A few weeks into living on the road, you realize you are picky. Things have a place, a way and you are practically a coyote without a shower.
The little hotel on wheels became the little house on wheels quite a while ago. Living and staying are two different things, and I love the living. It isn’t always tidy or perfect (specially when I’m bouncing down a Utah forest service road) but it’s so peaceful and happy and full of joy.
I am home no matter where I go. This is life lately. Living full time on the road, means I’m living large.
America, you are wild. You are so much more than my small mind could ever make up, and your cultures and characters fill my heart and notebooks with lines and ink. You have breathed life into life, and I am living every moment possible.
I camp in forests, deserts, by lakes and in pastures. I cook over fire and probably drink too many beers at night while 300,000 stars smile on and the nighttime sounds enfold me.
I drive. And drive. And sing. And ride. And rope. And ride. And sing some more. I write, and swim. I learn. I love. I wander. I am.
Mornings are met with a different view almost every week, and my sidearm is never very far. I apply for graduation from the camper, learn I love tanning hides more than anything and learn the two step in a dive bar.
I learn history, meet strangers, become family and don’t shower enough. I cry at hate mail, and laugh at my niece. I watch every sunset.
I don’t wear make up, I pick up hitchhikers and touch the graves of great men and women.
I have no rules
No ropes to strain at
No pain to focus on
Because they have all been left alongside the road
To be passed by
Yelling and singing At 84 mph
With hair streaming
And a lifetime and joy
At the road’s end
This is life as a vagabond. A Wanderer. What are you afraid of?