’t be there when we get back; bikes are easy to steal. And let’s be frank, it’s infinitely more dangerous to ride in traffic. As I had mentioned earlier, we upgraded the horn. It wasn’t just for entertainment; it’s a necessity in populated areas. Cagers don’t watch where they’re going. Do you have pets? You’re renting a car if you need to see a vet.

Oh, and drive-thrus aren’t a sure thing on a bike. Maintenance is probably the biggest expense. You’re really saving no money there. Motorcycle tires last 10 and 20 thousand miles for the rear and front wheels respectively. If you own a BMW bike, you’re buying premium fuel, premium oil, and premium coolant. If you’re going to dealerships for your oil changes, that’s a $200 oil change. Do it yourself.

No seriously, learn to do it yourself.

I can say with confidence that if it wasn’t for this motorcycle, a lot of what we do would be a chore for me. I’m thankful that Jakki is willing to allow me this mid-life crisis as our mode of transportation. It’s not for everyone, and I have no doubt that if we had a car, that would be the way we’d do most of our traveling.

Still, every time I suit up to ride, I feel like I’m gonna fly a jet. And every time I hit the road, I carry that feeling of flight. It’s a childhood dream realized. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

2020 Recap

2020 Recap

2020 was a dumpster fire of a year. We were supposed to go up the Pacific coast, visit friends we had never met, take our first trip to the ocean, and so much more. In April, due to THAT WHICH SHALL NOT BE NAMED, we found ourselves struggling to figure out where to go next. Almost all of our reservations had been cancelled and we thought it would be safer to stay in one area for as long as possible. We ended up spending the summer in Colorado (which was also lovely) and wintering down in New Mexico and Arizona. While we didnt encounter as many technical difficulties as we had the previous year, animals and people illnesses sidelined us and decimated our budget. While we have hope that 2021 will shape up to be the year we had hoped 2020 would be, we are going to be making permanent changes to how we travel and where we spend our money. 

Bye 2020!

2020 Highlights

Travel Map

Started in San Antonio, TX, ended in Black Canyon City, AZ

Best of 2020

Favorite RV Park

Wine Ridge Resort, Pahrump NV

The Wine Ridge RV Resort takes top place this year (I know, I know, over the beautiful forests and mountains of Colorado??) because we had great wifi, mountain views, private bathrooms, and wilderness for Kojii to walk around in. It was also incredibly cheap for how fancy it felt. It had a true resort feel (they pick up your garbage at your site!!) with resort amenities (pool, racquetball, tennis… fancy people stuff) but at a mom and pop park cost. We have paid much more for much  less. While people didn’t really take the pandemic seriously there, we kept to ourselves and had zero problems. 

Favorite National Park/Tourist Attraction

Carlsbad Caverns

We got to see some amazing sites in 2020. Going to national parks and hiking ended up being some of the best parts of our adventures this year. We both agreed that the Carlsbad Caverns take the cake. We went on a whim on a random weekday. It didnt have the name recognition of Yellowstone or the Grand Canyon, and we didnt know anything about it. It ended up being phenomenal. You felt transported to another world down there, and as someone who has seen too many horror movies about being trapped in an underground cavern surrounded by cannibals, I didnt feel claustrophobic from the experience. Quite the opposite - the gigantic caverns made me feel very small. There is also a gift shop a mile underground where you CAN MAIL POSTCARDS! If you can, try and go during the season where the bats migrate. We didnt get to see that, but I can only imagine that it would add to an already incredible experience. 

Best Quality of Life Purchase

Dishwasher

I am incredibly spoiled. Ron does 99% of the cooking and 100% of the dishwashing in the RV. Imagine a tiny sink. Now imagine half of that. That is what Ron has had to use to wash dishes in the RV. We also don't have hot water (our hot water tank has been split since day 1 - for some reason the inspection didnt show that) so Ron has to heat up all the water in a kettle and doing a day’s worth of dishes can take over an hour. We bought a dishwasher and installed in in the shower in our bathroom (where much of our storage lives). It has cut down dishwashing time at least in half.

Best DIY Upgrade 

The flooring

One of the first things we did when we got the RV was rip out the carpeting and laminate in the main living area. It was stained and gross, and we wanted to put plank flooring down that the cats wouldnt absolutely tear up. Our dreams were dashed when we installed flooring and it was immediately ripped up by our slide out. With time running out and us not wanting a sticky floor to live on, we got the thinnest stick on tiles we could and threw them on the floor. The result was… passable at best. We spent months trying to figure out what was on the slideout that was ripping up our beautiful flooring. We still don't know. We purchased floaters that help lift up the slide out just a tad when it comes in, and that has kept the scratches to a minimum. We installed  a new plank flooring (cursing our previous selves for using such strong adhesive on the tiles) and absolutely love how it turned out. It makes the whole RV feel a lot more like a home. 

Best Overall New Addition

Clementine

While we always knew we would need to get another cat as a companion for Poseidon,  we thought it would be far in the future. After Kojii’s health scare (that’s for another post), we realized you never know how long you have with your pets. We didnt want Poseidon to be alone again, and so we spent a month searching for the perfect cat for our family. We looked at hundreds of cats, met a few of them, and finally found Clementine. She and Poseidon have become the best of friends. Yes, we are probably a little crazy for having three cats in an RV, but overall she has been a wonderful addition to the family.

Best City to Visit

Ouray, CO

I want to take everyone I’ve ever met to Ouray. Nestled in the mountains, its nickname is the Switzerland of the US. The town itself is tiny, with a ton of charm. The roads to get there are windy and exciting and the views are spectacular. Take a hike up to one of the many waterfalls and eat dinner in a historic district. Stop at one of the many mountain towns on the way and just enjoy the whole trip.

Best Restaurant

Amicas in Salida, CO

We didnt eat out much in 2020, but when we did we still had fairly lackluster experiences. This was not the case with Amicas in Salida, CO. We had been craving pizza for months. There are quite a few pizza places in Salida, and we ate here on a whim. The pizza was absolutely amazing. They had tons of different combinations and both of our pizzas were cooked to perfection. We even came back a second time a few weeks later and had a similar experience. Service was a little slow, but the food more than made up for the wait.

A Colorado State of Mind - Sisko's Summer Experience

Covid-19 is probably the last thing anyone wants to read about at this point but it affected all of us. We’re lucky to be insulated from most of the effects, so please don’t misunderstand me; I’m not complaining about our situation, but Covid did cancel our 2020 plans.

The original plan was to take a trip up the west coast but as Covid became a more pressing issue, we’d been cancelled on for reservations we had made for our summer. Honestly, it’s disappointing but not the worst thing that could have happened.

When it came down to figure out what we were going to do with our summer, the answer didn’t take too long to formulate: Colorado is probably the best we’re gonna get for availability while still maintaining a reach to civilization. Wyoming seems lovely but internet connectivity there is unproven at best and Montana is a great place to spend your last dollars trying to keep campgrounds.

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We went back to Colorado and Colorado welcomed us with open arms. It’s been pretty fascinating to watch Colorado react to Covid. A population like most, Colorado is pretty conservative in the rural parts we were staying in, and fairly liberal in the cities. We’d already met hostility in Arizona and Nevada over our insistence in wearing masks in public, so we were well prepared for the same resistance to consideration for others. And we received it. Actually, mostly I received it. Jakki had begun staying away from shopping trips back in Nevada.

It’s been interesting to watch, however, as Colorado has started to turn and people are more and more willing to wear masks. I wasn’t being accused of being a fascist in Walmarts anymore and the strange looks we were getting when we visited Pagosa Springs were replaced by people going on with their days by the time we reached Walsenburg.

Covid has asked of us one thing: Can you be considerate of others?

The answer is slowly turning to Yes in Colorado. And while it’s not as fast as I’d have liked, I’m thankful to have been there and not… Texas.

Despite some hard travel and some hard lessons from the last few months, we emerged from the mountains mostly unscathed. We pretty narrowly avoided Colorado’s largest wildfire but not its effects. And we continued to get lucky, visiting areas before they were closed down for one reason or another. The Solar Power system that I MacGuyver’d together is running. We have a leak somewhere in our water system. We actually ran out of power steering fluid. We’re leaking hydraulic fluid from our jack stands. Our parking brake does not work. But I love Sunbadges as I would love an airship. I feel like Setzer in Final Fantasy VI and Sunbadges is my Blackjack.

The Defiant herself purrs like a kitten… now that I’ve cleaned out her air filter. (Our incident in Arizona definitely left some scars on all of us. I’m still cleaning caked dirt out of nooks and crannies when I get around to maintenance there.) As a motorcycle is our only real transportation, it’s been important that I become a more skilled rider in every sense. And because it’s been our only transportation, I’ve been forced to acquire that skill. And I’m unendingly thankful.

Thanks to those experiences, I’ve been unable to do things I never would have attempted before.

We rode Independence Pass. In the rain. We rode the Highway of Legends. I did a marathon 10 hours of riding to Steamboat Springs and back from South Fork and rode to Ouray shortly thereafter.

We rode the Million Dollar Highway.

We rode Skyline Drive.

We… are still working on the best way to mount that 360 camera or I’d have more rides to share with you.

But Skyline is a particular victory for me. We had just gotten the Defiant in Denver a year ago and I still wasn’t completely comfortable with all of the power now available to the throttle. The weight distribution was so much different from the cruiser (who I affectionately called “Ganges”) and I could barely stop without almost toppling over. I wasn’t completely comfortable with the balance of this bike. It would have been easy to get hurt.

Colorado also saw us pick up our first drone and I’m currently working on getting a Drone Pilot’s License. But it changes the way you think of what you’re seeing. It helps you to remember that there’s more to appreciate than just your perspective.

From the perspective of what we had planned to do, 2020 was a wash. We were going to see new territories, foreign to both of us. Meet new people. Meet people we’ve known thanks to our experiences on Twitch. And that’s all pushed back to 2021. Maybe later.

But 2020 also got us to stop and take a look around. See incredible things. Fall off a trail. Hit my head. Learn twisty canyon roads until I could ride them in my sleep. Like the wildfires, Covid has ruined a lot for a lot of people. It seems like 2020 is an unending ride full of new disasters at every turn.

While you can respect that legitimate tragedies are occurring, the ash from those fires colored the moon orange. While you can empathize for the people who have lost a lot, it’s not a bad thing to step back and appreciate what you’re seeing. Make the best of what you have.

So here is a once-in-a-lifetime photo of the moon setting behind clouds at 2AM over the Great Dunes National Park, colored by the atmospheric ash from Colorado’s largest wildfire. Beauty from the ashes.

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Summer 2020 in Colorado

When Covid hit, all our plans changed. States started shutting down and parks we had reservations for were no longer open. We knew we needed to get somewhere that we would be happy being stuck for an unforeseeable amount of time. Both of us love Colorado, and have friends there. We drove the 14 hours from where we were in Nevada to Colorado and hunkered down from May - August. Here is a short description of the places we stayed:

Our longest stay was for two months in South Fork, CO, at Peacock Meadows. The sites were great - they were long and diagonal so that we weren’t looking directly through our neighbors windows. Our reception was good, bathrooms were super clean, and there was an amazing breakfast restaurant just down the street that we walked to every weekend. It was difficult to get groceries and one off items, as the nearest grocery store that wasnt a gas station was about an hour away. We really needed to plan ahead. Some highlights include:

• taking a weekend vacation to Ouray, CO (the town is nestled in the mountains and feels like you’d imagine Switzerland to be)

• getting snowed on during a hike (in June!)

• Ron getting his first drone

• riding the motorcycle on the Silver Thread Scenic Byway

• more hiking than we have ever done

• shaving my head

After South Fork, we were ready to be closer to amenities. We ended up in Coaldale, CO for a month at Bighorn Park. We had driven past the previous year on our way to Alamosa, and thought being by the river would be really fun, plus when we tested our cell phones it seemed like there was reception. Coaldale was the perfect distance between Salida and Canon City, and the roads were windy and scenic. The bathrooms were clean and the camp hosts were so friendly. The sites were incredibly tight, and we ended up having almost no reception. Getting work done was a pretty big pain. Some highlights include:

• having the most amazing sandwiches and pizza in Salida

• hiking the continental divide

• riding a train

• spending the weekend in Aspen

We then drove about 30 minutes to our next destination - Canon City. We had stayed at that KOA previously, and no other parks in the area were offering month long stays, so we stayed for about a week. Highlights include:

• pretty strong internet

• visiting friends in Manitou Springs

• watching the sun rise at the Royal Gorge

We had plans to have our friend Tyler come and visit, so he drove down to Colorado Springs and we stayed at Cheyenne Mountain State Park for a week. The sites are huge, there are a ton of hiking trails, and the bathrooms were spotless. We had almost no reception and wifi was non-existent, we were a long way from the bathroom, and both coming down from and going up the mountain was pretty tough on the RV. Highlights include:

• taking Tyler to see Skyline Drive in Canon City and the Great Sand Dunes

• getting an airbnb for a day and doing allllll the laundry

• watching Spaghettiman

Our final stay in Colorado was in Walsenberg, CO, at Lathrop State Park. Due to wildfires in Colorado, the air was so smoggy that for the first few days we didnt even know you could see mountains from here. We spent most of our days indoors due to poor air quality. Walsenberg is a tiny town, but they had a Safeway and Tina’s Cafe. Our site was large and we felt pretty secluded, but once again we had no reception for me to do video calls. Highlights include:

• riding the Highway of Legends

• visiting the world’s first weed mall

• our rv plug lighting on fire

• Ron going out to the sand dunes at 1am to take pictures of the stars

RV Spending - Covid Edition

Our spending has been all over the place since we have started staying in place. This is a compilation of our expenses for March, April and May 2020.

Food

When stores started running out of things, we ordered a bunch of freeze dried food and MREs, which are now sitting in our storage bay for emergencies. Meat has gotten more expensive, and the normally cheap small town grocery stores have us paying a premium. In March we went out to get tacos before everything closed up, and now that restaurants are back open we are trying to go out and support local businesses (masks on, compliant as possible).

Groceries: $2,317

Eating Out: $484

Gas

Our last minute changes to shelter in place had us drive across three states in two days. I dont know that we have ever been more exhausted.

Gas: $757

Entertainment

Our entertainment has consisted of motorcycle rides up the mountains and exploring the deserts. The cost is almost entirely Ron’s new drone.

Entertainment: $2,052

RV Repairs

We’ve taken the opportunity to upgrade our solar, get new tires for the bike, install a new vent fan in the ceiling, and new flooring in the RV.

RV Repairs: $2,583

RV Parks

We’ve had to cancel all our west coast reservations and pay for new ones for the few months in Colorado.

RV Parks: $1,558

Propane

We had a few fill ups from cold nights.

Propane: $45

Grand total for March, April and May: $8,912

Average a month: $2,970

Where we have been the last few months

It’s been a long time since any meaningful post, and honestly it’s incredibly hard to feel like there is anything to talk about. We are safe, we are secure, we have jobs, and we are healthy. The world around us is burning and going to shit, and my heart aches for my adult hometown and for the state of where we are. How can I do nothing, but what should I be doing?

So instead of reading another Facebook post full of bullshit, misinformation and lies, I’ve decided to compile some photos of things that have made me happy these past few months. I hope you, and your family, and community are being supported.

Kojii chilling in the shade in Pahrump, NV

ABQ before Covid shut everything down

An hour south of the Grand Canyon

My mom made us masks

Utah on the way to Colorado

Creede, CO

Kojii walking around South Fork, CO

Pagosa Springs, CO

Sunset before the storm

Ron procures a new toy

We work on removing our old flooring to put in new flooring

Colorado can get super windy!

Drone action on the road

South Fork, CO

San Juan National Forest

Lake City, CO

5 Things We Didn't Know We'd Need/Wish We Didnt Bring

I researched for years on what would be the essential items for living on the road. While all lifestyles are different, we spent a ton of money on things that we thought would be vital to living a wonderful life as nomads. Here are 5 things we are glad we picked up and 5 we wish we hadn’t bought.

The Winners

1. Weber Grill

   Specifically, the Weber 54060001 Q2200 Liquid Propane Grill. Ron and I really had no experience with grilling before we went on the road. I STILL don’t. But when researching grills, this one kept popping up. It was compact but large, it was brand name and “easy” to learn. We went with the portable cart as well, not knowing what table situations we would have. There are some weeks where Ron uses this to cook every dinner we have. On hot days, it’s amazing to not have even more heat coming in. Ron has expanded his culinary skills and has even grilled a meatloaf!

2. NOCO Boost Plus

   This little jump starter has helped us more times than we would like to admit. It has jumped our RV when we didnt realize how much the batteries were pulling. It has jumped the motorcycle when we didnt realize something was wrong with the wiring and the lights were on all night. It jumped our solar batteries when we couldnt figure out why crap wasn’t charging. It is one of those things that you hope you dont need to use, but you’re happy you have it when you need it.

3. Arlo Pro 2

   Ron is a bit paranoid, and one of the first things we purchased was the Arlo Pro 2 security system (along with a few other security measures). Ron loves it because he gets alerts if anyone is in the range of the camera while we are gone, and I love it because it has night vision and we can see the kitties that stop by our RV in the middle of the night! Another peace of mind item.

4. Teapot

   This isn’t a must for everyone by any means. We found out very quickly that our hot water heater was not functional, and we needed a way to wash our dishes (what, with all the grilling). We picked up a cheapo teapot from Target and it has actually been really great. I use it for hot cocoa and oatmeal, Ron uses it for his french press (ooo la la). While having a hot water heater would be nice, this eliminates a lot of the need for one at a fraction of the cost. Plus it matches our couch.

5. Projector

   Ron had a lot of great ideas for what to do for our TV viewing. We had a gigantic TV in our apartment, which we gave away to one of our siblings and we made do with watching our movies and shows on my laptop for a while. We even bought a super heavy and expensive tv mount with the intention of figuring out where the hell to put it that would be A) safe and B) easy to see from the couch. Our couch faces the kitchen, but the only real place to put it was over the drivers seat, a full 90 degrees from the couch. It wouldnt have been comfy. We even looked at easy ways to maneuver our couch toward seeing the tv. In the end, we purchased a projector and screen, and it has been awesome. It is much more lightweight than a TV of even a portion of the size, and it can run off of battery if need be. It might not be the cinematic experience of our dreams, but we love how it has worked out.

   Honorable Mention:

   Our couch! First thing we did when we got our RV was rip out the monstrosity of a pull out couch that was bolted in. It was ugly and uncomfortable. When looking at couches, it was important that it was easy to get through our small RV door, lightweight(ish) and look good. We settled on a Lovesac couch, and it has been amazing. It’s modular, which means every part of it comes apart. I am a puny person, and I moved the whole thing easily. It also came in teal, which was everything my heart desired.

The Losers

1. Kayak

   I followed Heath and Alyssa Padgett religiously when researching this (check them out if you haven’t, because they seem like overall amazing humans as well as badass nomads) and in one of their park reviews (I think it was Pecan Park, which we actually ended up going to in Texas anyway!) they talked about being on the water and kayaking, and I thought “Oh my god, this is everything I want”. It did not matter that I dont kayak, or dont own a bathing suit, or that I cannot swim. I immediately ordered an inflatable two person kayak. And it has never left the packaging. Because I hate the water. I have no idea what I was thinking. I was drawn into the idea of an instagram-type moment of bliss where I lounge in the sun on my kayak and listen to the sound of how much better my life is at this moment than it was before. I’m not sure what the exact sound that would make, but it was going to be freaking awesome.

2. Canopy Tent

   Some things we bought for dreams that we realllllly wanted to come true, but never did. Ron’s vision for streaming was to have an outdoor setup. We would end up in a beautiful location, he’d set up the canopy tent with his computer equipment inside, and he’d stream with the amazing background behind him. We made sure it was 10x10, which is the minimum size for VR. Surprising no one, the VR setup is collecting dust.

3. Zero Gravity Outdoor Chair

   This one is hard to put on the list, because we love our outdoor chairs. When we use them, they are great. If boondocking, it is really nice to have outdoor seating available. We just havent gotten the solar setup up to snuff enough to be boondocking a lot, so the chairs just… sit outside. Most places we stay have picnic tables, or no view to want to see to begin with. Staring at the side of someone elses RV isnt the most romantic sight. Plus they’re huge and cumbersome to pack up when we move. While we would ideally want these same chairs, I wouldnt have purchased them until we were mainly living on BLM land.

4. Instapot

   I dont cook. I really, really don’t. And everyone said how easy the instapot is, and that it takes a fraction of the energy of a crock pot, so we bought one. Considering we have like one square foot of counterspace, we would have to use it every day for it to make sense in our lives. Since we mainly do grilling, we really only use the instapot once or twice a month, and it is just too bulky for the number of times we use it.

5. Folding Outdoor Table

   This goes hand in hand with the canopy and gravity chairs. Thought we would be doing a lot more outdoor things, but instead we have a huuuuuge folding table in our storage bays that I dont think we have used even once. Again, the things we bought are for the lifestyle we thought we were going to live, not the one we ended up living.

This is not to say that any of these things are bad things, or that the things we loved will work for everyone. I know people who live and die by their instapot, and people who think us having a projector is ridiculous. It’s all about finding out what items work for you.

How I went from being "selfish, stupid and wrong" to "amazing and an inspiration" on the internet

We had been on the road for only three weeks when I did a Money Diary for Refinery 29. I had been following the website for a year, and loved to learn how other women were earning and spending their money anonymously. There were posts from lawyers in NY, tarot card readers in Texas, and divorcees in Paris. But I hadnt seen anything for people who lived in an RV. When we were first looking at the lifestyle, all the blogs and videos didnt give me a great sense of the costs day to day. Everything was glamorized and filtered within a inch of its life, so I had no idea what living on the road would really be like.

Per the website’s format, I kept track of what happened to me and what I spent my money on for a week. I filled out their form and sent it, not really expecting it to get posted. From the feedback from Reddit forums and comments sections, it could take weeks for your diary to posted, if it ever was posted at all.

They posted mine the next morning.

I woke to the headline “A Week In An RV On A $96,400 Salary” and thought “Holy shit, they must have liked it”. I was so excited to read the comments. The comment section at R29 can be incredibly hostile, but if they liked someone it was usually because it was a unique circumstance or they handled their money well. I thought it would be an interesting read - we were traveling full time, we were debt free, we had a few hiccups that were drama and we went to see some amazing places. And while some people were really nice, the majority were pretty harsh.

And these were some of the nicer ones! The ones that really got to me were the ones that said that I was a monster for taking my cats with, how selfish could I be? A large group of people thought that since we still had wifi hotspots we couldnt possibly be considered off grid, and we were frauds. Some even said that I was a bad example and that nobody could live like this with a “real” salary. I was crushed. I had expected the judgement of people not being into the lifestyle, but being told that I was being cruel to my animals really hit home. I spent all day at my laptop, watching the comments flow in and trying to respond where I could, even to the ones that I hated.

Fast forward to now.

An editor at R29 contacted me and asked me if I would do a followup diary. I spent a day thinking about it - did I really want to put myself out there again? People didnt understand me before, what will have changed now? I said yes anyway, because people needed to know how Covid was effecting full time RVers. They told me the diary would be posted on Earth Day, and at 5am it went out to the world. And this time I was ready. I was going to be ambivalent and ignore the comments and just let it roll off me.

Then the comments started coming in.

People loved it. I was confused. I was living the same lifestyle. I still had the cats. We still had the internet. We still had rv drama problems. Why suddenly was this resonating with people? After reading all the comments, I had a few ideas:

• Other recent money diaries had been dumpster fires.

  • It’s easy to look at a nomad lifestyle and think that we are all rule breakers going against the grain of society. But we were doing what everyone else was! We are staying at home, reducing risk to ourselves and others, and being vigilant and cautious when we had to go out. Previous diaries that week had been from people who were exposed to Covid who were still living their normal routines, and the comments section had gone after them like the mob in Beauty and the Beast. If there were pitchfork icons, they would have been everywhere. It made my life look more like the acceptable norm than ever before.

• Many people are living in small spaces

  • A lot of the comments in my first diary were that people couldnt imagine being in a small space all the time, or being stuck with just one person. Now, a LOT of people can imagine that. Ron and I are pros at being around nobody but each other for an extended period of time. I think seeing a healthy, loving relationship between two people while being shut off from the world was something that people needed.

• People miss travel and adventure and new places

  • Even though I talk about having to cancel and change plans (some day we will get to you, Oregon, some day…), we still have a day where we have to travel to our new campsite and book new RV parks. Canceling plans was relatable, and making new ones shows some normalcy coming back to the situation.

• Cats

  • In the first money diary, our cats were still getting used to the RV life. Now that they are old pros, they are living their best life and it shows. While they were by no means the neglected babies people thought they were in the first posting, having daily updates of Kojii’s walks and antics showed people that the cats were thriving.

• People want to be nice and supportive

  • In times of crisis, people want a reason to band together. The positivity just snowballed. When everything else is scary and sad and wrong, the love and community of others is something that people want to flock to and resonate with. Even the very few posts that could be construed as negative were quickly squashed by random strangers on the internet.

Suddenly I was a precious cinnamon roll that needed to be protected at all costs. And while that was incredibly, incredibly kind of them, I was finally at a point that I didnt need that. 8 months ago I was in a place where I wasnt sure that being in an RV was the best thing for us, and the negative comments only fed that fear. Now I’m in a good place where I am happy with how our lives are going as nomads, and prepared to make changes in stride if need be.

All that to say, I think that this was a “right place in the right time” scenario. If I did a diary posting one a year from now when everything has settled down, I would expect it to be a lot more 50/50 as far as the peanut gallery is concerned. Right now, we are all in this together. I’m very lucky and humbled by the outpouring of love and support from the anonymous strangers on the internet, and hope the positivity continues with them.

Carlsbad, NM

Campsite:

Brantley Lake State Park, Carlsbad NM

Site: 15

Wifi: Verizon - 20 down, 5 up, ATT - 20 down, 5 up

Cost: $208 for two weeks

Noise: Very aggressive birds

We loved Brantley Lake State Park. The views were great, the sites were fairly level, everything was spacious, and even with neighbors we never were disturbed. The bathrooms are under construction, but the outdoor concert style restrooms worked just fine. Our cell signals were strong, we didnt have to worry about overflowing dumpsters, and it was easy to access our site. The only downside (which may be an upside to some) was that we were half an hour away from any sort of store. That meant we had to be more aware of how much gas we had on our motorcycle before we went anywhere. We would definitely be back.

That’s a good boy

City:

Carlsbad, NM

Carlsbad is a town full of all the things you would need, probably not so much the things you would want. Not a lot of social things to do - not even a lot of bars. It fills a void and gets the job done, but don’t expect anything extra. It’s within driving distance (2 hours or so) to two national parks, as well as tourist town Roswell, NM, so it’s a good stopping point. 

Restaurant:

Antigua Cocina Mexicana

On a visit to Roswell, we stopped by the visitor’s center for a photo op and dinner recommendation. We were told to go see Antigua Cocina Mexicana. It was more north of the city than we had wanted to go, but we are so glad we went. The food was absolutely delicious, the prices were reasonable, and the servers were friendly. Ron enjoyed the shrimp cocktail and thought they nailed a Mexican shrimp cocktail perfectly. I loved their almond flan.

This Lifestyle is Perfect - For My Cat

Ron and I love being on the road. He enjoys meeting new people and I crave new experiences. Though we’ve only been on the road about 7 month, we can see living like this for a long time. But the family member who absolutely thrives on this new lifestyle is our cat, Kojii.

I adopted Kojii in college with some roommates, while we were living in a dorm that didn’t allow pets. The shelter we brought her home from said that she was very shy and quiet - perfect for a group that did not want a cat to be found. In fact, the entire rest of the school year nobody was any wiser. She had been a street cat and was very way of people. She hid for most of the semester. Through love and time, she came to like our strange “family”. When summer was coming up, we contemplated what to do with her. Of the four of us, two were international students, so they couldn’t take her. My roommate Laura and I played rock, paper, scissors to fight for who got to take her. Spoiler alert - I won. The next few years consisted of her sitting in a window, chirping at birds and squirrels that went by.

My senior year of college, my landlord found out I had a cat and told me I had to give her the boot. Luckily my parents took her in. I grew up on a big farm, and she went from a shy indoor cat to a vivacious outdoor cat. She hated strangers, but absolutely adored my dad. He used to lay down on the ground and call her name, and she’d run over and lay on his chest. She was a little more wary of my mom, who wanted love her way. She still let my mom pick her up and pet her, and it was a huge step for a cat that has people issues.

After college, she moved with me wherever I went. When I fostered kittens, she took them under her wing. She was a favorite of all my friends, and we bring each other such comfort. She still sleeps on my chest almost every night. When we decided to move into an RV, I had no idea how she would take it. She doesn’t like car rides, the space would be much smaller, and aside from our gigantic cat tree and big windows, there wouldnt be much for her to do. Ron and I agreed before leaving that if any of our cats hated the lifestyle, we would find them new homes they would be happy at, even if it meant that they wouldnt be with us.

I knew that Kojii liked to be outside, so I bought one of those collapsible, giant dog runs. I set it up the first time in Wyoming, and she hated being in it. I dont know if it was that she felt caged, or that she couldnt really run around the way she wanted to, but she was miserable. We bought her a cat harness, and it was difficult at first for her to wear it. We built up her tolerance to it by putting it on a little more each time until she finally figured out that harness = outside. She was able to have the freedom she was so excited for (kinda). Now she sits by the door and screams to go for a walk about 2pm every day. I put the harness on her and together we explore everything the world has to offer. I’m almost positive she thinks that the RV is a Tardis, taking her new places each time the door opens. Without living in an RV, she would never have experienced what it is like to walk in the desert, or chase a jackalope, or go rock climbing. We’ve gotten a lot of people who laugh when they see us, because it’s not a common thing. But stop by and say hi to us if you see us. Kojii doesn’t bite. ;)

RV Spending - 6 month comparison

One of the biggest questions we had starting out was “How much will this cost”? We looked at other RV blogs and saw everything from $500/mo to $6000/mo. We scoffed at the $6000/mo, thinking that these people must be living in the lap of luxury, at rv resorts and going on the yacht with Laurent on Sundays. After keeping track of our spending the last 6 months, I’ve got to say I’m astonished at how much we have spent. Some of it, like entertainment and food, has been us being completely frivolous. It’s easy to think that you need to be a part of every new experience. Some of it has been really frustrating, like having to pay to spend weeks in hotels while our rv was being repaired, not to mention the costs of the repairs. So without further ado, here is how much we have spent to live on the road for our first six months.

Holy crap, it is so much more than we had thought. That’s not including things like health insurance, internet, and recurring monthly costs like Netflix. Our experience has not been one of saving money. We actively budgeted very closely last month and it would have completely skewed our numbers, but my hope is that our next 6 months will have much lower averages. We are now slowing down, we have taken care of the major repairs (though who knows when the next is), and we are fine taking our time in our adventures instead of spending a ton of money to see everything. Our lifestyle has actually cost more than when we were in an apartment - there are so many more opportunities to spend money on the road. We’ve got new food options every week, cool sights that we’ve never seen, and we drive more often to explore. We were more homebodies when in Minnesota, if only because we had tried new things over a much larger period of time. So to those of you who are looking to find out the costs on the road, know that budgeting will be your best friend.

RV Life under Quarantine (and why RV parks should stay open)

It’s not debatable anymore - with the spread of Covid-19 across the globe, the best thing you can do for others is to STAY HOME. It’s not a fluke, it’s not a conspiracy. People are losing their jobs, people are losing their lives. And the odds are, you will come through it in the end just fine. This is not the same for our neighbors, friends and family. We are all facing disappointments and frustrations, but the risks are greater for some than others. I hope that you all are considering lives aside from your own when making decisions as to whether or not to leave home.

While many businesses have been closed and events have been cancelled, full time RVers have another added fear - where do you go to “stay home” if your home is closed? Many states have closed their campgrounds at state parks, but some are going so far as to close down private RV parks. This is detrimental to those who live at the RV parks, whether temporarily or permanently, and it also increases the risk of spreading the disease. For states that are closing private parks, you are kicking out those who may have nowhere else to go.

Many full time RVers do not have a livable home base. Ron and I are very lucky in the fact that if every park in the US were closed, we still have friends and family that would take us in. We have a place to go in multiple states. However, this is not the case for a lot of RVers. Many are retired, and have been living at the same RV park for months if not years. What do you do with hundreds of thousands of displaced Americans who cannot afford other places to go?

It is completely understandable to tell people that now is not the time to take your week long RV vacation. But by closing private RV parks you are sending mixed messages to those that full time - stay at home, just not here. RVers are the perfect demographic of a group that can easily stay under quarantine. We take our homes with us, many of our jobs are already remote, and a lot live in very isolated areas. If we are forced to leave, we are going to go to other states that are not closed, increasing the risk of spreading the virus. Many states with high cost of living, such as California, have people who live in RVs full time but do not travel. They are members of your community trying to solve impossible problems. Allow them to stay in their homes, where they are set.

This is an uncertain time for so many people. If you have land and are willing to let a displaced nomad stay temporarily, please consider creating an account at Boondockers Welcome. Boondockers Welcome is a site that matches RVers and those with property that will allow them to park their home temporarily. A lot of people have no place else to go, and the stress of trying to find a safe place to go is too much for some. Having someone stay on your property will help them keep quarantine and reduce the risk of spreading Covid-19. For those able to support your community, whether it is staying home if you are ill, running errands for those that can’t leave, or helping keep a local business afloat by ordering online or getting takeout, please consider doing so. Now is the time to think of others, just as someone is thinking of you