The Journey Continues…

First off, I would like to say thank you to all of my readers. You all give me the inspiration to document my journeys and help motivate me when I might otherwise not feel like writing. Whether you have been here from the beginning or have just joined, I hope you enjoy the content on this page.

New Blog, Same Great Content

Second, I have some exciting news! The last couple months I’ve been building a new website devoted specifically to my experiences with vanlife. That’s right – a clean, updated blog with fancy new tools that will make your experience even better!

Head on over to King Without a Compass to check it out for yourself. Read the new content, leave a comment or two, and be sure to subscribe so you’ll be notified whenever I share a new post!

Time to Hit the Ol’ Dusty Trail Again…

After a brief respite at home in Portland following a two-month trip in Europe and a one-month stay in Grand Cayman, Nyma and I are hitting the road again! This time, we’re heading north to Canada to explore Vancouver Island. We’ll hit other islands and the coastal section of BC if we have time, but we don’t want to feel rushed.

One very important note: I won’t be posting stories from this trip on here. Don’t worry! You can still follow our journey, I’ll just be sharing it on the new website. All the cool kids are subscribing, you should too.

And for all my faithful readers: I will still be publishing new content on here, but anything related to vanlife will have a new home. Believe me, I still have plenty of adventures to talk about ;)

 

 

Northern Arizona is Amazing

After a stint at Grandma’s place in Mesa where we were tied to exploring a general region, it was great to jump into the freedom of vanlife again! From here on, our direction was northward, and it was all new territory. Such a beautiful feeling, treading into the unknown.

We set off down the ribboning highway to Northern Arizona, where the nights are cool and green exists in other forms beside cacti. I was aware we had some climbing ahead of us, but I didn’t realize how steep the road would be. By some standards, it wasn’t that steep, but when you’re in a one-ton van with a weak motor, you notice even slight inclines.

The van actually quit one time for working hard in the intense heat of the day. Luckily, there was a pull-off with a viewpoint not far ahead, and I was able to restart her and drive another mile to find a nice spot to enjoy lunch. Life on the road is good at teaching one to seize opportunities when they come, by whatever means they arrive. After enjoying the view and letting the engine cool for half an hour, Nyma and I set off and made it to one of our long-awaited destinations that afternoon: Sedona.

Wonder in Sedona

Since first hearing about Sedona a few months before, my curiosity had been piqued. Naturally, I kept hearing more as I drew closer, and my interest only grew. It had highlining, rock climbing, mountain biking, trail running, and hiking, all at elevation for an added boost of fitness. The only thing missing from this little paradise was waves.

Sedona is held in reverence by many people for its unique red rock structures and mysterious vortices where trees grow in spirals. Depending who you talk to, these vortices are the result of either magic, magnetism, or cosmic energy. Regardless of how you explain them, they seem to attract all kinds of people.

The first person I met in town was a kid my age working in a crystal shop. He said he was drawn to Sedona a few months ago and was there until he learned the lesson life intended him to. What that was, he couldn’t say exactly. But he felt once he learned it, he would know. There are worse ways to find a home than intrigue, I think.

Naturally, we had to climb to get a good view.

I didn’t see a vortex for myself, but I did see some crazy rock formations, unique river rocks, and everywhere I looked seemed straight out of a postcard. Even at the Starbucks I worked at one day, the backdrop was a giant red cliff in the middle of town. It must be inspiring living with views like that every day. I certainly could have gotten used it.

One of the hikes Nyma and I did took us along red dirt trail, past some dry washes, and into a canyon surrounded by stellar rock formations. We tried to stay on the trail, but it didn’t offer many good viewpoints. When that’s the case, there’s only one solution: forge your own trail.

Tired pup enjoying the view of Sedona.

Sadly, we only had two days to spend in Sedona. We managed a couple hikes, a run, and some sightseeing, in addition to getting a bit of remote work done. Another thing I noticed was our van fit right in. There was some great camping just west of town, and we saw plenty of other vandwellers as we searched for a spot around dusk. It seemed like a nice little community.

Sedona was really one of my favorite places on our road trip, and I wish we could have stayed longer. If we were going to check destinations off our list, though, we had to get rolling! Thankfully, Sedona was just a warm-up to some of the sights we were yet to see. Next stop: The Grand Canyon.

Sunup to Sundown: One (Full) Day at the Grand Canyon

Our timing was perfect–the day we spend at the Grand Canyon happened to be the last day of the month: Halloween. After camping in the National Forest right outside the park, we woke up at 5AM to get to the Canyon before sunrise to see a good show. I know I said I don’t wake often for sunrise, but Grandma told me it had to be done. Who was I to argue with that?

I’ve gotta say, the show did not disappoint. When the sky began to glow and the clouds blazed with fiery sunlight, I was really glad to be a spectator.

We rode the shuttles all the way to the end of the road, getting out at various viewpoints along the way. Signs along the way serve to educated visitors about what they’re looking at. They point out how layers of sediment tell the story of the land, dating back hundreds of million of years. It is fun to imagine; impossible to fathom.

One thing I couldn’t wrap my head around was that at one point in time, all of it was underwater. That piece of the story is very hard to imagine when you’re standing at 7,500 feet. Though parts of the canyon do resemble the bottom of an ocean, in some ways.

Still, the awe of it all never wore off. Every time I looked down into the canyon, my reaction was always the same. “What the–?” Comprehending the canyon is not something one can expect to do in a day. I’m not sure what amount of time would be enough, though: a month, a year, a lifetime?

Light crept slowly into the canyon throughout the day, revealing ripples and colors hidden in the shadows. Colors transformed throughout the day as the sun traced its arc: red, orange, yellow, purple. By sundown, I felt like I was looking onto a different canyon.

One of the best parts of living in this age of technology and working a remote job: you can find WiFi everywhere. Even the Grand Canyon. Okay, maybe not in the canyon, but at the visitors center. To be honest, it was a little spotty, but I managed to log a few hours and get out again in time to see the sun set.

 

From sunup to sundown, Halloween at the Grand Canyon was a success. We even got candy from a friendly employee who was feeling the spirit. It was nice gesture I remember vividly, especially since no one else acknowledged it was a holiday. The older I get, the more I seem to appreciate the little things.

In the spirit of Halloween, I was inspired to have a fire that night. Bundled up with a beer around the warm glow of flames, Nyma and I sat listening to coyotes yip somewhere in the night. It was the perfect ending to an action-packed day.

Vanlife isn’t all peaches and cream, but it’s days like this that remind me that it’s all worth it.

New to the journey? Catch up on our Adventure Van series and live vicariously through Nyma and me!

Ramblin’ Down to Mesa

As Nyma and I were gearing up for a slow jaunt down to Phoenix, AZ to arrive at Grandma’s place in time to meet my sister Sarah for the weekend, I received a call with bad news from Grandma. A slight accident had broken her ankle, leaving her more or less immobile. Being the kind, caring, selfless grandson I am, I abandoned my plans to explore Joshua Tree and raced there instead.

It was hard saying my goodbyes in Bishop, but let’s be real – does any amount of time in Bishop ever feel like enough? After a full morning of work and one last rock climbing sesh, Nyma and I hit the road for a long, cold brew-fueled drive into the night.

Welcome to the Desert

Our route took us past a most delicious taco stand, the alien landscape of Alabama Hills where we had camped a few nights before, and into the dark maws of Death Valley. Driving through Death Valley at night I’m sure doesn’t compare to the daytime, though I was glad to be avoiding the heat. I did, however, look up to admire the stars when we found an inconspicuous spot to sleep somewhere directly outside the park. Starry desert skies do not disappoint!

In the morning, we made our way to Red Rocks outside of Vegas for a little hike. We arrived around 8 or 9, but the heat came on quick. By the time we reached the gully two miles in, I was sweating and ready for a siesta in the shade. Nyma wanted to keep going, but when she saw me recline on a rock in the shade she was content to explore nearby.

On the way back to the van, I was surprised to see people on their way out despite the sweltering heat. Little did I know, that was the first hint of the heat I was to endure the coming three weeks.

Nyma, meanwhile, was getting confident with the whole desert thing and began wandering off the trail. She had her first encounter with cactus (specifically, jumping cholla). At first, I let her try to figure it out for herself, but she gave up after a few minutes and resolved to just limp the whole way back.

Ouch, do those fuckers hurt! I got pricked five times just trying to get the thing off her paw. It drew blood. Then she went and did it again! Needless to say, she lost her off-leash privileges until she could prove she’d learned her lesson.

Last Leg to Phoenix!

Heading through Vegas, we stopped to top up on inspiration of the “Blue Dream” variety and contribute some tax dollars to the local school systems :) Then we had another long day on the road. I made some good progress on my “American Gods” audiobook by Neil Gaiman, and some music besides. I distinctly remember rocking Outkast pretty hard on this leg of the drive.

What does Nyma do while we drive? Her favorite thing to do is stand on the seat and watch the scenery roll by with a big grin on her face, sniffing all the good scents out the window from time to time. When she wants to switch up her stance, she’ll stand backward with her lower feet on the ground and turn her head awkwardly to look forward. When she sees a big truck coming, it’s hit the deck to hide from the monster.

The rest of the time, she curls up on her bed and sleeps. She’s really great about that, actually. But since she’s a border collie, I’m careful to not to drive too long without running her – otherwise, her battery just keeps charging. It helps give me a mental break and keeps me disciplined to my own running regimen, though. No complaints there!

When we arrived at Grandma’s around 9 that night, we were two tired puppies. It had been an exhausting few days of driving. After scarfing down a plate of leftover food Grandma’s friends had made her, I settled down for a night of very peaceful sleep under the roof a house for the first time in weeks.

Discovering the Superstitions

 

My memory of these mountains is always drenched in pink. Photo Credit: Trevor Huxham via Flickr

 

My playground during the few weeks I was taking care of Grandma was the Superstition Mountains, just thirty minutes east of Mesa. This incredible land feature is unique and inspiring, looming as it does above the horizon.

Unsurprisingly, it is a key feature in dozens of native myths. More than one myth tells of an impressive flood that forced the people to the summit. There, they were turned to stone by the gods. Sound similar to another story you know? Now, I don’t take the mysticism literally, but those mountains sure looked ethereal with a swirling backdrop of pink, purple, and orange around sunset.

I learned rather quickly if you hoped to do anything outside in the desert, you had to beat the sun. Being the night owl that I am, I was forced to wait until dusk to run. Nyma and I enjoyed some awesome runs through landscapes of saguaros, jackrabbits, river washes, and enchanting desert sunsets!

Running at dusk, we saw the occasional coyote, too. With their brown fur and lean build, they bear an uncanny resemblance to Nyma. Small coyotes are cute; big ones raise the hair on my neck. They always remained well enough hidden that Nyma never saw them. I often wondered how she would react, though I wasn’t curious enough to test it.

Between the Superstitions and Usury Mountain Regional Park, we were very happy with the selection of running trails. I just wish the weather was cooler so we could have enjoyed them longer!

Counting Blessings

Though I was glad to be able to lend a hand to Grandma, I found it extremely difficult to be stuck in one spot for three weeks when all I wanted to do was roam. If you’ve ever been forced into circumstances against your wishes, I’m sure you can sympathize; the turmoil is real. Instead of dwelling on my inability to wander, I made a daily effort to count my blessings.

Without a doubt, the greatest blessing was being visited by not just one, not two, but three family members from back home in Oregon! First, Sarah came down for a weekend. We went to the Superstition Mountain Museum, went jetskiing on a lake (a nice surprise, considering we didn’t even know Arizona had lakes!), hiked at South Mountain, and found delicious food in downtown Phoenix. Of course, long games of Rummy with Grandma were mixed in for good measure.

My sis’s boyfriend, RJ, came with his brother the following weekend. I went with those guys back to the museum, then we grabbed burgers and went to the theater to see the new Blade Runner movie. We were all in the coma burgers and milkshakes tend to induce, but the film was definitely worth the second viewing. The big surprise of his visit though: asking our permission to propose to Sarah. Unexpected, but very exciting news! Of course, we said yes.

Finally, the last person to visit was my dear mother. Her arrival was like that of an angel lifting a burden off my shoulders. I was happy to show her all the places I’d discovered in my time there, while also gaining some free time as she took over some of my responsibilities. We all enjoyed that long weekend immensely. Though, as always, it had to come to an end.

By then, Grandma had healed enough to get a stiff cast put on and she set me free. It had been a nice stint, filled with family time, improvement, and routine (for better or worse). That said, Nyma and I were very anxious to get back on the road. Some of the most-awaited sights of our journey lay ahead of us, and time was running out!

After a quick coolant flush and securing the broken tailpipe in place with a piece of wire, we headed north to Sedona, the Grand Canyon, and beyond…

 

If you aren’t familiar with my Adventure Van series, join our journey from the start!

Side note: I slacked on taking photos on this part of the trip, so had to borrow some. I promise to have more originals in the next post!

Photo Credit: CEBImagery via Flickr

Adventure Van: Bishop, CA

As we descended farther down the hill the snowy peaks of the mountains faded away and a desert unfolded before us. Everything was bleached gold by the sun. The blue oasis of Mono Lake eventually appeared and I knew my destination wasn’t much farther.

Bishop, CA—an outdoor enthusiast’s dream. Rock climbing, mountain biking, alpine hiking, mountains, rivers, lakes. Sitting in the shadow of the Eastern Sierras, it has incredible access to nearly any kind of outdoor activity you can imagine. With a population of only 4,000, the light pollution is almost nonexistent, and starry skies are just icing on the cake.

It is quite popular among the transient community of vandwellers and car campers that traverse around North America. Based on my experience, Bishop has a siren’s call for rock climbers, luring them from crags far and wide. Moab, Yosemite, Sedona, Smith Rock, Indian Creek…Bishop holds a place among them.

Like most of those transients, I often found myself at the local watering hole (coffeeshop in this case) to do my remote work—the Black Sheep. I got a lot of work done and met some quality people here. This is also where I wrote my birthday post reflecting on the past year. If you’re searching for someone and they’re not on the rock, chances are good they’re at the Black Sheep. They roast their own coffee, have great prices, and you’re guaranteed a memorable conversation or two. Stop on by if you’re in the area—you’re in for a treat.

The Path to Bishop’s Pass

One of my first days there I joined a couple friends for a hike at South Lake. Starting at a lake at 9,000 feet, we climbed gradual switchbacks until we reached a plain with lakes. This was Bishop’s Pass, an oasis nestled among towering mountains. Despite the elevation, the hike felt pretty easy. Naturally, I got the idea to try running it later in the week.

Now, having hiked a lot and run occasionally my whole time on the road, I was in pretty good shape. At least I thought so when I began the run at my normal pace. Turns out running at elevation is a totally different beast from hiking. Within three minutes I was huffing, blood throbbing in my temples, and had to stop to walk for a minute. By slowing my pace to about 10-minute miles I was able to make it up to the pass, around the lakes, and back again in one piece. Boy, was it a workout!

The beautiful scenery of Bishop’s Pass

Nyma had no role in stoking my confidence, who appeared to be totally unaffected by the altitude. She continuously raced ahead to sniff out the trail, circled back to me, and raced ahead again. It caught up to her at the pass, though. Her tongue hung practically to the ground and she was panting hard. A few gulps of the crystal lake water and she was good to go, though this time lagging behind me for a change.

By the time we got back to the van, we were both ready for a nap. Nyma passed out right then and there while I drank a kombucha and ate a burrito I had forgotten about until that moment. It is times like these that I love having a solar-powered fridge in the van!

From there, we drove up the road to Lake Sabrina and found a spot on an island to read and play fetch. The water glistened with sunshine and the breeze had a faint hint of autumn, chilly enough to persuade me to find shelter beside a rock. I was reading Howl’s Moving Castle at the time and it was quite enchanting—even more so with a spectacular view in front of me whenever I looked up. It was a lovely afternoon of rest and recovery. Well deserved after a brutal run.

The view at Lake Sabrina. Not bad, eh?

But the day got better! After this I met up with the gang the Happy Boulders on the other side of town. It was late in the day, so I mostly hung out while the others climbed. After an afternoon alone, I was grateful for the company.

As dusk approached, Nyma and I ventured up high to catch the sunset. We made our way up and over huge boulders (at one point I even had to lift Nyma because she couldn’t make the jump) to find a vantage point. Here, the world opened up onto a vast plateau. I knew it eventually dropped off, but it appeared to go on forever.

It gave me the sensation of being on another world. The sky was drenched in hues of gold and rose, silhouettes of mountains painted the horizon. I stared, mesmerized, until the swirling shadows of twilight reminded me to get back to the group. We found them walking down the hill—perfect timing.

The winds started that night. Clouds of dirt swept across our headlights, obscuring the road from sight. At one point, we had to stop and wait for the road to appear again. As we neared the house my friends were staying at, police lights flashed in the blackness. A trailer had been caught in the wind and blown sideways off its wheels to lay across the road. Cops were directing traffic up onto the sidewalk, around the trailer and a tree.

The winds blew harshly all night and I felt very cozy tucked in my warm bed. Even when living the vanlife, you don’t take shelter for granted in stormy weather.

Conquering Fear and Rocks

Naturally, I did a fair share of rock climbing while in Bishop. It’s one of the biggest draws of the area, so you’re kind of missing out if you don’t climb when you visit. Bouldering and top roping on granite and volcanic tuft—whatever was on the agenda for the day. Each situation offers challenges of its own, though the prevailing constant is fear.

Of the two modes of climbing, bouldering is definitely the more dangerous. You may not climb as high, but your only safety net is the crash pad. The ground can feel a long ways away when you’re dealing with a crux 20 feet up. Climbing on ropes always gets my adrenaline pumping, though. Looking down when I’m 50 feet up or more always makes my hands sweaty. While my first instinct is to stop moving, it is very satisfying to ignore that and keep going.

People often say they could never climb because they have a fear of heights. Many climbers I know (and highliners too, for that matter), say that fear is the very reason they got into climbing. It’s all about your mindset. Are you going to let your fears dictate your life, or will you take control and face them? It’s very healthy to conquer your fear. If that’s the only thing I do in a day, I consider it a success. The elation that comes from that can go a long way.

The most challenging climbs I did were in the Owens River Gorge. Long routes that were just about the right difficulty for me tested my technique and endurance. A few times I got stuck—a move looked too hard, my arms were trembling, calves cramping, fingers slipping—but I reached for a hold and got it, moved on to a point where I could rest.

One route in particular was so long I considered giving up halfway. I was on a ledge and the next section looked really exposed. As I waited for my muscles to rest, it became clear to me the longer I waited, the less likely I was going to finish the climb. Before I could dissuade myself or consciously decide otherwise, I was reaching up for the next hold. Without fear or doubt clouding my mind, I made it to the top the slap the chains and let out an excited yip that echoed throughout the valley.

In my experience, the best athletic results come when you turn off your conscious mind and allow instinct to take over. This is called flow. Regardless if your talking to athletes, musicians, artists, writers, coders, etc., flow is the mental state we are all trying to reach. It is where the magic happens. As far as I can remember, that was the first time I had achieved flow while rock climbing. Only now can I begin to understand the immense appeal of the sport.

Of course, two weeks in this awesome place wasn’t long enough, and I’ve only just scratched the surface of everything that happened. This may call for a follow-up post.

If you’re just tuning in, catch up on my West Coast adventures!

Adventure Van (Part 2): A Weekend in Yosemite

Driving east from the ‘burbs of San Francisco, our compass pointed in one direction: Yosemite National Park. After spending a long stint in civilization, it was high time to unplug and wander in the woods for a weekend.

One of my goals in setting out on this trip was to see as many National Parks as I could, and Yosemite was the first. Nyma didn’t know it at the time, but we were gearing up for some epic hikes. That’s one thing I really admire about dogs—they never know how far they’re going, but they always give 100% and are stoked as hell. Just one of the many lessons we can learn from dogs.

As we neared the entrance, we pulled off on the side of the road and slept under a star-studded sky. The cold made them shimmer like winter, and my excitement to be visiting Yosemite again made sleep slow to come. My dreams that night were filled with mountains and memories.

Hike to Glacier Point via Four-Mile Trail

We woke with the sun and were among the first to enter the park—a feat only possible for me when adventure is on the agenda. After a cup of coffee and a bowl of yogurt and granola, we hit the famous Four-Mile Trail. This 9.6 round-trip trail climbs about 3,200 feet from the valley floor to one of the most epic lookouts in the park.

It was a chilly morning, but between the elevation gain and our pace we worked up a sweat pretty soon. I don’t usually take many breaks when I’m hiking, but this hike was an exception. As we climbed switchback after switchback, it seemed like every few feet posed another amazing view of the sprawling valley below, an impressive rock face, or a rainbow-haloed waterfall.

View near the beginning of Four-Mile Trail.

Eventually we rounded a bend to find the magnificent presence of Half Dome peeking through the trees. Talk about a rock feature! Scraped clean on one side and towering above the valley, it is a testament of the powerful earthly forces that sculpted this landscape.

View of Yosemite Valley and Half-Dome from Four-Mile Trail.

At last we reached the top of the trail and found ourselves among many onlookers at Glacier Point. A road extends all the way here so it’s possible to drive, but where’s the fun in that? We all know a view is always better when you earn it. If you’re looking for a viewpoint that is more remote and are willing to work for it, Cloud’s Rest offers the best view in the park, hands down.

Regardless of accessibility, views like this are incredible and I urge everyone to see them with their own eyes. See the snowy peaks, the glistening granite, the waterfalls splashing rocks far below; feel the breeze flowing in the valley, your shirt flapping in the wind; sneeze when the sun and pine sap tickles your nose.

 

Maybe forgetting to send that email isn’t such a big deal after all…

And while you’re there, try to fathom the geological story of this epic valley–how long it took to create and the powerful forces behind it. Glacial ice and water slowly carving this valley over millions and millions of years. Compared to this, we are just motes of dust existing for a blink of an eye.

Yet we spend our time worrying about how to make more money and what other people think about us. Do you ever wonder at the absurdity of it all?

Epic view of Half Dome and a waterfall. How does beauty like this exist?

We made good time coming down and enjoyed a nice nap in the van before heading out to find a campsite. There’s no free camping in the National Parks, so this was one of the few times we had to pay for camping on our trip. We enjoyed a beautiful drive up Tioga Road to Porcupine Flat, a first-come, first-serve campsite where I had good luck last time.

After lending a lighter to our neighbors to start their fire, we got invited to share the warmth. And boy, was it was welcome, because it got cold that night! We drank a few beers, shared some stories and laughs, and Nyma had some extra hands to throw the frisbee by firelight.

Campfires are an ancient, sacred thing that have a special way of bringing people together. Not only can I bask in the warmth for hours, but the world seems so much simpler when it is reduced to a ring of stones and people around a fire. With our spirits soothed by conversation and dancing flames, we all enjoyed a night of untroubled sleep.

Finding Zen at Lower Cathedral Lake

To compliment our 10-mile hike the previous day, we hiked another seven miles (round-trip) to Lower Cathedral Lake. Starting from the roadside trailhead in Tuolomne Meadows, this hike is a gradual climb through lodgepole pine forest before opening up to a crystal-clear alpine lake.

The forest was covered in snow this time of year, and Nyma was stoked! She bit, rolled, and slid all over that shit. She chomped snowballs into oblivion. Seeing her play in the snow is always worth a good laugh.

Nyma in her element.

We were pretty tired once we got there, so we found a quiet spot across the lake to lay down for a nap. It seemed silly that everyone was gathered on the shore nearest the trail with the view of Cathedral Peak behind them. But hey, I wasn’t complaining.

The crystal-clear waters of Lower Cathedral Lake.

All you chumps are looking the wrong way. The view is that way!

As the sun glistened in the crisp, blue sky and skitter bugs drew ripples on the water, I dreamt. It was one of those peaceful dreams where the dreamworld blends with reality and you feel only half-asleep but wake feeling extra refreshed. I followed that up with some meditating and wrote in my journal.

Of course, I was playing fetch with Nyma the whole time with the uncanny talent for multi-tasking that every dog owner or parent picks up. Nyma won’t go in the water farther than her legs can touch, but she loves splashing in the shallows for a stick. She can’t get enough of it! We hung out at that lake close to three hours, napping, daydreaming, and playing fetch. It was a perfect day.

Nyma guarding her freshly-caught stick.

Winter Comes Early in the Sierras

After our peaceful day at the lake, the icing on the cake was learning that the Tuolomne Meadows campsite was still open. I was worried we were going to have to backtrack and waste a lot of gas, but our timing was perfect. Apparently all the pipes were starting to freeze, and we caught the last night of the season. We were honored to help close it down.

The ranger told me to keep Nyma close on a leash because they’d had coyotes scare dogs away from their owners while the rest of the pack waited in the forest. I wasn’t worried Nyma would be eaten by the coyotes, but feared she would be taken in as one of their own. No, that I couldn’t live with; I heeded his advice.

Not that we stayed up late, anyway. As soon as the sun disappeared the temperature plummeted. The meager fire I made from handfuls of sticks was enough for about an hour of warmth, then we called it a night. It was only September, but because of the elevation it was by far the coldest night on our whole trip. I didn’t have my awesome Marmot bag, so I piled on every blanket in the van and let Nyma curl up next to me. I still woke several times in the night, shivering.

You plan as much as you can, but there’s bound to be some hardship on any journey. I vouched to have my sister bring my sleeping bag when we met at Grandma’s house in Mesa, AZ.

After losing ourselves in the epic woods of Yosemite for a weekend, our compass now pointed southeast to Bishop, where we would spend a couple weeks with one of my best buddies, Dallas. He found himself there a couple years ago and has been there ever since. There’s gotta be something special about a place like that, right?

To be continued…

If you missed the first post in my adventure van series, be sure to check it out! 

Adventure Van: West Coast

Forgive my absence – I just returned from five months of travel. Yes, you heard me right – I’ve been traveling for nearly half a year! Thanks to my remote job, I can work anywhere there is WiFi. So starting last summer, I took a three-month road trip exploring the western states with my dog and the next two months I spent traveling throughout western Europe.

Moving around so much has left me a little travel weary, so I think I’ll stay in the Pacific Northwest for a while. After everywhere I’ve been, it still feels like home. Being winter here, it’s overcast and rainy most days, but I am happy to be in the company of my family and dogs. I don’t mind the rain so much— it makes the air taste fresh and everything look green. There’s a leak in the van I can’t seem to address because the rain won’t stop long enough, but one of these days I’ll take care of it.

Perhaps the thing I’m most stoked about is having a space to call my own again. Turns out living in hostels leaves little room for privacy (big surprise, I know), and it’s even harder to create when you don’t have a space dedicated for it. Now I can sit here and parse through images – everything I’ve seen, everywhere I’ve been, all the people I encountered – from a perspective informed by the journey as a whole. I aim to publish more pieces as my memories unfold, so stay tuned.

First Stop: Olympic Peninsula

After half a year designing and converting an old Chevy cargo van into a camper, it was very exciting when Nyma and I finally loaded up and hit the road! We started by going north to the Olympic Peninsula, a fabled land I had heard so much about but had never seen, despite it being essentially in our backyard here in the Pacific Northwest.

I still remember that first day  – once we had cleared the city traffic and were really on the road, a feeling of bliss washed over me when I realized we could stop nearly anywhere and call it home for the night. Of course you search for ideal places, but in a crunch you can park anywhere a car could. Traveling in a van feels like complete freedom! We could hike every day, do all our own cooking, and pull over anywhere to make camp. When we looked at the map, all we saw was possibility.

The Olympic Peninsula is known for its diverse terrains. We bounced between rainforest, stunning beaches, lakes, and mountains—all in one little corner of the world. One of the wettest places in North America, life thrives in abundance. Rivers are raging, moss covers everything, and the canopy is alive with the songs of birds and insects all hours of the day. There are one-thousand year old trees, moths the size of your hand, and elk the size of pickup trucks roaming around the forest.

At that point in the journey, I was looking for somewhere to cultivate solitude. Rilke believed that for a writer, solitude is the space where inspiration grows. Inspiration was everywhere in the Olympics. I found it beside waterfalls of cascading crystals, on quiet mountaintops overlooking the ocean, and alone in the forest among rows of purple foxglove fringed with the gold of summer twilight.

Views are always better when you earn them!

All that hard work deserves a nap.

Chilling with Nyma on Hurricane Ridge.

One of our favorite campsites when we spent a weekend in peaceful solitude.

 

Mechanical Difficulties

I ran into my first issue with the van on this part of the journey—the first test, you might call it. One night, after driving to a ranger station to fill up the water tank, I turned the key in the ignition, the lights on the dash blinked on then died a second later. The engine didn’t even turn over. My first thought was a faulty starter, but after some research online, I got the idea that maybe the battery connection was severed. So I got out my tools and investigated.

Tracing the battery cables from their sources, I discovered the problem soon enough. Oil dripping from a leak in the engine had coated the negative ground at the chassis, gunning it up sufficiently that the battery was no longer grounded. After unscrewing the bolt, wiping it clean, and reassembling it, the engine fired up right away. Crisis averted! The one good thing about acquiring an old vehicle was the mechanical skills I picked up while refurbishing it.

Going South for Surf!

From the Olympic Peninsula to the redwoods, we ventured south along the coast. We couldn’t stay anywhere for more than a few days before growing restless…

Until we got to Santa Cruz. A magical land of surfers, hippies, and well-to-do bourgeois – it may have insane real estate prices, but it’s very friendly towards van dwellers.

Being in one of the birthplaces of modern surfing, it felt appropriate to finally get on a board and try it out for myself. I’ve had my eye on surfing for a long time, but never tried it for fear of what it might do to me. What if it became an obsession that I’d shape my life around, lead me down the path of long-haired hippy just trying to ride the wave?…Oh wait, I already embody all those things. I guess it couldn’t hurt to throw in surfing, too.

Long story short, I loved it every bit as much as I feared I would. And Santa Cruz – what a place to learn! With over 40 surf spots in town, there’s always swell somewhere, and the vibes from the surfer community were generally very chill.

I’ll admit, I was seduced the moment I paddled past the breaking waves and into calmer waters. Sitting directly on the water, feeling the gentle rhythm of the ocean lull me up and down was meditative in the best kind of way. No matter how many waves you catch, you leave the water in a state of zen that lasts all day. The only trouble is, you wake up the next morning wanting more. And that’s how it starts…

We spent three weeks in Santa Cruz, and it was a wonderful time. I had a couple friends there and really liked the scene. There was also a minor hiccup keeping us there, though, and that was the van’s failing brakes. They started giving out on the last leg of the drive to Santa Cruz, and were toast by the time we got there. Turned out the master cylinder had a slight leak, which made the fluid run low and allowed air to get in the lines. After replacing the master cylinder and getting the brakes bled, the adventure van was back in action!

From here we hit the big city (San Francisco) to visit more friends, then booked it east to the desert for the next chapter of our road trip. We had some pretty epic sights on our horizon! But I’ll get into that next time…

In the meantime, here’s some more photos.

Ghost Ship

This past winter I spent a month on the Cayman Islands and did over a dozen dives. While all of the dives were great, the day my cousin and I explored the wreck of the U.S.S. Kittiwake stands out as being particularly awesome. It’s very difficult to describe what diving feels like to anyone who’s never done it before, but I’m going to try anyway. 

 

As we swim through a cloud of sand stirred up by the current, the bow of a ship appears like a ghost from the ethereal. One hundred fifty feet of steel from bow to stern, leaning slantways 60 feet below the surface. An aircraft carrier swallowed long ago by the very waves it used to command. Now it lies here in the Caribbean, far from its soldiers’ memories.

Down the length of the mammoth we glide, taking in its presence with our eyes. A line of fish parade across the deck, mollusks adorn its sides, knobs of steel calcified. We circle around the back to a gaping port hole and find the beginning of every explorer’s dreams—a door to the unknown.

Deprived of our ability to speak underwater, my cousin and I use hand signals to communicate. Jason faces me and signs mind your tank – don’t bump your regulator loose or you’re screwed. I sign okay. He leans forward, gives a few kick of his fins, and disappears into the ship. Experienced divers can portray a lot with just a few gestures.

I hover outside the ship a moment longer, catching my breath and calming my mind. There are moments in life that are symbolical, moments where you have a choice that will greatly influence your life. On one side is safety and the world as you already know it; on the other side is fear and a stronger version of yourself. Whenever I find myself in a situation like that, I try to always choose fear.

Plunging into the darkness after my cousin, a chill washes over me as I enter colder waters. I remember the flashlight hanging on my BC and flick it on. The lights grant us vision in the perpetual darkness. Briefly, I note that a plane of steel now stands between me and the ocean surface. A thought too disconcerting to entertain, I push it from my mind.

As I kick slowly through the room, I watch my air bubbles float up and slide across the ceiling. It’s incredibly disorienting. Even more so when we drift slowly through a doorway to a tunnel. Naturally, I rotate 30 degrees in order to float through “straight.” I realized this was purely out of habit and laughed to myself; orientation is arbitrary with no gravity.

Floating down that dark tunnel, I had an epiphany. It was one of those moments where the world around me was so unique, such a different sensory experience than any I’d had before, I felt to inhabit some space between life and dream. I was an astronaut floating in zero-gravity through a ship in deep space. I could have also just as likely been asleep and dreaming. An eery silence pervaded all, interrupted only by the distant rasp of my own breath.

Diving in a ship, your breathing slows way down and your movements follow suit. Every motion is slow, methodical. Never do anything rushed or panicked. You can’t afford that down here—any mistake could lead to death. And you can’t think about that, either, or you will find yourself panicking. No, it is best to just move slow and keep calm. Diving is a practice of zen.

For the next twenty minutes, that ship was our playground. Swimming down hallways with curious fish, diving headfirst down stairs, our fins stir up debris, tracing our path through the ghost ship like footprints in the sand.

Though it is empty now, there remain signs of its violent past. Orange-red rust decorates cannons, a turret on the bow. Coral brachia stem from the face of the corroding steel. It is a fact that nature reclaims everything, eventually.

Finally, we emerge from the darkness and find ourselves floating in a sunlit cathedral—a golden beam shining through a hole in the roof. If the port hole was our call to adventure, this was our light at the end of the tunnel.

Photo Credit: Elly Wray via Flickr

Another Turn Around the Sun

Today, I celebrate the conclusion of my 26th trip around the sun. Time moves with such fluidly in my day-to-day, the tendency is to just keep moving forward without time to reflect. While I don’t wish to lose this momentum, a good friend told me recently it is important to stop and reflect once in a while in order to keep going. I can’t think of a better opportunity than this symbolic day marking the end of one cycle and the beginning of another!

Looking back, I can remember exactly where I was one year ago. My, how things have changed! Let’s review the highlights. This past year I:

• lived on an island in the Caribbean for a month.
• doubled the number of times I’ve gone diving
• bought a cargo van to convert into a camper
• learned all sorts of skills involved with that, including mechanical, electrical, carpentry, and design.
• devoted much time to playing music, and even played a handful of gigs.
• reconnected with old friends
• made a bunch of new friends
• spent much quality time with loved ones
• rediscovered my affinity for poetry
• read more books than I can count
• saw inspiring musical performances
• enjoyed many insightful (and life-changing) conversations
• learned to surf!
• slept outside more nights than I can count
• taught Nyma to disc golf
• improved my slackline game
• floated for the first (and second) time
• enjoyed countless hours running, rock climbing, and practicing yoga
• visited incredible destinations on the West Coast. Some of my favorites were the Olympic Peninsula, the Oregon Coast (all of it), the towering and majestic Redwoods, Santa Cruz, Yosemite, and Bishop.

The greatest change this year is my shift to a nomadic lifestyle. Thanks to a flexible remote job, I’ve been able to uproot and commit to a life of travel and discovery. Of course, there were a lot of obstacles in my way, but I proved with dedication and willpower I can accomplish anything I set my mind to. It may be cliché, but still – what a powerful lesson to learn!

I’ve also adopted the philosophy that life is short, so you better get out and live it now. I encourage you to adopt this philosophy, as well. Is there anything you wish you could be doing that you aren’t currently? Why not? In my experience, most excuses are fickle…

Over the year, I’ve reconnected with a bunch of friends, and you know what I’ve found? We are all at a point in our lives where we have obtained enough skills and knowledge about the world to begin making our dreams a reality. It’s so inspiring to see friends succeeding at life, finding a way to navigate this world and accomplish their goals. I am excited to see what comes next, for myself and everyone I am blessed to know!

Well, that’s enough reflecting for now. Thanks for listening to my joys and I wish you success in achieving your own. Cheers!

Bleeding Colors

Sunlight trickles through a labyrinth of branches overhead, while I lay silent listening to the wind a-stirring. Inhale the breath of morning with my face impressed in grass. A fox on my right arm pins me down while the elephant on my left helps me create.

Ideas flow like water onto the page. Once they are brought to life, they inspire reality to change. Even a tiny stream can carve dry, desert sand; if there’s a tree to drink, it will transform the land.

The trees chatter overhead, trunks swaying and leaves splashing their secrets. If only I could hear what they have to say…Still, I get the general sense – the feeling transcends words.

I am connected to this tree, just as this tree is connected to the land. And that goes for all people, all life on this bountiful planet. Maybe, if I didn’t pass through brief as the wind, I could understand what the tree was saying without losing details in translation.

As I wander, I leave behind a trail of scent. My presence lingers like a ghost, invisible except for my footprints. Follow them if you wish – they’ll lead you to a stream where they stop short because I’ve joined the cycle that knows no time, which has and will be spinning long before and after we’re all dead.

Lotus blossoms bleed color in the water. Trickling down the stream, they get lapped up by curious creatures and manifest in their dreams. How does a single thought change the world? Just as a pebble paints the surface of a silent, starry lake.

Eyes of the Forest

As I wander your meandering paths, I delve further into my pondering mind. Searching for nothing, discovering everything. In your arms, I feel safe.

You teach me to be open, even when I’m closed off to myself. You free my spirit like a curious falcon borne on wings that don’t rely on the wind to sail, but stir their own wind so I may fly as high as the clouds or skim across the shimmering waters of dreams.

Shadows wrap around me like a warm blanket, comforting me from a noise that never seems to relent. Except in here. Except with you. In your embrace, I feel safe.

Look there, fir feathers glisten silver in sunlight. Dripping with mist. Splashing my hair and shoes with dirt. I hear a subtle harmony; your songbirds sing the melody.

You of many voices. One which calls to me, echoing. At first, I shrug it off, too distant to care. Then it calls again and I know I must investigate.

Perched among the shadows, your snow-grey feathers catch my eye immediately. I thought you would be harder to spot. I’ve only seen you once, out of how many times I’ve been here? Perhaps this time because I’m looking; perhaps because you want to be seen.

Your head turns and two dark ovals fall upon my face: depthless and penetrating. Like a mirror, you reflect parts of me I don’t usually see. I feel naked, I want to flee. Instead, I stare deeper into your eyes and confront the feelings that arise.

My dogs can’t see you, but they feel you near. This is your sanctuary. Your presence fills the air. They look at me, wondering if they should be worried. My stillness keeps them calm; your stillness has me captivated.

You wonder why we’re here—these furry beasts and me? You smell a lineage that’s been diluted, but still contains traces of your ancestry. Memories of predators you’ve lived beside. They’ll never earn your trust, but you’ll permit them passage. I read all this in your eyes.

As I turn away, I feel something nudge inside me. Something becoming unstuck. I turn and mouth a thank you: “The spirit in me recognizes the spirit in you. We are one and the same. Namaste.”