Days 2-4: “Should I go back home?”
I was standing in the middle of a large gravel pull-off area in the Umatilla National Forest surrounded by tall pine trees, wildflowers, and mountain views, talking to my best friend (code name, Bubba) . . .
Well, actually I was crying to Bubba . . .
asking her, myself, and the universe, “Should I just go back home? Has this all been a sign that something terrible is going to happen? How fucking stupid am I for being out here doing all of this shit by myself?”
As I contemplated giving up on my 7-week road trip that I’d been planning for more than a year, I was feeling the heavy weight of fear in my chest.
Fear that the Universe, God, Divine, Spirit - whatever you want to call it - was trying to tell me to get while the gettin’ was good.
But, Bubba - true to form - reminded me that this is part of the deal when you decide to tow a trailer. That shit happens and I’ll keep figuring out how to deal with it. That the Universe was not telling me to go back home. And oh - that I’m a badass.
That’s what best friends do: help talk you down out of your crazy tree.
So what happened to cause me to consider abandoning the rest of my 7-week road trip only 3 days in?
Let’s rewind . . .
I wrote about how Day 1 was a bumpy ride - for many reasons - on my way to Flaming Gorge, Utah.
On Day 2, I woke up early after a good nite’s sleep, took Winnie for a walk along the beautiful canyon rim, and hitched the camper back up to the car.
Flaming Gorge sunrise
We headed out to Twin Falls, Idaho to a Hipcamp.
And once again the universe had my back.
Apparently I hadn’t put the camper all the way onto the ball hitch, and it popped off going down a gravel road.
To say that I about shit myself is an understatement. Had that happened on the highway, it would have been disastrous. But it happened on a gravel road going 10 mph over a speed bump.
Again, score one for the Universe.
On the way to Twin Falls, I spent about an hour trying to find a Deep Cycle 31 battery to replace the one that I’d fried for the trailer. Fortunately I found one in Evanston, Wyoming at at random stop at an O’Reilly Auto Parts after calling five other place. Hallelujah!
I rolled into the Rivers Edge Retreat Hipcamp 7:00 p.m. and was greeted by the owner, Logan and his daughters. Logan and his wife Cat just so happened to have owned a solar company for several years and Logan was an electrician. So, he happily helped me fix the battery issue.
What are the odds? First of all, what are the odds that my dumbass would fry a battery by putting a metal tool on top of it (pretty good apparently)? And secondly, what are the odds that the next place I’m staying is owned by someone who can actually help me fix the problem?
Score one for the Universe having my back.
Logan had the new battery fixed up in no time.
Our campsite along the river was another sign that the Universe had my back. There were several pelicans floating and playing in the gently flowing river. The canyon walls along the river provided a beautiful backdrop without seeming too imposing. We even ate fresh mulberries of the tree. It was downright therapeutic.
And, best of all, Winnie just chilled there. She wasn’t nervous about the new site and was perfectly happing laying in the grass on the banks of the river watching the pelicans and the sunset.
Rivers Edge Retreat sunset.
The next day, we headed on to Umatilla National Forest in Oregon. I stopped for gas at a Chevron in Baker City, Washington, ran in to use the bathroom, and then 2 hours later when I reached camp, realized that someone had stolen the solar panel off of the camper.
That . . . is when I finally lost my shit.
Between my idiocy in frying the camper battery and not hitching up the trailer correctly, along with both of the 12 volt chargers in my car shitting the bed (which I use to charge my car fridge; but, fortunately, I also have large Jackery portable batteries I can use), I was already feeling a little iffy about my grand plans for this trip.
So when I looked at the bare spot on the front of the camper where the solar panel used to be, I took it as a sign from the Universe that I should not be out here doing this shit . . . .
by myself.
I’d driven 9 miles up a janky-ass road to the Jubilee Lake campsite in Umatilla National Forest - paranoid the whole time that the camper would come off again. So after spending about 10 minutes trying to back this tiny camper up into the site, I took the car and Winnie back down the road just to see if the solar panel had maybe flown off the camper. (Sidenote: I thus far suck ass at backing up this camper, a skill apparently made even harder by the fact that it’s so short).
After flying back down the janky-ass road in the Suby with no sign of the solar panel, it finally sunk in that someone had stolen it. The wires had been cleanly cut - I just didn’t want to believe that someone would do that, let alone that they’d have the balls to do it while I was parked at a gas pump and inside having a wee.
People are ballsy.
Score one for thieves and desperate people. I guess the Universe fell asleep on the job on that one.
Before calling Bubba, I also texted Logan at the HipCamp as my newly anointed go-to solar guy. Without batting a eye, he said that he has a cousin who lives in Port Angeles (where I’ll be next) who could help me with this. So Logan ordered a new solar panel to be sent to his cousin, whom I’ll visit in a day or two to fix it up.
Score a 3-pointer for the Universe on that one. Not only was I fortunate enough to have met someone like Logan, but then doubly fortunate that he has a handy cousin who can help me out in Port Angeles.
But, still . . . I couldn’t help but question the sanity of my plans while I was on the phone with Bubba. I was filled with fear and uncertainty. None of this shit that happened was anything that I could have anticipated in my wildest dreams. I was prepared for hiccups and mishaps - but a battery frying, not being able to get the camper on the hitch by myself, my car chargers crapping out, and someone stealing the solar panel . . . What . . . the . . . fuck?!
The next morning, after struggling for 10 minutes with that god damned trailer tongue and hitch, I final walked over to a neighboring campsite and asked a dude to lend me his muscles to help. His name was Joe and he was the local sheriff. He had the camper on the ball hitch in about 10 seconds.
When I told Joe about the solar panel, he wasn’t surprised.
Thanks, Joe . . . my trusting ass is still surprised.
But, as I drove out of Umatilla and onto Rainier, I started to open up to the feelings of fear and uncertainty . . .
and I started not giving a fuck anymore.
Maybe it’s because I’d been listening to The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck by Mark Manson on Audible the day before.
Who gives a fuck that all of this shit happened?
Who knows what “the message” - if any - is from all of that. I don’t have to know right now. But I do believe that at some point in the future, I will know. I’ll look back and say “ah, that’s why that happened.”
Just like I’m doing today . . . as I sit outside Rainer National Park almost 4 years to the day when I summited that beast. I can now look back and see how all of the dots connect . . .
but that will be for the next post.
For now, scroll below for a meditation from the Rivers Edge Retreat on finding space for the difficult.
And here’s today’s Trail Mix (see the Day 1 post for what I mean by Trail Mix):
Lessons learned: The Universe is always rooting for you. Trust me. That doesn’t mean that your life always goes well 100% of the time, or that when things aren’t going well that the Universe has abandoned you. But, it takes a deep, deep trust - or maybe faith - to believe that someday, all of the dots will line up. Also, there are always more people in the world who are willing to help you as opposed to harm you. Of course, be vigilant (especially when you’re on your own); but, don’t let irrational future-projected fear of getting screwed over get in the way of asking for help. What might be a little easier in your life if you asked for some help?
What am I listening to:
The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck (Audible) by Mark Manson
I Am Mine (Audible) by Eddie Vetter (you have to be a 90’s grunge fan to really appreciate this . . . and maybe even be someone who imagines that Eddie Vetter is your pretend husband).
Songs:
The Perpetual Optimist by Luke LaLonde
Let It All Go by Beats Antique, Preservation Hall Jazz Band
Holdon by Apparat
Lay Your Head On Me by Major Lazer, Diplo, and Marcus Mumford
Rivers Edge Retreat meditation on making space for the difficult.