Tag: van life

Wings Clipped

As a few of you know, I have been having some digestive disorders for almost a year. A friend of mine reminded me that it’s probably been much longer than that. The difference is the severity. Living as a nomad has been a lot of fun, except when an illness creeps in and knocks us down. 

Not all illness has a physical cause, as I have come to understand all too well. Our world is so full of stresses, some from outside stimuli, others from within our own body and mind.  To understand the role stress has on our mental and physical beings, has become a goal of mine since I have stopped working. It’s been a chance for me to step back and really “feel” my body and mind. It’s not just work or a job that causes “stress dis-ease”. It can be relationships with oneself and others, physical limitations (real or imagined), dis-order and dis-ease inside the mind and body, environmental influences such as smoke, weather, amount of daylight, extremes in temperatures and diet. 

This setback in my health not only affects me but also Chris. There have been days on end that I have not been well enough to do anything. Constant stomach pain, not being able to eat, nausea and a squeezing sensation in my diaphragm that takes my breath away, have all become part of my daily life for at least the last four or five months. I don’t know anyone who can live with this and try to stay chipper and act as if nothing is wrong. I try so hard tho. 

So here we sit in Rapid City, South Dakota. Many may ask…”why South Dakota? October 22, 2019, we sold everything we owned; our house, furniture, toys, tools, artwork, nick-knacks…everything but our van, which was to be our home. But…the Patriot Act states that we had to have a US domicile, in order to maintain banking in the US, including our retirement accounts. Now this is actually kinda fun, except when you need medical care, since you can look at different states and their laws and cost of living. How easy is it to get residency, register a car without being physically present, taxation of income, capital gains, etc. South Dakota checked off all the boxes. 

Now, here we sit, going through the messed up medical system of the USA. Doctors think only inside the boxes that the insurance companies set up for them to work within. That system has high deductibles that are easily consumed by the amount of testing they do to find a physical cause to the symptoms presented. My DR won’t even talk to me until all tests are completed and five other DRs look at and interpret the results, which can take up to 3 weeks we are being told. You can’t speak to anyone that doesn’t have an extended arm and hand in your face telling you to wait. I am not one to sit idly by and wait. There is no empathy, just f#%€d up rules. My point is with all these deductibles, it makes it hard to spend out of pocket $$ to see alternative Drs, like chiropractors, naturopaths, yoga instructors, acupuncture, meditation centers, on-line classes, etc., these practitioners often address the energy or dis-order inside the mind and body pathways, rather than pacifying symptoms. 

So why then, am I still sitting here? Although this is not where I’d like to be, stress caused by not feeling well can exasperate the dis-ease. Also not being able to stop for any length of time to heal, can be a problem when living as a nomad. There are other things besides surgery and invasive chemical medications that can soothe the symptoms and possibly correct the dis-ease or imbalance occurring in my body right now. These blocks and dis-order can be resolved, returning the body to a state of stasis. Stasis equals a dissolution of symptoms at their source. 

My main focus of my exploration is the vagus nerve, which is part of the parasympathetic nervous system. I also have had bouts with Ataxia in the past caused by reaction to an auto-immune inflammation in the body. While the DRs here twiddle their thumbs, I am attacking, perhaps, the root cause of this uncomfortable physical condition I find myself in. Regardless, our wings are clipped and we have hunkered down with a commitment to my health. 

Southward Bound

It’s warm and cozy, sitting in Willow (our van) with the heat on. It rained last night, as usual, and the morning sun is busting out at the seams as the heavy clouds give in to the coming day. 

The rain drops sit poised on the edge of the turning leaves and bushes on the forest floor,  just waiting to bedazzle the world when the sun finds its small existence. The lack of squirrels portends the coming of the fall chill and the stupendous color change beginning. For the last month, these busy little creatures have been scurrying from tree to tree, digging holes and filling them with a winter bounty, if they can find them under a blanket of fresh snow. The geese have been filling the skies in huge, jagged Vs, honking as they begin their southerly migration. Perhaps we should take note of these happenings and head south ourselves. 

We crossed the border from British Columbia Canada, a few days ago. The fall colors slowly fading out and the green leaves have reappeared as if we passed backward through time. The spectacular mountain vistas giving way to the subtle rolling hills covered in orchards and vineyards, then the unending flat fields of golden grains, farm houses and rogue silos, interrupting the golds with a few ancient cottonwoods, tin roofs glinting the suns rays like a diamond amongst the fields of gold. We’ve been sticking to wandering the backroads, trying to eek out whatever new experience we can find as we meander southward. 

It’s always bittersweet when we move from one place to another. This trip, now spanning over 9,500 miles, has seemed like a blur. The vast Canadian wilderness, coupled with the wildness of the Alaskan frontier, has made it easy to immerse oneself in nature, primal and raw. To have an intimate insight into the lives of the First Nations people, the animals and fishes that roam the vastness, the small plants, boreal forests, 14,000’ mountains, glaciers and lakes, Arctic tundra, towering fiords, and so much untamed beauty…has been a blessing that is etched into my mind forever. 

An Ode to Rubber Boots

The rain has come for another day…

I slink back to my bedroom and on my bed lay.

Oh come on says, a small voice in my head,

It’s but a bit of rain…

With fog drifting over head.

Just put on those rubber boots…

And throw off your dread.

My rubber boots are warm, cozy and dry…

If my toes are happy,

Then so am I.

So I wrangled myself

From out of my bed,

Opened the closet and then I said…

This will be fun.

This will be good.

I’ll put on my rubber boots,

I’ll be safe from harm…

My feet will be happy,

My feet will be warm.

A smile came over me…

I pulled in my rain coat

And was as happy as could be.

I opened the door

And I said to myself…

no more.

I stepped into the rain,

I clicked my heals… 

And without a complaint,

I thanked that little

voice in my head.

I was out of doors.

No more stuck inside.

And my rubber boots…

Kept me warm, safe and dry.

 

The Wilds of The Alaska Frontier

The clouds, like ghostly apparitions, glide across the mountain tops, getting stuck in the rocky crevasses and at mid-mountain, the tops of black spruce groves. White gashes of the snow fields and silent glaciers, creep across the mountain passes, carving deep scars into the ancient Arctic tundra. The tree stands dot the sides of the hill in a spattering of greens, yellows and reds, as the fall closes in. A hint of chill hangs heavy in the air tonight. It’s gonna be a cold one, clear skies and a light breeze from the NW. The lake stands still as glass, reflecting the grandeur of the surrounding alders, willow and poplars. All is silent and eerily still.  

It’s been a week of travel from the Antigun Pass of the Dalton Highway above the Arctic Circle. We took a side trip to Chena Hotsprings for my birthday, before heading south down the Parks Highway. Denali, or more correctly, Mount McKinley, was playing peek-a-boo with those of us that hunkered down for the night in the makeshift view point parking lot campground for a night of boon-docking. The sun is starting to actually go down now at a more reasonable hour. The long days of the mid-nite sun, have gone for the summer, and the march towards the winter darkness has begun. 

The weather has been, well typical Alaskan. In any given week, at least two days will have sun, two will be cloudy and three will be wet. The wet days are usually drizzly and overcast, which both ignites the colors and makes for flat lighting, muting the contrasts. Good trade. Sometimes these are prime wildlife spotting days, since a lot of the visiting humans hunker down and stay dry. Bears, both black and brown, love to forage for the blueberries and raspberries that are covering the hills and road sides. Moose are a rare sighting in any weather, so the fact that we saw one was almost a miracle. The fish don’t much care if it’s raining, bright in sunshine and clouds, we caught our fair share of the Arctic Grayling. Porcupines waddle across vast empty ribbons of highway minding their own business. Ground squirrels and prairie dogs scamper about the puddles and dig in the soft black soil. It’s a struggle for survival that we have had the good fortune to observe while here. 

The salmon run has begun in most of the streams and rivers. These mighty titans of the fish world, fight with every ounce of life they have left to make sure the population survives. Their bleached bodies, still sporting the deep red color of the end of life, struggling upstream in shallow creeks and streams or their corpses lie rotting on the sides of these rivers and streams, providing nutrients and sustenance for opportunistic predators and scavengers like the raven and gulls. Even the majestic eagle makes a showing at this feast. In the way of the salmon’s final goal…stands humans and the grizzly bear. Both worthy foes. 

We’ve seen the landscape change. Not just the beginning of autumn’s colorful show, but the craggy mountains, smooth rolling hills, flat Arctic tundra and massive lakes and rivers, glaciers and gigantic snow fields. We’ve floated down a river, through an iceberg choked lake and seen temperate maritime weather. We’ve flown over 12,000 feet in a seaplane through the snow laden Fairweather Mountain peaks. We’ve seen thick subarctic boreal forest and sparse arctic tundras, vast inlets, bays and fiords. The wildness is everywhere. 

The Dalton Highway, Alaska

A trip to Alaska is a once in a lifetime thing…especially if you drive there.

We set out almost 2 months ago from Salt Lake City, UT…and hit the road for the long 2500 mile journey to Skagway, Alaska. Since, we’ve hit a good deal of Eastern British Columbia, The Southern Yukon Territory, and have made our way to Fairbanks, Alaska and up to the Antigun Pass on The Dalton Highway. Over 3500 miles covered.

I must say that the Dalton Highway, or the Haul Road, has been the most technical driving we’ve done. On a dry clear day, the road is just a dusty mess, rocks flying from passing vehicles, and deep pot holes. Now let’s add in road construction where they thoroughly soak the road with water and grade the road. Our once dusty road, becomes a swampy mess with mud showers for the van as semi trucks blast through the now water filled pot holes. By the time we reached Yukon Crossing, the van was covered in grey brown mud half way up the sides. The running board were piled an inch thick with mud and gravel. The back of the van was covered in mud and made it difficult to open the doors without becoming covered yourself.

The first night, we camped at Mile 60 BLM Campground and slept well. The next day was more of the same road conditions, but the landscape has changed dramatically. We had gone from huge Alder trees and thick, lush green forests to scrubby conifers, aspens and birch trees. Soon we reached the Arctic Circle, 66.33 degrees latitude…the goal we set out to accomplish. We pulled into the BLM Campground and settled in feeling very satisfied at our achievement.

The next morning, blue skies and sunshine, beckoned us to venture the next 60 miles to Coldfoot, a small town of about 125 people living a sustenance life off the land. It’s the last stop for gas and food before heading into the Arctic Tundra and the North Slope Mountains, Perdue Bay and Deadhorse, big oil mining towns and the beginning of the Trans-Alaskan pipeline. We buttoned up the van, cleaned off the windows and set out north for Coldfoot.

Just outside of Coldfoot, is an Interagency Visitors Center with the most helpful rangers who will answer all your questions on road conditions, weather and wild life sightings, mainly grizzly, Dahl sheep and Muskox. They also encouraged us to drive to the Antigun Pass, another 50 miles further north, and another notch in the ‘been there, done that’ belt. We were given a weather forecast for both Coldfoot and Antigun Pass, told the driving etiquette, and again, encouraged to explore further north.

The next morning, fog hung heavy in the treetops, but the skies were wanting to part so we made the decision to make the drive. I didn’t have much faith that the weather would clear with rain and snow in the forecast, and I was not getting my hopes up for a great photo day, but we packed up and bit the bullet, and we were on the road.

“The first 30 miles are paved,” one of the rangers told us the night before. Yes, indeed the road seemed like it was better than the last 200 we had driven…until…One thing I can tell you is, I’m not sure which is better, paved or unpaved?

Paved roads seem to sluff off on the sides where the permafrost has begun to melt, leaving no substrate to hold the tarmac in place. Second, the frost heaves are accented by skid marks as the drivers before had slammed on the brakes as they were launched into the air. Next are the potholes, they seem to grow in size as each passing semi bounces through them, some covering almost the entire road.

Dirt roads, well they have their issues and advantages as well. Rocks are by far the worst part of a dirt road. The Dalton Highway is renowned for breaking windshields. Second would have to be the mud, thick grayish mud, resembling concrete. The rain turns this into a slurry mess, coating everything it touches in a casing of grey slop, making entering the van nearly impossible without gloves or wiping handles and the edges of the doors with a rag. The dust, on dry days, is a fine powder that infiltrates rubber door seals, mechanical objects begin to squeak, and everything becomes covered in a light coating of white dust. The potholes are much more numerous and often times lined up just perfectly that there’s no choice but to slow to a crawl and step through each one. The best thing about a dirt road though, is it can be graded and potholes filled and compacted. This was witnessed by us both north bound and south as the crews watered and graded.

The day we decided to do the Antigun Pass, the weather didn’t hold and it rained most of the way. The first 30 miles of paved road was a pacifier for the last 20+ miles of muddy dirt road. I can’t imagine how we could’ve managed without the BFG KO2 tires on the van. At times the road was a soupy mess of mud as slick as snot. We made it to the top of Antigun Pass, covered thick in heavy clouds and rain, we jumped out of the van and took some photos and turned around for the decent back into Coldfoot.

Great Northern Rockies: Ravens and Bison and Bears…OH My…

We packed up camp this morning, everything was still damp from the previous days storms. It seems to rain a lot here. Last night, we camped near some natural hot springs. Laird hot springs was once a respite for the workers back in the 1940’s, building the Alaskan/Canada Highway, or ALCAN for short. The ALCAN took 9 months to build and was built by the US to service troops in Alaska during WW2. These natural hot springs flow into a beautiful river mixing to a perfect temperature. There’s a long half mile boardwalk to get to the springs, that crosses some swampy areas choked with peat and thick patches of lichen. The trees are sparse and mostly just tall skeletons, poisoned and bleached white by the sulphur and minerals leached from the hot springs.

After a good soak, we drove to the overflow camping lot and picked a spot. The campground had just filled up when we arrived, figures, and we were sold a spot in the overflow lot across the street from the official campground. Basically it was a big gravel parking lot with an outhouse and a fence. We settled in and slept well.

Throughout our trip thus far, we have encountered a myriad of animals. There is an abundance of black bears. It has become a norm to see at least one black bear grazing on the fresh green grasses on the wide swaths of treeless area between dense forest and Highway. We have also seen stone sheep, timber bison, a porcupine, huge black ravens and the normal rabbits and ground squirrels when we venture down a side road.

We ventured down a gravel road to see the beautiful Smith Creek Falls. It was such a beautiful sight, we decided to set up our chairs and sit by the edge of the cliff to finish our morning coffee. The sun was popping in and out of the cloud filled sky, a light breeze blowing and the thunderous sound of the immense falls all made for a devine spot to stop. We had just settled in when suddenly Chris says, in a low steady voice, “Bear…” Let me tell you the fear that grips you when you hear that word. My stomach instantly tensed up, a rush of adrenaline, we stood up, bear spray in hand, and started walking slowly, yelling and waving our arms as we headed for the van. The bear saw us and turned and ran back into the thick trees and shrubs as fast as we ran to the van. I must say that bear spray is now within constant reach and always on us when we go anywhere outside.

The landscape has changed again. We’ve been following the path of a wide river as it carves its way between towering peaks. The water takes in a milky white color as new rivers rush from high glaciers down into the swollen river basin. As it meanders along, the sun turns it the most beautiful pale blue as if the sky had just poured itself into the river. It’s not hard to see the powerful force that this water has, with huge trees, roots and all lying about, stranded on huge piles of boulders the size of a small car. Don’t be fooled by its tranquil appearance. At times, this river is a torrent of icy froth and foam, seething and grabbing whatever finds its way into its banks and tossing it like a toy. Amazing and deadly in one package.

Canyons and Deserts back Home in Utah

Can I start out by saying that my heart feels full when in the vast deserts of Utah. The grandeur is awe inspiring, the silence, deafening. The sun is warm on you skin in the cloud free azure blue skies that go on forever. The deep canyons, carved by wind, rain and the elements are like a sculpture’s best art. The spiral towers of molten type rock appear to ooze down the cliff faces, getting more narrow till one side meets the other in the depths of its rocky tomb. The great cottonwood and juniper, pinion pine and sage, seek shelter in the shadowy depths. If you sit patiently, you can see the prairie dogs, marmots, squirrels and chipmunks run along the layer of the cliff face. A crow breaks the silence with its caw and the swish of its wings as it shoots past us on the currents. A cool breeze slides along my cheek and gives me a shiver.

It’s our first outing with the new van. It’s a 2023 Winnebago Revel 4×4 on a Mercedes Sprinter chassis capable of traversing any terrain we can find, handling the washboard roads like a luxury vehicle but with the weight of a built out adventure van. The inside is cozy, fitted with all the amenities to keep us comfortable for our travel adventures to come.

Part of getting the new van was learning from our old van, SleepyTurtle. She was a fine build and was perfect for what we needed and especially traveling with Gandaulf, our old corgi. There were a few things missing, as we found out after 2.5 years living full time in her. She was built to withstand the worst rutted roads we found in Montana and Wyoming. She rarely had a rattle. She was built as a fair weather camping rig, without heat or AC, she had an inside composting toilet and an outside shower. There was plenty of counter space, we carried 50 gallons of water and had a ginormous fridge and high output stove, for outside cooking only. She was a great van! Now she and Gandaulf are gone.

Our new van, doesn’t have a name yet, but as we investigate her and outfit her to be home for perhaps the next year, one will come. Maybe some sort of warrior princess or a great explorer name, perhaps a docile creature of the desert or mountains. It will come.

We just finished our first house/pet sit in SLC and have taken a retreat to our favorite place, The Swell in central Utah’s San Rafael Desert. It’s a relatively short drive from SLC and sits at about 6,000 feet in elevation. The Good Water Rim Mountain bike single track trail sits adjacent to our camp. It’s a 6.8 mile trail that skirts the canyon rim and is quite technical although, and an easy ride to get the heart pumping.

Around our primitive camp, the sandy ground is a mauve color with stark greenish black, twisted bark, pinion pine and juniper trees standing against the brilliant blue sky. The layered sandstone revealed by the erosion of the sand, stand like castle walls at the top of an impenetrable hill. There is no sounds outside of the wind, birds and occasional passing vehicle.

It’s an oasis in the mad haste of life in the city. It’s a welcome respite from the last year of traveling in Europe and Asia. It calms the mind, lowers the blood pressure and can suck you away in a hypnotic trance if you sit and don’t think. A perfect spot for a meditation or just to day dream. Not a care in the world or a need to rush. Just silence, beauty and peace.

Try Not to Panic

Life right now…well it is a whirlwind of activity. Between the scheduled visits with family and friends, planning the nuances of our upcoming travel, and many trial packs, we are just trying to stay ahead of the flurry…trying not to panic.

The first leg of our trip will be spent outside of the Schengen countries to afford us more time experiencing Europe. I keep getting reminded that the last time I was in Europe was almost 40 years ago, and things have changed. I have changed, therefore, my impressions may have as well. I know this as a true fact of observation and learning, but will I actually be able to “see” things differently than what is burned into my brain? See things through a different set of eyes?

Our journey will start with a 2 week, unscripted drive around Ireland. So much myth and history encompasses this little green country. The lush rolling hill, bogs and majestic cliffs, all laid out before us and passing by under the wheels of our rented camper van. https://indiecampers.ie/campervan-hire/dublin/dublin/nomad/offer.

Nomad Camper Van

The van is pretty similar to our old camper van, so we should be pretty at home while exploring the emerald isle. There is so much to see, ancient castles and small quaint hamlets, history written in stone and folk lore. The island namesake itself, is that of an Irish Gaelic Goddess. Because much of Ireland’s myths and folklores were transcribed in early mid-evil times by Christian scribes, many stories are depicting kings, queens, magicians and saints, when in actuality, these figures were originally depicted as gods, goddesses, heroes and healers, brave warriors and warrioress. As in much folklore and creation stories, these deities were often depicted asa living in or coming from The Otherworld.

Neolithic Spires

Aside from myths and lore, the isle also is renowned for fishing and golf. Two sports, I was always told, cannot exist together. The temperate climate and bountiful rain, creates a lush landscape. Ireland’s name itself is also said to mean isle of rivers or flowing water. In either case, the lush golf courses are world class as is the fishing. Ireland experiences seasonal migrations of ocean white trout, salmon and an indigenous population of native brown trout. Today the isle boasts over 300 golf courses and 148 fishable rivers containing salmon, trout and pike. Of course Chris is looking forward to fishing any and all rivers we come across.

We are planning to use this wonderful isle as our jumping off point. To unwind and reconnect with nature and the world outside of our own; to mingle with the people and customs of their homeland; to experience and enjoy a new culture and take-in the beauty surrounding us; and to make this our home for the short time we visit.

My new book

 I believe that we were born free spirits, destined to meet each other from birth. We met in our late twenties in Salt Lake City Utah in 1991, after I had moved from Connecticut, 2,300 miles. One of the first things Chris asked me was…”would you be willing to sell everything you own and travel with me?” My answer didn’t take a second thought…”Of course” and the world opened up to us. We hit the road in 1993 and haven’t looked back since. Our need for travel and discovering new cultures, took us all over the world.

We traveled long before. Cell phones, GPS and computers. We had to get maps from AAA, travel books and a big paper map for each state and country we planned to see. When the cell phone and GPS came out, the world became so small and our lust for travel and increased our thirst for overseas travel.

Fast forward 32 years… we set ourselves up so we could retire early. We started planning a life overseas. My dream of being a writer, photographer and artist finally came to fruition.

This book is a collection of travel memoirs taking you, the reader, along with us on our travels. Submerse yourself in the descriptive words and stories. Laugh and cry with us. Feel our fear and our joy, but most of all, enjoy.

Here’s the link to the Amazon book

https://a.co/d/dxpbRIF