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Van Build
Sabbatical Year
New Normal
One month after ending vanlife, we reflect on our new normal.
Month After: New Normal
4/5/2023
Colorado
If there was any question before, we are officially back to the real world. Jake & I are both in the full swing of full time jobs again. We have moved into an apartment and Leinie is re-acclimating to a non-mobile home.
Leinie is a trooper. The plants, not so much…
Transitioning from vanlife back to apartment life has been a learning curve. Purging stuff was tough going into vanlife, we figured re-acquiring stuff would be a similar struggle. Now as I type this, sitting on a curb alert craigslist couch, I look at our near empty apartment that has only the totes we’ve lived out of for the past year. We knew we would need to re-acquire furniture but we overlooked smaller items like a shower curtain, clothes hangers, and eating utensils that don’t combine the fork, spoon and knife into a single unit. It seems I am running to the store every other day because life is just easier when you have dishwashing pods for the dishwasher ya know.
Full disclosure, this work thing isn’t my favorite. While I do enjoy a steady income channel, this “daily grind” thing is for the birds. I’m already back to counting down to retirement. Don’t get me wrong, this is definitely not a dig at my new place of employment. My new hospital has been fantastic and just up my orthopod alley, but I will choose sleeping in and yoga with my dog at 10am over work every single time if given the choice.
Jake for his part segwayed from roof racks and accessories into professional van conversions and maintenance. His first week on the job and the words “what if we went back to vanlife” came out of his mouth. Yes, pick your jaw up off the floor. I’m pretty sure I spit out the beer I was drinking. He claims that with a taller, longer vehicle we could make it work long term.
Regardless, he has a renewed interest in vanlife and has a long list of projects for the Yellow Submarine. My fingers are crossed for a heater cuz tailgating season got a bit on the chilly side.
Leinie does not enjoy the decreased amount of attention directly resulting from full time jobs for Jake and myself. However, he is and always has been a trooper. He has a new couch which he loves as much, if not more than the SoCal couch. He also has new dog park friends that he sees almost every day, this time around they are all his size. But he has been dealt a curve ball with the apartment. The tree just past our patio attracts the largest, fattest, honeybadger-trapped-in-squirrel-bodies I have ever seen (they don’t give an ish about nothing, including Leinie). He was very caught off guard by their lack of interest in him. The fact that they are half his size could also be throwing him off.
Bold squirrels
So life has formed into a new normal. Not quite the free-flowing life as in the Yellow Submarine was, but a good normal. We kept our eyes on the new priorities we found in the past year. We sip coffee together in the mornings. We finish work and are home at super reasonable, well-before-dark time of the day so we can enjoy some quality time disc golfing, sipping beers at the neighborhood brewery, or socializing at the dog park. We have plenty of time and green space to enjoy the beautiful outdoors. Have I mentioned the mountain views?
The Yellow Submarine you ask? Still here, a bit more empty than it has been, but ready for the next adventure. I have a list for peak bagging at hand. The tramily has discussed ideas for backcountry fun. There are even some plans for more exploration on the beer front. So stay tuned…
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Parked
Twelve months, one whole year. Where we’ve been, where we are, where we plan to be.
Month Twelve: Parked
3/5/2023
Colorado
One year, 366 days ago we sold almost all of our stuff, moved out of our apartment, quit our jobs and took a leap. We moved into a 53 sq. ft. van dubbed the Yellow Submarine and drove with only a rough idea of the places we’d like to see.
Baby Vanlifers!
Our very first night in the van was rough. Leinie was accidentally fed old trail kibble instead of his normal food and was up all night …we’ll go with evacuating, both ends, violently. Poor guy. Jake and I got zero sleep and Jake was left with a giant load of laundry the next morning while I was finishing up my last week at work. It can’t get worse, right?
It didn’t. It got better. We developed routines, took naps, explored new places, met fantastic people we never would’ve met before we were vehicle-dwellers. Desert Scott and Cosmo, Apocalypse Jane Doe, Utah Rick and Hazel, Barista Brandon, Camp Host Ricky, and Steamboat Jeff to name just a few. We explored national parks (Zion was my fave). Tasted many, many coffee roasters (best ones were Philz - LA, Cafe D’arte - Seattle, Camp 4 Coffee - Crested Butte). Drank more pints of beer than I could possibly count. Hit dirt on foot and pedal (Fremont Saddle, Hobbit Trail, Dry Hill, Phil’s Trailhead, all of St. George, and don’t forget the month we spent soggy on the SHT).
Oh, the places you’ll see!
It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. There were fights, tough conversations, van repairs, and a dwindling savings. But that’s life. You learn and grow from them and realize what is a priority and what isn’t. You compromise, apologize, and move forward.
We learned what we want in a lifestyle and community and where work fits into that instead of the other way around. Life is too short and while work pays the bills, the life outside of work is what matters most. We wanted to work to live, not live to work. That is what this past year has shown us most.
So as our sabbatical year comes to a close, we are preparing the Yellow Submarine to be parked. Not for good, we love having an adventure vehicle (let’s not forget the Death Valley debacle of 2022). Jake wants a couch to sprawl on and I’m craving a kitchen again (I know, I almost choked typing that, but I’ve grown as a cook, who would’ve thought? Not my twenty-one year old self!) And as much as we learned how minimal we can be, 53 sq ft is a bit less than ideal for long-term living. We did look at a 900 sq ft apartment and had no idea how we would utilize that much space. Hah!
A whopping 53 sq ft
Where are we parking ourselves you ask? One of our goals this past year was to find a place we loved, with the lifestyle we crave and carve out a life and career there. We fell in love with Sedona and it’s glorious hiking. Utah stole our hearts with its beautiful parks. Then we crushed hard, so hard on Bend with the trails and craft brews. The Oregon Coast was magical. Bellingham swept us off our feet with the mountain and ocean views. So out of all the suitors, who won?
Colorado. We have always loved the frontrange and we’ve played hard-to-get with this state for years. We came at the start of the month to visit with Adam and buckle down on choosing our place and the pieces all fell into place here. It was familiar, comfortable, and can you beat those mountain views(?). DIA is an affordable, convenient airport for our itchy traveling feet. So we let Colorado finally catch us.
Even the breweries here knew we’d stay
We still are deeply enamored with our other city crushes, and they will always be available. To visit or even to possibly move to later. Is Colorado forever? Probably not, but it feels right, right now and that’s what matters. So we are parking ourselves, right here in Colorado.
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Where I’ve Been
Our heroine reminisces on the places she has called home.
“I don’t know where I’m going, but I know just where I’ve been…” (Battle Born by Five Finger Death Punch)
“You lived in Minnesota? That must have been rough.”
Sure? I guess?
“Went to school in Iowa? Must’ve been boring.”
Actually, it was a hella great time.
“You were in California? Man, I’m sorry about that.”
Well, I’m not.
I hold a special place inside me for all the places I put roots, regardless of how temporary those roots were.
Anoka House
Minnesota, the winter tundra. It brought me a love of fishing, flannel, and forests. I fell in love with backpacking here on the Superior Hiking Trail. The strong German and Scandinavian heritage developed serious cravings for spatzle, Bavarian brews, and potica. When you grow up in Minnesota you learn that when the going gets tough, you buckle down and push on because when the snow keeps coming down, your snowblower has died, and you have to get to a twelve hour shift, you best get to shoveling because staying home doesn’t pay the bills.
Cyclones in their natural habitat
Iowa, the great cornfield. Iowa was all about the camaraderie. You may not know the stranger next to you at the bar, but they are wearing cardinal and gold and hate the Hawkeyes just as much as you so they may as well be kin, because they are. Yes, the small towns hold less things to do, but your favorite bar has your favorite bartender who knows your name, your favorite drink, and asks about your final because they heard it was a rough one. Don’t for one second believe Iowa food is bland, try a state fair pork chop on a stick, it will have you hearing angels singing. Mostly, Iowa encouraged me to dance to my own music. If everyone around you is line dancing to yet another country drab, go ahead, jump on the pool table and head bang to Disturbed in a plaid shirt and spike heels.
RPV patio
California, the one everyone has a strong opinion of. First thing that comes to mind is the flavors. My mouth waters with the thought of street tacos, fresh caught sushi, and west coast IPA’s. The almost-always-perfect weather led to the most outdoor exploration I’ve ever done within a calendar year. The most insane landscapes still leave me breathless. We met jawas in Joshua Tree, vandwellers in Yosemite, life long trail family in Sequoia. California was the people, some of the best, most kind people I have ever met. California taught me to not judge a book by its cover. The dumpy, divey bar has the best Philly cheesesteak you will ever taste. The clients dropping off their beloved pet for surgery are crying despite one wearing Costco and the other Chanel. They both hug you when you bring their pet out for discharge.
First day of vanlife
As the great band (Five Finger Death Punch) says, “I may not know where I’m going, but I know just where I’ve been.”
Short Essays From The Road
Minnesota
Our heroine thinks back on Minnesota for a continuation of a Beer Enthusiast’s Roadmap to America.
Main Campaign: Minnesota
July-December
The land of lakes, loons and lumberjacks. The land has the feel of a kolsch.
Crisp. The crispness of the kolsch on my tongue feels just like the fall weather on my face. I am warm and cozy in my trustworthy flannel.
Refreshing. The taste brings a smile to my face. I think of the loon breaking the surface of the water right next to the boat. Their call is the first noise I hear in the morning from the cabin, alerting me to fish waiting in the lake.
Malty. The malty flavor is the liquid form of the rich, colorful leaves I see as I walk. Soon the leaves will fall as the colder weather of first winter approach, but at the moment the leaves are cheerful and bold.
There is a time and season for a kolsch, just as there is a time and season I enjoy most about Minnesota. Fall when the fish are still biting, the cabin on the lake is inviting, and leaves are at their full splendor. No insects are biting, the freezing cold hasn’t approached and my stein is ready for the festivities of the season.
A Beer Enthusiast's Roadmap To America
Stuck
Eleven month down, and we find ourselves stuck…
Month Eleven: Stuck
2/5/2023
Minnesota - Nebraska - Colorado
I sat down to write this update and realized I had nothing really to share. Or at least it felt that way.
We were stuck in Minnesota longer than anticipated due to Jake sustaining an unknown crazy injury to his ankle/foot. So we waited it out in Minnesota, slowly repacking everything into not only the Yellow Submarine but my little mazda. After about a week, he was able to move around in relative comfort (or rather not in overt discomfort) and off we took in our modern day wagon train.
Our goal: Omaha to visit with my brother, Dan. We made a pitstop in Des Moines for one last visit to Paws & Pints and so Leinie could stretch his legs and release some pent up energy.
Someone had fun playing in the snow
Leaving Des Moines we hit snow, a lot of snow. For anyone not familiar with the midwest/great plains in winter, oh man, it is a feat. The wind combines with snow and the semis all kick up crazy amounts of splash. Visibility at one point was maybe 20 yards. We pulled over at one point to see what our options were, we cleared off the headlights and elected to keep moving.
We rolled up to Dan’s around 10pm and found an icy mound of snow piled at the end of his driveway. He was still out of town on a work trip so Jake and I found shovels and the snowblower and got to work at the horrible task of clearing it. I was feeling very sure of my decision to never live in winter hell ever again.
After Dan arrived the next day, we were able to enjoy a single day of not horrible, terrible weather. And then it got cold. Very, very cold. Negative double digits. So we were stuck, again. The three of us stayed very much inside and Leinie learned very quickly to pee and poop very, very quickly. Jake attempted to leave early in order to spend quality bro time with Adam but ended up turning around after 20 minutes on the highway due to crazy high winds. At the second window of not horrible weather (it was still negative double digits), Jake attempted escape number two and made it to Fort Collins.
I was supposed to follow a day later after some more time with the bro. However, my car refused to start. The severe cold drained the battery. So I spent all morning jumping it with Dan’s car and felt pretty confident after a test run to the gas station. The next day, dead. Again. So I spent another morning jumping my poor car. Any guesses on the third morning? Yep, deader than a doornail. I was prepared and woke up early to jump it with Dan’s car and let it charge while I packed.
And off Leinie and I were, with a hope and a prayer that it would restart when I stopped en route to Fort Collins. When Leinie and I stopped at a rest stop for a bathroom break, I kept the car running. We had to fill up on gas in western Nebraska and I have never filled up so fast in my life. I held my breath and…it started. Collective sigh of relief
I know, I’m a badass.
I made it to Fort Collins without having to stop again. Whew. Spoiler, my car continued to need periodic jumps and ended up getting a brand spanking new battery.
Adam graciously opened his door to our transient family and we moved right on in and made ourselves at home. We had a goal: figure out what the heck we are going to do. We needed to reenter the real world soon. Where, how, and all that had to be figured out.
Guys, you know how well this group deals with indecision. I can safely tell you, we still have no effing idea. I mean, who knew that finding the best job in the best location in an area that is large enough to not be boring but small enough to feel comfortable with access to a good airport would be so difficult to determine.
So, yea. I feel like not much has happened this last month. We’ve been stuck, several times and now we’re stuck in indecision. At least indecision is a familiar bed fellow, so I’m sure we’ll figure it out eventually. I mean, we can’t be vagabonds forever, right?
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Hitting the Reset
Ten months in, a new year and time to hit the reset.
Month Ten: Hitting the Reset
1/5/2023
Minnesota - Iowa - Tennessee - Minnesota
Happy Holidays & Happy New Year y’all!
So what the heck have we been up to? Short answer, a whole lot and a whole lot of nothing at the same time. Feel free to skip ahead the adorable pic of Leinie with Santa if you are fine with that. For those looking for a bit more, please, continue on.
One thing I promised myself when I started logging our adventures for literally anyone on this planet (and other planets I guess, I am nothing if not inclusive) was that I wanted the stories to be authentic. No clout, no sponsored falsehoods, no glossing over difficulties to lure anyone into believing I lived this super cool, awesome, amazing life. While I am not of the share-all generation, proud millennial thank you very much, and have no desire to deep dive a read-all of my or others personal lives, I do care to share enough to not hide when times are tough. Case in point, all the times I admit to ragey tears and struggles while hiking.
Long answer: it’s been a struggle. As some from my generation would say, the struggle has never been more real. Sorry boomers and zoomers. Jokes aside, the struggle has been very, very hard. There is no single cause, more of a cumulation of factors all compounding into a stress storm. Because of the stress and struggles, I have struggled with putting pen to paper, er, keyboard to website.
Vanlife can be amazing, it can also be hard, just as any lifestyle. You get the freedom to get up and leave whenever you choose. You also give up space and when you stay at another’s home, whether parked in a driveway or crashing inside their home for indoor plumbing, you give up a degree of autonomy. Routines are hard to create and maintain with constant movement and resettling. If one person is committed to work in one location and the other wants to travel, do you give up time together or stay put for the duration of the work commitment. What if that work commitment takes you away from your partner regardless.
I am the very first to admit that even be able to have the luxury of choosing vanlife is exactly that, a luxury. This is not, and never will be a complaint. There are a vast number of people out there with struggles I couldn’t comprehend. That isn’t to say that I struggled with the last couple months because I did. I also didn’t handle that stress very well. Autonomy, routines, freedom, and relationships are extremely important to me. When all those felt like they were breaking down, I felt like I was drowning. Jake felt like he was dying of thirst. It’s hard to imagine or comprehend someone dying of thirst when you are drowning and vice versa.
It was a rough couple months, but that isn’t to say everything was dark and horrible.
Leinie is concentrating very, very hard
Leinie tried his absolute best to be a good boy for Santa. Spoiler, Santa brought him a puzzle brain to work his busy little brain.
We wrapped up a struggle of a season with the Liberty Bowl game in Memphis, Tennessee where ISU faced off against Memphis (yes, again). Memphis took their revenge when ISU decided to not play. Don’t worry, the game couldn’t hurt me anymore than the season already had.
Pic is always taken before the game when hopes are high
To make up for a cold, unsatisfying game there was food. If you’ve never been to Memphis, you are sorely missing out. Dry rub ribs, fried chicken, grits, gumbo, and so much sweet tea you could bathe in it. We discovered the “most haunted bar in America” that used to be a brothel.
Earnestine & Hazel’s in Memphis
While discussing new year resolutions at the bar with the person next to us, waiting for the guitar drop mirrored ball raise we discussed the game and disappointment over ISU not showing up to play. He pondered for a bit and then suggested maybe this year instead of resolutions on this or that which always get thrown out by Feb, everyone just makes the effect to show up. Beer brings out the best philosophers.
It made sense though; we were in desperate need of a reset. A hard reset to be exact. The one where you unplug your xbox and plug it back in prior to restarting it. We need to unplug and reset ourselves. So we are. I am unplugging from social media for a bit, we are focusing on the rebuilding routines and finding our new spot to call home.
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Bit by the Bug, Again
Eight months into their sabbatical year and our heroes are feeling stagnant in the midwest. What will they do?
Month Eight: Bit by the Bug, Again
11/5/2023
Minnesota - Iowa - Kentucky - Texas
We had been pretty stagnant in the last month spending all of it in the midwest. This month was all about getting bit by the bug again…
Football season is in full swing. That meant another weekend tailgating to start off month eight. We had the whole gang for this one.
Minnow Farmers at Welch Ave Station watching the game
It took our tetris king to get everyone to fit for sleeping in the lot, but we did it with minimal headaches. Great start to the month.
Jake headed back to Minnesota with Leinie and the Yellow Submarine while I drove south to Louisville, Kentucky. Why, you ask? Only the best work-related time of the entire year: The ACVS Surgery Summit. An annual party learning opportunity where you can reconnect with old friends and learn something new. Jake flew down to meet everyone after getting a few work days in.
This year I decided to torture myself expand my boundaries and volunteered to present on the super sexy topic of live streaming from the OR. Oh yea, IT is so attractive. I didn’t vomit or faint, so I call it a win.
Doing some professional stuff
The surgery summit has the habit of reigniting my excitement for veterinary surgery. Let’s face it, I am a huge nerd and I could talk fracture physics for hours. Show me a novel technique on tacking down the meniscus and I get giddy. Bit again by the surgical bug.
Jake drove the car back to Minnesota and I flew to Austin, Texas. This time it was a veterinary technician conference geared towards my personal soapbox of technician growth and support. I have no excuse other than I must have been drunk when I volunteered for not one, not two but four professional presentations in a two week span. One done, two to go for this conference. This time I was presenting on client compliance and surgery safety checklists. I know, try to contain your enthusiasm.
While in Austin, I took a day off from conference learning to explore the city. Tuesdays are free at the art museum on the university campus so I took full advantage. I’m the first to admit that I am definitely not an art person, so after an hour of looking at contemporary paintings that was more than enough for me. With the LBJ presidential library on the other side of campus, I meandered through enemy territory (hiss Longhorns) and explored LBJ and Lady Bird’s contributions to our great experiment. There was a quote from Lady Bird that may or may not resonate with you.
From the Lady Bird exhibit
And that’s as far into politics as I care to dive.
Anywho, I wandered through the Capitol building and took a free tour. Beautiful buildings, fascinating history, and throw in a protest on education as our tour progressed, it was wild! I was hungry and thirsty so I explored a highly recommended neighborhood undergoing crazy expansion. Hopscotching around construction equipment I stopped at a Bavarian biergarten that brings a whole new level to food fusion. Enter, the jalapeno cheddar wurst. Amazing!
If the state of Texas was indiscreet with the city of Portland (OR), the love child would be Austin. That was the vibe I got from the city. It was artsy, loud, big, and full of fabulous tex-mex styled food. I loved it. Exploring the city and its culture hit me like a brick wall. I missed the roulette trips Jake and I would take where we would get the cheapest plane tickets available regardless of destination. The travel bug bit hard. Jake stated he was feeling it too.
Before I knew it I was flying back to Minnesota for the last presentation, a webinar on open fractures. Wounds and fractures, does it get any better than that? Don’t look at me like that.
Just like that, the month was already past the halfway mark. Halloween was quickly approaching. Anoka, our old home, is the Halloween Capital of the World. It is a big deal here. Naturally, Jake & I are very active Halloween participants. This year’s theme, Dungeons & Dragons (the movie characters)
Edgin Darvis (bard), Fat Dragon & Xenk (paladin)
Anoka hosts a wonderful tent party every year, and this year was just as amazing. The tribute band was on fleek (Jake, did I use that correctly? He says no).
The weather was less than ideal, it is Minnesota after all. Anytime after August, you risk snow. First winter was knocking on the door as the temp plummeted below freezing and it ended up being a white Halloween with snow falling the night before.
So cold, much white
While pretty, it was frigid and it wasn’t even the standard arctic temps. The thoughts of sand, margs, and beaches was front and center in my mind. Jake was in agreement, this cold weather stuff was for the birds and even they fly south for the winter.
Thankfully, Iowa State’s drinking team football team decided they actually wanted to play this year and have pulled off some completely unexpected wins. Told you it was character building being a Cyclone. This month closes out with homecoming tailgating and a rough loss against Kansas. Bowl game season is just around the corner. Fingers crossed that ISU makes one, maybe in Texas or Florida. The warm weather bug is biting.
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The Beer That Started It All
Our heroine reminisces on her favorite beer, Leinenkugel’s Honey Weiss.
I call Leinenkugel’s Honey Weiss the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup of beers. It is perfect, anything done in the hopes of improving it actually diminishes it. There is no situation where I would turn down a Honey Weiss. If you think I wouldn’t turn down any beer, try drinking a coffee stout on a humid 90+ Minnesota summer day, lessons were learned.
I discovered Honey Weiss accidentally at Rock Night at Pickle Park in 2008, if that doesn’t age me, I don’t know what will. (Translation: I was 22 and ordered a bottle of beer at random while at a divey bar that hosted the local rock radio station for a rock-themed dance night, on a Tuesday no less) Skip a couple years ahead just after graduating from ISU, I found like-minded beer enthusiasts and started an annual trip to Leinie Lodge complete with brewery-hopping en route. Keep in mind, this was prior to craft brewing taking off so these were tiny breweries with maybe 4-6 beers on tap and only sold kegs or pints to locals because distribution was too expensive. A flight consists of all their beers on tap and costs $6-8 and we all ordered our own individual flights to consume. We asked each brewery for a personal tour and learned more about the art of brewing than any fancy tour at the big guys.
A bro’s 21st birthday, celebrated with the traditional brewery roadtrip
Leinie Lodge hosted a free tour with samples for free (they didn’t want to pay for a license and therefore couldn’t charge since they were “samples”). Times change, my friends. Craft brewing became fashionable, for better or worse. The market flooded, someone decided to sour a perfectly good product, and another dumbass decided to add fruit to beer.
The annual mecca trips continued, the flights increased in cost, Leinie’s started to charge, but the sweet nectar of Honey Weiss always reminded me why I fell in love with beer in the first place. And then some dude I met at a bar (of all places, shocking, I know) invited me to Colorado and to tour the Coors facility because according to him, “It’s great beer.”
I pulled on my Leinie shirt in preparation for the tour, to show my solidarity for the small guys only to find out on the Coors’ Family Wall (shows all the breweries they own) was the new acquisition of Leinenkugels. A decent chunk of my heart died that day. But I am nothing if not a trooper, and troop on, I did. Breweries are learning from their early mistakes, beer can be shockingly expensive and Honey Weiss remains the sweet nectar of the gods.
Yes, I paid for a touristy pic, sue me
Short Essays From The Road
Montana
Our heroes continue their Beer Enthusiast’s Roadmap to America with Montana.
Main Campaign: Montana
5/26-28/2023
The landscape was something out of a wilderness magazine. You could feel the wild energy stepping on trail. All the animals you prepare for in North America were here; grizzly bear, black bear, wolf, moose, rattlesnakes, cougars. The weather could be unforgiving and then there’s the elevation. It asked you to challenge it.
CDT
With a surge in population, the culture was confusing, dizzying. Can’t have dog hair in food so no pets within 15 feet of eating establishments and no dogs on brewery patios. Breweries need to close by 8pm and serve no more than three drinks to anyone. Let’s party all night with loud music, loud motors, and shoot some shit. Don’t forget Bougie Bozeman.
It took us awhile to place a finger on why we didn’t enjoy Montana as we thought we would. Montana is wort, the unfermented form that has yet to decide on what it wants to be when it grows up. Will it be a strong barrel-aged stout or the gate-way cider, maybe a conformist IPA, who knows yet.
Montana is in the midst of an identity crisis, a teenager trying out everything to see where they fit. With the goths, jocks, or band geeks. While some can be true chameleons, Montana is not one of them. While some people may like to date young, give me a mature beer who knows what they offer. I love many beers and enjoy even more, but I tried wort once and I’ll take my beer fermented, thank you very much.
A Beer Enthusiast's Roadmap To America
Library Cards
Our heroine contemplates the fall of society.
I enjoy a good book. I was raised by a librarian and spent a significant time of my formative years in story time. When I say I enjoy a good book, I mean I read the ish outta books. Like packing a book per day when I go on vacation. Well, I did until Jake put a cap at four due to airline weight restrictions. I also burnt out my first kindle within a year. It was the pandemic, my friends, libraries wouldn’t lend out physical books or I never would’ve converted.
On a side note, my favorite library game is book roulette. You find a bunch of books that have a waiting list and then join the waiting list. I’m talking about 15-20 books. Then you get random calls/emails about your reserved book being available, but libraries don’t tell you which one in the message so it’s a complete surprise when you pick it up.
My point being, reading is an integral part of my life. It is likely genetically ingrained in me. When we uprooted and moved to SoCal, I got not one but two new library cards. One from the city library system of Palos Verdes. The other from the county of Los Angeles, mostly due to their enormous size and availability of not so common books. I was very active in both systems.
I continued to use those systems as we entered and continued on our sabbatical year. You can imagine my surprise when I received an email from LA county that they were canceling my library card since I never picked up the physical card (I had to register for an e-card because covid and LA didn’t mix well). Yes, apparently cancelling library cards is a thing. The only way to avoid cancellation was to stop in at any branch and get a physical card…except we were in Wyoming.
In a complete panic I jumped on the Palos Verdes system and found my card was still valid, thank god. So I continued on my merry way of searching for more ebooks. Until I found out they had switched to Hoopla and no longer supplied kindle formats. OMG.
Naturally, I panicked. I felt it was reasonably warranted. I believe even Jake mildly panicked. I tried my best to scratch the itch with those cute free little libraries you see but I read too fast, and their locations are like roulette and the book options are even worse odds. Not to mention that accumulating books in the sub was less than ideal. At one point five were stored on the dashboard.
Once the panic settled, I came up with a gameplan. Suck it up and deal until South Dakota where I would get a library card in my new place of residence. So I had more quality time with Zeke (my xbox) while we moosied our way to Deadwood. I found the adorable historic library and walked in. The librarian took my license and stated that I can’t get a card in Deadwood since I was a residence of Spearfish (even though they are both in Lawrence County) and that I still wouldn’t qualify for a card since it was a mailbox and not a physical address. Come again.
I just want to read a damn book, is that so difficult. Apparently it is. So like an adult, I called my mom to bitch and complain. She added to my panic by stating that Minnesota counties have started checking your address to ensure you still live there to maintain your library card. So any hope I had of using my old Minnesota one was out the window.
It is a sad, sad world we live in where you can’t get a book from the library. I don’t even need a physical book, just something to download to my kindle. I would read anything at this point, well maybe not Dan Brown, but the situation is looking rather dire. If society falls into anarchy or the apocalypse I now know why.
Short Essays From The Road
Revenge of the Cockamouse
An old advisory returns to wage war in the Yellow Submarine.
First. If you have never heard of a cockamouse, youtube How I Met Your Mother cockamouse. You’re welcome.
Second. To truly understand this situation, you will need to know that I dealt with not one, but two seasons of the freeloading cockamouse in my Anoka house. It was mildly traumatizing.
Let’s jump in.
Jake and I spent a looong time trying to find a site to park for our third night in Washington. It was a learning curve, but we found a cute site along some river just outside Olympic National Park. It was also very sunny and very warm. Uncharacteristically sunny and unusually warm we were told by almost every local we talked to. The temp was stagnant in the mid-80’s and like I said the sun was in full force. It was a sweaty day, which led to a sweaty afternoon, and a sweaty evening.
To give me some space for a D&D game inside the van, Jake popped the rooftop tent to chill and cool off. As the night approached, he called down that he was staying up there for the night as a breeze had picked up and was blowing well through the tent windows. I had no qualms and quickly sprawled with Leinie on the bed, not bothering with any blankets. Finding sleep has never been a problem on this trip and having ample room for the first night in a long time, I quickly fell asleep.
Only to wake up to something falling on the roof? Or maybe it was nothing. I had just started to doze back off when I heard something up front (van front was facing the road around the campground). Who in the damn hell is driving at this time?! I didn’t see any headlights, but I was uneasy. The noise of gravel? Dragging? Crinkle-ish? I mean the road is gravel, but I should see something right?!
I grab my phone at check the time. 2am, yep, way too late/early to be a nuisance when someone is trying to sleep. Never interrupt my sleep, it’s beast mode and I am not responsible for anything that happens to you.
I use my phone light to try and see through the windshield but nothing. Leinie is sitting up, alert. Hmmm. I turn off the light and wait. Yep, the noise again. I quickly turn the light on and see nothing.
I am the first to admit, I am not a brave individual. Fight or flight, more like freeze and scream. But I gathered what adult unmentionables I could and took a few slow breaths. Off goes the light. There’s the noise. I wait a breath, two breaths. Whatever it is, it is definitely in the van. Shit. One more deep, shaky breath. Ok, focus Sandra. Use your brain. I slowly turn the brightness up on my screen while it is facing the bed to mask the light and listen to try and hone in on the terrifying noise that is….omg, in my kitchen?! I flipped the phone and made eye contact with…the effing freeloading cockamouse.
I’d like to say that I busted out a crazy, badass move and sucker punched the S.O.B. through the door. But I am a bad liar. I screamed, like the chicken shit I am.
Then I called Jake. Yes, called him on the phone. He answered promptly and I told him we had a cockamouse. Why didn’t I just yell or talk at the roof-top tent? I panicked okay? It happens. Anywho, his logical response to my panic was “What do you want me to do?” Come down here and wage battle, obv. He did.
In fact, he saw the cockamouse himself and said something along the lines of “he is huge”. Very helpful, thanks. He armed himself with one of our trash bags (grocery produce bag) and our soup ladle. We spent the entire night unable to sleep and started to doze off around 6am.
Armed with a plastic bag and soup ladle
We drove to the nearest mercantile and got two toilet seat traps. I am not kidding, they resemble toilets.
Toilet of death
Then we went for a hike. To allow the cockamouse to meet their flushable doom. Well, they were having none of that and we came back, twice, to empty traps. We weren’t discouraged. We went to the nearest Walmart to diversify our traps. We found our next campsite and then it was war.
The traps were set and not even a 15 minutes to us turning off the lights did we hear one of the newer traps go off. Jake jumped to action and found him caught in the trap and quickly resolved that problem. We left the remaining traps in place until morning since you know what they say about one mouse. Well, morning came and we must’ve grab the one solitary cockamouse in existence. The traps were put into storage in the case of the re-revenge of the freeloading cockamouse.
Short Essays From The Road
Doomed to be Soggy
Seven months in and our heroes are back in civilization. Did they survive? What have they been up to?
Month Seven: Doomed to be Soggy
10/5/2023
Minnesota - Iowa
Miss us?
We survived the Superior Hiking Trail, if a bit saturated. Due to rain and footwear falling to pieces, the bounce through the boundary waters on the Border Route and Kekekabic was scratched. I feel the 310+ miles of the SHT is nothing to sneeze at, but I am rather biased.
27 days and 310+ miles later
After getting picked up from the trail, we stuffed ourselves silly and attempted to get dry. I feel cursed. It has rained more often than not, I can’t escape it. It’s like a weird Shyamalan movie where it follows me until I die. I’m forgetting what the sun even looks like. Think I’m being dramatic?
Minnesota was in the midst of a drought. So much so that people mowed their lawn once or twice all summer. To my SoCal friends, that is a big deal. So here Jake and I come along and decide to spend an entire month outside and it rains, almost constantly. We are doomed to be saturated and soggy until we die. We get off trail and I think the longest stretch of time without rain was two days, maybe three.
Ok, drama over, even though it is currently raining as I type this. I took some recovery time at my parent’s cabin rental before they needed to head back south while Jake returned to the jobsite for work. I spent mornings fishing, or more accurately, feeding the fish. In my defense, it was slow for everyone in the boat. Afternoons were for cards and evenings for bonfires (when it wasn’t raining) or really, really terrible horror movies.
I had a date with the town of Ely. My mom grew up there and I used to visit annually until I moved to SoCal. I prefer to wait until after Labor Day when the swampies tourists have mostly left. Some of my favorite places have closed since I’ve been there last, some have moved and there were new ones I discovered. That’s Ely though, like any other town that survives off the tourism trade and the whims of what’s currently fashionable. RIP Rockwood wild rice soup, you’ll be remembered.
I missed the Yellow Submarine and it was time for some vanlife therapy again. Jake and I spent a day cleaning it and getting it ready for some traveling again. Before I get everyone’s hopes up, Jake and I still have some obligations that require further basing in Minnesota before we take off for reals. Short, punchy trips were well within our reach. First up, ISU tailgating.
Anyone traveling through the great cornfield we call Iowa will notice that almost every single vehicle is sporting either an ISU cyclone or Iowa hawkeye decal/license plate/flag/etc. Yes, every. single. one. Iowa (the state) does not have a professional football team so college ball is everything, it's the culture. You are either a Cyclone or a Hawkeye. In the rare case one marries the other, it’s called a divided household. If you think I’m joking or exaggerating, I’m not.
The moral of the backstory being, tailgating is huge. As a Cyclone, I had four (now three) more home games to catch before the season ends. So I hugged Jake and Leinie goodbye for the weekend and jumped in the Yellow Submarine. I rolled up to one of the RV-compatible lots, talked with the guys who ran it and got my spot next to some trees. This was my first time tailgating Friday night and my mind was blown. It was chill, everyone walking around with drinks, meeting and greeting. While the college kids were at the bars and house parties, the adults (read: middle age fogies like myself) were casually sipping beer, talking with our neighbors and enjoying the ambiance of an Iowegian sunset over Jack Trice stadium.
You know it’s game day when your alarm clock is music blasting from a cardinal and gold decked-out skoolie. Nate and Ryan showed up and parked next to the Sub creating a private area for our grill and chairs. There was intermittent rain throughout the day (told you I’m cursed) and it was looking more threatening as kickoff grew near so we packed up a bit early and headed to our bar (Welch Ave Station - order a Minnow Farmer) to watch the game. And, we actually won! That is a big deal for a Cyclone fan. It’s easy to cheer for a team that always wins, it’s character building to be a Cyclone fan, or liver building.
The last bit of the month was building back our emergency van fund. Jake had a roof at the jobsite to stay dry under. I was booked solid with petsitting and was busy walking dogs, running around yards, and driving to and from different houses. Much of that was in rain. Leinie and I even got caught in a downpour on a walk and arrived back at the house soaking wet, yet again. I find myself daydreaming of being back in the desert of the southwest.
More Vanlife Posts
Washington
The Beer Enthusiast's Roadmap to America continues through the PNW to Washington.
Main Campaign: Washington
5/12-24/2023
Washington felt like a wild-fermented beer. What in the hell is a wild-fermented beer you ask? It is a style of brewing that has the fermentation tank open to the environment. This allows the yeast in the surrounding environment to ferment the beer. It results in a slightly different beer each batch. In my opinion it’s gambling, you never know what you’ll get.
I do admit Washington had the unfortunate fate of following Oregon. Just like my brothers had to follow in the shadow of a legend (yours truly), the bar was unnaturally high. Washington had a rough stumble out of the starting gate. The coast was tough to like. Just like a beer brewed in the open, I ended up with at least one bug in my mouth and a cockamouse.
Moving toward the Puget Sound, you get a taste of the potential it could be with amazing views and nice neighborhoods, but then you get the skunk aftertaste of a street/tent-dweller’s boot.
I see you’re getting frustrated. Why would you drink a beer like this? At best it may be slightly over average, at worst you’re choking on bugs. Because, just like Jake’s game of roulette, you may hit green.
Tucked in a quiet corner as close to Canada as you could get, you get a taste of something wonderful. It has flavors you recognize, but never in this combination. Yes, it took three batches, but this batch blows the rest away. It’s basically perfect, the Bellinghamster Batch.
Just like a winning streak, it doesn’t last. The next batch was an attempt at a popular Bavarian style and fell short. No bugs, but shockingly a taste of wild mushrooms. But that’s how it goes with wild-fermented beer. Chaos, gambling, luck.
A Beer Enthusiast's Roadmap To America
Stuff
After asked by a friend, our heroine ponders the idea of downsizing.
Recently I was posed a question by a friend who is moving to a different country; “How hard was it to move out?”
Short answer: easy and hard, super helpful, I know.
Long answer went something like this:
When we left Minnesota, I owned a house and house-worth of stuff. That’s a lot of stuff. It took a good two months to purge, pack, and purge again. Not to mention that the house needed to be put on the market and sold. Leaving California, we had significantly less stuff and (un)thankfully no house to put on the market. Despite less stuff, we needed to purge to what we could fit in the van or put into storage with family or friends.
Purging stuff is hard, physically, mentally, and emotionally. The physical aspect is obvious. A sofa can be very heavy. Bedroom sets need to fit back through narrow hallways and doorframes. To save our relationship, I had our friend help Jake move furniture to our RPV apartment. When leaving the apartment, had those interested in our furniture come to help Jake take it out. Don’t look at me like that, I am good at a lot of things in life, but upper body strength is not one.
The mental aspect is like a game of chess. Do we need a car camping tent and a backpacking tent? We use both regularly and will likely continue to use both once we settle after vagabonding. Is it worth keeping the coleman for the future…spoiler, we didn’t. How much do you sell it for or do you donate it just to be done? Our mattress hit really hard in the this area. We bought it at the Memorial Day sale 2022. Yes, we had our mattress for maybe 9 months and it was a glorious mattress. It decidedly would not fit in the van. So we sold it, for a fraction of what we paid for it because we couldn’t take it with or store it, and that hurt.
Emotionally? Why is this even a thing? I kept clothing because they held fond memories, not that they would ever be fashionable or fit again. I had an entire tote in storage of printed t-shirts from high school and college, you know the type I speak of when you belonged to a club or sports team. I opened it and had to immediately close it and told my mom to donate the lot. I hadn’t seen those clothes in years and hadn’t thought of them in about as many but it was too difficult to actually bring them to the goodwill myself. I know this isn’t just a me thing, Jake had a difficult time purging coffee mugs.
So yes, it was difficult to purge stuff. It took several cycles before we could fully move into the van. Even now we are occasionally purging. But having less stuff has made me feel lighter. I have only two totes of important keepstakes (diplomas, heirlooms, etc) and three boxes of books (the result of three purges, we all have our weaknesses) in storage and what I keep in the van. Every once in a while, I miss my super amazing mattress, but when we settle again I’m buying another one. I will never embrace true minimalism, I love my blankets too much and outdoor activities are just easier when you have the additional gear and not using backcountry gear for everything. I have learned that I also don’t see a future with stuff for the sake of stuff either.
Short Essays From The Road
Oregon Coast
The Oregon Coast is up next for our favorite mild buzzed rambling review.
Main Campaign: Oregon Coast
5/7-11/2023
Oregon wanted to woo us. At least, that is what I am telling myself. Bend, rainforests (?!), and then the coast. Oregon, are you even real?! That coast though. Maibock comes to mind and it makes me smile. Rich, malty, a hint of sweetness, some earthy undertones.
Mileage that could easily be completed in a day, my brother has done it traveling back to the Twin Cities on numerous occasions. It took us almost a week. We skipped no more than 50 miles each day. We stopped to walk along small town main streets, look at lighthouses, hike trails solely based on the name. The bike packers we passed could’ve easily lapped us had it been an oval.
The coast sang to us like a true Maibock. The locals were rich with stories, friendly to a fault. The food and drink, flavorful and savory. We tried so many chowders. The uncrowded beaches, every one of them Leinie-friendly were oh-so-sweet after the crowded, no-dogs-allowed SoCal beaches. Hikes through dense forests with names like Hobbit Trail had us searching for the Shire.
A coast that hits all my personal faves: beer, ice cream, classics. I gleefully drank at a long-term goal brewery. Ate my weight in cheese and ice cream at Tillamook. Shouted “Heeey you guys!” on Canon Beach and in Astoria. Again, I ask. Oregon, are you even real?!
A Beer Enthusiast's Roadmap To America
Ass Over Teakettle
The misadventure of Sandra, bikes, and asphalt.
If you’ve never had the pleasure of meeting me, or maybe you have and this is new information. Allow me to share a few tidbits about myself.
First, my parents almost named me Grace. Depending on your outlook, that was either very smart on their part, or very unfortunate for myself.
Second, I spent a good chunk of my childhood on a bike. Our family had an annual biking vacation. While the bikes I rode would make Jake shudder (most came from walmart), I was able to do the normal kid tricks. Look ma, no hands!
Now that we have those facts out of the way, let’s begin.
Fresh outta college, obstacle races were the thing to do. Tough mudder, zombie 5k, I even once ran through a corn maze. So when the Urban Assault Challenge came to the Twin Cities, naturally I signed up. The gist of the this challenge was a duo would bike ride 20-some miles through the metropolitan area and periodically stop to complete challenges. Big wheel relay, egg & spoon while biking, that sort of thing. As all obstacle races, at the end you were rewarded with beer.
Now, I’m pretty sure whether we’ve met or not, you know I would do a lot for a beer.
Not even two miles into this challenge, my front tire hit a good ol’ minnesota pothole. You know the kind, could eat a civic and not even suffer indigestion. So my tire hits the pothole, on a downhill of all times and I get bucked right over my handlebars. I did an admirable impression of stone skipping on water, but with my arm and chest on the asphalt. Ten out of ten would not recommend.
I didn’t touch a bike for almost 10 years after that. Jake convinced me after we started dating to rent a city bike in order to brewery hop in Phoenix. I didn’t die as I had expected and have hesitantly biked when beer has been on the line a few times since.
Skip to present and we were sitting in a quirky pink coffee shop in the middle of Idaho when I randomly asked Jake if he had an interest in bikepacking the Mesabi Trail later that summer in Minnesota. While he didn’t fall out of his chair, he did ask me to repeat what I had said, twice.
Why, you ask? I liked the idea of doing as much of the Minnesota portion of the North Country Trail as I could milk outta our time while we were in the area. This year I have also been pushing my comfort zone, doing more technical peak bagging (still don’t enjoy them) and thought a nice flat, paved trail would be Sandra-friendly.
Jake was giddy with excitement. We did the greenbelt in Boise with me on his very nice (read: expensive) mountain bike in order to “get used to a real bike” in preparation for the future trip. I was gaining confidence and was getting rather excited for the experience.
Halfway through our stay in Bend, I suggested we bike the river trail through town to brewery-hop per usual. Again, Jake had me on the nice bike while he handled Leinie on the beach cruiser. We had just enjoyed our first beer stop at the turn around point and were en route to a happy hour at the next brewery. We were cruising down the one downhill portion of the entire trail and I felt my hat start to fly off my head.
So I tapped the break. Yes, the rear tire break, I did grow up biking. Regardless, the next thing I know is I am flying ass over tea kettle and felt my face bounce off the asphalt.
Yes, again! And there wasn’t even a crack in the path to explain how I managed to do it. Jake and Leinie come running back. I am bleeding from both hands, a wrist and face. My faithful patagonia sweater saved my arm skin. Both legs felt sucker punched. I looked absolutely delightful as tears and snot mixed with the gash on my face. Stay back fellas, I’m taken.
I hobbled to a public restroom to wash as much blood away as I could and wrapped the worst cut on my right hand in toilet paper in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. Jake and Leinie led my hobbling ass to a local tavern where I soothed my aches with three Hamms tall boys. Yes, three, I think I earned it.
The van was too far away to walk, so I gathered what was left of my shaking nerves and mounted the very mean bike again (the cruiser's seat was too high for me, and we had no tools to fix it) and rode to another brewery. I drank another two beers while Jake finished the last few miles to bring the van to me.
And just to ensure my pride was completely shattered, fate decided that I should slip trying to get out of the van and I fell and twisted my bad ankle to boot not even two hours later. Jake is currently researching helmets while I nurse road rash, a swollen ankle and a heavily bruised ego.
Short Essays From The Road
Please Hold
….Has anyone seen our heroes?….
Month Six: Please Hold
9/5/2023
Minnesota
Epic thru hike in progress, please hold…
More Vanlife Posts
Bend
Another mildly buzzed love letter to our city crush, Bend.
Long Rest: Bend
4/27-5/4/2023
Regain Spell Slots
Oh glorious Bend, our beloved brown ale. If someone took the northern woods of Minnesota and transplanted it in the PNW, added a few mountains for good measure, you’d end up with Bend. The nutty, earthy, rich brown pint that makes you want to throw on some flannel and smell some pine trees.
The brown of the bark and pinecones of the pine trees you can smell every time you walk outside. The condensed coniferous forest feels cozy and comfortable, like a big blanket to wrap yourself in.
The brown of the logs in the cabin-esque architecture. The homes that allow you to feel part of nature instead of imposed upon it. The cabin memories of wood stoves and saunas, wooden rocking chairs and moccasin-covered feet.
The brown of the dirt in the trails you hit each morning. The dirt nest a trail doggo makes to burrow into. The dirt you wash from your scrapes and cuts after taking a header over a bike. It is called eating dirt after all.
A week didn’t feel long enough, but we had to keep exploring. Who knew what other wonderful places there were to discover yet. A long drawn out goodbye as you savor the last sips of the delicious brown ale that will take a place among the favorites.
A Beer Enthusiast’s Roadmap To America
The Pit Toilet
Our heroine contemplates the various thrones that come with Vanlife.
I did the complicated footwork of the traditional potty dance across the parking lot as I made the way to the pit toilet. A short while later I exited the small brown building relieved and satisfied. It had been one of the cleaner pit toilets on the trip and now I was ready to face the day.
Over the past months, I have squatted over many, many types of thrones. The most rustic are typically a bit of dirt hopefully enclosed by some private bushes but sometimes in the wide open with only one side of the submarine to break sightline from other campers. A step up, the good ol’ pit toilet comes in many degrees of cleanliness, odors, and supplies. I have quickly gained the habit of bringing toilet paper with me when pit toilets are in my future.
Flush toilets are much more varied, but the plumbing is something we jump at whenever possible. Rest stops are bottom shelf, travel centers catering to CDL drivers are mid-range and those blessed casinos are the top shelf. Anytime I can find a sink, you will see me with my hoodie pouch full with facewash, toothpaste and a hairbrush.
This isn’t to say hygiene is forgotten with more rustic facilities. A spray bottle of soap followed by hand sanitizer does the job. And it’s not like I never brush my hair, I just usually don’t see the end result. I’ve definitely gone the more natural route of make-up, as in, absolutely none. My morning routine is rather quick; face wash, sunscreen, hair in a braid/bun, hat on, smell clothes before putting on. I call it nature-chic.
We typically don’t stink. A shower every 2-3 days is usual. They vary from the gym showers which are surprisingly inconsistent in quality to travel centers (top notch) to at worst a park sink, shudder. Even Leinie gets a monthly bath, usually after rolling in something suspect.
All in all, compared to backcountry backpacking where you are digging a cathole every morning and embracing the stench of a week without a shower, this has been rather clutch as the kids say.
Short Essays From The Road
Idaho
The Beer Enthusiast’s Roadmap to America continues with a look at Idaho.
Main Campaign: Idaho
4/21-25/2023
Some states you can instantly feel the difference as you cross the border. The Utah-Idaho border was one of those. It could’ve been the sudden appearance of breweries and liquor stores, but who’s to say?
Farmland, real grass and … a lived-in feel to the towns. This was the welcome we received from Idaho. Walking around the first town, Jake nailed it when he said it felt like a larger Anoka. Ah, there it was. That feeling of lived-in? It was the mid-west planted squarely in The West.
Idaho, the All-American Lager.
Nothing screams a good, easy, sipping beer like the Clydesdale-driven, snow-peaked mountain, can opening bschhhh lager. The one you day drink while losing beloved discs to water hazards on the frolf course. The glass you enjoy at the bar while the old local regales you with tales from back in his day. The one you crush while having a bbq in the evening.
The lager that is comfortable because it’s familiar. However, we didn’t leave Minnesota for a re-defined midwest. So we enjoyed the cold can for what it was and moved onto the next pint to see what it tasted of.
A Beer Enthusiast's Roadmap To America
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