Hello again, and as always, sorry about the delay in posting. This time though, I think I have a pretty good excuse, and maybe even a good story.
Do you remember the ever so common tale of the misplaced traveler? People unknowingly dropped into the wrong time or dimension, completely frazzled and lost, seeing things that are almost familiar but are just the tiniest bit wrong? I know this might seem a bit left field, but stick with me here.
One of my mother's favorite authors, Spider Robinson, has an amazing set of books, and in Callahan's Crosstime Saloon, something similar is depicted. A man wanders into this trans-dimensional bar for the lost and wounded, and recounts his tale of woe; he was held as a prisoner of war for many, many years with his wife. She then dies from lack of care, and shortly after he is released back into the now changed world, completely alone. He stumbles into Callahans, down and out, as many are oft to do, and through the friendly faces and sad stories there, he is given the hope he needs to try to reconcile his new world with the one he was forced to leave behind.
These are amazing books, and this particular story is one that has been told many ways throughout the years, but for me, it was always just a sad story.
That is, until I became one of those travelers.
November 10th, around 5pm, Jackson and I were driving through the gorgeous Pennsylvanian mountains on our way from some Podunk little town to Gettysburg. He was all excited, because history is a large part of the spark in his heart that could power small cities. We were talking when he suddenly turns down the radio and a terrible clicking noise becomes apparent. We quickly decide to pull off at the next stop, and the series of events unfolds as so:
1. We pulled off at an intersection with a 24 hour Sheetz, and an AutoZone. This will become important in the time following.
2. As he pulls into the Sheetz, our steering gives out almost completely.
3. He manages to pull directly into the side of the Sheetz, and as we reach a safe place to park, Bubs stalls and we park quickly, so as to reduce the amount of ground we were losing to gravity and a slight hill.
This is how Bubs came to her final resting place in Bedford, PA, and we ended up home a month ahead of time. We were incredibly lucky to have had the AutoZone right across the road, and if the Sheetz hadn't been 24 hours, we would have been out of a bed that night as well as a traveling home. The two days that followed, with getting the car towed and waiting in a hotel to be retrieved, were arguably some of the longest days of our lives. Everything we'd worked so hard for, every challenge we'd triumphed, every cold night we'd blearily blinked our way through, all of the careful planning, suddenly meant very, very little. Jackson's dad came to pick us up the next day, and we were home the day after that. My mother went up to get our things, and found out that Bubs was completely gone; a busted engine valve. She was sold for $140.
After all of the time we'd put into this trip, the months of planning and waiting, the hours and hours and hours spent working, the endless saving to get us on the road, and just like that, it's all gone. We have to start from ground zero, once again.
But here's the thing, we're different now. Living in a car, being that poor, you learn things. It changes you in tiny, important, indescribable ways. And here we were, three months later, being dropped into an environment that seemed familiar, but was just the tiniest bit wrong.
It hit me the hardest. Jackson came back, and while he had changed, his environment was almost identical. For me, there was another person in my house, everything had been rearranged, and what had once been my island of calm in the hectic world around me had been turned into someone else's sanctuary. When I was dragged home, I didn't have a room, a car, or a computer. I had three pairs of pants, a handful of shirts, a boyfriend, and a stuffed sheep to my name. That was it.
Suddenly, I understood those stories in a way I had never wanted to. Traveler Emie did not fit in the world Regular Emie had left behind, and do not let me lead you to believe this was a happy time. Everything I had worked so viciously for had been ripped away from me, and I felt like I didn't even have a place to return to. There was no space for me in the world that had kept going while I was away.
I'm honestly not entirely sure what happened to make me stop feeling that way, but thankfully, I've been able to find a middle ground between Regular Emie and Traveler Emie. It's not necessarily who I am now, but it lets me blend into society again, which was not a thing that I missed doing. (Makeup and shaving have lost their favor with me almost entirely.) I still feel it though, like a little whipser in the back of my mind, reminding me this isn't the place for me, but I figure that'll stick around until I really do have a place of my own.
Now, I suppose, is where I relay the good news. We're back safely, even if it is under unfavorable terms. We've convinced our parents to let us stay together, so while it's a bit of a hassle, we switch between houses every week. It lets us stay near the only other person who knows who the trip made us into, and helps keep us sane. It's also a lot easier, since we only have the car his parents have let us borrow, which, while it's beastly, gets us from point A to point B, and we're very thankful they have an extra car for us to use in the first place. We've also both been accepted to UNCG, on the day Bubs died, ironically, and we're waiting to hear back from their Honor's College. Last Wednesday I got a job at a Toy Store, and it really isn't that bad of a job, even if it is a lot of standing around. Jackson's been working really hard, and has a few things that will hopefully pan out well in the coming week.
And the trip is still on, oh boy, if you ever thought we were going to give up, you obviously don't know us as well as you'd thought. And while originally we'd hoped to leave again in January, this has become less and less possible as the days pass. Right now, we're going to work our asses off, again, and do whatever we need to do to keep ourselves sane until the summer. After all, I hear it's always 70 in San Fran anyways, so what's the difference? January, June, it's all the same in California, and I can't wait to see it.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Saturday, October 18, 2014
The Invisible Homeless
A few days ago we went camping, and it was great. It was quiet, we didn't have to worry about people bothering us, and we had a fire. Now for us, fire translates to great quantities of warm, easily available food. Warm food is something you really come to appreciate when your meals regularly consist of cup noodles and cold canned food. We'd brought smores and rice noodles, and we were ready to spend the next four days hunkered down in the mountains of Vermont.
Then, on our second night, it began to rain. We settled down in our tent, and figured the rain cover would keep us safe and dry for the rest of the night. We tossed some of the better pieces of wood into the empty van for the next day, and took the kindling inside the tent with us. Eight hours of continuous rain and fitful sleep later and we began to panic. The rain had slowly seeped between our tent and the tarp, and the bottom layer of our three layer bed was soaked through. Jackson's laptop and my camera were all dangerously close to a damp demise, and I was worried the rain cover had begun to let water in through the walls of the tent as well. So, at six in the morning, we frantically pulled the van around and ferried the driest of our things to the safety of the car, abandoning the sopping tent and sleeping bags. This, of course, was done in our underwear, as is oft to happen when you wake up to a rather damp and time sensitive situation. Later, when the rain slowed, I stood on top of the car and strapped everything down so we could drive back into town. Which, of course, was done in ponchos and what can't really be considered our skivvies. (Jackson almost flashed an elderly couple that drove by our campsite, and this was mentioned entirely on his request.)
The next day the rain cleared up, and we were presented with a problem.
Half of our bedding was wet, and we needed to dry it out before it began or continued to grow mold.
It was sunny and warm, so we lay our things out in the sun. Two sleeping bags, one small blanket, three towels, a tent, and the tent's rain covering were all dutifully spread around the asphalt and sidewalk of our little corner in the Walmart parking lot.
We sat on the curb and stared back at the people in their cars. We were out there for a good hour or two at least, and only two people bothered to talk to us. An elderly woman asked us if we were all right, and a woman walked up to us to see if we were broken down.
Now, spending the majority of our time together, and only having face to face conversations with one another, neither of us respond very well to surprise social interaction. Luckily, doing weird things tends to chase people off.
Do me a favor, and remember the last time you were on a corner with a homeless person. You, safe in your car, headed to or from some place or another, them standing on the corner with some form of sign or cup. What did you do? Seriously think about it. Do they make you uncomfortable? Do you give them money? How much? What motivates you to give them anything? Do you avoid looking at them? Why?
Personally, Jackson and I have both always avoided their gaze. Him because he is an eternally better person than me, and knows that if he looks at them, he'll want to help them out, even when he can't necessarily afford it. I avoid their gaze because they make me nervous. They make a lot of people nervous, and I know why.
Before I took this trip, I always assumed it was the "better safe than sorry" idea that they could be a murderer. You never know, but it's best not to risk it. Now that I am a member of the invisible homeless, I've stumbled onto a different reason.
It is impossibly easy to become homeless. And impossibly hard to get out of it.
Yesterday, as we stared people down, or watched them avoid our gazes despite their curiosity, I realized they're afraid. We are all just a few hundred dollars and a strike of luck away from being homeless. Really, truly homeless, invisible or not. And that's terrifying. That's why you respond to homeless people in the way you do; it's fear. Looking at them forces you, maybe even in the smallest ways, to face the fact that maybe they aren't crazy, or bad people. Maybe they're just like you, and if things ever go just the slightest bit bad, you could end up next to them one day.
As for me and Jackson, we do our best to avoid drawing attention to ourselves. We do our best to stay presentable, and as clean as is reasonable when you live out of a car. These are a few of the things that shuffle us into the invisible category of homelessness. We don't weird people out more than we absolutely need to. We wear big headphones and stare people down so we're left alone. It's because of this we are slightly more acceptable than then people on corners with signs. Our homelessness is luckily chosen. It's hidden and quiet, and it doesn't force people to consider their morality or their slim claim to the middle class.
Homeless people aren't incessantly bad people. They aren't necessarily anything; they're just as diverse as everyone else, just as smart and creative, it not more so. Being homeless is incredibly difficult, in all regards, and I imagine it just gets more difficult the less you have.
I've come to the end of this blog, and I'm not really sure what I was trying to accomplish. Continually now, we've realized things on this trip that are incredibly difficult to articulate and share, and continually I find my abilities at a loss. It will take many better authors than just me to properly grasp the idea, and really make you think, but maybe at the very least I've planted a seed, or made you slightly uncomfortable. Maybe the things I try to write about fail me because they are things that must be realized by you, and only on your time. Who knows. I just know I'm not nearly as good at writing as I'd been led to believe. I know that homelessness is so incredibly hard and that I'm constantly glad I'm not doing this alone. I know I am incredibly privileged and lucky to be able to experience this on my own terms, and to be able to return to a warm bed in the summer. I know it's a complicated topic, that is a completely solvable problem no one seems a to be solving. I know that people are consistently afraid of their own frailties, and that's what's holding us back. But mostly, I know Breaking Bad is a terrible show, and we are both incredibly disappointed.
Then, on our second night, it began to rain. We settled down in our tent, and figured the rain cover would keep us safe and dry for the rest of the night. We tossed some of the better pieces of wood into the empty van for the next day, and took the kindling inside the tent with us. Eight hours of continuous rain and fitful sleep later and we began to panic. The rain had slowly seeped between our tent and the tarp, and the bottom layer of our three layer bed was soaked through. Jackson's laptop and my camera were all dangerously close to a damp demise, and I was worried the rain cover had begun to let water in through the walls of the tent as well. So, at six in the morning, we frantically pulled the van around and ferried the driest of our things to the safety of the car, abandoning the sopping tent and sleeping bags. This, of course, was done in our underwear, as is oft to happen when you wake up to a rather damp and time sensitive situation. Later, when the rain slowed, I stood on top of the car and strapped everything down so we could drive back into town. Which, of course, was done in ponchos and what can't really be considered our skivvies. (Jackson almost flashed an elderly couple that drove by our campsite, and this was mentioned entirely on his request.)
The next day the rain cleared up, and we were presented with a problem.
Half of our bedding was wet, and we needed to dry it out before it began or continued to grow mold.
It was sunny and warm, so we lay our things out in the sun. Two sleeping bags, one small blanket, three towels, a tent, and the tent's rain covering were all dutifully spread around the asphalt and sidewalk of our little corner in the Walmart parking lot.
We sat on the curb and stared back at the people in their cars. We were out there for a good hour or two at least, and only two people bothered to talk to us. An elderly woman asked us if we were all right, and a woman walked up to us to see if we were broken down.
Now, spending the majority of our time together, and only having face to face conversations with one another, neither of us respond very well to surprise social interaction. Luckily, doing weird things tends to chase people off.
Do me a favor, and remember the last time you were on a corner with a homeless person. You, safe in your car, headed to or from some place or another, them standing on the corner with some form of sign or cup. What did you do? Seriously think about it. Do they make you uncomfortable? Do you give them money? How much? What motivates you to give them anything? Do you avoid looking at them? Why?
Personally, Jackson and I have both always avoided their gaze. Him because he is an eternally better person than me, and knows that if he looks at them, he'll want to help them out, even when he can't necessarily afford it. I avoid their gaze because they make me nervous. They make a lot of people nervous, and I know why.
Before I took this trip, I always assumed it was the "better safe than sorry" idea that they could be a murderer. You never know, but it's best not to risk it. Now that I am a member of the invisible homeless, I've stumbled onto a different reason.
It is impossibly easy to become homeless. And impossibly hard to get out of it.
Yesterday, as we stared people down, or watched them avoid our gazes despite their curiosity, I realized they're afraid. We are all just a few hundred dollars and a strike of luck away from being homeless. Really, truly homeless, invisible or not. And that's terrifying. That's why you respond to homeless people in the way you do; it's fear. Looking at them forces you, maybe even in the smallest ways, to face the fact that maybe they aren't crazy, or bad people. Maybe they're just like you, and if things ever go just the slightest bit bad, you could end up next to them one day.
As for me and Jackson, we do our best to avoid drawing attention to ourselves. We do our best to stay presentable, and as clean as is reasonable when you live out of a car. These are a few of the things that shuffle us into the invisible category of homelessness. We don't weird people out more than we absolutely need to. We wear big headphones and stare people down so we're left alone. It's because of this we are slightly more acceptable than then people on corners with signs. Our homelessness is luckily chosen. It's hidden and quiet, and it doesn't force people to consider their morality or their slim claim to the middle class.
Homeless people aren't incessantly bad people. They aren't necessarily anything; they're just as diverse as everyone else, just as smart and creative, it not more so. Being homeless is incredibly difficult, in all regards, and I imagine it just gets more difficult the less you have.
I've come to the end of this blog, and I'm not really sure what I was trying to accomplish. Continually now, we've realized things on this trip that are incredibly difficult to articulate and share, and continually I find my abilities at a loss. It will take many better authors than just me to properly grasp the idea, and really make you think, but maybe at the very least I've planted a seed, or made you slightly uncomfortable. Maybe the things I try to write about fail me because they are things that must be realized by you, and only on your time. Who knows. I just know I'm not nearly as good at writing as I'd been led to believe. I know that homelessness is so incredibly hard and that I'm constantly glad I'm not doing this alone. I know I am incredibly privileged and lucky to be able to experience this on my own terms, and to be able to return to a warm bed in the summer. I know it's a complicated topic, that is a completely solvable problem no one seems a to be solving. I know that people are consistently afraid of their own frailties, and that's what's holding us back. But mostly, I know Breaking Bad is a terrible show, and we are both incredibly disappointed.
Saturday, October 4, 2014
I suppose this is a bit overdue.
Here's the thing about updating a blog:
Typically, you need to have something to talk about.
Here's the thing about being homeless:
Half the time, you're bored off your ass.
So, that's why we haven't been updating as much as I'm sure would be appreciated. Well, that, and that food, safety, and warmth all kind of push "writing a blog post" to the bottom of the priority list. But mostly, we really just don't have stories that would make an interesting post. Two weeks ago, we aimed for Salem, MA, and ended up in Salem, NH and spent a whole week there because we each took a turn being sick. We sniffled our way from a Big Kmart parking lot over to a McDonald's for the Wi-Fi, and then shuffled our way back a couple of hours later.
Then, when we finally got to the real Salem, we spent a day walking around downtown (a four to five hour walk, in total), and then spent the next day or two in parking lots and McDonald's because there was nothing better to do in town. Then my phone broke, and we had to shift twenty minutes up the road, near a mall. A few days there, the month of September whiled away, and we spent a whole day doing food shopping. Partly because we went to three different stores, and partly because we had nothing else to do all day except marathon Community. (Which, on a side note, we both heartily recommend to any and all fans of television and happiness.) Then, we putted our little house back down the road to the parking lot we were in before and headed off to a pretty cool parade downtown.
Which, I think it notable to mention, was the whole reason we had stayed in Salem that long in the first place. We ended up accidentally joining the parade though, and they were throwing free candy, so it was definitely worth the wait, but a strange thing to wait for nonetheless.
Half the time, one or both of us feel like we're wasting our trip. Why are we here if we're just doing the same things we did at home, but with greater difficulty, social exclusion, and a severe lack of heating in our home? Then we end up somewhere new, and have new problems to solve, and new places to visit. We've been in Concord, MA for two days now, and so far we've seen the North Bridge and the Minutemen National Park, as well as the graves of quite a few reputable authors in the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery.
Then it's worth it, because while we may be filling our time in any way possible, we're doing it for a good reason. Some days, we even have exciting things to do, even if it does mean walking for the better part of the day. When everything is said and done, I think we'll both be pretty satisfied with our trip, 'wasted' time and all.
A Cracked Article on the nuances of homelessness. No, we aren't going to become drug addicts, don't worry, our collective mothers/family/friends.
Typically, you need to have something to talk about.
Here's the thing about being homeless:
Half the time, you're bored off your ass.
So, that's why we haven't been updating as much as I'm sure would be appreciated. Well, that, and that food, safety, and warmth all kind of push "writing a blog post" to the bottom of the priority list. But mostly, we really just don't have stories that would make an interesting post. Two weeks ago, we aimed for Salem, MA, and ended up in Salem, NH and spent a whole week there because we each took a turn being sick. We sniffled our way from a Big Kmart parking lot over to a McDonald's for the Wi-Fi, and then shuffled our way back a couple of hours later.
Then, when we finally got to the real Salem, we spent a day walking around downtown (a four to five hour walk, in total), and then spent the next day or two in parking lots and McDonald's because there was nothing better to do in town. Then my phone broke, and we had to shift twenty minutes up the road, near a mall. A few days there, the month of September whiled away, and we spent a whole day doing food shopping. Partly because we went to three different stores, and partly because we had nothing else to do all day except marathon Community. (Which, on a side note, we both heartily recommend to any and all fans of television and happiness.) Then, we putted our little house back down the road to the parking lot we were in before and headed off to a pretty cool parade downtown.
Which, I think it notable to mention, was the whole reason we had stayed in Salem that long in the first place. We ended up accidentally joining the parade though, and they were throwing free candy, so it was definitely worth the wait, but a strange thing to wait for nonetheless.
Half the time, one or both of us feel like we're wasting our trip. Why are we here if we're just doing the same things we did at home, but with greater difficulty, social exclusion, and a severe lack of heating in our home? Then we end up somewhere new, and have new problems to solve, and new places to visit. We've been in Concord, MA for two days now, and so far we've seen the North Bridge and the Minutemen National Park, as well as the graves of quite a few reputable authors in the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery.
Then it's worth it, because while we may be filling our time in any way possible, we're doing it for a good reason. Some days, we even have exciting things to do, even if it does mean walking for the better part of the day. When everything is said and done, I think we'll both be pretty satisfied with our trip, 'wasted' time and all.
A Cracked Article on the nuances of homelessness. No, we aren't going to become drug addicts, don't worry, our collective mothers/family/friends.
Friday, September 12, 2014
Of warm food and fresh air
Despite the fact that we have only been traveling for a little over two weeks, I have already gained an appreciation for things that i had formerly taken for granted.
Foremost in this group would be, as the title would suggest, warm food and the ability to not smell like a highschool locker room. Previously, the most effort required of me to produce a hot meal was a six foot walk to the microwave. Now, in order to aquire a nice warm cup of noodley stuff, I have to scour various building for an available outlet, plug in our electric kettle, and hope no one noticices me crouching in the bushes before the water starts boiling. Needless to say, scrambling to find an outlet so I can eat is not something I've had to deal with before.
As for the stench, having been a teenage boy for most of my life, I have grown used to some pretty bad smells. The difference between then and now, of course, is the fact that now I can't take a shower to feel squeaky clean. Today i took my first shower in about a week and a half by the grace of a friend my father had in Boston, and to loosely quote Emie, turning off the water sucked. Now some of you may be thinking, 'But Jackson, it's only been two weeks! Surely it can't smell that bad already.' And let me assure you, it does not feel like it's been two weeks, and it certainly doesn't smell like it.
Hopefully Emie will post on this subject later on to discuss it, as she will be far more eloquent in her explanation. I just wanted to update the blog, as one of our friends thought we were dead. So yes. Still alive, still smelly, and still not fond of the Boston street planners. Will update the vlog soonish, but until then, may the force be with you. -J
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Who even knows what day it is anymore - Boston, MA
Well, we're in Boston.
We'll be leaving soon, hopefully. It's really kind of awful here. The traffic is honestly the most confusing thing either of us has ever had to deal with, and everything is crazy expensive. We paid $10 to park for the first hour, with $14 for three hours or less as the next step up. Not only were those the lowest prices in Boston, they were also the reduced weekend prices. It's really pretty here though, and it seems like it'd be a great place if you had a large amount of expendable income or don't mind wasting gas driving in circles, two categories we fall far outside of. It was even hard to find a place to spend the night, and we ended up camping out in a hotel parking lot for the night. We'll have to find somewhere else for tonight, but we've got a few more hours before that's really a concern.
We spent the last couple of days in Conway, NH, where we had a lovely little public parking lot next to a patch of grass with an outlet - practically everything we could ever hope for. We hiked around the mountains and the tiny tourist town for a couple of days, and then headed out last night, when we were tired of the little strip of New Hampshire we'd acquainted ourselves with. Suffice to say we're missing Conway pretty hard right about now.
Jackson has a few historic sites here he wants to see, and I'd like to stop by Salem and see what it's like. Maybe we can hunt down the statue of the founder I'm related to and take a photo or something. I'm hoping there'll be some free museums there we can peruse. I've never really been taught much about the Salem Witch trials, and that's always bothered me, so perhaps this is how I'll learn about it.
There's a couple of topics I've been wanting to write about recently, but I think it'll take me a while to be able to phrase what I want to say in a way that will aptly convey my ideas, so look forward to a few posts about fear and change, because they'll be in the works sometime. I've always thought the hardest part about writing for yourself was starting, so I'll let you know when I figure that bit out.
And to reiterate, AVOID BOSTON (unless you're rich, in which case, would you like to sponsor us?).
We'll be leaving soon, hopefully. It's really kind of awful here. The traffic is honestly the most confusing thing either of us has ever had to deal with, and everything is crazy expensive. We paid $10 to park for the first hour, with $14 for three hours or less as the next step up. Not only were those the lowest prices in Boston, they were also the reduced weekend prices. It's really pretty here though, and it seems like it'd be a great place if you had a large amount of expendable income or don't mind wasting gas driving in circles, two categories we fall far outside of. It was even hard to find a place to spend the night, and we ended up camping out in a hotel parking lot for the night. We'll have to find somewhere else for tonight, but we've got a few more hours before that's really a concern.
We spent the last couple of days in Conway, NH, where we had a lovely little public parking lot next to a patch of grass with an outlet - practically everything we could ever hope for. We hiked around the mountains and the tiny tourist town for a couple of days, and then headed out last night, when we were tired of the little strip of New Hampshire we'd acquainted ourselves with. Suffice to say we're missing Conway pretty hard right about now.
Jackson has a few historic sites here he wants to see, and I'd like to stop by Salem and see what it's like. Maybe we can hunt down the statue of the founder I'm related to and take a photo or something. I'm hoping there'll be some free museums there we can peruse. I've never really been taught much about the Salem Witch trials, and that's always bothered me, so perhaps this is how I'll learn about it.
There's a couple of topics I've been wanting to write about recently, but I think it'll take me a while to be able to phrase what I want to say in a way that will aptly convey my ideas, so look forward to a few posts about fear and change, because they'll be in the works sometime. I've always thought the hardest part about writing for yourself was starting, so I'll let you know when I figure that bit out.
And to reiterate, AVOID BOSTON (unless you're rich, in which case, would you like to sponsor us?).
Monday, September 1, 2014
Day 7 - Portland, Maine
`This blog post comes to you, thanks to free Wi-Fi in a Portland Starbucks.
Yep, we made it to Maine as of roughly Friday. We spend the last two days in a Podunk little town called Byron, where the main attraction is its absolute lack of everything. We found my friend Tori, and her friend Aly, who was incredibly kind and hospitable for just having two startled teenagers show up at her campsite. We were allowed to spend the night by the campsite matron, and it turned out that some of Aly's other traveling friends showed up the exact same day. They were fascinating people to talk to, and Jackson and I both learned a lot. The three of them, Dylan, Emily, and Zeke, had all been leathertramps or freighttramps at one point or another. Predictably, they had some great stories and everyone seemed pretty impressed by our set up in the van, which is really good, because we didn't know what we were doing when we started off. (We barely do now, honestly. We're only a week in.) They don't recommend freight hopping to everyone, but they really loved it. You could tell that that was what they wanted to do, and Dylan and Emily both plan to head back out when their daughter is on her own, even though they'll both be in their 40's.
It was really interesting to be accepted so easily into their little ragtag group. They sang a lot, and introduced us to some great new bands, but the interesting thing was that through the singing, they established an intense feeling of community that might not have been there otherwise. If you've never belted "You are my sunshine" at midnight in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of drunk travelers, I sincerely recommend you try it out. There's not a particularly good way to explain the bond they shared, and how they extended it out to us. Watching them interact and listening to them share their stories made me realize we'll both change a great deal on this trip which, while terrifying in its own right, is not guaranteed to be a bad thing. Good vibes, happiness, and all accepting love were very important to them, and as we continue to run into people and travel, I can only imagine it will become even more obvious as to why.
The goodness of other people is near crucial to travelers, especially if you travel on foot.
Speaking of which, bare feet are always recommended, and so are rivers on chilly nights.
They also talked about the importance of keeping the things people give you, and by the time we left the campsite, we'd been bestowed with quite a few keepsakes.
They taught us quite a bit, left us with some very fond memories, and instilled us both with a good deal of hope. I mean, if they can tramp around on trains and hike through multiple states, we can live out of a car for a couple months.
Everything always works out if it's meant to. I wish all of our friends the absolute best - in moving, traveling, and love. (Dog rescuing included.) I hope we run into you all again soon.
Other than that, we haven't really had much happen. We spend our nights in Cracker Barrel Parking lots with other RVers, and when we want hot food, we hunt down an outlet and ignore the weird looks. Rest stops, Walmart's, and the back of Cracker Barrels have all provided us with a nice hot serving of cup noodles. It all works out somehow.
After Portland, we'll probably head to Boston, but we plan on haunting around here for a few more days at least. There's an art museum we're going to tomorrow, and hopefully a festival on Friday. I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens.
E
Yep, we made it to Maine as of roughly Friday. We spend the last two days in a Podunk little town called Byron, where the main attraction is its absolute lack of everything. We found my friend Tori, and her friend Aly, who was incredibly kind and hospitable for just having two startled teenagers show up at her campsite. We were allowed to spend the night by the campsite matron, and it turned out that some of Aly's other traveling friends showed up the exact same day. They were fascinating people to talk to, and Jackson and I both learned a lot. The three of them, Dylan, Emily, and Zeke, had all been leathertramps or freighttramps at one point or another. Predictably, they had some great stories and everyone seemed pretty impressed by our set up in the van, which is really good, because we didn't know what we were doing when we started off. (We barely do now, honestly. We're only a week in.) They don't recommend freight hopping to everyone, but they really loved it. You could tell that that was what they wanted to do, and Dylan and Emily both plan to head back out when their daughter is on her own, even though they'll both be in their 40's.
It was really interesting to be accepted so easily into their little ragtag group. They sang a lot, and introduced us to some great new bands, but the interesting thing was that through the singing, they established an intense feeling of community that might not have been there otherwise. If you've never belted "You are my sunshine" at midnight in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of drunk travelers, I sincerely recommend you try it out. There's not a particularly good way to explain the bond they shared, and how they extended it out to us. Watching them interact and listening to them share their stories made me realize we'll both change a great deal on this trip which, while terrifying in its own right, is not guaranteed to be a bad thing. Good vibes, happiness, and all accepting love were very important to them, and as we continue to run into people and travel, I can only imagine it will become even more obvious as to why.
The goodness of other people is near crucial to travelers, especially if you travel on foot.
Speaking of which, bare feet are always recommended, and so are rivers on chilly nights.
They also talked about the importance of keeping the things people give you, and by the time we left the campsite, we'd been bestowed with quite a few keepsakes.
They taught us quite a bit, left us with some very fond memories, and instilled us both with a good deal of hope. I mean, if they can tramp around on trains and hike through multiple states, we can live out of a car for a couple months.
Everything always works out if it's meant to. I wish all of our friends the absolute best - in moving, traveling, and love. (Dog rescuing included.) I hope we run into you all again soon.
Other than that, we haven't really had much happen. We spend our nights in Cracker Barrel Parking lots with other RVers, and when we want hot food, we hunt down an outlet and ignore the weird looks. Rest stops, Walmart's, and the back of Cracker Barrels have all provided us with a nice hot serving of cup noodles. It all works out somehow.
After Portland, we'll probably head to Boston, but we plan on haunting around here for a few more days at least. There's an art museum we're going to tomorrow, and hopefully a festival on Friday. I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens.
E
Sunday, August 31, 2014
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