It has been almost a month (or roughly 3700 kms) since we finished packing up our apartment and began our RPod odyssey.

We have gone down the Washington and Oregon coast and worked our way back up the Eastern sides of each. Our map has become worn, taped, highlighted and folded too many times to count.

I am writing an off-line draft of this blog post in our last U.S. campsite for this trip, here in Larrabee State Park, near Bellingham, where we are celebrating with the almost-completed tweaking of our new mobile life.

We found the wine glass rack today, ensuring the last bit of unused cupboard real-estate is working for us and giving Kevin his most excited eureka moment of the trip (Look! We have room for two martini glasses!).

The outdoor mat was found in Manzanita, Oregon and has been a wonderful way of keeping the dirt out of our tiny world.

 

 

Manzanita was a great coastal town where we hiked a mountain one day and along a hard-packed sand beach the other. Best of all, we rocked out to a 70s band, the Dischords (who bore an eery resemblance to Spinal Tap) at the San Dune bar and restaurant.

It was crowded in the little bar that night. There were no inside tables left. The fog had rolled in and it was too cold to sit outside.

The blonde hostess smiled, “Would you mind sharing a table with another couple?”

The couple she pointed out would not have been our first pick for table mates. But then, I’m sure they looked at us and thought the same thing.

R, a fifty-ish, multi-tattooed, shaved-head man with a serious leather biker vest and T, his wifely sidekick, who looked like one of those super-perky types. She was younger than him, a blonde-bobbed soccer mom with her hair pulled straight off her face into a long barrette. In short, she was a woman who looked like she had no business hanging with a biker.

We thanked them for sharing their table, and then, we proceeded to have one of the best nights of our trip.

R? The badass biker? He turned out to have been the son of a Protestant preacher.

And T, the innocent-looking one? She’d grown up around a hippie mother who gardened in the nude in a home frequented by various members of the Hells Angels.

Once again, all my stupid stereotypical notions based on how people appear was thoroughly trashed by the reality of meeting them.

We had such a great time getting to know each other.

They were good, in a capital-G kind of way. Even when they off-handedly referred to their at-home stash of guns. Even when R spoke of Trump in a not-completely-dismissive way. I heard it for what it really was; a complete and total frustration with their broken political system.

It was obvious they adored each other and that they were kind. And, in spite of all the shit that had happened in their lives (and yes, there had been some rough patches) they knew how to choose each other and have fun.

We laughed and danced and talked and talked. And then, to add to our head-shaking wonderment at the end of the night…we discovered T had paid for everything…our dinner, our bar bill, the works.

After we hugged our goodbyes, she handed me a note, thanking us for a great night. She added her phone number at the bottom and reminded me that if we ran into any trouble or ever needed anything at all…we were to call.

Even as I write this, I still can’t quite believe how generous they were with two people they’d just met. It is both humbling and inspiring.

After that night, we decided that we would try to find live music at least once a week. And too, that every time we stopped at another campsite, we’d find a place to hike or find the next thing that would enhance our new little home.

Yesterday, after a great hike near Winthrop, Washington, we found the copper-wire LED lights. They completed my meditation space ambience and the overall gypsy boudoir look I was after.

 

 

Kevin installed the herb rail, gluing large metal washers along the inside track so that each tin clicks into place on their little magnetic circles.

 

 

The bamboo wind chimes were found in Chelan, Washington and bring me great joy every time they give their wooden clacking reminder of the winds of change.

 

 

We’re still looking for a mirror to stick on the wall. I have a tiny 4” x 6” plastic-framed mirror that I use to try to see what I’m presenting to the world. Between that, and the random blurriness of the State Park metal mirrors, I realize that, for almost a month, I have hardly seen myself.

It is strangely liberating.

Though, at times it’s also surprising. Especially when I catch a full-on reflection in a dressing room as I try on new hiking pants or see myself as I pass a dark window on the street. I gaze back at my image and realize I’m no longer as familiar as I once was with this older woman who presents herself.

She stares back at me with a cool look as we appraise each other. Then, our opposite eyebrows raised, we both wonder what…what exactly has changed?

We wink at each other. We both know what’s happened. I think we’ve gone a little feral.

Perhaps it’s because I can’t remember when I’ve last spent so much time out doors.

Most of the time now, my mascara rolls around, lonely and unused at the bottom of my little plastic bin, joined by the unused blush and other random bits of cosmetics. I never wore much makeup to begin with, but now I’m pleased when I remember that I still have a coloured chapstick somewhere.

Tomorrow we head back to Canada, where we have plans to meet up with friends and family over these next months. Somewhere along the way I’ll find a bigger mirror. I’ll remind myself to brush my hair more.

Then again, maybe not.

In Canada, I’ll have much easier Internet connections. This trip to the U.S. has been a great way to start our new nomadic lives. Because of the more expensive data plan, we’ve spent way less time on the net and the more time we’ve been disconnected, the more connected I have felt.

I liked how we slowly woke each morning, staying in bed to drink our coffee. Sometimes I’d write in my journal, other times we read and often we just sat, side by side, looking out at the green life that surrounds us.

Maybe, maybe….we can hang on to this plan. Perhaps we’ve established a new ritual?

And now, as I write this by our picnic table in Larrabee State Park, I hear the train. I remember now. There was a warning sign on the way in here, something about excessive train noise?

But how can they say that?

If there is a more romantic sound in the world, I have yet to discover it. How does one sound embody hope, yearning and melancholy, all in one long mournful whistle?

Oh.

Wait a minute…that train is really really REALLY close. The chugging, thumping cars bang and roll like it’s exploding right through our campsite.

Life eh?

Just when you’re waxing on…all nostalgic and romantic, it comes along and blows you right out of your damned chair, an insistent and loud reminder that life is a force to be reckoned with and that it all can change in a heartbeat.

Best then, to, always and forevermore remember to be kind, drop the stereotypes, heed the warnings of those who have gone before you, and to once in awhile, slap on some lipstick.

After all. You never know what’s going to come whistling down the track.

 

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