After two months of full time travel, my life on the road has ended.
I drove 8000 miles from coast to coast, visited 10 states and camped out for 54 straight days.
I slept in truck stops, deserts, mountains and forests. I learned how to use GPS coordinates, to read topography maps and how to find campsites in the wilderness.
I learned how to tow a trailer and finally, after many failed attempts, I became adept at backing up and turning around my trailer.
I discovered I could survive with very little – food, water, shelter, gas and occasional human contact.
It was enough to survive but no way to live.
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The Rut
The end came unexpectedly.
After driving 2000 miles over 4 days looking for better weather, I returned to Flagstaff AZ on the final weekend in May.
Then it started to rain. Then hail. Then snow.
Snickers and I huddled inside my camper for 36 straight hours trying to stay warm. When we stepped outside to go to the bathroom, we were instantly drenched and covered in mud.
Then it got colder. When I woke the next morning instead of the weather clearing up, it had worsened.
I decided to get out there and search again for a warmer place.
I hitched up and tried to leave. My truck slid across the mud into a ditch. The wheels spun and I knew I was in trouble.
I was stuck in a rut.
Stuck. In the freezing rain. At 6 am. After shivering in my sleeping bag for 36 straight hours. After driving for days to find decent weather. After looking for a decent campsite almost daily for two months. Now I sat there in the middle of the muddy, ice-encrusted road with no way out.
I knew I’d have to wait until the mud dried to get out. Even a wrecker couldn’t navigate through this muck.
Worst of all, this was all my fault. I put myself in this position.
I Lost It
My wife was dead.
I gave away all our stuff.
I abandoned our cats.
I left Zack.
I sold my car, bought a truck and a camper.
For what? For this? To be miserable, freezing, alone and stuck in the woods?
My problem wasn’t the rut my truck was stuck in. My problem was my life. It was the same problem I had before I had left everything I knew. The trip had not fixed it.
I raged. I cried. I didn’t know what to do.
I seriously thought about ending it all.
Mom
I called my Mom. I cried about losing my wife, abandoning my cats, leaving my stepson and tossing away anything that gave my old life meaning. I was a failure. I had been struggling for weeks and it wasn’t’t getting better. Whatever I had hoped to accomplish on this “journey” was a fool’s errand.
I was broken.
After listening to me whine, my Mom stopped me and said, “Are you sure you’re stuck? You know how to drive in snow. You can handle a little mud.”
I said nothing She didn’t understand how stuck I was. She didn’t know mud was worse than snow.
Then she said it again.
I started the truck and thought,”Well I haven’t tried to back up the hill and get out of this ditch. But I know it won’t work .”
Except it did.
I rocked the truck back and forth until I was able to escape the rut. Then I dropped it to 4Low and made it up the half mile mud road to reach solid land.
I didn’t realize it at that moment, but my time on the road was over.
A Temporary Reprieve
Hours later, I was parked on a sunny slope in 60 degree weather. I showered. I shaved. I cooked a meal. On the surface things seemed better.
But I had been defeated.
I longed for running water, shelter from the elements, the companionship of neighbors and the stability of having a home to go to every night.
My friend Craig told me, “Go to California where it’s warm and sunny. Meet some cool, weird people. Then make a big loop through other states and return to the Rockies later in the summer.”
For the next two days I drove west to California. On the way I stopped to check out three well-known desert areas where boondockers wintered. All three were well known desert spots. They sucked. One was a gravel parking lot on the outskirts of a miserable, desolate, destitute town. The next two were garbage strewn, barren, rocky deserts.
I spent a night in the desert. All night long the coyotes howled. I worried about Snickers getting attacked when I took her out to pee. All the rest stops had signs warning of poisoness insects and snakes. The wind kicked up dust storms. Desert plants stuck both me and Snickers.
I was no longer cold, but I finally accepted that I hate the desert.
Because I was just a few miles away, the next day, I visited Joshua Tree National Park.
Like many national parks, dogs are prohibited in most areas so Snickers and I were stuck doing a drive-by tour.
I had heard about Joshua Tree. I was looking forward to visiting.
I expect it would be magnificent.
It was not. It was the desert – full of scrub, san, cacti, poisoness snakes, coyotes and chollos. There was no internet, no cell service and no humanity. I drove two hours until I could escape this place.
Searching once again for a place to camp, I decided to head up the state with the goal of visiting Northern California, then Oregon and Washington.
I found 5 different campsites on a lake just a few hours north of me and hit the road.
While driving up there, I said to myself, “If this next campsite sucks, I’m done.”
Then it struck me.
Most of my camping spots sucked. Too many times they were impassable or closed or dangerous or unappealing. Too often, I’d arrive at a campsite only to turn around and leave in a desperate search to find a suitable spot to spend the night.
Even if this next campsite was fine, I knew I’d be struggling with the issues the next time and the time after that.
I wanted a shower, running water, reliable internet, a place to sleep. I wanted a good grocery store and neighbors who knew me. I wanted shelter from the wind. I wanted a garage to work out in. I wanted friends. I wanted to not worry about Snickers getting attacked by coyotes, hospitalized by cactus, or bitten by a snake.
I wanted a life.
I decided the road trip was over.
I never found the lakeside campsites.
My GPS suddenly reversed itself and said instead of being 9 miles from camp, I was now 93 miles away in the opposite direction. So after all that driving, I rerouted myself and ended my road trip by driving over 18 hours through LA in the dark before finally finding a rest stop to sleep.
It was a fitting end.
The next day I called my supporters – mom, Craig and Bruce. I asked them if I was losing my mind.
Craig said, “How do you feel about this decision?”
I felt great.
He said, “It sounds like you’ve made an intuitive decision. If it feels that right, trust your gut.”
It was time for me to rejoin civilization. I would head back east and decide on the way where to settle.
I no longer “dreamt” of living out West. My fantasies of desert life, small town living and rural life had been shattered by reality. The thought of living in a camper, on a boat or in an off-grid cabin no longer appealed.
I no longer longed to explore Arizona, California or New Mexico. I no longer felt like I was giving up before checking out the world.
I needed to go home.
I would choose between Pittsburgh (my hometown), Raleigh (my favorite place) or Florida (near Zack).
That night, I searched rentals and homes for sale in all three places. I thought about Pittsburgh winters (long, cold and dreary). I thought about south Florida (overpopulated, urban and with ridiculous insurance and property costs.).
Then I thought about Raleigh.
I loved Raleigh. It had 4 seasons but plenty of sunshine. Winters were short. Summers hot. The people were friendly. The costs were reasonable. From the moment I first arrived in Raleigh in 2012, it felt like home to me.
It was time for me to go home.
(Postscript – Within 1 day of arriving in Raleigh, I found a house, made an offer and will close next week. My life with Ellen is over. My life on the road is over. Now I have returned home to start rebuilding my new life.)