By now, if you aren’t following because I am a full time traveller, living on the road with my dog, Penny, you might be surprised about the sheer amount of vanlife content on this blog. I can say a couple things with almost total confidence: this life isn’t easy and van life will not be around much longer. That’s why the next couple of years are crucial in the work I have to do.
This year I turn 50. It’s weird to hear myself admit that. It feels like not that long ago I was turning 40. The last ten years have taught me a lot. In my middle age, I have grown as a person, experienced grief, the end of a way of life, and built the confidence I wish I had in my twenties. The way that I live is often stressful: physically demanding, emotionally exhausting, and because I don’t have a lot of people around me doing the same things I am to get by, there are times I feel very…lost.
As I approach half a century, I am also experiencing the gradual—and now noticeable—decay of my physical form, just as my mind feels like it is lighting up. Aside from the emergency bathroom situations, the recent appearance of evidence of such whenever I do the laundry, the decrease in sexual arousal—I no longer feel the compulsion to chase girls. 17 year old me would be disappointed, but then again, all he ever thought about was sex, and I at least feel somewhat productive. The increase in sharp pains in random places anywhere on my body, hair sprouting out of my ears, and diminished quality of eyesight (especially at night); I feel like I’m riding the bomb down like Slim Pickens in Dr. Strangelove toward my mortality.
A couple years ago, I went to a summer BBQ at some friends’ house. I was one of the older men there, and definitely the least financially capable. Though the cookout was fun, I did happen to make a few observations. Out of the half dozen men who were there, I was the only one without that middle-aged man shape. I’m a little doughy in the middle, and no longer all sinew and unearned muscle like I used to be at 22, but if I had to compare myself to those guys, I was the only one without that big gut that goes all the way up to your pecs.
Combined with the beards and the shaved heads (thought I do keep a beard), it was like a uniform. A body type. And most of these guys had yet to cross into their forties. Even today, after a somewhat sedentary life, I don’t feel all that rough, yet. My plantar fasciitis is healing up finally, I eat pretty well, I’ve quit drinking, and I walk around and hike in my travels. I do take naps (which are pretty much mandatory these days) but I haven’t even smoked a cigar since Thanksgiving. I think I’m done with that too.
All that being said brings me to the crux of the second part of this life. Ability to live like this on a personal level. The older you get, the rougher it gets. At nearly 50 all the crouching, hoisting myself out of bed, climbing to the roof, moving, and shifting, and schlepping only gets harder with each trip around the sun.
There’s also the matter of the current climate in our country. I have a feeling that one of these days people like me will be compelled to work in traditional jobs, or be fined, or even jailed–erm, I mean, sent to work camps. I mean, technically I am homeless. As much as Johnny Appleseed, Henry David Thoreau, and Daniel Boone were homeless. A friend once told me I live like a cowboy. There’s probably no better way to describe it. Nomads have a community. And even though “gypsy” has gathered a term on the level of racial slur, I think within this lifestyle and apart from the history of oppression of the Roma people, in America, gypsy takes on a whole other connotation. One that is pretty apropos. Like the kind Leonard Cohen sang about.
But that’s not me either.
At any rate, I don’t see much of a future for people living on the road. Not like it has been since the pandemic. Public lands are burning the candle at both ends. Both from greedy capitalists who figured out that these lands were set aside by the USDA for leasing and (renewable) exploitation, and from scumbags who leave a trail of used toilet paper, bullet casings, and broken glass wherever they roam. Those of us just enjoying these open spaces, experiencing America at the end of an era, will also be removed from the equation. It’s already started, if you know how to look at it.
So…decisions, decisions. The way I figure it, I’m not getting any younger. The longer I do this, the harder it will be to continue, and like I said, the road is quickly running out to even do what I’m doing. A number of years ago, I realized the majority of my friendships were parasocial relationships. My best friends were people I had never met, scattered across the entire WORLD and somehow we had found each other through chat rooms, blogs, LiveJournal, and other shared interests. Since then I’ve made friends on TikTok. I’ve made friends through my writing too. I have thought plenty of times how much of a kick it would be to connect the dots and meet these magnificent people in person, on the world’s greatest road trip.
That was back before COVID. Long before I thought it was somehow plausible to live and work from the road.
Right now I’m working on an article and my deadline is swiftly approaching. The months just seem to pass so much faster now. The deadline will be here before I know it. For part of the story, I thought seriously about heading to Montana. I could tell the story with what I’ve done in Colorado, New Mexico, and Wyoming, but this nasty perfectionist in me said “the end of the story is in Montana.” This time of year, yes, it’s cold. It’s expensive to get there, but I am not ready yet to park my bus in my hometown for the summer when a) there’s still some story to be told and b) it’s cold as hell in the mountains of Colorado—and will be until at least June.
If I’m going to be cold, I might as well go to Montana. That was one decision. The other follows close on the heels of that decision. There are still so many places I want to see before the whole thing implodes. Last year I had to cut my trip short because of fuel prices in California, repairs on my bus, and needing to get back to Colorado for some prior commitments. Another decision I made was to push myself further on this adventure.
When I started out, I only had my savings from selling nearly everything I owned. I didn’t even have prospects for a solid job. Freelancing was a goal, but not yet realized. I’m a believer in synchronicity. Part of me has faith that pushing myself forward to continue this adventure will produce some way to provide for its continuation.
I have so many bucket list items that would only ever work with the life of a Traveller. I want to see the Olympic Peninsula. I want to visit Banff in Canada. I want to see the fall colors in New England and venture South along the Appalachian Trail. Hell, I wouldn’t mind winding up in Key West, but that part of the world isn’t exactly vanlifer friendly.
So, here’s some of my plans for anyone who has stuck around this long (if so, thank you!). I need to get back on making podcasts and YouTube videos. I need to be better at blogging regularly. I have a book to finish writing and hopefully I will get more magazine articles to write. Eventually, I would like to find a semi-permanent place to land, and some good reasons to travel outside of the US again.
My ass sat in a chair at a job that retired me after twenty years, without giving me substantial enough training to transition to another career, or a severance package that didn’t do much more than pay for a couple months of rent during a global health crisis. It’s time to do something with my life that I love doing. It’s time to stop surviving, and time to start thriving.
Anyway, I hope if you’re reading this you’ll join me on the journey. Some of what I plan to do is connect the dots of those amazing people and places I’ve always wanted to meet in person. Right now my State count is at 38. Maybe I can hit all 50 by the time I’m 55? Maybe I’ll write a book about it. Maybe someone will buy it?
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