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Looked at the sailboat yesterday. It’s not for me. I went down to the marina convinced this was the boat. Arrived early and took in the location, it seemed perfect. The marina showers where accessible, very big deal to me. Nora made friends with a sea otter, it was hands down the coolest wild life experience of my trip. The dog was out swimming in the harbor and a sea otter pops up 4 feet in front of her, both staring at each other. Nora swims toward the otter as it dives under her. She’s curious, sticks her head under water trying to find the otter. Otter pops up behind her, slaps the water. Nora flips around and swims right up to it, they bat at each other with paws and flippers. The sea otter dives under her again, popping up behind her and making more noise, nora flips around it disappears again. The game continued for a few minutes before the otter went back to eating barnacles from the bottom of a boat. It was one of the rare moments I didn’t have access to my camera, if i did the animals meeting would have never happened. The people at the marina were friendly, we talked and i enjoyed them. It appeared like the right place for me, and I knew the boat would be right for me. The environment was perfect, this had to be the place. I saw the boat, it was definitely a project. A 30′ cheoy lee sloop, a model I’ve liked for a long time. The owner showed up, he was drunk. I convinced myself he wasn’t, this was suppose to be my boat. We climbed aboard, he showed me around. Everything needed work, nothing was in working order. The only solid part of the boat was the cabin, which is the one part of the boat I would be tearing apart anyways. Still I used my mind to make this my boat, it had to be. I’m tired of driving around, ready to have a steady place. So what if the owner is drunk, that doesn’t mean he’s selling a bad boat. I sat there for hours trying hard to convince myself that this was the boat. The excuses and reasons piled, I left continuing my own mental persuasion. I should of been the guy selling the boat, not only was I sober, but i did a great job of creating the ideal buyers picture. Later that day I found a shower, it had been a while as usual. Amazing how hot water can change your entire outlook on life. I shut off the water and realized the boat wasn’t for me. I had fallen in love with an idea advertised on craigslist. I was ready to finish my adventures in the van and move onto something new. Thank goodness I gave it a prayer before showing up that day. I saw another ad on craigslist today. This time a Pearson Triton 28′ Sloop. I’ll let you know.
I’m in Utah, about to cross into Nevada, dreaming of a sailboat in California. It’s a great feeling, as long as my old van keeps rolling. If you make it to Cedar City Utah be sure to try the Apple Blossom Green Tea, stuff is nice. It’s a 30′ Cheoy Lee Sloop, an old heavy fiberglass boat. Just what I need, my dream boat, at least until it sells to someone else. I’ve been emailing the couple, definitely don’t have enough to buy the boat outright, but maybe they’re willing to work with me. They didn’t say no. I need to get there, see the boat, and then we can talk. With the right people, and boat, sailboat transactions are a bit like craigslist pet adoptions. I love my dog, and so did her previous owner. Yes, there’s money involved, but love can’t be sold to just anyone. So I need to get out to California, meet the boat and it’s current owners. Maybe it will work. Maybe the boat will sell to someone else and I can begin to fall for the next boat appearing in picture on craigslist. I’m confident, and more importantly determined, to find my boat down by the bay. So in just a few days i’ll arrive somewhere around san francisco. Staying in campsites, walmart parking lots, and a few others, waiting to find my boat. If your interested in how I’ve been paying for my travels, check out the paypal sponsorship button. I get a monthly disability check that keeps me fed and fueled. The feds keeping me fed, that’s a scary thought. The paypal sponsorship money goes towards the sailboat fund. This fund has been building since I left oregon last year thanks to my faithful followers. With a little more help, very soon the fund will turn into an actual boat. Thanks everyone for following and supporting my travels. Listening to NPR this morning I was informed it’s National Grammar Day. Hopefully some day I’ll learn where the paragraphs go.
Jordan
I’m in Santa Fe, NM with the realization that I’ve been traveling all this time by destination only. First the sailboat in Florida, didn’t happen. Now it’s been a summer across the states to my Granddads birthday, two weekends till. After which Ill be making the road trip to the west coast, another dream boat in mind. I am determined to find my sailboat. Once on this sailboat my destination will be Hawaii… and then? I wonder if anyone has ever set off to travel with no end in sight or even mind? I could relate to someone trying to find peace of mind, beauty in existing, living of necessity. However I’d imagine that I’d be hard pressed to find anyone traveling or living without destination in mind.
I met Jon on the creek north of Taos. He’s old and loves to hike. Doesn’t like his house. Jon seems to be the closest i’ve found to someone living or roaming without reason. However he still loves the beauty of the adventure. Almost someone who’s really living for the moment now.
I don’t know if now really exist? It’s gone as soon as?
Survival is one thing. The fittest doesn’t always survive. Then there’s something else? Don’t answer “the reason question” with why? you did ask.
Todays campsite is an actual government sanctified piece of ground designated for citizens wanting to sleep in the woods. It’s official name is Jenny Lake Campground and is located inside the Grand Tetons National Park. Majority of the time I refuse to stay anywhere inside a National Park, often I’ll drive out of my way to avoid staying in them. The main reason being all the government employees running around playing zoo keeper.
I decided to leave the confines of my campste and venture out into Uncle Sams wilderness. My planned trip involved a twenty yard roll to the restrooms and back. I made it all the way to the restrooms event free only to find the handicap and other numerous stalls out of order. No big deal, there’s probably another handicap accessible stall in this 55 site campground. Nope. Now if I was up in the forest all by myself like a real camper I’d pull up to the front of the car and hang my dareeair between the wheelchair and the bumper. However I’m surrounded people so I have to keep my dairyarh? contained.
So I make the decision to roll down the road and relieve myself in the proper man made hole at the visitors center. It was a nice long roll past plenty of stunning vistas painted on the back RVS. The hole at the visitors center worked properly and I was relieved.
I strolled back from the visitors center, amidst the crowds, with Nora trotting politely at my side. A little ways down the path I spotted one of my fellow government check receivers. I get the disability kind of check, he gets the park ranger kind of check. He can fine me, I can’t fine him. I had a good of idea of what was coming. But, I figured maybe since Nora was wearing her bright blue harness and in stride right beside the wheelchair I stood a chance. Nope. “Sir”, when the first words out of a Rangers mouth are “Sir” I know he’s not about to ask what kind of dog is that. “Sir, is this your dog”, no, it’s probably one of the random black labs with blue harnesses that like chasing people in wheelchairs. That should of been my response, however I opted for an old fashioned “Yes”. At this point Nora and I are passing by the green clad dude with Name Badge. My thought process here was keep your cool, express your true thoughts and this trip to the Pisser could go all the way to the Can. I also realized the Name Badge was old with a walking stick, we were on a flat paved surface, and the speed advantage was in my favor. As I began to speed up down the path I overheard “You need to have him on a leash”. Without turning around, or even bothering to reach out and grab Nora(still in stride beside the wheelchair), I said “OhhhhK” and sped on down the path. Nobody chased me. I even passed more park rangers with communication devices on their hips. There must not of been any APBs put out on the dude in a wheelchair with service dog at his side.
We made it all the way back to the van, almost. Coming around the corner to our campsite I view a dozen kids plucked straight of an Eddie Bauer Outdoors Advertisement standing in a row facing my van. They were being talked to by yet another Park Ranger. This one happened to be of the sexier variety. Long strawberry blonde hair, and taking her job very seriously. I roll up and realize she’s talking to the kidos about something in my campsite. Awesome, I’m going to get my first real glimpse of a Grizzly Bear and there’s a pretty little park ranger to complete the scene. Nope. This park ranger is walking around giving youngsters the inside scoop on policing campers, like myself, on bear storage regulations. Not how to store bears, but storing to avoid bears. My campsite looks pretty good, everything’s inside the van, except my solar shower bladder out soaking in the sun. She informs me that they’re discussing wether or not my campsite is within regulations with the shower bladder lying in the dirt. This is when my mouth finally gets going… “Oh, in case a bear gets thirsty” I say. I found it to be a nice light hearted resposne, she apparently didn’t. She explained that it was similiar to having a water bottle in camp and that bears can’t distinguish between water bottles and gatorade bottles. Also, that if a bear assumed it was a gatorade bottle he might take it for a rewarding treat. Now this would all make great sense if I was standing outside a cage at the San Diego Zoo, but being in wild bear country I was confused on the whole idea of bear confusing my shower bladder for a rewarding treat? Anyways, she ended up being very kind and left with the statement that she doesn’t normally give out tickets for shower bladders. She was definitely not joking, I myself was also ready for the two of us to put all kidding aside.
There was a dude Park Ranger taking up the rear of the group. He smiled and commented on how my site was good and bear proof. Adding that all the kidos had agreed unanimously that I was is in the clear. Being that he kept his mouth shut til his partner was out of ear shot, I could till he also was smitten with the strawberry blonde taking her job so seriously.
I’ve yet to meet any law enforcing person that can explain how I’m suppose to push a wheelchair and manage a leash at the same time.
Sitting outside the Lost Socks Laundromat in Jackson Hole Wyoming. Keep wanting to write but I’m always filled up on caffeine and nicotine. The tine’s make it hard for me to write, to many thoughts jump-in around. It probably really doesn’t make that big a difference, it’s just letters and words, what you get from it is out of my control. Plus I’m nice and awake. Would you believe God’s still been good to me with all my drinking and smoking ways. I do.
Wyoming has become my favorite state next to Oregon, maybe South Carolina takes third. I’ve discovered my love of live blue grass music, and the stompin that goes along with it.
My sister emails me, trying to get Nora and I to swing by Oregon before I make it down to New Mexico. I’ve been off and on all day wether I should make the Z a WY-OR-NM-CA kind of Z or a WY-NM-OR-CA kinda Z. Look on a map you’ll see what I mean. The second of the two is probably the longer, but I’ve been planning on the second for so long now it just seems to make sense, cause of the rockies and all. But my lack of vehicle registration and actual drivers license makes the first Z sound legally more logical. But there’s always the legalities and then there’s the freedom of the summertime rockies. I just knocked on the piece of wood holding up the back door of the van. I thinks it’s going to be Z deuce.
Reading this post is going to be a bit like trying to dicifer the old testament. Anyways I’m off to fold, or probably bag some clothes, and tuck up under the Tetons.
Wasn’t that title cute. This state is incredible. Wide open. I’ve scene more God blessed landscape here than the entire east coast has to offer. I should have been writing more the past few weeks cause I’m not sure where to begin. My first stop was Devils Tower. Everyone tried to inform me that the Tower had been filmed in some famous movie. Good thing I never saw the flick. Pulling up to the tower with uniformed eyes was a travelers delight. You know all the skyscrapers filling our giant cities. Imagine if one turned to stone and the rest of the city melted away into cowboy country. The people standing on the corners transformed into trees. The roads flowing to streams and the traffic cops becoming park rangers.
I was invited to join in an Indian sweat-lodge. A white man invited me. We all sat in a flattened tepee and poured water over scalding hot rocks. Thankfully there was atleast one or two indians in the crowd, otherwise I would of feared for my life. The leading indian was an exact replica of Cheech from Cheech and Chong. He made this claim himself. I think the main reason I joined, now sad that I missed the 4th of July fireworks, was in hope that something would be smoked. It was only sage and tobacco. Both smell good but lack in hallucinations. It was a sweaty experience and I felt cleaner for my efforts.
I did meet another fellow a few years older than myself. After the ceremoniers left we commenced to make a giant pork and potatoes diner, then get filthy drunk with a high. This is when the real real spirituality began. Alchohol is great for letting people share their true emotions and talk about the Greater Power in an uninhibited manner. At one point I came across the thought of how it would feel to have created existence, set it loose, and then need to send salvation to your corrupt creation. Sometimes I’m just angry with God and feel like pondering his side of the story. Once sober I did remember how thankfull I am that God at least gave us the option to share in something. Otherwise there’d be nothing for me, and most of the time I realize that something is better.
After my experience at Devils Tower I ran into a good old fashioned American music festival. The BigHorn Mountian Festival in Buffalo Wyoming. The BigHorn Mountain Range is probably my favorite thus far. Because it’s somewhere around 100 miles from Yellowstone nobody knows about it. Except the local mountain folk. I partied for three days in a dusty old fairground with these folks and various other travelers. Danced right up in front of the stage listening to feet stomping blue grass. The sober moments where a bit strange for me. I’ve been alone on the road so long that it’s hard to be true socially. I try to be friendly and offer myself to people, but my way says lone traveler no matter what words I use. Sometimes the story sounds sad, sometimes it’s interesting for a moment, but always I’m the lone traveler. Which makes people a bit strange, atleast to me. All in all it was a great festival. At night the musicians would move into the camping area, gather around the fire with a few beers, there instruments, and just go for it. Plus I met some of the cutest girls I have scene thus far on the trip. I mean middle of america, grass roots beauty. True sweethearts. Unfortunately for me I was to much of the lone traveler to get past a hand shake and name exchange. I did catch one of the the girls peaking inside my van as she passed. It’s dark inside so she can’t see me, but I could see her gorgeous little hooded face taking a look. It drove me wild.
I stayed about four days up in the Big Horn Mountains. Saw a young buck and moose. Nora turned in a raging beast. The hair stood on her back, the depths of her vocals cords strained, and she chased both of them down with her front legs never touching the ground. Once she ran them off her nose went right back down the chipmunk hole she’d been investigating when they arrived.
I just entered Yellowstone area last night. It’s so beautiful here I can be nothing but at peace. So why I’m sitting here in a cafe being digital is beyond me. It’s time to go explore.
sittin with my shirt off, pants fallin off my waiste, and just plain lovin time up in the black hills. the very top of bear mountain is my parking spot, and nobody can hear my thoughts so i speak them out loud. there’s country music on the radio, you’ll be able to tell by the words I use to relay myself to ya. all the doors are open on the van and the view shoots out for a hundred miles in any way i look. pine beetles and fires have been putting a lot of work in the surounding woods, but it doesn’t bother me. The skies are as blue as the bird i saw sitting on an old fence post when i first pulled up. Some clouds are sittin on my left, and growing bigger every time i look. looking out across the pine fallen hills i can see the soft green grass filling back in. almost like watching history in reverse as the grasslands take back over. who knows maybe if i stay long enough the dessert sand will start to show. ahhh, they’re tryin to run some ads on the radio, off she goes. The breeze sounds better anyways. ontop of the car sits a black bag of water heatin in the sun. Have you ever had a hot shower atop bear mountain in south dakota? i’m checking it off my list here in a few. This day is just what I need, and I’m so thankful to be here. Lately I’ve spent to much time running around towns and bars, trying to be around people. Just aching to get my fill. But there’s no such thing as full when it comes to bars and people. So i’m off in the woods being still for a few days. The fourth of july is just around the corner and I can go wade around in the half empty bucket then.
Today I’m in Medora, North Dakota. My fingernails have grown a lot since I last typed, making the keyboard feel foreign. Long fingernails have been an advantage with Nora bringing in a small army of ticks each day. Last time I wrote was in Michigan and I’ve covered plenty of ground since. Rainy June weather has driven me to rack up the miles as I ran along the southern shores of Lake Superior, then the northern borders of Minnesota and North Dakota. I’m feeling more and more drained as the trip goes on. In the beginning I use to fantasize about being on the road forever, now I dream of a homestead and family of my own. Not that this is necessarily what I actually want, but it seems to be the pleasant dream as of late. I still carry the itch to start cruising on a sailboat and it’s my goal for the end of this summer. Ideally I’ll wrap up my road trip in October, then finish saving for and begin hunting down the right boat. Moving onto a boat, which will be in a fixed location for a year or so, while I prepare to sail, should be a comfortable transition. My physical body yearns for a constant place of rest. Sleeping in the same location for an extended period of time is what I think I’m lacking right now. I sleep in the same bed every night, the problem is it’s always in a new location. I constantly find myself waking up due to disorientation. Always worried about a cop knocking on my door asking me to find a different spot. Last night I tried to sleep through an intense lightning storm in the Badlands of North Dakota. I was the only camper in a small canyon’s rustic campground. The rain dumped, the wind pushed, and lightning flashes burst one second after the other. Considering that some of the latest news I’ve been hearing on the radio was 16 dead in Arkansas flash floods I was scared. Supposedly inside a car is safe during a lightning storm, but this storm seemed to be touching everything. There were no visible strikes. I was in a solid cloud of lightning. As if I was actually up in the clouds as they struck the ground down below, feeling the energy from the top of the strikes instead of the bottom. The other night it was a gas station parking lot along an old highway. I had asked for permission from the owner to stay the night, but still I woke up at 1 and then again at 2, and so on. When I awoke I actually saw flashing police lights. Once I roll over and woke up a little more I could see there was nobody around and it was a bit of my own fiction. If it’s a walmart parking lot at 2am I’m listening to the conversation of the employees changing shifts. I’m ready for a place where the sounds at night are somewhat familiar and my concerns of being asked to leave are not. I am still happy on the road however. The scenery has been spectacular and the people are getting better. I met people on the east side of this country that I cherish, but the west is where I’m most comfortable with other humans. Probably due to the simple fact that I grew up in the west. I’m finally done with the plain lands, which I know now reach from the gulf of mexico all the way up to the canadian border. I’m just getting to edge of the Rocky Mountain landscapes. After the western dakotas I’ll head into wyoming, then down to colorado and new mexico. Can’t wait to meet up with my family in New Mexico this fall. I find myself thinking of this occasion daily now. I’m drawn more and more to meeting people. It’s healthy for me, I’m not interested in relationships just company. I find myself talking more and more frequently. Something has clicked or changed inside of me where I’m no longer anxious and burdened feeling when striking up conversation. The road has allowed me to accept who I am and also who others are. For a long time I think my disability was a burden when talking with others. After I was injured, the problem was that I no longer knew who I was. After 18 years of life it was like being sent back to the first grade playground again. First I had to accept my new situation, with the next step trying to understand how people related to my new situation. Trying to understand how people view me now is still a challenge. What they might think, or how they feel to react, doesn’t bother me. But, I feel that for me to relate to them and understand why their approach may seem so weird to me, I have to try and understand a bit of where they’re coming from. Here’s some thought….
Tall people and short people. Set all disabilities, social disorders, sexes, and physical makeup aside. Just think about everyone as complete equals, except in height and it’s given attributes. I use to be six feet tall, now I sit somewhere under 4 feet. I’ve had a few people pat me on the head, some of them I used to be able to kiss with my stomach. Anyways, it’s literally an order of hierarchy, people thinking differently about people based completely on their height. I often find myself being approached from the angle a child would instead of a six foot tall adult. Disabilities aside I know there is some inherent tendency in people to almost humble themselves to those of a taller stature, and vis a versa, expect the opposite. Who knows where that comes from or what that is. Just a thought…
Basically, I’m tired. I’ve been meeting great people on the road lately. Don’t know if that’s just the luck of my timing or who I’ve become on the road. Or maybe a disability accepted and an old self found.
a little town called Paradise, Michigan. It’s a really little town, with one flashing light. There’s no fast food, no walmart supercenter, and maybe not even a police station. I love these little towns, people here just don’t care. The good and warm kind of not caring, the not caring that matters.
My head is foggy, slowly clearing up and the sun is slowly coming out. I had one toxin filled weekend, a memorial day spent trying to completely destroy my memory. I’m slowly coming back into my travel groove. And I love my travel groove, it’s me, my mind is alive when I’m in my travel groove. Life may not make any more sense when I’m traveling. But at least there’s more of it, and more non sense helps to make non sense feel alright. Just a little non sense is annoying, and a ton just seems normal. I’m I making any sense?
Not sure why I went for a mentally hazardous weekend. I smoked to much weed and drank to much beer and wasted to much good food. Somewhere in the middle I swam across Heart Lake, and back. Got really emotional. The second night(i believe), as I sat around the campfire with about 20 michiganians, I began to cry. I can’t tell you why for sure, probably just overwhelmed by suddenly being around so many nice people. Somebody reminded me of my brother, they had the same name was all. There was an uncle Bob, and I have an uncle Bob. Anyways, I was high, and highly emotional, and started crying. I was talking about swimming across heart lake then this crying story? what.
The trip has been great. Ups and Downs as usual. My mind has gaps in it right now, upending my efforts to convey.
I saw Niagara falls. There where tons of Indians there. Not Native Americans, but people from India. They were on both the US and Canada side. Should of asked one of them why, but I was to busy watching an unbelievable amount of water drop from a cliff. There’s so much mist and water in the air it’s impossible to see the majority of the falls. The air had the most refreshing quality I’ve experienced to date. Pulling up to niagra falls was a bit like pulling up to disney land, it was as if they had captured the great Niagara falls, put it in a park and where selling tickets to view. All in all it was a great deal. The indian food was delicious and the waterfall was spectacular.
Alot’s happened between the falls and me now sitting in my car along lake superior in michigan. Please excuse my lazy grammar and thought processing, and be sure to check my youtube channel this fall for everything I didn’t tell you about here. yada yada yada yada yada yup.
Jordansname.com 