There were spills.

One year ago, we said with confidence - There will be spills.

Well we should probably open up our own Psychic shop, because, indeed, there were spills. There were a few chill spills. This category would include spilling coffee on the mattress, showing up to a completely booked campground in Big Bend a day early, or ordering vegan breakfast burritos in Ojai. Then there were the not-so-chill spills - like the time we nearly ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere Idaho; or the week long food poisoning experience in Tulum. Very un-chill. But a lot of the spills fell somewhere in the middle - not a simple wipe up, but nothing a little patience couldn’t wash out.

Sitting here in the Sacramento sun, in our new home with all of our furniture and plenty of space to stretch out, I’m reminded of one of these sort of middle-sized spills last Labor Day. We were outside of Bozeman, Montana, camping on this woman’s farm enjoying the views of the Tobacco Root Mountains from behind her hay barrels. We didn’t have the camper yet, just the back of Dusty. And then it snowed; and it snowed, and it snowed, and it didn’t stop snowing all day long. We were trapped in the back of the car with nowhere to go and nary a long sleeve shirt in sight. The whole day could have easily fallen into the not-so-chill spill category, but a couple cans of wine, a box of Annie’s mac n’ cheese, and 3 Harry Potter movies is basically the recipe for world peace. Our day turned into a cozy, silly winter-in-the-summer camp day that I wish I could gift to everyone.

When I think of it, this whole trip, this grand life break, our pre-tirement, this whole endeavor was kind of like a snowy day trapped in the back of a car with a couple of cans of wine and Harry Potter movies. Some of you may recall that the original itinerary for this trip was meant to take us around the globe. We were supposed to have gone abroad and come back to annoy all of you with our new found enthusiasm for Tunisian wine or Argentine steak. We were supposed to have recommendations for the cutest little bed and breakfast on the coast of the Adriatic Sea, and tell friends that there is just nothing like eating freshly grilled lamb on the streets of Marrakesh. But COVID is a brutally cold, seemingly endless snow. Even now when so much of it has melted away, the snow hasn’t stopped falling. Luckily, B and I were blessed with provisions to outlast the storm. We had our health and knew that our families were safe and healthy; we had the time and the resources to leave our jobs and the comforts of our apartment in the Bay. And of course, we had the internet to hype us up about a road trip in the grand ‘ol USA! So away we went. A 4runner towing a camper is not a riverboat on the Seine, just like wine in a can is not what the sommelier pulls out from the wine cellar at your local Michelin starred restaurant. Even so, like our snowy camp day at the farm, the 4runner and the camper made for an unforgettable and surprisingly incredible caravan of fun. Rain, snow, or shine, it was impossible not to love our life on the road.

It’s hard to say how this year has changed us, or what experiences will prove to influence our life decisions moving forward. Processing such a huge milestone will take a lot of time. Like so many good things in this life, I suspect the lessons - the moments we appreciate most - will come back to us in waves while we’re in the midst of a new moment that is decidedly not as good. The “spills” of real life will start to pile up (I will spare you a post on moving) and we’ll go back to planning trips that only span a weekend. Not very blog-worthy content. But we’ll have this trip in our bones and in our hearts for eva eva eva. Like for-eva.

So this is where the blog journey ends. If I had been smarter, I could have capitalized on this cash cow with ads selling cigarettes and malt liquor to fund another trip around the country! Alas, that great idea will have to wait until the next adventure.

Thanks for reading friends. You were the best part of our trip, each and every one of you.

Sending love, not from the road, but from the new living room.