#Vanlife Lesson #1: Mountain Make Me Strong

Sleeping Ute Mountain - Colorado
You know it's cold when the mountain puts on it's blanket.

We are 9 months into #vanlife now, and it's time to recap some lessons learned on the road – ones you won't find in all those preparatory YouTube videos you may be watching. There's so much more to it than learning how to potty in every possible outdoor environment--more to it than having the right cook stove and a generous supply of babywipes.

Although I would never, ever, dis on the babywipes. 

This train runs on them, no doubt.

When I left on this journey I was a stressed out-crust of a person, crumbs crumbling right and left. I was fat and out of shape, with a host of bad habits. Walking a mile was a stretch assignment. Climbing a hill was out of my league.

This life has changed me, physically, mentally, spiritually. It has washed me in cold creek water, rung me out, and hung me up to dry in the hot desert sun.  It has taught me gratitude and frugality. 

Most of all, it has made me strong.

Climbing a rocky desert hill at 5000 feet was the first challenge. In order to get to the gold panning grounds, we had to walk this hill, everyday, (both ways!) carrying all of our equipment. Pounds of it and my own extra padding dragged at my every step. I couldn't breathe. 

Anasazi ruins, Canyons of the Ancients National Monument, CO.

My heart beat at a speed it never attained no matter how stressful the business meeting.

I started by praying for strength, when I wasn't berating myself for a wuss or worrying about which arm aches in a heart attack. But it wasn't long before I realized that you don't pray for strength, you earn it. 

You pray for determination and strength will come. I stopped saying “Please make me strong enough to climb this mountain” and started repeating

“Mountain, make me strong.”

And it did. Every step up that mountain rebuilt me. Now I scamper around on cliffsides and hop from rock to rock. 

Yesterday we forded a creek and hiked to ancient Anasazi ruins on an unmarked trail. We found untouched ruins, hand tools, petroglyphs, and shards of black and white pottery. We drank a jug of water where the ancients sat on the “steps” outside their home. We looked at the view they saw with not a work of modern man in sight.

An ancient Anasazi dwelling, Water storage?  Canyons of the Ancients NM

By the time I was strong enough to do it, I was ready to be blown away by the experience. You will be, too, if you have the right chance and the right stuff to jump off. 

By the way, we left all of the artifacts there for you to see when you come this way.  Canyon of the Ancients, add it to your "must boondock" list.

Anasazi Pottery Shards, Canyons of the Ancients.  Left onsite as the law and good stewardship requires.

To experience freedom for a year, or the rest of your life -- consider it. 

There's no life like this one, I participate and am present in every day of my life now - and it has made me strong, thrifty, grateful and wise.

What #vanlife challenges have transformed you?  

If you haven't jumped off yet, what do you expect to change?

The Smoke of Dreams Burning - #GoodwinFire June 24-July 3, 2017

The Goodwin Fire from Prescott.  6/27/17

“That's a funny cloud.” I said to Joe as the Turtle Van climbed up the mountain toward camp. A few more feet showed us this cloud was nothing but serious. Smoke billowed up the hillside to meet us, just a mile or so from our mining camp. Instant adrenaline, the smell instinctively dangerous, the sight makes your belly tighten up and your heart race.

For a moment the logical brain rebels against reality, it insists this must be a bonfire or a controlled burn or perhaps part of the restoration project in the area --but lizard brain is right this time, and puts the stunned, stammering, useless logical brain down. This is real, an actual emergency, and driving forward is definitely wrong.

As we stop the van we hear the helicopter rotor and see it on the ground, out of place, another sign we are in the heart of a wildfire, just beginning. The helicopter lifts and we see the reason it is down, it drags a bag of water on a long rope from the pond at a nearby ranch and carries it, streaming mist and vapor, at desperate speed toward the smoke.

The stunned logical brain tries to wake up and process a meaningful plan. Most of what we own is back at camp, this was just a water and grocery run, mining and camping equipment is ahead, but the lizard brain insists we should run. A quick discussion and we move toward the fire, careful on every corner, expecting fire engines any moment, but the road back to Mayer is long, narrow, and primitive, they have not had time to get here.

On the downside of the hill we can see the fire, it is definitely upstream from our camp--perhaps a mile or two--it's black cloud already blowing back toward the pine flat ranches and town. Two rangers are parked in the road, and they answer that yes it is a wildfire, and we can go no further.

The fire from just outside Mayer, 6/24/17

It looks small, but furious, and it grows before our eyes, logical brain finally becomes useful in the crisis, and reminds us that we have all we need: each other, our dog, and our home – all can drive to safety. Things are things, and they will be there or they will be gone, and life is what matters now. As we drive out towards town we see others evacuating, and firefighters driving in. By the time we find a place on the edge of town to park the van 3 helicopters are picking up water and the sun is setting.

Ranchers bring out trailers of what livestock they can, miners and campers who have not been seen in weeks congregate (against their nature) and even speak to one another on the edges of the forest they love. Those with homes in the forest have the most to lose, and we speak in hushed tones our hopes their land is spared. The officials that speak to us have fear in their eyes, their voices also low, this solidifies the feeling of dread.

There is a period of waiting, watching, and worrying while an emergency becomes a disaster. Every single person we meet is doing all they can, exactly what they should, responsible and brave, and yet nothing stops this progression. The smoke plume grows until it dominates the sky. As it gets dark the glow of the flames is visible--it shifts, waxes, wanes, but in the end only grows larger.

We have seen disaster spawned, seen it take its first few tottering steps, and already it was too late to stop it. There is only time to flee with what you can save. We retreat in steps, staying close until the fire pushes us out – evacuated three times now-- but it is still flight, we are running in slow motion, unsure if we are still miners or now only campers with literally not a pot to piss in.

We wait at Copper Basin. A kindred spirit ranger spent a little time helping us, but the advice is painful. Wait for the summer monsoons to start, that may be all that can stop this fire now. 1% contained means the fire is choosing its own course. We must choose ours. Logical brain – get on that.