Overlanding Archives - Page 4 of 5

#notblessed

September 23, 2016 by Cate Brubaker

Several years ago I had an idea for a blog. This blog would contain nothing but bitching and moaning about all the places I visit. I abandoned that project almost as soon as I came up with it, but it seems as if that long stowed away idea has resurfaced here.

My last few posts have resonated with a lot of people. Why? I think the main reason is because I’ve stopped writing what I think people want to hear and started writing what few travel bloggers do.

The truth.

The truth is that travel isn’t always fun. It doesn’t always change your life. Things will go wrong, sometimes horribly wrong. It’s a messy, confusing, infuriating endeavour at times and I know I’m not the only one that thinks that.

But I am going to be one of the bloggers who writes that.

Travel blogs are everywhere these days. Sometimes it seems that anyone with a passport and some WordPress skills is a travel blogger. My Instagram feed is full of perfectly posed beachside shots full of carefully curated hashtags, one of the most common being #soblessed. I understand this on some level. Those of us who can travel full-time or even part-time are fortunate, but blessed? To me, this implies the benevolence of some deity who has bestowed blessings on you and left someone else out in the cold.

But the other thing that bothers me is that when I visit this #soblessed person’s site I generally find little of substance. There are the same bikini-clad shots found on Instagram, posts titled “5 Ways the Full Moon Party Changed My Life Forever”, or glowing reviews of hotels and restaurants because the PR departments of these establishments paid the blogger to write said glowing review.

But despite this, these blogs that reveal the narcissistic underbelly of this saturated industry, there are some beacons of light. These are blogs written by people who aren’t afraid to show their vulnerability, people who write very helpful and insightful content, and people who write with such passion and skill that I melt in their company.

I’m talking about bloggers like Kate McCulley of Adventurous Kate who truly gives the lowdown on travel as a solo woman and she does so with exquisite prose. If you haven’t read the post about her shipwreck go do so right now. There’s also Jeremy Scott Foster of travelFREAK who recently went public with his critical battle with Lyme disease. And then there’s Bret Love, a man so passionate about what he does and what he stands for that Green Global Travel is a must for anyone who wants to live a more eco-conscious life, whether traveling or not. His recent post on the Rwandan genocide moved me to tears. Talon Windwalker is another truth-teller, and he weaves together his travel and personal stories so well at 1 Dad 1 Kid.

I like reading honesty. I like reading truth. And I’ve now discovered that I like writing it too. Because while we made this travel choice consciously, we had no way of knowing exactly how it would play out. Overlanding and the challenges that come with it are far, far different from a guided tour of Paris or a comped stay at a luxury hotel. Overlanding comes with its own unique set of realities and I want to tell the truth about that.

And the realities of it are very, very raw. Just like the wounds covering my legs after I lost my balance on the steps leading up to Moby’s camper. But that’s another whiny, bitchy story.

I’m not trying to bash anyone here. I understand the fear, risk, and vulnerability that come with putting many aspects of your life online for everyone to see. Few people would say to your face the things they say in a comment box. It’s tough to be, well, tough. And I understand that everyone has the right to blog as they see fit even if I don’t personally like their style.

I’ve also never considered myself to be a #soblessed person. We worked hard to make this journey happen, we work hard every day to keep Moby and each other safe and sound, we work hard at our respective jobs, and I work hard on this blog. #soblessed has absolutely nothing to do with that.

So, I’ve decided to adopt the #notblessed hashtag. I don’t use Twitter that much but if you follow me on Instagram you’ll find it there. And for those of you who were hoping this would be another post about how much I suck at overlanding, stay tuned.

The tale of woe that is me falling off the steps, cracking my skull on the cement, and scraping up both my legs is next in the queue.

Essential Beauty Tips for Overlanding Women

September 15, 2016 by Cate Brubaker

I know lots of people who are self-proclaimed makeup addicts. They have pots, tubes, pencils, and various other containers full of all the things that they brush, slather, and blend on a daily basis to look and feel beautiful. Then there are the various lotions and potions that go on the skin before the makeup. Anti-wrinkle creams, skin brighteners, moisturizers with sunscreen, moisturizers without sunscreen, and serums. And don’t even get me started on hair care products.

I mean, the makeup section in drugstores can take up three or more aisles and then there are the entire stores devoted to makeup and skin care like Sephora and MAC.

I don’t know if I would describe myself as one of these addicts but when it came time to pare down for this trip I figured that the makeup portion of the throwaway process would be the easiest. While I do like makeup it’s not like I had a ton of it, right?

Oh, how wrong I was.

When I sat down to take on this task I realized I had not one but two boxes full of this shit. There they were, all the tubes of foundation, pots of eyeshadow, and at least 5 or 6 different types and brands of moisturizer. Some of this stuff wasn’t cheap so I knew I had to be careful and couldn’t just aim for the garbage can with each and every dip of my hand into the box.

In the end, I took way, way too much makeup and skincare stuff. I went from two boxes to two bags and guess how much of it I’ve used since we left? Almost none. The Visine is really the only thing I go for on a regular basis these days.

So for all you overlanding ladies out there, these are a few of the on-the-fly beauty routines I’ve adopted for my glamorous overlanding adventure. Or you could just trash your makeup and call it good.

Glowing Skin

Everyone wants to have nice skin, but the best thing is when someone comes up to you and tell you that you’re glowing. This is even more welcomed when you’re not currently pregnant. The makeup makers go to great lengths to create products that promise that highly sought after glow but when you’re out on the open road there’s no need for that.

My solution?

Sweat. Sweat is the best glow you can get and guess what? It’s free! Whether you’re frolicking on a 37-degree beach or trudging through a steamy rainforest the sweat that spouts from your face will definitely have people asking, “What’s your secret? You’re positively glowing!”

Another way to achieve that healthy, sun-kissed glow is a little-known secret that is actually two beauty tips in one. After you apply sunscreen to your face and wipe off the sweat that will try it’s best to wash that sunscreen off, then pat a little sand on your cheeks. When the light catches the shiny flecks of sand you’ll look radiant and when you go to wash your face at the end of the day the sand acts an amazing exfoliator. Win win!

Beautiful, Road-Worthy Hairstyles

Okay, in the spirit of honesty and I do try to be 100% honest about the very real struggles of overlanding I suggest shaving your head. I know, I know… this suggestion isn’t very well received among women but the truth is you will have absolutely nothing to worry about when it comes to your hair. I know this because I did it 7 years ago.

Yes, this is the best hairstyle for overlanding.

However, 7 years and a foot and a half of hair later I can attest that keeping my hair healthy and looking like something other than a rat’s nest is a real struggle. While sweat might do wonders for your face it doesn’t have quite the same effect on hair. Unless you’re the type that likes sodden hair that dries into a crispy, salty mess of tangles.

If you don’t have short, sassy, easy to care for hair this my favorite hairstyle tip, the messy top knot. It really doesn’t even require that you actually brush your hair; you just have to flip your head over, grab all your hair, and twist it into a knot on your head, then secure with pins. The result is an effortless, “I woke up like this” look that will definitely turn heads. “Heads” probably being your own as you struggle to keep your top knot secured and wipe loose, sweaty strands from your face and neck.

The oh so fetching and practical top knot, pre-sweat. — The oh so fetching and practical top knot.

Because, you know, hairspray in a camper? How frivolous!

Smooth, Pretty Feet

Back when I had a house I loved to give myself pedicures. Now that I live in a camper I’ve had to adopt some other crafty ways to keep my feet from looking like they’ve been chewed on by a dog. Since you’ll likely spend a lot of time in flip flops or other types of sandals it can be really hard to keep nail polish from chipping and the skin around your toenails from looking like jerky.

Obviously the best answer here is to just head to the salon for a pedicure. But what if you’re in some breathtakingly remote place and there’s no salon in sight? Well, if that beautiful place happens to be a beach then, once again, sand comes to the rescue. Simply get your feet wet and attack them with sand. Sometimes this can hurt a little, especially if the sand is not the sugary white kind, but keep at it. All that nasty skin and probably a fair amount of dirt will come right off.

Now, when it comes to polish I have a nifty little trick up my sleeve. I don’t have any polish remover because “oh shit, if it spills that stuff will eat through anything and stink up the place” but I don’t let that deter me. When my current polish starts to chip or grow out I just cover it up with a different color. That way, when your polish chips because you’ve stubbed your fucking toe on a rock again you get a nice kaleidoscope effect.

Brilliant and easy.

So, as I continue on down this wild road I’m sure I’ll come up with some other inventive ways to help myself feel like something other than a sweaty, dirty mess. Maybe, one day soon, we’ll land in an area with a climate more conducive to makeup and I can unearth my long buried goodie bags and the gauzy, silky maxi dress I know is in here somewhere and we’ll go to dinner.

I’ll be sand and sweat free, my hair will be down, and I’ll have my much-loved makeup on, and my husband will tell me I’m pretty.

Then, as always, I’ll spill something down the front of my dress. C’est la vie.

A Hurricane of Stupid Proportions

September 12, 2016 by Cate Brubaker

As many of you are now well aware, things haven’t been all rainbows and unicorns since we began our overland journey a month ago. In fact, things have been downright shitty at times as you can see from my previous post.

However, last Friday as we said goodbye to Mulege and spent a blissful night on a relatively cool and deserted beach I began to feel as if things were looking up. I was peeing somewhat normally, I got to go for a swim, and the Bay of Conception is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen.

But pretty beaches and pristine bays can’t hide the fact that we’ve done some pretty stupid shit thus far. Well, I guess I should say that I’ve done more stupid shit than Will has, but we’re both new to this and mistakes happen. But the big mistake we made during Hurricane Newton really takes the proverbial cake.

The funny thing is that we’re no strangers to severe weather. I’ve been through a couple of tropical storms in Louisiana and Hawaii and we both survived not one but two Category 3 typhoons in Taiwan. We know the rules but apparently the 90 miles per hour winds of Hurricane Newton blew those rules right out the window.

We became aware of the storm that would become Newton on Saturday and made it to Loreto on Sunday. All of the projected paths had this storm headed straight up the Baja Peninsula and right into our laps. On Monday Newton became a Category 1 hurricane and we talked about what we should do. Head for higher ground? No. The Mexican Civil Defense actually advised against that due to the extreme risk of mudslides. Go to a hotel? Maybe, but how will we know if it’s bad enough?

In the end, we just decided to move Moby away from the trees that we were parked under, stock up on supplies, and ride it out. We went out to dinner Monday night and watched as the outer bands of Newton swirled slowly over the Sea of Cortez. It was actually quite beautiful.

The outer bands of Hurricane Newton on Monday night.

Tuesday morning I woke to the pitter patter of rain on Moby’s roof. For a minute I just stretched and savored that exquisite sound of rain that I hadn’t heard in so long until I realized what it actually was. The beginning of a fucking hurricane. Will was already up, we had power but no internet, so we drank coffee and watched Master Chef. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, I thought.

That’s what I get for thinking.

By noon the winds had picked up and Moby was rocking and rolling. We decided to pull the top down which drastically reduced our living space. Each trip to the bathroom resulted in massive amounts of water coming into the camper and the couch was soaked. We were running out of towels. The full brunt of the storm wasn’t expected to hit Loreto until 6pm so at 2pm we did something really, really stupid.

We decided to go out and find a hotel.

We packed a few things in a dry bag, locked everything up, and headed out to the street. Wait, I’ll take that back. We headed out into a river.

The streets of Loreto were swirling with muddy, brown water and debris that nearly reached my knees. All I could think about was the fact that I was probably wading through actual shit, in Tevas. The Tevas that always give me blisters and I’m wading through filthy water and will probably get gangrene from a blister.

But we trudged on.

Then I realized the second stupid way we might die.

Power lines in Mexico aren’t always a neat and tidy affair. In fact, they’re kind of a shit show. So as I looked up at the power lines precariously swinging directly over my head all I could do was whisper to myself, “Five blocks. It’s only five blocks to the hotel.”

We reached Loreto’s little central square to find the hotel we were counting on was closed. A peek through the door showed a collapsed ceiling over the reception area and water everywhere. We trudged across the square to the other hotel. Nothing. Nada. Closed.

We then waded back toward the beach and actually had to skirt a power line that wasn’t entirely down but way too close for comfort. As we approached the beach hotel and saw the cars and people milling about it looked like a shining beacon of light, a true port in a storm, a magical place that might provide me a dry towel and a goddamn drink.

But no. The hotel was completely empty but the staff were there and said, in no uncertain Spanish terms, that el jefe said no guests today. We probably could have bribed our way in but I just wanted to go back and put some antibiotic cream on my feet. You know, so they wouldn’t rot and fall off.

So, we did what anyone who had just risked their lives by walking around in a fucking hurricane would do. We waded back to Moby and got drunk. We stripped down to our underwear and just wore raincoats when we had to splash over to the bathroom. We laughed about how stupid we were. And as the skies darkened and Newton began seriously dumping rain and throwing out winds that reached 90 mph I freely admit that I was scared shitless. But tequila does help with that.

When I woke up on Wednesday it was like nothing had ever happened. The skies were a crisp blue, a delightfully cool breeze was blowing, and we had internet and power. But the real work had yet to begin.

We did get some water in the camper at the head of the bed so we had to open all the flaps and pull the mattress back. All the couch cushions and their covers had to come out into the sun. Our clothesline was jammed with sodden towels and clothes. The shoes we’d been wearing were lined up in rows. Our bed pillows were laid out with the floor mats. It looked like a damn hobo yard sale.

I’m sure this adventure is going to be full of lots of stupid decisions. Life itself is full of stupid decisions but most of those tend not to involve hurricanes, power lines, and wading through sewage. Luckily, hurricane season is almost over and once we’re further south in Mexico we won’t have to worry about hurricanes again for the rest of the trip.

But who am I kidding? There’s no free pass when Mother Nature is concerned.

We’ve got volcanoes and earthquakes to look forward to.

Bugs, Sweat, and Tears: What No One Tells You About Overlanding

September 7, 2016 by Cate Brubaker

As I write this we are just over a month into what promises to be at least a two-year overland journey from the United States to Ushuaia, Argentina.

Yes. Just one month in and I’m already writing this post.

I know many people who have done this type of trip and some of them have done it several times. It’s life changing, the say. It’s magical, they say. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced, they say.

Deep down in my currently dehydrated heart I want to believe this. I want to know that, at the end of this journey, I’ll feel the same way. I crave that gut feeling that they’re right but my gut feeling these days is more about “Oh fuck, is there a toilet?” However, as a newbie overlander and a sometimes (most of the time) complainer, these are a few of the things I wasn’t exactly (at all) prepared for.

There Will be Bugs

Okay, look. I get it. Bugs are a thing. As I’m writing this something unidentifiable is crawling across my screen and its evil kin is buzzing my ear. I’m no stranger to bugs. I lived in Hawaii and New Orleans where the cockroaches play airplane at night and give zero fucks about you, eating your food, or parking themselves in your hair. I stepped in a fire ant bed twelve years ago and still have the scars to prove it.

What makes this different? I can’t really get away from them and repellent only goes so far. At night it’s not so bad as Moby is pretty well screened up but she’s a hot little number in the daytime so I sit outside and why do flies like me so much? And why does repellent never seems to faze flies? Or ants? And did you know that bees really, really like beer and if even one of them gets a taste they’ll inform their brethren and soon you’ll have a swarm on your hands?

It’s true.

Climate Change

Again, I hate to be such a baby but I’m really bad at dealing with climate extremes, and what seems extreme to me would probably be a blip on the weather radar to you. When it’s hot I drip sweat and feel faint for a few days until I acclimate. When it’s cold I shiver and shake and nothing short of a scalding shower can warm me up.

I’ve been very hot and very cold on this trip of less than a month. Las Vegas was so hot that Moby’s little a/c couldn’t keep up and we only stayed one night. Also, did you know that the west coast of Baja California is cold? In August? Hell, I took a university meteorology course and I couldn’t even figure that one out until I’m bundled in flannel in front of a fire, teeth chattering on a beach in Mexico in August.

I’ve met a lot of people over the last month and many of them stare at my salt and sweat smeared face and say, “Wow. You’re red,” as they flick a single bead of sweat from their upper lip. I don’t know if they’re superhuman or what, but when they comment on the 37-degree heat like they’re commenting on the most mundane of things I want to slap their sweat-free head.

Who’s got a red face now?

Bad Things Happen to Your Body

I’ve become all too aware of my body over the last few weeks, namely how it’s betraying me. You know, those pesky needs to urinate, defecate, eat, drink. One might think, “Hey! You’re just sitting in a truck driving around all day then camping at night. Just like home, right?”

Wrong.

I’ve found myself drinking way too little water because I don’t want to have to find a place to pee to the point that I’ve actually had brown urine one morning. Brown. Any doc worth his salt would have me on an IV immediately. After a night of picking through a kilo of local crab in a spicy paprika sauce, I found myself, exactly 24 hours later, stricken with diarrhea and scrambling across a rocky beach in the middle of nowhere to build a toilet from said rocks because my quivering thighs wouldn’t hold me up anymore.

Cue more dehydration. Did you know water intake is crucial? You’re going to sweat a lot.

And speaking of sweat, this one’s for the ladies. Try and perfect your from-the-back bra fastening skills. You might think that sweat-slick skin is the perfect surface upon which to slide your fastened bra around to the front but you’d be wrong.

Or just abandon all your pricey Victoria’s Secret lingerie altogether. You may as well throw all of your expensive makeup in that hallowed grave too because MAC foundation and sweat do not mix.

At all.

You’re Going to Stink, Badly

Weather plays a big part in any type of travel but something as far-reaching as overlanding means you’re covering several different seasons in some of the hottest and most humid places on Earth. Showers aren’t always available and baby wipes and deodorant can only do so much. You’re going to stink, your partner is going to stink, your clothes are going to stink, your hair is going to stink, and your shoes, if you wear them, will absolutely reek. And the combo of bug spray and rancid sweat is horrific.

DIY laundry solutions are always an option but let’s face it; dish soap and a bucket are poor substitutes for Tide with Downy and a proper washing machine. And a swim in the ocean does not constitute a bath, even if you take some Dr. Bronner’s in there with you.

You’re Going to Fight, Often

Most people undertake this kind of overlanding trip with a partner, usually someone you’re in a relationship with. That makes sense. It’s a lot of work and having a partner to share the duties with is a big deal. But no matter how strong the relationship chances are you won’t always be on the same page, or more likely even reading the same book.

You’ll fight about how one of you (me) is complaining too much. You’ll fight because one of you (me) really wants a toilet. You’ll fight about spending the night at a luxe yet pricey campground versus a free yet barren beach. You’ll fight because you’ve listened to the same 171 songs over and over for days. You’ll fight because your starter went out in a blast furnace somewhere near Barstow and you don’t even have any drugs that will kick in to ease the pain.

And one of you (me) will almost always cry.

You’ll Have to Learn New Words and Their Actual Meanings

Jerry can, boondocking, voltage, inverter, greywater, gross vehicle weight. What are these words and why should I care? Also, at the risk sounding less than feminist, aren’t these guy words?

Well, it turns out that if you’re part of an overlanding duo, regardless of your gender, you need to know these words and more, what they mean, and how they now fit into your brand new lifestyle and lexicon. I’ll leave the fun of exploring these words to you, but these words also involve a lot of work so I don’t know exactly how much fun that will be.

You’ll Wonder What the Fuck You’ve Gotten Yourself Into

I feel like an utter and complete asshole for saying this but I’ve questioned this decision more than a few times in a month. Why this? Why a trip that requires so much work and decision making and complications? Are we really ready for this? Who, in their right mind, does something like this when we could have just moved to Thailand or someplace in Europe for the same cost and half the hassle?

I’m a worrier and an over-thinker so I know my feelings are probably more extreme than most, but for fuck’s sake. Can I really do this? Two years? In a camper the size of the smallest kitchen in any of the huge houses we’ve lived in? Without killing each other? I also tend to be pessimistic (surprise!) so that only makes it worse.

I’m working on that.

You’ll Wonder Why You Didn’t Do it Sooner

So after every horrible thing I’ve said to this point I still think this was the best decision we ever made and I think we should have done it years ago when it first came up. I’ve found myself with a very deep level of respect for Will and the things he knows how to do. He is a problem solver of the best kind and has the skills to back that up.

He’s also been pretty patient with me and he’s not the most patient of people.

Some of the less attractive aspects of my personality have come roaring to the surface. I’m whiny, I’m lazy, I’m a creature of habit and comfort. None of these are conducive to this or any healthy lifestyle. I need to shed those habits and embrace more joy and spontaneity and learn how to be a truly active participant in my relationship and this journey. These are all good things to know.

And the pods of dolphins seen from deserted beaches and the skies so dark that the Milky Way slides across the night with a brilliance I’ve never seen before in my life help ease the pain.

Those things help a lot.

Mulegé

September 4, 2016 by Will Brubaker

Of course traveling is all about the places you go. And then again, its not at all about the places you go. I am fortunate to have had great experiences all around the globe. I’ve seen many beautiful things and have sometimes even taken photos of those beautiful things. The places and the beauty however, are rarely what make a visit to someplace stick out in my mind. The people I meet, on the other hand, solidify the memories of beautiful (or not so beautiful) places.

Mulegé is a non-descript small town on the east coast of the Baja Peninsula. For me it was a convenient place to stop for the work week. We found an inexpensive campground which had good wifi (this is low-season so nobody else was using it). All of my requirements were met here so the decision was made to spend the week.

For our first couple of nights, we really didn’t get out much. There’s really nowhere to get out to, it’s also pretty hot at this time of year and leaving the shaded area of the orchard where we were camped was less than pleasant. Boredom and monotony eventually drove us to brave the heat and seek out something resembling entertainment. So far as we could tell by Google maps, the nearest bar/restaurant within walking distance was nearly 2km away. That’s not very far at all under normal circumstances but if I have neglected to mention how hot it was, well, it was hot and I would just as soon not be drenched in sweat by simply walking to dinner.

We set off towards the beach and after about 5 minutes walking saw what appeared to be your typical Mexican bar/restaurant. It didn’t really look open, but there were two ladies about so we inquired. Indeed, they would be happy to have us. That didn’t really mitigate the dreaded sweating, but by stopping here, it didn’t get any worse.

Soon after we were seated, a lone man sat at a table nearby. Cate made several attempts to strike up a conversation, but he didn’t really seem chatty. He would politely respond to questions but was perhaps a bit hesitant to elaborate on any answers to questions that he had given. Not too long after he arrived, a friend of his showed up. That’s when what amounts to entertainment in Mulegé began.

Cate and I had had a conversation a few days earlier about what might make a person choose one place over another when deciding to expatriate from the US. She was trying to make sense of why people flock to places like Boquete, Panama. More specifically, why do people leave the US and travel to a strange country to only do the exact same thing they were doing back home (in many ways, we exhibit this behaviour as well). Once these two old friends got to talking, Cate seized on the opportunity to explore her questions more. “Will you ever go back to the US?” she asked. “Nope” was the response. “Why not?” Cate asked. “People in the US park too fast”. Yep, you read that right – park as in park their vehicles. That’s the kind of place that Mulegé is. Life is a LOT slower there. There were many other great quotes from that night – the only other one that I can recall is “Lobsters are the groupers of the shrimp world”. I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but I found it hilarious at the time.

In so many places that we’ve lived and traveled, expats from wherever show up and try to change wherever they’ve moved to to be more like wherever they came from. It’s an odd phenomenon.

Later in the week, we were invited back to the same restaurant/bar for a potluck. More of the local expats were there. The vibe here is definitely different. None of the people that have adopted Mulegé as home complain about the Mexicans. This is the exact opposite of our experience in Tulum where that seemed to be all the expats would talk about. Nobody here is interested in changing a damn thing. I get the sense that if one decides to expatriate to Mulegé, they do it because they simply want to be left alone and I also get the sense that these folks have succeeded in that endeavor.

If you ever find yourself in Mulegé on a Sunday afternoon, you should seek out the Carlos Racing Bar & Grill. Sit down, relax (but slowly) and learn a thing or two about just letting go. Thanks, Mulegé for reminding me how to relax.

Captain Jacktastic

August 31, 2016 by Cate Brubaker

Coming up on twenty years ago I met a man.

This isn’t going where you think it’s going.

It was a sultry summer night in Utah at a house party under a tree. I had a slight crush on the guy throwing the party but it was this other man who has made a lasting impression on my life and is one of the finest examples of humanity I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.

His name is Clay.

We became fast friends. We took road trips with my daughter, who was then three, to interesting places like Fossil Butte State Park in Wyoming. We went to parties together. We went to dinner together. We laughed together and we were quiet together. It’s then when you know that you have someone special.

Clay was married at the time but his wife, a lovely woman, worked out of state. Over the course of our time in Utah Clay and his wife separated. It was an amicable separation but a separation does not come without wounds. I recall accompanying him to their shared storage unit so he could begin the property portion of that separation. It’s always fun to look at the things other people choose to keep around but I knew that day was hard for him.

It wasn’t long before I reconnected with an old friend which would turn into a 7 year relationship. Clay also met someone. He met her online in the early days of internet dating. She lived in Alabama and a had a young daughter. My new boyfriend and I made the decision to move to New Orleans. Clay and his new girlfriend would move to Eureka, California. I went with him on the day he bought an old Jeep, the car he would use to move his new family to their new home.

Less than a year later I received the birth announcement in the mail. Clay and his girlfriend had a beautiful baby boy. His name is Jackson James Carver and he shares my daughter’s birthday. I looked at that photo, a delightfully squishy baby all dark hair and bright blue eyes, and I was so happy. I knew Clay would make an amazing father.

In the early 2000’s I wasn’t using email regularly but I’d write letters to Clay and sometimes we’d talk on the phone. Things weren’t going well. Little baby Jack had a disease called tuberous sclerosis, which can cause a multitude of severe symptoms, the worst of which is the development of large but benign tumors in the brain.

The seizures started when Jack was just a baby. Life flight trips to hospitals in San Francisco became routine. Little Jack had brain surgery to remove as many of the tumors as they could, the ones that were causing cranial pressure and affecting other portions of his brain. Then it slowly became clear that Jack had autism as well.

Clay and I kept in touch as I moved my family from New Orleans to Hawaii. He had returned to university to study special education all while managing his son’s life-threatening condition. And his relationship was falling apart.

I never met Jack’s mother but she and Clay separated when Jack was about five years old.

But Clay wasn’t alone. One night Clay went to his car to find a note under the windshield wiper. A woman had spied his Mystery Science Theater 3000 bumper sticker and couldn’t resist.

Enter Tina.

When we began planning our trip we knew that we had finite time in the United States and that was hard. There are so many people that I’d love to see, people who live in amazing parts of the country. But since we had to head west and eventually south I knew Eureka had to be on the list. I hadn’t seen Clay in far too long and I wanted to meet Jack.

And I very much wanted to meet Tina.

When we arrived in Eureka after a full day of switchback turns and passing lanes from Lassen National Forest there was Clay. Big, solid, and smiling from ear to ear, just how I remembered him.

And there was Jack, now 14, in a wheelchair due to a recent fracture of his leg. The medications that he has to take cause osteoporosis. I smiled at Jack and, per Clay’s instructions, said, “Hi Jack! I’m Cate.”

“Hi, Cate.”

Will introduced himself as well, and Jack replied in kind.

Clay, always the consummate host, offered us wine and food and I looked around their lovely, cozy home with a sweeping view of the Pacific and Jack’s “spinning garden”. Pinwheels big and small, plastic and metal, were firmly planted in the corner of the yard.

Jack likes spinning.

Tina wasn’t home when we arrived but I was anxiously waiting. She and I had been friends on Facebook for some time, and I knew her to be as fierce with a sewing machine as she was with her heart. I expected a rare breed of tormenta.

Then, there she was. All hair and smiles and hugs and she grabbed my face and said, “Look how beautiful you are!” Then her attention went to Jack.

It’s not often that you can see love as a physical thing. In most cases love is intangible, a feeling, a knowledge, but when I watched Tina greet Jack my first and only thought was, “This is what love looks like. Love is Tina Carver.”

Tina and her daughter, who was on vacation while we were there so we didn’t get to meet her, swept into the lives of Clay and Jack and made what could have been a pitiable situation a thriving one. She dove heart first into Jack’s condition, learning the ins and outs of a mysterious disease like tuberous sclerosis, and started a blog called Captain Jacktastic to muse, share information, and let all of us know more about the disease and about her boy.

We spent five days with Clay, Tina, and Jack and it was glorious. We visited the redwoods and ate sushi. Tina made a makeup bag and a pair of pajama pants for me. I learned that Jack asks for things by saying “Yes, chips!” or whatever the thing is. Jack also decided that Will’s name is “Wow”.

“Hi Wow.”

It was adorable.

One morning while Tina was working Clay, Jack, Will, and I took a boat ride around the bay near Eureka. It’s one of Jack’s favorite things to do. It was a weekday and there weren’t too many people waiting for the boat, but Jack stands out. He was excited and impatient and didn’t hesitate to vocalize this. The few families that were waiting were polite in that way that we’ve been trained to be polite in the presence of a special needs child which, in many cases, is with furtive glances and turned backs. Since Jack was in his wheelchair we got to board first and were seated at the back of the boat.

A few of these families had teen children, likely Jack’s same age of 14. Of course, they weren’t rude but there were stares. As I sat there, taking some photos of Jack and Clay, I saw these kids looking. All I felt was pride.

They don’t know Jack.

On the early morning that we left we whispered a goodbye through the window to Tina, her sleepy face so beautiful and so lovely. We got on the highway and headed south and I turned to Will and asked what he thought of my friend’s family.

He just shook his head.

“That’s not a family. That’s a clan, a tribe. Few people will ever have what they have.”

He’s right.

Author’s Note: While I am against censorship in all forms I have received some comments on this post that I have chosen not to make public. I understand there are two sides to every story and I know only one. I have retracted a portion of this story to reflect this. However, this post, which celebrates love in the best possible way, is not the place for negative conversations. All comments are reviewed by admin before approval. Any further questions can be emailed directly to me at cate@thelifenomadic.com. Thank you.

Drinking Water

August 30, 2016 by Will Brubaker

Safe, clean drinking water is a pretty important consideration no matter where one is on the face of the earth. It’s even a concern in parts of the U.S. these days though we really didn’t give it much thought during our quick jaunt through the U.S.

Now that we’re in Mexico, however, ensuring that we have safe water to drink is a major concern and so far I haven’t gotten sick from our drinking water so I’m calling our strategy a success.

There are many approaches to managing one’s drinking water. Here in Mexico and the rest of Latin America, if potable agua is purchased in larger quantities, it’s relatively inexpensive. As an example, a 20 liter garrafon (plastic jug) costs about the equivalent of 1 U.S. dollar. So far as I am aware, many overlanders just use that as their solution to drinking water. Whether they fill their entire holding tank (if they have one) with water from a garrafon, or whether they just keep a full garrafon around for drinking and then just wash dishes, shower, etc with water from another source varies. Either way, one does learn very quickly how to minimize the amount of water one uses so it’s not terribly cost prohibitive to just always use purified water for everything in one’s camper.

There is, at least in my opinion, the economics of space to consider. We haven’t got much space. A garrafon takes up quite a bit of that space. Cate had been suggesting that we consider acquiring a Berkey filter for quite some time. This suggestion had come up well before we had made any commitment to overlanding. After I had purchased Moby, I started giving this some serious thought. Filling our holding tank with water from a garrafon certainly would have worked but it also seems like it could be a huge pain in the ass. If we also wanted to have a garrafon full of water, that would require special consideration in ensuring that we had one with a screw-on cap. This isn’t always possible so we would have had to become extremely vigilant when swapping our empty one for a full one.

This is our Berkey water filter plus 8 liters of potable water storage

I eventually settled on the Berkey solution. It’s less than half the size of a garrafon so freed up part of the space that was previously occupied by a garrafon (even with additional potable water storage). Aside from space considerations, we haven’t got to break camp to go in search of drinking water when we run out.

Basically, we just fill our holding tank with water from the hose whenever we’re at a campground/RV park and run some through the filter as needed (which is pretty much the entire time we’re parked). We also have a 6 liter dromedary that we purchased at REI before leaving the States.

I have to admit, I was a bit hesitant at first. Berkey makes some pretty bold claims and I hadn’t found any accounts of people using them on overlanding trips so I didn’t have 100% confidence in it. That said, 10 days into Mexico and the only water that I’ve drank has come from the Berkey and so far, so good.

What’s your potable water solution?

Most People I Know Would Probably Just Push

August 26, 2016 by Will Brubaker

The power button. I know, I just broke some journalistic rule about how titles work. Sobeit. There, I broke some more. Anyhow, before I get back to the subject at hand, there was a fucking naked guy in the middle of the highway today. I mean absolutely bare-balls naked. Nothin’ but the blisters on his feet – that’s it. And for some reason, it didn’t seem terribly weird at the moment. It almost was expected.

So….we’ve lived in Mexico for the 1.5 years previous to starting this trip. We’ve actually lived in a fair number of the places that this route will take us through. But, lemme tell ya, this part of Mexico ain’t what we’re used to. This is much more what we see in old spaghetti westerns staring Clint Eastwood and his ilk. I wasn’t prepared for this. The highway in Quintana Roo – that thing is splendid to drive down. Granted, there are quite a few topes (speed bumps) along the way but given that the entirety of the Yucatan peninsula is flat, it’s really not so much of a miracle how easy it is to drive across the Yucatan. That section of highway is also much better funded. Anyhow, last night we boondocked on some rocky beach on the Pacific side of the Baja peninsula. Somewhere just a few dozen kilometers north of Guerrero Negro. There was nothing, nada, zilch, zero. At this time of year, that side is chilly or maybe a tiny bit warm or, perhaps you would prefer the word “ideal”. I wouldn’t disagree. The necessity of a hoody just past sunset ain’t so bad. We’re not on that side any more and it’s a bit on the warm side. At this moment, I have an obligation to be in a certain place on a certain date. I’m a couple of weeks out from that date and maybe a day or day and a half drive from this particular place on the map. Cooler temps put me well away. Both geographically (Add another full day of driving) and calendar-wise. Plus, to go back to cooler climes means worse connectivity. I can’t have that.

So…here we are. I am going back to work next Monday (today is Friday). I need a good internet connection to work. Where we are now is surprisingly well connected. The campground wifi is exceptional so far as campground wifi has gone in our experience. It’s also extraordinarily cheap. Seriously – this place is 150 pesos per night. At today’s exchange rate, that’s just over eight dollars. That’s eight dollars for a full hookup. Water, electric, sewer – the whole enchilada if you will. For someone in my position, this is nearly ideal. Except, it’s hot. It’s hot AND our camper has an air-conditioner.

Manuel (the proprietor) had come by earlier to collect tonight’s fee. He was a very interesting gentlemen to have a brief conversation with. When Cate mentioned Chiapas, Manuel responded in-kind (he has experience in Chiapas while in the military, circa 1995). Anyhow, here we are and we’ve paid eight dollars for a full RV hookup and it’s hot.

Our very first RV hookup cost nearly $40 and I was livid. It was also a bit chilly there. But at $40 I didn’t give a fuck about chilly – I wanted to use my $40 worth so I immediately plugged-in and turned on the A/C to maximum. We walked away for several hours. Hell, we went to a county fair. The A/C wouldn’t even turn on anymore it was so cold at that point. Oh well, we filled up their dumpster with enough crap that we got some of our value out of that stop.

But now, tonight, it’s uncomfortably warm. I mean, it’s not intolerable like Vegas was nor it is horrific like Barstow after our first overnight breakdown. The temperature is a bit high though. But I just can’t do it. I just can’t turn on the A/C. Not after having paid less than nine dollars. I just can’t. There’s no reason for me to cool down my sleeping space so much that I need a blanket while at the same time, depriving a fellow-human of comfort. I can’t. Not only would I feel like I were abusing this person’s generosity but I also feel like I would be fucking it up for people who come here in the future.

So back to the naked dude. Really, it didn’t seem so strange at first. I had previously remarked to Cate that this reminded me of the Australian outback. Seeing a person, with much skin exposed, walking down the middle of the highway wouldn’t be strange at all there. Completely naked doesn’t take it much further.

There’s more to it though. For starters, I had absolutely no idea how long the Baja is. I figured a couple of days driving would pretty much cover it. I didn’t do any research. Secondly, the main highway is extraordinarily narrow. The white lines are actually falling off the edges. We’re about as wide as a lane will allow. Passing a semi-truck is fucking terrifying. It’s white-knuckle the whole way. If we put a tire over that white line at 100kph, it’s all over. This is the only place I’ve braked while passing.

So there we are, passing a semi. In the distance I can see a shape of something resembling a human but it can’t be. That makes no sense. It must be some weird shadow cast by one of the lonely trees in this vast wasteland. It is no shadow. Indeed, it’s a human. I’m still buzzing from the adrenaline high given to my near-death experience passing the previous semi. There he was, naked dude. Nothing. Swinging-balls naked and not a thing in his hands. He had nothing. In the absolute middle of nowhere. And we just kept on trukin’.

You know how sometimes 30 seconds seems like 30 hours? Yeah, that. As I recall, Cate broke the 30 hour (or 30 second) silence and this is pretty much what we talked about for the next 2 hours. There was a mention of too much peyote. There was a reference to some author who wrote about getting high in the Mexican desert. There was a motorcyclist who looked to be broken down, but as I slowed; looking for a place to turn around, his headlight appeared on the highway. There was a family, whose minivan protested after carrying the dozen or so of them up a massive hill. They were pulled over with their hood up. We did have ample room to stop and check in on them. They were fine but requested some water to replenish their radiator. I was happy to oblige. But the mental image of the naked man just lingers. What has been seen, can not be unseen I guess.

There’s really no point to this except I’m a bit uncomfortable because of the temperature, but at least it ain’t Vegas (the food’s not as good here).

Move in Day – It Is Real Now

August 14, 2016 by Will Brubaker

Just less than a week after I moved out of our rental house in Chiapas, we moved into our new home on wheels. I was glad to have gotten out of San Cristóbal when I did. Not that I was in any danger but certainly would have been inconvenienced a bit by the protesters when they blockaded the road to the airport.

When I arrived in Salt Lake City, it was evening so I wasn’t going to be able to get much done but I did stop and check-in on Moby to make sure she was still safe and secure. Indeed she was. I then went to Brigham City and reunited with Cate. The next day we met my dad for breakfast, worked in a few preparatory tasks, picked up all of the things that we had ordered for the trip at our temporary mailbox in SLC and did my best to squeeze in some work. It was a hectic day to say the least. The following day (Thursday, 4 August) we had designated as our move-in day. There was heaps of work to do and we also wanted to cover some miles so we got an early start. Move in day was also our first real test of challenges that we will face together on this trip. We had to mount the camper on the truck since the two pieces had to be separated for storage. Neither of us had ever really done anything like this before and we definitely hadn’t worked as a team like this. We allowed ourselves plenty of time for the task. Getting the camper positioned correctly is a bit of a precision job and Moby is most definitely not a precision instrument. All in all it went well and about 3 hours after we began, the camper was mounted and all of our things were packed inside.

We had some non-negotiable stops to make and the first one of those was in Wyoming to get the title/registration in both of our names as well as say hello and goodbye to some of my family in Wyoming so we pointed the truck east and stopped at a campground in Evanston, Wyoming for the night. While in Evanston we went to the truck pulls at the county fair. I’m really glad we got to have that experience and there’s something special about being a foreigner in one’s own native country. We also had our first post-move in purge of stuff. This purge was easy. There were some items that were bulky and we couldn’t anticipate ever being used. They weren’t worth the space they took and we don’t want to burn fuel carrying useless weight. There will be more purging, but for the most part we’re pretty well set.

Once our business in Wyoming was done, we did a 180 and headed back to Brigham City. Cate’s mom wanted to see what our living quarters looked like and it was nice to have somewhere familiar to park for the night. After that we pushed hard for two days to the last of our non-negotiable stops which was to visit a dear friend of Cate’s and meet his family. They live in Eureka, California and have a nice big driveway with an RV hookup so we settled in for the workweek and got a nice little tour of the area. We went to see the redwoods (awe inspiring), took a cruise on a historical boat in Humboldt bay. I was also able to make a few modifications to the camper and we did another, albeit much smaller, purge of stuff.

Today we will be leaving Eureka. We’ll put the Pacific ocean on Moby’s right side and beyond that, we really don’t know. There’s something resembling a plan but from here on out it’s flexible and fluid. We do want to cross into Mexico as soon as is practical but as of today, I feel the adventure is beginning in earnest.

Move Out Day – It Feels Real Now

July 31, 2016 by Will Brubaker

We moved to San Cristóbal about a year ago. Actually, moving there wasn’t the intention, it just kind of happened. We had been living in Tulum previously and it didn’t take us long to realize that Tulum wasn’t for us. In my mind Tulum is the classic case of “a great place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there”. Our intention was to move to Mexico City but we had spent enough time in Mexico at that point to know that we wanted to explore it more so we decided to take the long way to Mexico City. I took time off work and we planned for two weeks of exploration of Mexico. We arrived in the cool mountain air after a 17 hour bus ride and immediately fell in love with San Cristóbal. A few days turned into a few weeks and that turned into signing a one year lease.

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end

–Closing Time by Semisonic

It usually doesn’t take us long to become restless after arriving someplace new. The newness of a place quickly wears off and the desire to be somewhere else kicks in. This was no exception. I was certainly more content in San Cristóbal than I had been in other places. It’s a fabulous little Spanish Colonial city in the highlands of Chiapas. The climate is close to perfect, if not a bit on the chilly side. It offers a great selection of small restaurants, cafés, artisanal chocolate shops and it has a very interesting if not tumultuous history. We found a very comfortable and well located house to live in and had a really great time living there. All of that didn’t prevent the restlessness.

The problem with the restlessness this time was that we just couldn’t decide how to direct it. Over the last several years there have been many conversations about the things that we might want to do. Some of those things we have explored deeper and decided against others have been dismissed outright due to changing political climates in the areas we wanted to explore. One of the ideas that has been lingering but not explored was the idea of a Pan-American highway trip. It was during a mini-vacation on the beach that the idea of this trip really sank in. It’s one thing to have an idea in my head, it’s quite another to make a public declaration of that idea. I wrote a blog post about the plans then. That post had us starting this trip next year. I wanted plenty of time to plan things out but, as is often the case, once a decision has been made I’d rather start sooner than later. When I spoke of this plan with friends I always ended with the disclaimer “This is still a maybe. Until money has been spent it isn’t really real.” In April of this year, I spent money on the purchase of a truck/camper for the trip. That step made it all the more real. As real as it might have seemed in that moment, there was still a lot of time and life generally plodded along as normal without too much thought of this upcoming adventure.

Our lease didn’t officially end until August 11th but due to some timing considerations we decided that we would move out on the 2nd of August and make the trip to the US to reunite with Moby (the truck) and begin the trip then. However, there is currently a bit of civil unrest in Chiapas. That civil unrest didn’t really worry me too much. It was more an annoyance or a minor inconvenience than anything. That is, until the day that the streets were on fire in San Cristóbal followed by the protestors blockading the road to the airport. All of that coupled with the fact that Cate had to depart early to tie up some loose ends in the US before starting the trip and I decided it best to get out while I could.

It wasn’t until I handed over the house keys to the landlords that it really sunk in. This is happening. We’re all in. There’s no turning back now. For better or worse we’re embarking on a brand new adventure and I couldn’t be more excited or more apprehensive. This most definitely feels real now.