tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60362129437211431572024-02-06T18:29:53.377-08:00Sash MouthVagabond Tales from Sash Johnson, full time road gypsySash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.comBlogger234125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-90350458736655465132024-01-02T09:26:00.000-08:002024-01-03T12:14:27.448-08:00Getting Ready to Ride<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjftBASPrlzV_6-aM7IH2tiD8ihizK0-GPmFyvis43sv4Dq6Rto7j1gdTlYDFIEKX1eOAL5-z8LdPM6AeJxc3sMTohjsLRc8_ZJ9LYZfDNKLgg7L8_W6P-LrEQG0UKTUfmYu6Lm-7T_JKkU2IbCupJ9HZzWd_sS_kuCt1t2IZvmH3hUZxtcUAgB46F4/s1084/20190224_070148.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="813" data-original-width="1084" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjftBASPrlzV_6-aM7IH2tiD8ihizK0-GPmFyvis43sv4Dq6Rto7j1gdTlYDFIEKX1eOAL5-z8LdPM6AeJxc3sMTohjsLRc8_ZJ9LYZfDNKLgg7L8_W6P-LrEQG0UKTUfmYu6Lm-7T_JKkU2IbCupJ9HZzWd_sS_kuCt1t2IZvmH3hUZxtcUAgB46F4/s320/20190224_070148.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />It's been a while since we've done any riding. With our move to Oklahoma, we found so many other things to fill our time. And even though I've ridden in some ugly weather over the years, I won't ride in the winter of Oklahoma. <div><br /></div><div>So I'm getting things ready and planning on doing some riding in the Spring. <p></p><p>I'm looking forward to reviewing some new gear from <a href=" https://www.vikingbags.com/pages/motorcycle-harley-davidson-saddlebags">Viking Bags</a> too! Be on the lookout for my upcoming reviews. </p></div>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-668498403635321222020-09-16T13:18:00.002-07:002020-09-16T13:18:19.706-07:00Belonging In Oklahoma<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52SXV1Va53Nm4XbaiN8yZ2VwfWNp7oMYGiuFF7AP__5Qw4CU3PMp4ynRctx1M6xR1NjfQpGe2ShSx9aPg8S0WX5yCNactcdBj9yqMe8l9TUpP1nXmsVZFxBP25qoXbBdQEGEGwui8oDs/s1280/talimena-scenic-byway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="634" data-original-width="1280" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52SXV1Va53Nm4XbaiN8yZ2VwfWNp7oMYGiuFF7AP__5Qw4CU3PMp4ynRctx1M6xR1NjfQpGe2ShSx9aPg8S0WX5yCNactcdBj9yqMe8l9TUpP1nXmsVZFxBP25qoXbBdQEGEGwui8oDs/w640-h316/talimena-scenic-byway.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>I was been reading the unfamiliar road signs out loud to Steve as we drove over rolling hills, along the tree-lined, two-lane roads, surrounded by the green farms, tiny, country hamlets, and abandoned buildings of the Choctaw Nation. We stopped at the Cedar Lake Vista to give our beagle Scout a chance to stretch and run. Breathing in the sweet, moist air after a rain shower, standing on the ridge of the Talimena Scenic Byway, among the stick bugs and oak trees, serenity swept over me like a cool breeze. </p><p><br /></p><p>I've spent most of my life feeling awkward, lost, and as if I don't belong. That's probably why being a drifter felt so natural. When one doesn't belong somewhere, it's easy to leave that place behind. </p><p><br /></p><p>When I met Steve, I knew that he was the one for me, long before I ever spoke the words. We worked together, and when he spoke, I hung upon his every word. That sense of connection was not a violent jolt, but a simple, silent slipping together. For the first time in my life, I knew he was the one. Suddenly, I belonged with someone. </p><p><br /></p><p>Just like me, Steve felt out of place everywhere he went. Born from a Japanese mother and American Serviceman, raised in San Diego, Steve always knew he was an outsider. Half one thing, not enough of another, he had difficulty finding his place in this world. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyUuduFcYMkAPqcsPy9q6GzFyLj_YUxDTBkaxdIcUNh7Bi6lDo9AvbRHtadiT1AvbAGBmZh97p1amOJxktveYEMyzcOcP8AgW5peYUIh4Ew3sdrljOIGtq2yxclQdtwfozdU-gHKcv5B8/s727/sash+steve+riding.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="545" data-original-width="727" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyUuduFcYMkAPqcsPy9q6GzFyLj_YUxDTBkaxdIcUNh7Bi6lDo9AvbRHtadiT1AvbAGBmZh97p1amOJxktveYEMyzcOcP8AgW5peYUIh4Ew3sdrljOIGtq2yxclQdtwfozdU-gHKcv5B8/w640-h480/sash+steve+riding.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p>We let go of most everything we owned, got on our motorcycles, and drifted around the country. Together, but in many ways, still very alone. We rode side by side, but alone in our own helmets during the day, seeing the roads, landscapes, and towns, each from our own unique perspective. Thousands of miles we traveled, alone, together, lost in the thoughts, working through the pain of our pasts, moving into a new horizon every day.</p><p><br /></p><p>After years of motorcycling around the U.S., we moved into our toy hauler. We traveled together in the cab of Steve's pick up truck. I flopped into the same bed at night after a long day, I cooked in my own kitchen, we worked at our same desks. We were more grounded with each other, we had our own home that was with us wherever we went. Still, with the hearts of travelers, we needed to keep on the road. </p><p><br /></p><p>Yet here I stand, on the ridge of the mountain range, looking over the land of my people, and feeling a sense of belonging. Originally from Mississippi, my tribe, the Choctaw, was forcibly moved to Southeast Oklahoma in 1831 on The Trail of Tears. Over the last 189 years, the Choctaw persisted, survived, and thrived on this land. Both of my parents were born in Oklahoma, relocated, and later met in Fontana, California. They didn't bring any Choctaw heritage with them. We were raised as "white" and we weren't to question that.</p><p><br /></p><p>But I've known all along that isn't true. I've always known something was missing. I don't know if I'll find that missing piece here. What I do know is there's a comforting sense of calm that comes to me in these woods, sweetness to the air that tastes familiar, and a sound of the wind in the trees that calls to my heart. I might not be home yet, but I'm getting closer every day.</p><p><br /></p>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-44063140225477539552020-08-22T13:50:00.005-07:002020-08-22T13:52:54.148-07:00Giving Up My Freedom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA7HRLxjlDhFCy0lmPd9aDfXhMPdHLNArVJYIKZyb1uvV2E4PExLMp2CZqb0ugwJgRfbx5bQNzEcWKmm7izTJ5szDVoflJPr1aTWYTUWrVLoXLnPVg_E1dH6wvrCongUlMjm1zdyjSXDU/s2048/sawtooth-national-recreation-area.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="ATC-toy-hauler" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA7HRLxjlDhFCy0lmPd9aDfXhMPdHLNArVJYIKZyb1uvV2E4PExLMp2CZqb0ugwJgRfbx5bQNzEcWKmm7izTJ5szDVoflJPr1aTWYTUWrVLoXLnPVg_E1dH6wvrCongUlMjm1zdyjSXDU/w640-h480/sawtooth-national-recreation-area.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our current home is our ATC toy hauler</span></div><div><br /></div><div>Owning a home is the American Dream, right? Most people would be thrilled with the opportunity to pick a piece of land with a pretty house on it, get a mortgage and a tax break, and start making the place their own. This is what society does, right? But not us. We don't own land or a home, not yet. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Don't you want a home base?" </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm often asked this by well-meaning friends and strangers. </div><div><br /></div><div>"No. Because owning something means that something owns me."</div><div><br /></div><div>My response usually evokes silence and blank stares.</div><div><br /></div><div>But late in 2019, I went to Steve with my latest idea.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I think we should buy some property in Oklahoma at the end of the summer. We can get a place big enough for our friends to bring their RVs to visit! We can have a little house, with a fireplace and a big porch. I can learn more about my heritage and maybe learn the Choctaw language and how to make pottery. It will be a great investment too!"</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyTc7UYTMW-eLrUt5YOmM0VsaL7eMBkBBAVfkuOozAUpRtZ4dqzKiq3b0fARcO-PeZirOFdd4-vYx8Gj4uinQo_U35TAyuYRl_Q7FHM3er7_2SmjoYRfbx03ZuOrJX-gWWndto3G1ls4/s339/lucindahampton.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="lucinda-hampton-choctaw" border="0" data-original-height="339" data-original-width="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyTc7UYTMW-eLrUt5YOmM0VsaL7eMBkBBAVfkuOozAUpRtZ4dqzKiq3b0fARcO-PeZirOFdd4-vYx8Gj4uinQo_U35TAyuYRl_Q7FHM3er7_2SmjoYRfbx03ZuOrJX-gWWndto3G1ls4/d/lucindahampton.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lucinda Hampton was my Choctaw Great Great Grandmother</span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>For the next 9 months, I rattled off more reasons, shared ideas, and showed him probably 50 different houses on Zillow. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Dang! That one house I really like sold already! I wish we could just go buy one now!" </div><div><br /></div><div>We had a plan to pay some things off and wait until September. So as patiently as I could, I waited. Now as we are nearing the end of August, at a time when I should be at my most excited, fear has gripped me. Uncertainty has me in a bind. </div><div><br /></div><div>If we buy land in Oklahoma, what will the unintended consequences be? </div><div><br /></div><div><div>Since we first got on the road in 2013, I've become more of a drifter than I realized. When I'm uncomfortable somewhere, I leave. When I'm bored, I leave. When I feel pinned down, I leave. And I sometimes leave without knowing why I'm leaving. I just know I need to go. So I do. Once I see that road disappearing behind me, I feel relief. I turn the stereo up and sing as loud as I can. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm free. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7aATVe53tBzn0iO5iEVt3t_QqKRg2YV3SNl9_kjFywZM2dBe5l0bYfilJJKAieeFWRMrkIOL49vxwuzpDtkbvBkJQ7tyj64Z29rFSzV3e7dpYIORlwWgC2RJZUEzZ2UqTLF96e7QQvE4/s2048/Chesapeake+Bay+Bridge+Tunnel.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7aATVe53tBzn0iO5iEVt3t_QqKRg2YV3SNl9_kjFywZM2dBe5l0bYfilJJKAieeFWRMrkIOL49vxwuzpDtkbvBkJQ7tyj64Z29rFSzV3e7dpYIORlwWgC2RJZUEzZ2UqTLF96e7QQvE4/s640/Chesapeake+Bay+Bridge+Tunnel.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I don't answer to anyone. I've created a life in which I'm not accountable to anyone unless I choose to be. Both Steve and I want each other to be free to live our individual lives, to make choices for ourselves, the kind of choices a person makes from their gut. Steve doesn't expect anything from me but love and kindness. If I tell him I want to do something, he asks how he can help. He hasn't ever tried to discourage me from doing anything. He sees a person who has the ability to reason and make choices for herself. Since he loves me and wants nothing for me but my own happiness, he sees his role as one to support any choices I make. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>So, I suggested we buy a house and after considering all of my reasons, he agreed. He thinks it's a great idea! We make a plan, get everything in order, and now we're ready to commit. </div><div><br /></div><div>Commit. Oh dear God, that sounds so final.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't think I can do it. I don't want to be stuck somewhere, held down, obligated, COMMITTED! </div><div><br /></div><div>This is starting to sound like prison. I can't breathe. My chest feels heavy. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not ready to give up my freedom. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuVgkYwtO9lJH9dIlPsP8eLs_tlzGkbXu4RnNp3kGhE42He5MF8ufsJuLZnHLiK3r3qPa-G5xlvWo3g1TgbzDEORmrO1gqUFzfJvUd8jPOs_9GAcsnCZMc20CkBqp1mlDtjDRVGhiKSsw/s1215/20200724_215053.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="975" data-original-width="1215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuVgkYwtO9lJH9dIlPsP8eLs_tlzGkbXu4RnNp3kGhE42He5MF8ufsJuLZnHLiK3r3qPa-G5xlvWo3g1TgbzDEORmrO1gqUFzfJvUd8jPOs_9GAcsnCZMc20CkBqp1mlDtjDRVGhiKSsw/s640/20200724_215053.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>"We will still travel, but if we're going to buy land, we have to be willing to spend some time there. If something needs to be done when we're traveling, we might have to go back home to take care of it. But that's okay Sash, really. We're in this together! And we're buying this for all of the right reasons." </div><div><br /></div><div>Steve has such a wonderful way of helping me see things more clearly. I hope he still feels this way after a year. I hope he doesn't resent me for ruining our vagabond life with my big idea. </div><div><br /></div><div>I called my friend Laura to talk about it. She's rational, smart and has a wonderful sense of humor. After spilling my guts and telling her all of my fears, she was silent for what seemed like an eternity.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Well . . . can't you see this as another adventure? You're always talking about getting out of your comfort zone, so isn't this getting you out of your comfort zone? You don't sound very comfortable to me." </div><div><br /></div><div>We had to laugh. She's right. I'm terribly uncomfortable. So, the adventure begins. I'm always open to adventure!</div>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-13923152288591378342020-07-20T16:24:00.000-07:002020-07-20T16:24:02.130-07:00To Own Something<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC6bc_jRHZ59G11oW8WseTyv_WJMn66M4c9zR9o4Of00H85OyS_fj1sQ0yD96aEdcmpn58ccC0ESOF9Y5CLOE6ARjoFkD8WuMNBKW_EE-2aTBkufujXoJoJVPW4K4RqfwHXwuAtbxgYqc/s1600/20200704_173021+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1293" data-original-width="1600" height="516" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC6bc_jRHZ59G11oW8WseTyv_WJMn66M4c9zR9o4Of00H85OyS_fj1sQ0yD96aEdcmpn58ccC0ESOF9Y5CLOE6ARjoFkD8WuMNBKW_EE-2aTBkufujXoJoJVPW4K4RqfwHXwuAtbxgYqc/s640/20200704_173021+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Sophia's 7-year-old whine pierced the momentary silence.<br />
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"MINE! THAT'S MINE! I WAS PLAYING WITH IT FIRST AND HE TOOK IT!"<br />
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Baby Luna mimics her older cousin with a babbling scream.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr-tLPi_sNvzK0BmMey98x9ve5CW-nukBrpSGa00oWavMkOEWerVEQe1T1diFkiYYXm7tlyN53CUmSeNcLg-ID90czK7_20y2vdtN7bMLQ7zWGZN60zNdcVeC0tDUQXzOAeTufhAUiIeA/s1600/20200704_140645.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="994" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr-tLPi_sNvzK0BmMey98x9ve5CW-nukBrpSGa00oWavMkOEWerVEQe1T1diFkiYYXm7tlyN53CUmSeNcLg-ID90czK7_20y2vdtN7bMLQ7zWGZN60zNdcVeC0tDUQXzOAeTufhAUiIeA/s320/20200704_140645.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
"BAAANAAAABAAA NO NO NO!!" <br />
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Luna smirks with pride at the sound of her own voice. She grabs the toy and screams as she quickly toddles down the hallway. Her brother Jackson stands with a scowl, protesting his cousin's claim on the toy in question. Somewhere deep behind the chaos of my niece's home lies a hum of familiarity and comfort for me. <br />
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Shelli, my niece, has 4 kids of her own, Brianna age 21, who lives on her own, Zachary age 18, Joshua age 16, and Sophia age 6. Recently, Shelli and her husband David took in my daughter's children, Jackson and Luna. My sister Carrie, and her husband Randy, who are Shelli's mother and stepfather, are living in the home too, along with another cousin, Charley, who is starting college locally. Then there's Joshua's girlfriend Iley who is here half the time as well. That brings the grand total of occupants in this home to 11 1/2.<br />
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Sometimes I feel uprooted and profoundly detached from the world. I anguish over the loneliness of having no place that feels like home. I ache for a place where I belong. I wish I could feel as if I belong here, but know I don't. I am just a passing visitor, that "fun aunt" that pops in with an armload of gifts and stories from the road. I've taught them all to expect nothing from me because they never know when I will come again. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqaKM3xRzfm8vjoQEkPSAodON2lgV8whVEeqInBC9Ixtk1g6sDMdVX5BRr_bZuwaPlwB1Zd0d_IVQfZGxsG2qO1SBKWdeii8pWO3lLJmrh3C7NuRWEJ28F6zydSfDXKBAEN85XWL7DIcs/s1600/20200704_160108+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="1600" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqaKM3xRzfm8vjoQEkPSAodON2lgV8whVEeqInBC9Ixtk1g6sDMdVX5BRr_bZuwaPlwB1Zd0d_IVQfZGxsG2qO1SBKWdeii8pWO3lLJmrh3C7NuRWEJ28F6zydSfDXKBAEN85XWL7DIcs/s400/20200704_160108+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
7-year-old Sophia seems to grasp this. She knows I come and go, sending gifts from the road, and knows at some point I'll come back to her again. My grandson Jackson understands this too. Having just celebrated his 6th birthday, he is beginning to grasp the comings and goings of loved ones. His parents separated and neither are able to take care of him and his sister, so the kids have landed here. Fortunately, they fit right in and the family loves them both immensely. Shelli is the center of our family, whether she likes to admit it or not. A shining star of love, kindness, and gentle acceptance, we all simply orbit around her, drawn in by her natural gravity. <br />
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As their grandmother, I felt compelled to accept responsibility for them. But at Shelli's insistence, and as a family, we decided this was best. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX2XHY_5X2cAQReRcll9LG1gqTDWYYBszB5iRLwFoSFqpxpBiuwicKsOKNfZTMfLlgnMTpTP5c57h6qatZDQfx2h_KL981C6LrIBK44Z7tjQ1K9AmuJ0hJNt_IuAhbzBcQPaZmbgfGNqU/s1600/20200708_194839+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1041" data-original-width="1600" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX2XHY_5X2cAQReRcll9LG1gqTDWYYBszB5iRLwFoSFqpxpBiuwicKsOKNfZTMfLlgnMTpTP5c57h6qatZDQfx2h_KL981C6LrIBK44Z7tjQ1K9AmuJ0hJNt_IuAhbzBcQPaZmbgfGNqU/s320/20200708_194839+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a>"You underestimate the importance of being Bootsie (my grandma name). They need you to be their grandparent, not their full-time parent. If they are here, they get a routine, other kids to play with, and a greater support system. We're already raising kids here! A couple more just won't change much."<br />
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Shelli always makes sense. She always seems to see the things I don't. <br />
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For now, this is as close to having a home as I'm going to get. My family is here. This is their home. But not really a place for me. The hugs and kisses are here waiting, whenever I come to get them. Part of me wishes I could settle here, but I know I can't. <br />
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I'm not complaining, because this is the life I created for myself. Being unattached and free to roam was what I wanted, and still want. But like everything, it comes with a price. One cannot have freedom and attachment. One cannot live on the road and still live in a home. One cannot be free and still be owned. And to own something is to be owned, make no mistake. <br />
<br />
Do I want a house with some land? Do I want a place that's mine to call home? Do I want to lose some of my freedom for a place to set down roots? Is this a passing fancy, or is it time to start settling in? Am I ready to trade my burdens? Lonesomeness for responsibility. . . Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-24574703516401640492020-06-16T18:43:00.000-07:002020-06-16T18:53:29.226-07:00Finding a Home<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFdSqWhO1Vk4XI8VLlSJPKVG8gzMTcd3wAw2WXqqkj-NRBvwP_HKb_V8JauYSSyiq6YYLOGSP9qW7fNgn5-0Apvx2ug0cCLw9booCjNMsHbY4dwHoQYxJUsgANxt9sMSEAAnAOAgGxIDE/s1600/Marcus+and+Lucille+Rogers+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1104" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFdSqWhO1Vk4XI8VLlSJPKVG8gzMTcd3wAw2WXqqkj-NRBvwP_HKb_V8JauYSSyiq6YYLOGSP9qW7fNgn5-0Apvx2ug0cCLw9booCjNMsHbY4dwHoQYxJUsgANxt9sMSEAAnAOAgGxIDE/s320/Marcus+and+Lucille+Rogers+.jpg" width="220" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Choctaw Grandfather Marcus and his sister Lucille</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I remember when it wasn't cool to tell people I was Indian. And when I did, they often thought I meant I was from India. It wasn't until 10 years ago that I switched to saying, Native American, followed by the name of my tribe, Choctaw. <br />
<br />
I've known my entire life I am Choctaw, but I always felt uncomfortable identifying as such. Not because I'm ashamed of being Choctaw. I'm very proud of my heritage. I've spent much of my time worrying about what other Natives would think about someone who wasn't raised as in the Indian culture. I didn't encounter the same struggles, I don't understand the customs or the language, and I don't have a clue what it's like to be a Native American. There's such a negative connotation to cultural appropriation, and even though this is my culture, in a way, it's not. <br />
<br />
No matter where I've been in my life, I haven't ever fit in. I didn't fit in with my family, my classmates, my inlaws, my neighbors nor my friends. I think that's why living as a vagabond suits me so well. When I feel uncomfortable, I leave. It's become my way of life. Just run. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEH-9y7T-RhsKM6vBEz3VZ0l3-Vo17YzodLSdfucuXbyWrTK9U7aRHwHIFU1dlP3wGv7At5EExGbdR9XdKbLbB4pTYpRTx8isCFzvmUWmNdNjMqsHmiSBRcUt88SvnRXSzvmmHExr9BKE/s1600/Bampoo+and+Marcus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="234" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEH-9y7T-RhsKM6vBEz3VZ0l3-Vo17YzodLSdfucuXbyWrTK9U7aRHwHIFU1dlP3wGv7At5EExGbdR9XdKbLbB4pTYpRTx8isCFzvmUWmNdNjMqsHmiSBRcUt88SvnRXSzvmmHExr9BKE/s320/Bampoo+and+Marcus.jpg" width="198" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Great Grandfather Sam & Marcus</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We never knew my mother's father Marcus, the Choctaw of my lineage. When my mother was only 3 years old, her parents divorced and she never saw her father again. In 1943, my grandmother Dora took her 3 children from Oklahoma to Arizona to start a new life. It wasn't until my Mom was 60 years old when she learned her mother had done this without letting Marcus know. <br />
<br />
<br />
It turned out that Marcus had remarried and had 3 more children. Through a wonderful coincidence of fate, in 1996, his oldest daughter from his first marriage, Marcia, and his oldest son from his second marriage, Reggie, happened upon one another doing genealogy online. They were ecstatic to meet one another, although Marcia, my Mom, and their brother Everett had no idea they had half-siblings. Once we met Reggie, the truth about the divorce came out. Marcus had looked for his first three children for many years and died in 1972 with a photo of his babies in his wallet. When my Mom learned of this, she refused to speak to my grandmother again. My grandmother died 3 years later, heartbroken that she had lost her daughter over a decision she made all those years ago. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhACIExbbmGnjHYifydvJfgxqHMJICwX_sGr6sjNxpdg6aseRcHs6o3YWOQkbIW27cfL-jpn_V10agWxK9NdgrKL2Th-g-955Sov4l6MztR1XZk394KJJikPBGkwUJgP5ZKfL70d0gupHY/s1600/Everett+Sarah+Kay+Reggie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1128" data-original-width="1475" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhACIExbbmGnjHYifydvJfgxqHMJICwX_sGr6sjNxpdg6aseRcHs6o3YWOQkbIW27cfL-jpn_V10agWxK9NdgrKL2Th-g-955Sov4l6MztR1XZk394KJJikPBGkwUJgP5ZKfL70d0gupHY/s400/Everett+Sarah+Kay+Reggie.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three of the siblings reunited - Everett, my Mom Sarah Kay and Reggie (with his cute daughter Reagan)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The impact on our family was not all negative though. In fact, this opened a whole new world for us! New family members, insight into our family history, and that golden link to our Choctaw heritage. I've come to know Reggie and his family well, and I adore them! It's been through Reggie's love and encouragement that I have decided to connect with my heritage in a deep and meaningful way. <br />
<br />
Although I remain apprehensive, I've decided to dive headfirst into the Choctaw culture and buy a home in Oklahoma. In September, my husband Steve and I will be traveling to the 10.5 counties of Choctaw land and start the home buying process. We will continue to travel most of the year, but having a home base in Oklahoma will give me a greater opportunity to immerse myself in my heritage. Perhaps, one day, I will feel like a whole human being. Perhaps, one day, I'll find my place and just maybe, I'll feel at home. Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-6398096639287382522020-04-07T14:28:00.002-07:002020-04-07T15:34:46.538-07:00From Vagabond to Vagrant<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfEj6VG2_VtxwosWmVrlUNsOOYJj1JeV8yFnznFq-08nXE01qTHuTmQkR6JkmbREZJqvrVXBOqEtrMQDafJEisQ3dwRBeGIv4KPcPO2E-Z69y0zC6K37SahpidY_fKOb-_kDy2PcRpE_8/s1600/Murphys+to+Lone+Pine+242+road-clouds.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="357" data-original-width="715" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfEj6VG2_VtxwosWmVrlUNsOOYJj1JeV8yFnznFq-08nXE01qTHuTmQkR6JkmbREZJqvrVXBOqEtrMQDafJEisQ3dwRBeGIv4KPcPO2E-Z69y0zC6K37SahpidY_fKOb-_kDy2PcRpE_8/s640/Murphys+to+Lone+Pine+242+road-clouds.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Like everyone else, this pandemic has had a dramatic impact on our way of life. We are stuck in place. For a vagabond, it's akin to putting a wild pony in a cage.<br />
<br />
Vagabond has become a popular word over the last few years, but <a href="https://www.dictionary.com/browse/vagabond">Dictionary's</a> definition of vagabond is rather negative.<br />
<blockquote><i>Vagabond (vag-uh-bond): <br />
adjective<br />
wandering from place to place without any settled home; nomadic: a vagabond tribe.<br />
leading an unsettled or carefree life.<br />
disreputable; worthless; shiftless.<br />
having an uncertain or irregular course or direction: a vagabond voyage.<br />
noun<br />
a person, usually without a permanent home, who wanders from place to place; nomad.<br />
an idle wanderer without a permanent home or visible means of support; tramp; vagrant.<br />
a carefree, worthless, or irresponsible person; rogue.</blockquote></i><br />
<br />
It is not news to me that society's view of vagabonds is those who are shiftless, irresponsible, unsettled. <a href="https://grammarist.com/synonyms/vagabond-and-vagrant/">Grammarist</a> claims the words vagabond and vagrant are two words that mean the same thing, only with different connotations.<br />
<br />
<blockquote><i>"A vagrant is also someone who has no home or job, but the word carries the connotation of a freeloader, someone who takes advantage of society and is breaking the law. Vagrant is also used as a noun or an adjective."</blockquote></i><br />
<br />
When the Shelter In Place laws were executed, there were no accommodations made for the vagabonds of this country. Many have been kicked out of campgrounds and off federal land, then told not to wander and yet, given no place to Shelter in Place. Overnight, we all became outlaws. Traveling has become a crime.<br />
<br />
This is where you are going to preach to me about the necessity of quarantine and how dangerous and inconsiderate traveling is. I've had my fill of the Quarantine Ethics Police on social media. And you can all go fuck yourselves. I understand the necessity of quarantine. We have been further distanced than 90% of the country. This is a way of life for us and we've got it down to a perfected science. So keep your idiotic opinions of my lifestyle to yourselves. I don't want to hear it. <br />
<br />
There was a time when Americans understood travelers. Society saw the immigrants who came to this country looking for something better as hopeful, remember the pioneers who settled the west as courageous and those farmers escaping the Dust Bowl during the 1930's as desperate souls. But in this time of social conformity, travelers are seen as strange, curious vagrants. <br />
<br />
I don't want to be strapped down to the obligation of property. I want to be free to wander my country. The most American thing I've ever done has been to see America, to get to know people from other states, other cultures, other lives. It is because of my love for this country that I want to see it, visit it, know it, breathe it and become part of every bit of it. How can that be a crime? <br />
<br />
This scene from Easy Rider says it best.<br />
<blockquote><i>George Hanson : Oh, yeah, they're gonna talk to you, and talk to you, and talk to you about individual freedom. But they see a free individual, it's gonna scare 'em. <br />
Billy : Well, it don't make 'em runnin' scared. <br />
George Hanson : No, it makes 'em dangerous.</blockquote></i><br />
<br />
Perhaps I am dangerous. Perhaps those of you who fear this way of life are right to fear me. But you couldn't ever fear me as much as I fear you. All of you who are so willing to conform to the government without question are the terrifying monsters my nightmares are made of.<br />
<br />
Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-74262780299828517132019-09-04T14:28:00.000-07:002019-09-04T15:11:38.842-07:00Wanderlust is the Sweetest Poison<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqKIJKqwwrCYbRgfzniwTKiOa-tKLDofJ6Hj4f4ya_84U9Ciw7FWIwW9eS2ETovFUBAPB0lj29sQBnoj_523K0N-qzi5yBQLykilJ0fI2LvX2uSY_I4BEPoExqiBQBbcC-EEzMJ2ihBjo/s1600/sash+steve+riding.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="545" data-original-width="727" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqKIJKqwwrCYbRgfzniwTKiOa-tKLDofJ6Hj4f4ya_84U9Ciw7FWIwW9eS2ETovFUBAPB0lj29sQBnoj_523K0N-qzi5yBQLykilJ0fI2LvX2uSY_I4BEPoExqiBQBbcC-EEzMJ2ihBjo/s640/sash+steve+riding.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I miss riding with Steve, that's for certain.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was never a motorcyclist who liked to travel. I was a traveler that liked to ride a motorcycle.<br />
<br />
This has always been a hard distinction for me to grasp, let alone explain to others. It wasn't until I was completely off two wheels that I realized what I was and wasn't missing. <br />
<br />
I miss leaning into the turns of a canyon on a sunny afternoon, straining my mind to gauge the next turn, rolling on and off the throttle and feathering the clutch, testing my skills. More than the physicality of riding, I miss how it challenged my intellect with the calculations of traffic, speed, gravity and centrifugal force. I miss being entirely alone with my motorcycle, connecting to the machine which connected to the never-ending ribbon of possibility that is asphalt, the intimate connection to "being there" that only comes on two wheels.<br />
<br />
A part of me even misses the challenges of harsh weather, long days, exhaustion and frustration. I thrived on pushing myself to my limits, if only to see where my limits actually lie. The truth is that the challenges brought about in me a new manifestation of myself, a person I have always known yet couldn't step into. At some point I stepped off of my motorcycle a stronger, greater, more fulfilled version of my true self.<br />
<br />
However, I don't miss the physical toll motorcycling took on me. Perhaps that toll came from riding so many miles in such a short period of time. In my first year of riding I rode over 16,000 miles, culminating in 68,000 miles in less than 5 years. I didn't listen to my body when I should have and now I need surgery to correct some of the damage I did to myself.<br />
<br />
I have to wonder if the constant pain I live in wasn't somehow subconsciously, yet intentionally, inflicted. Why was I punishing myself? Why was I so certain that beating the shit out of myself made me more worthy as a rider? What was I hoping to accomplish?<br />
<br />
Now I know that a great deal of that motivation came from my desire to travel. I feared that I might become stationary without the motorcycle, so I needed to keep riding to stay on the road. Like any other drug, I had to suffer to feed my addiction. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5N26krYwAGsf_qsPm_KYKFO_s39DjP83slx-uQDl6aQR3kHWfhNIFKYJvGygHqgYo0Fx-nSNox1Dcj924fLZLfz5nMCAJ1LGthrjVF1c3a1oquGgc2SPQ-z5FU2pY7L8n16AX57ss1qk/s1600/20190626_110440.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="1600" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5N26krYwAGsf_qsPm_KYKFO_s39DjP83slx-uQDl6aQR3kHWfhNIFKYJvGygHqgYo0Fx-nSNox1Dcj924fLZLfz5nMCAJ1LGthrjVF1c3a1oquGgc2SPQ-z5FU2pY7L8n16AX57ss1qk/s640/20190626_110440.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I drove my Chevy Suburban "Jupiter" from North Dakota to Alaska and back to Washington this summer. 7 weeks of camping, 7,000 miles. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKdwH6S-KEnETfhPsGeWTHpVR52_tJZ7ivq4zO_iKCzkTYFieBZj6JU-_z6Xk58axt3JJHOpMwet3XMbJJI-f1nK-iN0gNP95pBlJ3kJNFD0yHV00M6y7oZB5jRYx8d4YUwOwJxN0r_zs/s1600/mama+and+baby+bear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="613" data-original-width="1600" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKdwH6S-KEnETfhPsGeWTHpVR52_tJZ7ivq4zO_iKCzkTYFieBZj6JU-_z6Xk58axt3JJHOpMwet3XMbJJI-f1nK-iN0gNP95pBlJ3kJNFD0yHV00M6y7oZB5jRYx8d4YUwOwJxN0r_zs/s640/mama+and+baby+bear.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of my favorite sights on the Alcan Highway were the bears. This black bear and her cub were casually crossing the road so I pulled over. Don't bears always have the right of way?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Now I travel without a motorcycle. My addiction is fed, my wanderlust addressed and my life in perfectly chaotic movement. Just enough new to keep it interesting, just enough comfort to continue. <br />
<br />
But the satisfaction is slipping and I can feel something new coming on the horizon. I'm ready for whatever comes.<br />
<br />Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-58667920178811633662019-04-13T20:02:00.000-07:002019-04-13T20:11:55.106-07:00Eudaimonia in Jupiter<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzlq10o_h9_vGSKnmKXDja9e-xaydVIkfarZsKBqEdkMHmj_Gy0AM_ATcNnxRHUM4tKgScnr3oeu2NoreVV2ypY52P28l6tUnh6kEEHgkWoYpE9-EXnjIW1Dbg1VGtB_TcECtKlU-j-fY/s1600/53513187_10218829109141209_1264582231871979520_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzlq10o_h9_vGSKnmKXDja9e-xaydVIkfarZsKBqEdkMHmj_Gy0AM_ATcNnxRHUM4tKgScnr3oeu2NoreVV2ypY52P28l6tUnh6kEEHgkWoYpE9-EXnjIW1Dbg1VGtB_TcECtKlU-j-fY/s640/53513187_10218829109141209_1264582231871979520_o.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I said goodbye to my Yamaha V Star as she finds a new home</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I feared that when I sold my motorcycle I would lose an important part of myself. But when the doctor told me I needed to get off of two wheels, I knew it was the right thing to do. Until that time, riding my motorcycle had been the most fulfilling part of my life. <br />
<br />
The Ancient Greeks did not believe that the purpose of life was to be happy; they proposed that it was to achieve Eudaimonia, a word which has been best translated as ‘fulfilment’. What distinguishes happiness from fulfilment is pain. It is eminently possible to be fulfilled and – at the same time – under pressure, suffering physically or mentally, overburdened and, quite frequently, in a tetchy mood.<br />
<br />
Life on the road has been incredibly challenging, but certainly is a life worth living. We had started by traveling around the U.S. on our motorcycles and living in hotels, eventually moving into our toy hauler 2 years ago. Now that we have the truck, Steve's motorcycle and the trailer, I was facing a life without my own set of wheels. I need my own wheels. Even though I love traveling with Steve, I've cannot live a life of Eudaimonia without my own wheels.<br />
<br />
Then came Jupiter.<br />
<br />
A 2011 Chevy Suburban 1500 4WD, Jupiter is my new Overland Camper. I purchased Jupiter on December 30 with the intent of tackling the <a href="http://www.motorcyclephilosophy.org/2010/07/riding-your-motorcycle-to-alaska.html">ALCAN, the Alaska Canada Highway.</a> I had often thought of riding a motorcycle up, but I knew that it wasn't something I could physically do. Since I travel to Alaska every summer to visit clients, I decided to build this vehicle into a camper so I can make the trip.<br />
<br />
The first thing we did was take the second and third row seats out and find a great team to do the build. I went to David and Shelli Stovall in Murrieta, CA to plan and build out the camper. The whole family pitched in and got the whole build completed in record time.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJ9SdCR5QNzwnXQhR9yB-T-t56Y3g3IfpBzCiyqDUIUL-Hx5pUNqA5LATFhTx6m7ByhmetQoyzvsm9gvKHe5FhWs0wVivC1OelooH69ErvMjFUl89b3majbnLp5Y2huvE36tZaAXL3j8/s1600/8777+%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="532" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJ9SdCR5QNzwnXQhR9yB-T-t56Y3g3IfpBzCiyqDUIUL-Hx5pUNqA5LATFhTx6m7ByhmetQoyzvsm9gvKHe5FhWs0wVivC1OelooH69ErvMjFUl89b3majbnLp5Y2huvE36tZaAXL3j8/s640/8777+%25282%2529.jpeg" width="577" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David is not only a great contractor, but my nephew, so I got pretty lucky.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBMfgdnaB35X8cfc8BZNSS4Qz4WGmaj5cefChi82hC2EDyM6Tt1W63JSZzs_j1hDXMnqOgjbIZeA0bBhD0Jlp4OP5UTZaMKj82KDpAs3L9IgTdoADwAjKwnzU6pZlUEtw32p3i9Eg5k3I/s1600/8779+%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="495" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBMfgdnaB35X8cfc8BZNSS4Qz4WGmaj5cefChi82hC2EDyM6Tt1W63JSZzs_j1hDXMnqOgjbIZeA0bBhD0Jlp4OP5UTZaMKj82KDpAs3L9IgTdoADwAjKwnzU6pZlUEtw32p3i9Eg5k3I/s640/8779+%25282%2529.jpeg" width="620" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zachary put in many hours,</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1070" data-original-width="1200" height="571" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEu0WM-_uisUSYr1MnhQekC01ES8xOuL0XzsCGKMGkphUYTnA-DnhRPh0oBmmDEkRt1Ei-QoNV8HOGLghis_6cLuJsNcVHvbX9uAdD9gOLgfjwMN9decwqEknEGTbL6rGQjpaphilw1us/s640/8781+%25282%2529.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And Joshua did too.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEu0WM-_uisUSYr1MnhQekC01ES8xOuL0XzsCGKMGkphUYTnA-DnhRPh0oBmmDEkRt1Ei-QoNV8HOGLghis_6cLuJsNcVHvbX9uAdD9gOLgfjwMN9decwqEknEGTbL6rGQjpaphilw1us/s1600/8781+%25282%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZp5bRnNUJTzubvNcRVHurUwf7Lp4ZBN7mmM4-vUhoo10OuJtnK4UsVgKrYpg_VNk7CEF-KmwPol6-JLuhqxw88wFvwIg3Vvj54yLDLp5zwLWrAfZ24EJqTabGeKB_4sukV15VIw6myMk/s1600/20190328_130709+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1098" data-original-width="1600" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZp5bRnNUJTzubvNcRVHurUwf7Lp4ZBN7mmM4-vUhoo10OuJtnK4UsVgKrYpg_VNk7CEF-KmwPol6-JLuhqxw88wFvwIg3Vvj54yLDLp5zwLWrAfZ24EJqTabGeKB_4sukV15VIw6myMk/s640/20190328_130709+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jupiter is my new version of Eudaimonia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG1KVhz20j1G6kV_baF4Fw4kBEHA41xm9Q1ReBB1UOYsbv8Naak1OPiPMFpG1jsv3wQ6YUZmHBozel1erfggiw1fB9EekbWapJcditWziIIzjYNvwI20wJ1FIB2PlBBm59_zzLoWvtmYk/s1600/20190407_084726+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1450" data-original-width="1600" height="580" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG1KVhz20j1G6kV_baF4Fw4kBEHA41xm9Q1ReBB1UOYsbv8Naak1OPiPMFpG1jsv3wQ6YUZmHBozel1erfggiw1fB9EekbWapJcditWziIIzjYNvwI20wJ1FIB2PlBBm59_zzLoWvtmYk/s640/20190407_084726+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The tall cabinet behind the driver's seat houses the sink, toilet, baskets and water jugs. I'm currently using an cooler for cold food, but eventually I'll buy a refrigerator.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqKAH0DxRoMxTctUlMWKRHyqsjqdjoponusC5vp1kw_qI-_3ejOWoz4-4TK0Re8WclaFxAvHqejPLVFYIhWlutBchOAGIF-lDWXhaXIX69fAS_r-qF4uY9PyybC41uNT_zqH629UomeI/s1600/20190407_084310+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1101" data-original-width="1600" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqKAH0DxRoMxTctUlMWKRHyqsjqdjoponusC5vp1kw_qI-_3ejOWoz4-4TK0Re8WclaFxAvHqejPLVFYIhWlutBchOAGIF-lDWXhaXIX69fAS_r-qF4uY9PyybC41uNT_zqH629UomeI/s640/20190407_084310+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The water jugs flow into the sink, which I use for dishes and washing up. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-9T7w1dGYjslgETzGF1pK3fm_o1uclj_XI2SpgzqWjwF-OREFI1ZSMpcRe780m1iKvJSJI7t4y0jwnxVrav4mXGegs9TXI3NRkYN_I-FJ3PLyPiJ1zV7WjI8j3zcYoOueEjo5dlJ6dk/s1600/20190328_130204+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1377" data-original-width="1600" height="551" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-9T7w1dGYjslgETzGF1pK3fm_o1uclj_XI2SpgzqWjwF-OREFI1ZSMpcRe780m1iKvJSJI7t4y0jwnxVrav4mXGegs9TXI3NRkYN_I-FJ3PLyPiJ1zV7WjI8j3zcYoOueEjo5dlJ6dk/s640/20190328_130204+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sink drains outside. The toilet is a cartridge toilet, accessible from the driver's side back door, so I can take it out to dump and clean.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Zxf5N65tX__P8TgiyTMi61hbUhlV3E39eLpqKEIDu9tg2-2Yhl6nXYGwn8yWZI3cgX-j3QXe8BbbzgKlmH1kChwgbdcSOFnHjaiTjy79XGTqQzhUStHAdZkb8BvGtsPGd4qgW2Vkeb8/s1600/20190407_084811+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="1600" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Zxf5N65tX__P8TgiyTMi61hbUhlV3E39eLpqKEIDu9tg2-2Yhl6nXYGwn8yWZI3cgX-j3QXe8BbbzgKlmH1kChwgbdcSOFnHjaiTjy79XGTqQzhUStHAdZkb8BvGtsPGd4qgW2Vkeb8/s640/20190407_084811+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beside the tall cabinet is a long set of Cubbies that tuck into the window. The bed has storage underneath as well.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyj411oco3OV2urM8UXf9JWLMEDpdjnv9TacM6JFIG6cp3oLsUj1GVt64SbCWi3NWMi_ZnY9PPH5u5sEQulAAnsI8o4m-jEeyZNkV7hAtuhc53MxdCyMnvoRQ3hrWvne5EyxjOzi47b60/s1600/20190407_083709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyj411oco3OV2urM8UXf9JWLMEDpdjnv9TacM6JFIG6cp3oLsUj1GVt64SbCWi3NWMi_ZnY9PPH5u5sEQulAAnsI8o4m-jEeyZNkV7hAtuhc53MxdCyMnvoRQ3hrWvne5EyxjOzi47b60/s640/20190407_083709.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Cubbies, as I call them, are great for storing clothes and need-it-quick essentials.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vFagxFlkAWqSsRTxLLzUoNsxZ297CGxz0-vPhi7GvWKAo0pJErSaMGDBvNnQD0zbsm_TdPbaGb7FmhC6aorwWx_H6OrHqrdr3_D5kvz7GAFUTh4a2-dRcFW1KHp1gYIv51OhxmybdrQ/s1600/20190328_130440+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1097" data-original-width="1600" height="439" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vFagxFlkAWqSsRTxLLzUoNsxZ297CGxz0-vPhi7GvWKAo0pJErSaMGDBvNnQD0zbsm_TdPbaGb7FmhC6aorwWx_H6OrHqrdr3_D5kvz7GAFUTh4a2-dRcFW1KHp1gYIv51OhxmybdrQ/s640/20190328_130440+%25283%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Under the bed is a large storage area which can be accessed by the doors that lift up under the bed. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD4sKNxWSEisyLjcwf46AuxzhjHS0oABX4nKDlvbPe0ZFrwvjQx_IohJSFPrwcuqkMiYRqnU2CuXSBvXqVSKShA4r-7jpfKssYcuynqCjBodz7KvjXFGQJFjf4esB1pyqD1FkE4T9eIrY/s1600/20190407_085230+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1337" data-original-width="1600" height="535" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD4sKNxWSEisyLjcwf46AuxzhjHS0oABX4nKDlvbPe0ZFrwvjQx_IohJSFPrwcuqkMiYRqnU2CuXSBvXqVSKShA4r-7jpfKssYcuynqCjBodz7KvjXFGQJFjf4esB1pyqD1FkE4T9eIrY/s640/20190407_085230+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the rear is large drawer where I keep all of the kitchen items</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ESgbgPSGt49adJdhn4s5xM0erdh8WE-YarMUGMdz-wDMNO0ZLQ6F_358dSjjrcA_DntiR4U-lkIjCVvvyNIzb1GGC4Csad4LqobJV3zcMUIgIZwexawwYYyfWnqj-OAkU0eNP0duqCc/s1600/20190407_085332+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="948" data-original-width="1600" height="379" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ESgbgPSGt49adJdhn4s5xM0erdh8WE-YarMUGMdz-wDMNO0ZLQ6F_358dSjjrcA_DntiR4U-lkIjCVvvyNIzb1GGC4Csad4LqobJV3zcMUIgIZwexawwYYyfWnqj-OAkU0eNP0duqCc/s640/20190407_085332+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Above the drawer is a sliding table. It's covered in beeswax so I can use it for food prep without any concern of the food being tainted by the stain. I have the 2 burner Coleman stove and a 1 burner stove as well.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUIezqitQrikfVPc0W8rzwfIYS0PYP8yAGCk8F1XUX5iLv3PTQu8hJNKAIuO7Ww_byHe14dSWNbpPkpBFH2dzFUWk2_VF43Ljne-SppxP2gpYWKR47PhLHiNjJbsced2TrCtD3JtyDDac/s1600/20190413_201003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="984" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUIezqitQrikfVPc0W8rzwfIYS0PYP8yAGCk8F1XUX5iLv3PTQu8hJNKAIuO7Ww_byHe14dSWNbpPkpBFH2dzFUWk2_VF43Ljne-SppxP2gpYWKR47PhLHiNjJbsced2TrCtD3JtyDDac/s400/20190413_201003.jpg" width="246" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> We sought out the assistance and advice from <a href="https://www.boondoctor.com/" target="_blank">Boondoctor</a> to set up the electrical system. My electrical set up includes a "House" battery, separate from the "Start" battery, and a 2000 watt inverter. The battery is charged by the alternator when the vehicle is running. If I am camped for a couple of days in a row, I only need to run the engine about 10 minutes a day to have all of the power I need. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Jupiter is still a work in progress, but is road ready, as am I. We are ready to find some spots of paradise on the black bejeweled byways of North America. Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-84773490979536414012019-02-23T16:01:00.000-08:002019-02-23T16:01:56.779-08:00The Inward Journey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXCDBlRfYvKIkaSDC8fqxD9OzEq-4w7Q7fnncjf-NRFC9dI0PeTZm5x5igW_4wmPCdm-bKrJRmxJsCYdT_fcu3pSYvgi3LlrsF2ry6NLCEEpNpnyUyH_DZzle0OztEuNEQXLqJojnGWGc/s1600/denali+park+road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1009" data-original-width="1600" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXCDBlRfYvKIkaSDC8fqxD9OzEq-4w7Q7fnncjf-NRFC9dI0PeTZm5x5igW_4wmPCdm-bKrJRmxJsCYdT_fcu3pSYvgi3LlrsF2ry6NLCEEpNpnyUyH_DZzle0OztEuNEQXLqJojnGWGc/s640/denali+park+road.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I didn't think I would be on the road this long, but here I am. After 6 years of travel, both on motorcycles and now a truck and trailer, I am still traveling with my husband Steve. <br />
<br />
There have been many hours of reflection as to why I need to keep moving. From time to time I have little glimpses of understanding shine through, like blades of light through trees. The soul searching becomes addictive and my journey inward becomes more exhausting than my journey outward. Yet, I can't let it go. I need to understand myself.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj776SjYRmQhrlDASK_DKwOTfoQjijObJ04GldgdVWyYF8vprdh-e7nl_6dDOiBwsJeFdp2dpsyQ-Wv1OIcraUOEVn-wobl4MSLZX1RHPM1D8l7X3CXQoKDkETjTvpRFx8lzsX89NK5YX4/s1600/flower+white.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1077" data-original-width="1600" height="431" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj776SjYRmQhrlDASK_DKwOTfoQjijObJ04GldgdVWyYF8vprdh-e7nl_6dDOiBwsJeFdp2dpsyQ-Wv1OIcraUOEVn-wobl4MSLZX1RHPM1D8l7X3CXQoKDkETjTvpRFx8lzsX89NK5YX4/s640/flower+white.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
And that's just it. The outward journey is a physical manifestation of the inward journey. I'm definitely looking for something. I find little pieces of the puzzle scattered along the road, in forests, on beaches, in traffic, on the roadside. It's my compulsion to find these pieces of insight, in hopes that one day I'll assemble something that explains me to myself. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhefPd-47aVTOu0E8I4R_KZxuhG1d7ctN1PvWTZ2GapzkIysnB_Z5xeROVFlsf6Gn-cErQM4p4-fEPV_gGP6Hneg7HBQs2j6XUst860QVNhcQHGAQmVsWesFvKXboPHFcXR6E5xiM3x4BA/s1600/denali+from+talkeetna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="894" data-original-width="1600" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhefPd-47aVTOu0E8I4R_KZxuhG1d7ctN1PvWTZ2GapzkIysnB_Z5xeROVFlsf6Gn-cErQM4p4-fEPV_gGP6Hneg7HBQs2j6XUst860QVNhcQHGAQmVsWesFvKXboPHFcXR6E5xiM3x4BA/s640/denali+from+talkeetna.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
I've been searching all of my life. I can't remember a time I wasn't looking for answers. As a child I was trying to understand the world around me. Once I realized my family was different, I sought to learn how to appear normal, working very hard to hide the strangeness of my home life. I learned very young to hide myself and to appear to be part of the crowd, whatever crowd I was in.<br />
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It made for a lonely life. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1j7XLddCHJiH63fozdF5thTcw9tePtv4bjyU6ahCAMa5S78BqSpJu5yuY7CrWifU0NnY5bZkIUSpWAKqdu1Ug3kCoStRwDJhWehHY1QtPXCmgrJ96PGLCm9Pyg3OZe0VTyux5JmZq8-U/s1600/IMG_9149+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1366" data-original-width="1600" height="546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1j7XLddCHJiH63fozdF5thTcw9tePtv4bjyU6ahCAMa5S78BqSpJu5yuY7CrWifU0NnY5bZkIUSpWAKqdu1Ug3kCoStRwDJhWehHY1QtPXCmgrJ96PGLCm9Pyg3OZe0VTyux5JmZq8-U/s640/IMG_9149+%25282%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
"You don't have one intimate relationship, do you?" the therapist asked. "An intimate relationship is one in which you are completely honest with another person, showing your true self at all times. You don't have to perform or hide. You can be truthful."<br />
<br />
On that cold January evening in 2011, as I walked out of her office, I knew she was right. I knew that my 15 year marriage had always been made up of two people pretending to be other than their true selves. I was as much to blame as he was. I had given up on the search for truth long ago and settled into the muck and mire of suburban life and fitting in. That's what adults do, right? Move to the 'burbs, raise kids and fit in.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgk6qVaZaAeAHSwDX1HOarTJH9T_TY96-xpACWN0cwkjs1KkqLap9JsSUsJiEGJ8s90u707TIzubzrLQTEnrOEvqXECxmoMSLKw-yhEhGANodItZKrpuhw9XwT71W_HbiglIbyG0Xl_30/s1600/pond+trees+denali.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="889" data-original-width="1600" height="356" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgk6qVaZaAeAHSwDX1HOarTJH9T_TY96-xpACWN0cwkjs1KkqLap9JsSUsJiEGJ8s90u707TIzubzrLQTEnrOEvqXECxmoMSLKw-yhEhGANodItZKrpuhw9XwT71W_HbiglIbyG0Xl_30/s640/pond+trees+denali.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
The painful process of facing my past, being open to change, being open to new experiences, failed relationships, facing challenges and accepting myself began. The hours in my helmet and behind the wheel alone with my thoughts while taking in the beauty of nature became my therapy. Walks in the desert, hikes in the forest, days on a riverbank and miles and miles of heading down the road soothed my anxieties and opened up the locked down fears. Each mile washed away just a little pain, pushed the past further behind, cleared away the negative self-talk and gave me the gift of nature's beauty. <br />
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All of the years of trying to buy happiness in tangible things had proven to be a wasteful failure. The big house, all of the decorating, the closet full of clothes, none of it solved my issues. It often covered up the pain, soothed the loss just for awhile, and added more responsibility to my life. What I was seeking couldn't be found on Amazon.<br />
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I found the answers have been with me all along. My story is part of the Universe's story. The truth I find in a river rock, or a desert flower or a pine tree answers more questions each day. Each moment I marvel at a sky full of clouds or pause to bask in the songs of the coyotes, I find myself. The singularity of all things seems to be the only thing that makes sense. My connection to all people and things is the tangible truth I have been seeking.<br />
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Travel is the only way I've found this. Others find it in a variety of ways, such as religion, community, family or something else. For me, the compulsion to keep learning, growing, finding, seeking, moving and exploring is driving my life and I'm simply along for the ride.<br />
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<i>I took all of the photos for this post in Talkeetna and Denali National Park, Alaska in August 2018.</i>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-31417945380664076612018-10-30T10:39:00.000-07:002018-10-30T10:39:42.554-07:00Bike For Sale <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My 2009 Yamaha V Star 650 Classic is for sale. I'm selling because I won't be riding it anymore.<br />
<br />
In fact, I won't be riding a motorcycle of my own again.<br />
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I knew this was coming. As the pain in my right hand increased in severity and length, somewhere inside I knew the pain would be the demise of my riding career. <br />
"Your x-rays show severe wear and tear at the base of your cervical spine. The bones are deteriorating from stress, probably caused by supporting your head in the wind while riding. Not only are the nerves pinched and inflamed, the bone damage is irreversible."<br />
<br />
That's all my doctor needed to say. In 3 sentences my life has taken a significant turn. However, I'm more comfortable with this than I thought I would be. I didn't realize until after I received the news how much I loathed the pain of riding. Every ride has come to bring a certain level of throbbing pain and numbness to my right arm. The only variable was the length of time it would last. I can deal with the pain but not with the idea of grinding away at my bones and risking paralysis. <br />
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My life has become a series of The Unexpected along each new road I travel. Steve and I embrace the chaos because there is no adventure without risk. I can choose the road but I cannot choose the condition I find it in, so I accept this twist with a serene and peaceful heart. My life is so good right now that this isn't going to ruin it. Riding is something I do, not who I am. I'm still Sash and that's enough for me. I'm not worried about what tomorrow will bring because I'm busy living today.<br />
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I had a good run. I sold my Mercedes to buy a Ninja 500, eventually trading for my V Star, rode through 35 states having only my motorcycle for transportation for 2.5 years and have a lifetime of great stories. I test rode new motorcycles, wrote articles for the leading women's motorcycling magazine, reviewed motorcycling products, been to rallies, bike nights, group rides, ridden wet roads, hot roads, cold roads, seen wind, rain, sun and snow and everything in between.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZRMK8oiDFnCKwOSA0Uf3fDjd4LNR7PVaAvFx-BHdEtLlK5V__BiS6eSHY4uiby-EGWsyFP1oqiMWu3gSHbD5CVpq99apkHXdRxUSS1Ikkph979t3JDkT0bsKxXYE-1y1IyDeAQNl2r2U/s1600/sash-devils-tower-wy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZRMK8oiDFnCKwOSA0Uf3fDjd4LNR7PVaAvFx-BHdEtLlK5V__BiS6eSHY4uiby-EGWsyFP1oqiMWu3gSHbD5CVpq99apkHXdRxUSS1Ikkph979t3JDkT0bsKxXYE-1y1IyDeAQNl2r2U/s400/sash-devils-tower-wy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Along the way I've made wonderful friends.<br />
<br />
What a terrific adventure this has been. We're still traveling and I'm still going to be writing about it. This isn't the end of the road but merely a detour.Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-15012609588990916712018-09-17T19:00:00.000-07:002018-09-18T16:45:19.807-07:00Drawn to the Power of Denali<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv4TrcsbEq1asDpytNFcLZpEH93mW8s4YUseNDT1bmU25XAtgja3HZuyufMoSHJy3goTTV8bWRck7m1_ovGO61MmpLm48DMBq_8dOYPJnzzA0WuFU0Qs0jrH61Cu29lVdjAdgM-QNCy_E/s1600/Denali.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="595" data-original-width="1270" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv4TrcsbEq1asDpytNFcLZpEH93mW8s4YUseNDT1bmU25XAtgja3HZuyufMoSHJy3goTTV8bWRck7m1_ovGO61MmpLm48DMBq_8dOYPJnzzA0WuFU0Qs0jrH61Cu29lVdjAdgM-QNCy_E/s640/Denali.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My view of Denali's South and North Peak, the two highest mountain peaks in the North America.</td></tr>
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Denali has a magnetism so powerful that just the sight of it brought me to tears. The beauty was so profound and its size unfathomable, I was overcome. <br />
<br />
I wept uncontrollably. In that moment, I was filled with a tremendous sense of accomplishment. I was reminded of how insignificant my everyday problems really are.<br />
<br />
This moment came after driving a couple of hours along the Parks Highway. I was unable to see the view through the trees so I figured I had better get out of the rental car and find a way to see the mountains. Once I was out of the car I came across a little path that had probably not been tread upon in a year. I hiked down the path for about a mile, through the brush and over small ridges to the base of an 25' tall boulder. I was hopeful the vantage point from the top would deliver the view I longed for.<br />
<br />
But first I would need to scale the side of the cliff to get to the top, a skill I am certainly not adept at and was not prepared to do. I hadn't counted on hiking so far, and certainly hadn't imagined I would need to ascend a sheer wall of stone. Armed with only my camera and keys to the rental car, without even my cell phone, I considered the danger of the solitude and wildlife.<br />
<br />
"If I fall from here and injure myself, I am bear food." <br />
<br />
But I couldn't come this far and quit now. I knew what I had to do. I swung my camera to my back, grabbed a couple of handfuls of rock and forced myself up the side of the cliff. <br />
<br />
I stood up at the top and saw much more than I imagined. The valley yawned out before me. Across the miles of pines Denali shone brightly under the summer sun, as if to greet me. In that moment, I was filled with humility and gratitude.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9RgFuDcD-FOmxH-E8kH8RaKgryOGxMuK7Bhlx4Fn5meTfR2sQKF63ripe3x8IlipNeR77hfmuwM2YjPz7nZbkxAJlMyrskY_NLHMnyrk1gGE_L3FKgB1g5gpfNDEtMpw1NDOFy7LdDTQ/s1600/Denali+Panorama+partial.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="1600" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9RgFuDcD-FOmxH-E8kH8RaKgryOGxMuK7Bhlx4Fn5meTfR2sQKF63ripe3x8IlipNeR77hfmuwM2YjPz7nZbkxAJlMyrskY_NLHMnyrk1gGE_L3FKgB1g5gpfNDEtMpw1NDOFy7LdDTQ/s640/Denali+Panorama+partial.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To show some perspective, this is a panorama of the valley, with Denali peaks on the left side.</td></tr>
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I had come so far, not just this day, or this week or month, but over the last 8 years. I have pushed through so much and brought myself to this spectacular moment. I wept my thanks to the Universe, to God, to every bit of collective energy, for this, for all of this. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7-wfq3D65z10JmhIStooAHK7WFNOCYiHMAdB2gw53vSV8T34Y01mMM_8UzIpUUE9iHy6gTXWowSkloDwHkWsxFE7s6kZX3F_CIM-sUlrf1Crr_BLMViYfUfTBlZv0uOpaYlKPCslksC4/s1600/Denali+Panorama1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="282" data-original-width="1600" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7-wfq3D65z10JmhIStooAHK7WFNOCYiHMAdB2gw53vSV8T34Y01mMM_8UzIpUUE9iHy6gTXWowSkloDwHkWsxFE7s6kZX3F_CIM-sUlrf1Crr_BLMViYfUfTBlZv0uOpaYlKPCslksC4/s640/Denali+Panorama1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the entire panoramic view from my vantage point. When faced with a view like this, it's no wonder I was overcome.</td></tr>
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Anyone who has spent any time in Alaska will tell you it's unlike any other place in the U.S. Not only is the size of the state remarkable, but around every turn there are astouding views. The danger of wildlife is ever present, only heightening my experience. The extremes of the 49th state define the power of its draw. <br />
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Yet, there is no part of Alaska more powerful, awe inspiring and elusive then Denali.<br />
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Less than 30% of the people who trek to this mammoth ever see the peak(s). Long time residents of the state have made countless attempts, only to be thwarted. Due to the weather systems surrounding these peaks, it is rarely visible. <br />
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Yet I was able to see it two days in a row. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivtTNBCZfyXpkxw-6JucAoorj2P9ZdnWa1fFb8UqJWoTYLiOeB_r70HkIRdfjWmFn-wk-apoVl__pHwKAQ_ocShhIMJvZ7hU19-2e91KhHLt2mXUEg2acXRLnRgI6RQ3B9S7YWPXCv4AI/s1600/Denali+from+Talkeetna+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="755" data-original-width="1600" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivtTNBCZfyXpkxw-6JucAoorj2P9ZdnWa1fFb8UqJWoTYLiOeB_r70HkIRdfjWmFn-wk-apoVl__pHwKAQ_ocShhIMJvZ7hU19-2e91KhHLt2mXUEg2acXRLnRgI6RQ3B9S7YWPXCv4AI/s640/Denali+from+Talkeetna+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The day before I visited Denali National Park, I stayed the night in Talkeetna. I sat by the river for over an hour as the clouds rolled out, taking in the beauty of Denali's southern peak. </td></tr>
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It was suggested to me to visit Talkeetna, a quirky town 50 miles from Trapper Creek, the entrance to Denali National Park. Shortly after I arrived at the hostel I had booked, I invited Babette, my roommate for the night, to join me at the river. As the clouds cleared we were both treated to the breathtaking sight.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzMv6CyN75vUSkoiaOP19U9Cvboltnl4PWS7nPX9Vp0J1CjGtXmrUwok56-gYJLK_o_IjtOgNplpG7NY8UqroLNZ0mOrvlZBIyFCY0wBURqwQWfDRkkSz3xSwv8wJn_fPd4igBnKEU288/s1600/IMG_8949.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzMv6CyN75vUSkoiaOP19U9Cvboltnl4PWS7nPX9Vp0J1CjGtXmrUwok56-gYJLK_o_IjtOgNplpG7NY8UqroLNZ0mOrvlZBIyFCY0wBURqwQWfDRkkSz3xSwv8wJn_fPd4igBnKEU288/s640/IMG_8949.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Babette seemed to glow as she soaked up the warm sun and beauty of the moment.</td></tr>
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While we sat in silence, listening to the river, appreciating remarkable view, tourist buses arrived at the river, one after another. Each tourist rushed to the shore, stood for a minute or two, took a couple of photos, then meandered into the town to shop and eat.<br />
<br />
"Got it! I got a picture!"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2AJ7HPilLwGH_kVHjAIzYT1n1vSQK-wLdQeoCAKnA6XQUx5d9OfUSKslxPkkLa22Q6FOgDdFQ9n46inJ3jOZQM6jKy7ssD3Z9bZ2PSTGfxfMdT73P9J5lG4i41UqbIHla6AyzsJ8R2zU/s1600/IMG_20180828_182411490+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2AJ7HPilLwGH_kVHjAIzYT1n1vSQK-wLdQeoCAKnA6XQUx5d9OfUSKslxPkkLa22Q6FOgDdFQ9n46inJ3jOZQM6jKy7ssD3Z9bZ2PSTGfxfMdT73P9J5lG4i41UqbIHla6AyzsJ8R2zU/s640/IMG_20180828_182411490+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The tourists came just long enough to snap a photo then promptly left to spent a couple of hours shopping in the tiny town.</td></tr>
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<br />
They missed the best part; the true magnificence of Denali.<br />
<br />
The more challenges I face in life, the more I find myself seeking greater challenges. Each day I'm intrigued to find what is waiting for me down the road. But at this stage of my life I am better able to stop and appreciate exceptional moments. I take the time to be present, taking in every part, the scents, the sounds, the emotions. I enjoy the rewards of my efforts. Denali reminded me that there is so much good in the world, that my worries are often much smaller than they feel, and beauty is all around us, if only we take the time to find it.<br />
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I have more than a photo of Denali. I have the imprint of it's powerful presence on my heart. Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0Denali, Alaska, USA63.069168899999987 -151.0069842000000340.085808899999989 167.68442479999996 86.052528899999984 -109.69839320000003tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-55240149806198084222017-11-07T21:14:00.002-08:002017-11-07T21:48:04.713-08:00Treating Women Motorcycle Riders As Equals<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqfoFzestbsyE_FYPpySYgkguHJvsI2dCnEEd0BBIN1QvxTsru5cLc0EoOLxQoLnrUHnkN1yjYy6qSKcJhaIumjZCT57hB8_WItUVW4pTOSH-TLyiCq1DgE54TsUL9GyotfWu0eVwn4SU/s1600/motorcycle+show+promo+girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="hot-motorcycle-models-sexy-promo-girls" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqfoFzestbsyE_FYPpySYgkguHJvsI2dCnEEd0BBIN1QvxTsru5cLc0EoOLxQoLnrUHnkN1yjYy6qSKcJhaIumjZCT57hB8_WItUVW4pTOSH-TLyiCq1DgE54TsUL9GyotfWu0eVwn4SU/s640/motorcycle+show+promo+girls.jpg" title="" width="427" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">While I believe these models are gorgeous, I don't think they represent your typical woman rider. </td></tr>
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In the motorcycle industry I find few things as disappointing as the use of Promo Girls at motorcycle shows. <br />
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With the International Motorcycle Show just around the corner, I've been thinking about this long accepted practice in the motorcycle industry. Not only at the shows do we see this, but many of the motorcycle publications still feature scantily clad models draped over bikes. <br />
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To use women as decorations objectifies and demeans our role in the industry. There has been a long struggle to be seen as equals for not only the female industry professionals but the everyday women riders as well. <br />
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"As of 2014, the estimated number of women motorcycle riders was 14% and women influenced up to 25% of purchases in the $23 billion industry," according to <a href="http://www.womenridersnow.com/pages/About_Women_Riders_Now.aspx">Women Riders Now</a>. <br />
<br />
In the news lately, we've seen great emphasis on the poor treatment of women. Tens of thousands of women have shared their stories of sexual harassment via social media with the #metoo campaign. Yet with all of this focus on women being treated with respect and as equals, women are still being objectified by the motorcycle industry.<br />
<br />
Little has been done by the industry leaders to end the inappropriateness of using barely dressed models at the shows and in the publications. These OEMs and publishers don't recognize, or don't care, that women have historically been categorized as second-class citizens in this industry. <br />
<br />
They certainly have noticed the growing number of women motorcycle and gear buyers. We see more and more products directed at women everyday. We also see more and more women bike builders, fabricators, publishers, photographers and writers. But this male dominated industry still has serious issues with both equality and diversity. <br />
<br />
I often hear talk about the need to attract new motorcycle riders to this declining industry. To me, it would seem a logical direction would be to attract and keep more women riders. Women drive 70 - 80% of all consumer purchasing through buying power and influence and spend upwards of $20 trillion a year worldwide. But when something so disheartening as minimizing women's role as nothing more than motorcycle jewelry, it goes against attracting riders and purchasers. <br />
<br />
Women are no longer content to turn a blind eye and accept that some men expect to see these models spicing up the show. If you want to attract more buyers, you had better figure out who is buying.<br />
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Would it be too much to ask the industry professionals to stop marginalizing women by ending the objectification and embrace equality? <br />
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<i><span style="color: deeppink;">We're on another Road Pickle! We hope to find great breweries, tacos, steak and biscuits with gravy, as well as some roadside oddities along the way. If you don't want to miss a thing, join us by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCKdskRgw19SGQe9gKSvmitQ">subscribing to our vlog</a> on YouTube. <i><b>I PROMISE</b></i> you'll see some cool stuff!<br />
And don't forget about my book, Rude Biker Chick, Lessons From My Daddy. Click below for more information.</span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s1600/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="rude-biker-chick-lessons-from-my-daddy" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s200/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" title="" /></a></div>
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<br />Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-51569458247417168772017-09-30T16:53:00.000-07:002017-09-30T19:24:33.920-07:00RV Booking Hell<span style="color: deeppink; font-size: large;">(Warning: This blog post is rated PG-13 for crude/foul language.)</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwqsWtEMZZw37sgCqa1XWeoTPGaSh2XIqZTOPsJzOfF6gad8U78OHgjgUwhdd2kK_tyDILguc92z_pgI51MWn7LgyxlEp6qnqUsGgCqP1y_PmRswlHAaKVrKvhH8ST-k7wd_650BOa0CI/s1600/IMG_20170619_211320744.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="ATC-toy-hauler" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwqsWtEMZZw37sgCqa1XWeoTPGaSh2XIqZTOPsJzOfF6gad8U78OHgjgUwhdd2kK_tyDILguc92z_pgI51MWn7LgyxlEp6qnqUsGgCqP1y_PmRswlHAaKVrKvhH8ST-k7wd_650BOa0CI/s640/IMG_20170619_211320744.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Village Camper Inn located in Crescent City was one of the gems of RV parks along the coast.</td></tr>
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Booking RV reservations is Hell. Seriously, a living Hell.<br />
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In many ways, this whole RV life I thought I was getting into is not the bed of roses I had anticipated. I had visions of forests, babbling brooks, warm orange sunsets and serene mornings that smelled of fresh coffee and ocean breezes. Yes, I got suckered in by the brochure of Instagram posts and YouTube videos showing happy couples hiking a forest trail and kayaking a lazy river. <br />
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But that shit ain't happenin'. <br />
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Instead we find ourselves frantically trying to book a place either for some random holiday we forgot existed (like Labor Day) or to escape scorching, 100 degree heat. We search on RV review sites for 50 amp service and 4G coverage, which only exist together in a downtown park of concrete and exhaust fumes. Mornings are filled with the sounds of lawnmowers and screaming children. <br />
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If we're boondocking (staying somewhere without electric, water and sewer hookups) we sleep with the generator running to drown out the sound of semis pulling in and out all night. There are times we can't even get cell coverage in a WalMart parking lot. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWcmK-EbslqOVbfyuIXSR8u7f5sFzUxbF4uBtp6aKg4elyf3tLatrTDi4ZCq56rL1z-IKFgTzcn9NNlGg6qqzLWjPCkwQnsSeclMvGYtGssDHk3paYzbfAebZXTjX-kTC-GhujclFJuGY/s1600/RV-boondock-walmart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="ATC-Toy-hauler" border="0" data-original-height="1086" data-original-width="1600" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWcmK-EbslqOVbfyuIXSR8u7f5sFzUxbF4uBtp6aKg4elyf3tLatrTDi4ZCq56rL1z-IKFgTzcn9NNlGg6qqzLWjPCkwQnsSeclMvGYtGssDHk3paYzbfAebZXTjX-kTC-GhujclFJuGY/s640/RV-boondock-walmart.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boondocking at the WalMart in Yreka, CA wasn't unpleasant, but it certainly isn't on my Places To Visit list.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Perhaps we don't have the hang of this yet.<br />
<br />
We've lucked out with a few wonderful stays, such as <a href="http://www.villagecamperinn.com/">Village Camper Inn</a> in Crescent City and <a href="https://www.goldranchrvcasino.com/">Gold Ranch Casino and RV Park</a> in Verdi, NV. Each park was located in beautiful locations, perfect weather and affordable rates. The neighbors we had in Crescent City were lovely people who gave us fresh rockfish from their daily catch. We found excellent motorcycle riding nearby along the coast and in the redwood forest. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZO4XUW0cOP8srzbnY4i_GZ82kgDg44Ynp_KoksolE_OrYDZaN4aQ4IOxXqjzBAwwbeMa2thnBjhFdQwyk6605I02YtFFjvMLjGuzM3_RP83Zgm2CfFLVa_ecyR2xJtbnuAVJS339jk8/s1600/Gold-Ranch-Casino-RV-Park.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="ATC-toy-hauler" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZO4XUW0cOP8srzbnY4i_GZ82kgDg44Ynp_KoksolE_OrYDZaN4aQ4IOxXqjzBAwwbeMa2thnBjhFdQwyk6605I02YtFFjvMLjGuzM3_RP83Zgm2CfFLVa_ecyR2xJtbnuAVJS339jk8/s640/Gold-Ranch-Casino-RV-Park.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gold Ranch Casino and RV Park in Verdi, NV lies in a beautiful setting literally on the CA/NV border.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I believe we have a reasonable criteria for our stays.<br />
<br />
Good Reviews <br />
Location where we need/want to be<br />
Sites - level, spacious, etc.<br />
Comfortable Weather<br />
50 amp electric<br />
Water/Sewer<br />
4G service <br />
Reasonable Rates<br />
Discounts: Good Sam, AAA, KOA, monthly or weekly rate<br />
Pets allowed <br />
<br />
We need to run our business along the way, which requires us to constantly be connected to the internet. We cannot service our clients who have hired us to manage their marketing and websites if we can't get online, which is why 4G is crucial. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwpebNACYTRZka89A6_Pltk1hZ378ZcoKxELJFUkTwukJqdaZRcyaKoU_v4FUvx8HIXIH12BhCeLLszDXN6JDlxdwH00Zys-NxUtjIQDaDQbqP7QU043miIQlZGOSTxoI7ugYUD3u_Mo/s1600/ATC-toy-hauler-rest-stop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="ATC-toy-hauler" border="0" data-original-height="839" data-original-width="1600" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOwpebNACYTRZka89A6_Pltk1hZ378ZcoKxELJFUkTwukJqdaZRcyaKoU_v4FUvx8HIXIH12BhCeLLszDXN6JDlxdwH00Zys-NxUtjIQDaDQbqP7QU043miIQlZGOSTxoI7ugYUD3u_Mo/s640/ATC-toy-hauler-rest-stop.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At least the rest stop near Mt. Shasta was beautiful, even if there were trucks in and out all night. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
One day each month we seem to be spending hours and hours working together, struggling to find a place to stay. We've started booking months in advance to secure something reasonable. And just fucking forget about something as picturesque as Crater Lake, Lake Tahoe, the Grand Canyon or along the Pacific coastline. If you don't book in advance or have a trust fund, good fucking luck. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5PhzqMEiu7Z-jL0hFj_6INWwS1hNyLV2k6GMtyOuI6jCs5tywzS3JsbZjG8ZfirPoRa32sCr9F8RQcrNE0YywRsTP6Yu3Du2lzHBaB6xxAo3LGm6CuTNksfH_Ql2SWZpXckSJhIY3SA/s1600/Yosemite-National-Park.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Yosemite-National-Park" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5PhzqMEiu7Z-jL0hFj_6INWwS1hNyLV2k6GMtyOuI6jCs5tywzS3JsbZjG8ZfirPoRa32sCr9F8RQcrNE0YywRsTP6Yu3Du2lzHBaB6xxAo3LGm6CuTNksfH_Ql2SWZpXckSJhIY3SA/s640/Yosemite-National-Park.JPG" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, you're going to visit in Yosemite and get 4G? HAHAHA!! That's hilarious!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I often have people ask me how to earn a living on the road. Well, here it is. Live full time in an RV and become an RV Travel Agent. Work for Full Time RVers who are trying to book stays somewhere other than KOA's filled with screaming kids (I've never liked kids) or a concrete parking lot without a single tree in sight. Start a business working with RV park owners to secure rentals and working with RVers who don't have the time to call 15 parks in one day, only to find out they should have called 6 fucking months ago. <br />
<br />
And when you do start this business, call me right away. I'll pay you good money for your time. Please, just get me out of this living Hell. <br />
<br />
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<i><span style="color: deeppink;">We're on another Road Pickle! We hope to find great breweries, tacos, steak and biscuits with gravy, as well as some roadside oddities along the way. If you don't want to miss a thing, join us by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCKdskRgw19SGQe9gKSvmitQ">subscribing to our vlog</a> on YouTube. <i><b>I PROMISE</b></i> you'll see some cool stuff!<br />
<br />
And don't forget about my book, Rude Biker Chick, Lessons From My Daddy. Click below for more information.</span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s1600/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="rude-biker-chick-lessons-from-my-daddy" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s200/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" title="" /></a></div>
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Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-54920979438338040272017-09-20T08:00:00.000-07:002017-09-30T16:40:02.959-07:00Alaska, RVing and Work<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbR5FV0oMt2ZC8OVx3YUyn0S7GiY9d6kIqbTvaGjJ2XHqdXpNAMC08y2p7ZhnAZXvneB94KU06JHv8_LRm8hS7Sr-kWOAB7IFE2DWd2TRNSwkndKs4QTmo6sYdGH_2WIhsn6X-TUE0Pds/s1600/alaska-sash-walker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbR5FV0oMt2ZC8OVx3YUyn0S7GiY9d6kIqbTvaGjJ2XHqdXpNAMC08y2p7ZhnAZXvneB94KU06JHv8_LRm8hS7Sr-kWOAB7IFE2DWd2TRNSwkndKs4QTmo6sYdGH_2WIhsn6X-TUE0Pds/s640/alaska-sash-walker.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Atop Turnagain Pass taking a look at a glacier, which you can see in the background.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Exploring Alaska is so fantastic because it is truly a land of it's own. The vastness is hard to appreciate until you get on one of the Alaskan highways and venture along. The beauty of the landscape, the intense weather, the danger of the wildlife, the sheer size of the state and the amazing people make Alaska truly the epitome of The Last Frontier.<br />
<br />
Recently I flew up to Anchorage, rented a car, visited clients and drove to Sterling on the Kenai Peninsula for a visit. My friend and client Ed and his lovely wife Heather opened their home to me for a couple of weeks for a visit. This is my second visit with them, as I went last summer as well. I spent a few days working with Ed on his marketing strategy in his dental office <a href="http://www.mooseriverdental.com/">Moose River Dental</a> and enjoyed a few jaunts with he and Heather out and around the peninsula.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhd9_AEiwwmIRs0svJoqBs1HbnPlp6f0UVKeTUegQ7tVBTAHLq_MZCiR30ym-_wwEv23VDF4LNGDZHzEpdgOVKyTMAiEsA1_ywhJft7502td0OID_rzIHVajr4nSbz2df0zovSvvZ6VH8/s1600/IMG_20170820_144714838.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhd9_AEiwwmIRs0svJoqBs1HbnPlp6f0UVKeTUegQ7tVBTAHLq_MZCiR30ym-_wwEv23VDF4LNGDZHzEpdgOVKyTMAiEsA1_ywhJft7502td0OID_rzIHVajr4nSbz2df0zovSvvZ6VH8/s640/IMG_20170820_144714838.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even though it rained the entire time, Heather, Ed and I had a great time at the Ninilchik Fair. Just FYI, pallet fires get VERY HOT!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZEBisiJ7nzTKJczlad1kVrJ_3pjFoycqtCqgN8aubsl0WzyeXjQlhPTONLVzWx8PozvuYIuLh85v4ek3m6Mns14dt11dU_bcB-5gq6384APEqr71xdAYFvWg6MCmiQG9jqXqNBv156vM/s1600/IMG_8381+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZEBisiJ7nzTKJczlad1kVrJ_3pjFoycqtCqgN8aubsl0WzyeXjQlhPTONLVzWx8PozvuYIuLh85v4ek3m6Mns14dt11dU_bcB-5gq6384APEqr71xdAYFvWg6MCmiQG9jqXqNBv156vM/s640/IMG_8381+%25282%2529.JPG" width="638" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ed and Heather are avid motorcyclists. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
But this year I had my own transportation so I did some solo-searching, along with some soul searching. <br />
<br />
I took a drive out to the city of Kenai, explored Soldotna and even did an overnighter in Seward. While I didn't care much for the little touristy area of Seward, I loved the ocean views, the fishermen on the shore, the wet weather and the spectacular views of the heavy clouds hugging the mountains everywhere I turned.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjrZTuk24_7ku7otLIFzp0wIZb7is421Ct2QDrWSL-4yVBeyNmRDrkzeYGlsFQZwQbZFM390-8fRa1O4ngaVE4lUuA3rWmmr-iCNc2k4WeHa_zcCSgGokF1RQ_WJnGTVKXRxatGPadXE8/s1600/IMG_8610.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjrZTuk24_7ku7otLIFzp0wIZb7is421Ct2QDrWSL-4yVBeyNmRDrkzeYGlsFQZwQbZFM390-8fRa1O4ngaVE4lUuA3rWmmr-iCNc2k4WeHa_zcCSgGokF1RQ_WJnGTVKXRxatGPadXE8/s640/IMG_8610.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Seward Highway leads into those mountains. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJwvp7Br85zZuGlCOkGv7ndI0SThQ4iTUnvjta6p7cdFeIFKAn535-czXxbt3iKg71y-Z3bxP5iMdE2Bjac5Uhf9NLlTlPs6dw4f3C5Axn5VZQYQsDdRdmHK38i8jPZIEfUO3HqQxuiiY/s1600/IMG_20170824_192303673.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJwvp7Br85zZuGlCOkGv7ndI0SThQ4iTUnvjta6p7cdFeIFKAn535-czXxbt3iKg71y-Z3bxP5iMdE2Bjac5Uhf9NLlTlPs6dw4f3C5Axn5VZQYQsDdRdmHK38i8jPZIEfUO3HqQxuiiY/s640/IMG_20170824_192303673.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the beach in Seward. I slipped on those rocks and hurt my hip rather badly. I've not been able to ride my bike much since then. Only short jaunts for now, but it is getting better everyday.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZvi0noDLkmhxFvzBSVL2TRiQfE1C1ZM65AAMv2cm4Hy5biVUjzKio0yJSV1sigbExcfmBe58Ufv8WyekMqqHgKSDeGvQLb6M8IL1DWJCpQQwms6jEdPvIzMt3aqguKy2XyngbKUrAPg/s1600/IMG_8623+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1298" data-original-width="1600" height="518" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZvi0noDLkmhxFvzBSVL2TRiQfE1C1ZM65AAMv2cm4Hy5biVUjzKio0yJSV1sigbExcfmBe58Ufv8WyekMqqHgKSDeGvQLb6M8IL1DWJCpQQwms6jEdPvIzMt3aqguKy2XyngbKUrAPg/s640/IMG_8623+%25282%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm so grateful I bought these boots and my pink rain jacket. I would have been lost without them, as it rained everyday.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvN9UKmLtuIwYDIzJc98VU-1rj4X0Z8lI60WVEgf10YpT1alHfcUn4URvyQATSo4P9SunfGf9L7TZwIYiRvVzCeBOLoEmuBJ5wpzFRqoPxroGlQehjK7xf8booWhC_xSh5wG9O0z3ihbY/s1600/IMG_8631+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="840" data-original-width="1600" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvN9UKmLtuIwYDIzJc98VU-1rj4X0Z8lI60WVEgf10YpT1alHfcUn4URvyQATSo4P9SunfGf9L7TZwIYiRvVzCeBOLoEmuBJ5wpzFRqoPxroGlQehjK7xf8booWhC_xSh5wG9O0z3ihbY/s640/IMG_8631+%25282%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It seems everywhere you looked there were views as spectacular as this.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPtvjsAR4N3Kug5A8wfCLXJlUxQuj0A9uJUulEWpwdsYlwiOkEurkWC6uEMLZssQLH3hzvgqD0W1GgboEHeuK-gZpDzFIeHFVLhiYtgs1cVr7_eNnyeRByu3nphbDkODvOl_6V2nQpQ2A/s1600/IMG_20170824_191232475_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPtvjsAR4N3Kug5A8wfCLXJlUxQuj0A9uJUulEWpwdsYlwiOkEurkWC6uEMLZssQLH3hzvgqD0W1GgboEHeuK-gZpDzFIeHFVLhiYtgs1cVr7_eNnyeRByu3nphbDkODvOl_6V2nQpQ2A/s640/IMG_20170824_191232475_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There were plenty of fish to catch here in Seward. You could see them jumping from the water if watched long enough. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>The highlight of Seward was <a href="http://www.nautiotterinn.com/">The Nauti Otter Inn</a>. Wow!<br />
<br />
The unique style of this collection of cabins, trailers and Yurts was perfect for my eclectic taste! Everything about it was enjoyable. The main house has the shower, fully equipped kitchens (yes, 2 kitchens!), communal dining area and large, welcoming living room, complete with fireplace and WiFi. The community aspect was comforting for this weary traveler and the staff was so much fun to be around. It was not at all what I expected all wrapped up as a delightful surprise.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFnrOf2Tql-pUSrM14i7pXqVxI5x7bLQkbS5v2mw5Sqw8fg7R9nVBNIejplrguW3mdJKy_PaTBY8-bW-_O2WE3Sze5Dv1L-hfXlnWJnPLGWYhaAmTAM0IMlFQjwz-BPJsnQjH8jLkpzX0/s1600/IMG_20170824_180420578.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFnrOf2Tql-pUSrM14i7pXqVxI5x7bLQkbS5v2mw5Sqw8fg7R9nVBNIejplrguW3mdJKy_PaTBY8-bW-_O2WE3Sze5Dv1L-hfXlnWJnPLGWYhaAmTAM0IMlFQjwz-BPJsnQjH8jLkpzX0/s640/IMG_20170824_180420578.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The little cabins were great, but I opted for the tiny red and white trailer for my overnight stay.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiGNXAfBhM2w5gYNNZ_G45wH7u6TmlQoadfXrLOj9t4Vq7-xnrse4AS_nNjXBIcxgHI5N8OQ5_BR6k8AGCyPRF9ij1jtSKPRfk7ld3JpyWqCghvyx1x8SdAvK1hj1h_dsyab5HMI10DUU/s1600/IMG_20170824_162044979.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiGNXAfBhM2w5gYNNZ_G45wH7u6TmlQoadfXrLOj9t4Vq7-xnrse4AS_nNjXBIcxgHI5N8OQ5_BR6k8AGCyPRF9ij1jtSKPRfk7ld3JpyWqCghvyx1x8SdAvK1hj1h_dsyab5HMI10DUU/s640/IMG_20170824_162044979.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The interior was tight, but had a hilarious Pirate theme. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvq02tEvDyWvrkRtSqEiidgdwjB8UoGdlqf29roJun1gxa56QuLS2F5hFEZOBFoGqQNcVv5Tv7vqloz82dOUsAH4p8CiFsIqWAnEIf0StJmGbWHVXlol8nh2IHsYy734B22gdsym-97RI/s1600/IMG_20170824_173724389_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvq02tEvDyWvrkRtSqEiidgdwjB8UoGdlqf29roJun1gxa56QuLS2F5hFEZOBFoGqQNcVv5Tv7vqloz82dOUsAH4p8CiFsIqWAnEIf0StJmGbWHVXlol8nh2IHsYy734B22gdsym-97RI/s640/IMG_20170824_173724389_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The kitchen sink and the stove were not in working order, but provided additional counter space for my food.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiESnTRkCACX6jLJuMlSVtWOcO7sBaW0iJLfVFDnmrLOMN7esOrzdtpkWsKHgCFX8Ia2KOJl6gjOBZ450d1EjMrvhOD4vBxf_5tEaSdMLN_NW6p8EHr9bumSQnIEhA8FhcuPp4ibPYahLA/s1600/IMG_20170824_174344117_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiESnTRkCACX6jLJuMlSVtWOcO7sBaW0iJLfVFDnmrLOMN7esOrzdtpkWsKHgCFX8Ia2KOJl6gjOBZ450d1EjMrvhOD4vBxf_5tEaSdMLN_NW6p8EHr9bumSQnIEhA8FhcuPp4ibPYahLA/s640/IMG_20170824_174344117_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The communal kitchen and dining area</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHcAZTl7oVCkEYKfE65eO0kQnNX9Q8I2CdrskUyCmallEMhQORwenUH96BNVNMQHLMHX3Hd5RtlssaOaRw7f0Am50hyphenhyphenooU3tj5P3oB0oUOKvLgQqdl5bVLLdaMqZxeDJzNSTxiRAmrfP8/s1600/IMG_20170824_180254575.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHcAZTl7oVCkEYKfE65eO0kQnNX9Q8I2CdrskUyCmallEMhQORwenUH96BNVNMQHLMHX3Hd5RtlssaOaRw7f0Am50hyphenhyphenooU3tj5P3oB0oUOKvLgQqdl5bVLLdaMqZxeDJzNSTxiRAmrfP8/s640/IMG_20170824_180254575.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The outdoor facilities included an outhouse, a sink and a shower.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZvJoOJ58qEWB3amnvnRNI4zwiHROjuGFkWLJC9lTrBsnsgE8dz6GM2-ArUgurOEprXKNaGUKK5V62zPEpR_m6N3VfJvQ_K_tdW0y1dErXrSrg6yUU4LV-rMAF0J85fANIBo7lbPlJMHk/s1600/IMG_20170824_180302036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZvJoOJ58qEWB3amnvnRNI4zwiHROjuGFkWLJC9lTrBsnsgE8dz6GM2-ArUgurOEprXKNaGUKK5V62zPEpR_m6N3VfJvQ_K_tdW0y1dErXrSrg6yUU4LV-rMAF0J85fANIBo7lbPlJMHk/s640/IMG_20170824_180302036.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you've ever been to Alaska you'd know that the jokes about the mosquitos are not jokes at all. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg2c5UC81J_xPYFHzSwT3eAC4E-8ZBskUB4UX2RDL2CH5hmUlXe3Xjav8u_xIbwo6hYxildn-VP3CMzr1uwRHT0g12H21IQv43w7M_W1yypsE1FXOwGojWjxzwDi-hDfJjblgFCfdhkng/s1600/IMG_20170824_180431694.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg2c5UC81J_xPYFHzSwT3eAC4E-8ZBskUB4UX2RDL2CH5hmUlXe3Xjav8u_xIbwo6hYxildn-VP3CMzr1uwRHT0g12H21IQv43w7M_W1yypsE1FXOwGojWjxzwDi-hDfJjblgFCfdhkng/s640/IMG_20170824_180431694.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Each cabin was decorated with it's own nautical theme.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
Unfortunately I was only in Seward for one night and then I had to rush all the way to Palmer for the Alaska State Fair to visit my newest client Sina of <a href="https://www.crabterrorisland.com/">Crab Terror Island</a>. I couldn't leave Alaska before I saw her booth at the fair and watched her in action! Sina creates unique clothing while building a community of like-minded, dynamic individuals. While Steve rebuilt her website I began coaching her business marketing. I'm loving the interaction with this bright and enthusiastic business owner. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9RqzqSL-OAls7uoL0oxuVyV2kVzWJwdp8Yc_MhglX0LBVg9_CVjQKQTgjUQTQBwG9LuoTkYF7lvuAyFurfD9jVyNViReFCyYluR-b-o1ezFgeCVMHhD2bFlEyRqJe0JsMykLEy2iDY6A/s1600/IMG_20170825_162805068_TOP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9RqzqSL-OAls7uoL0oxuVyV2kVzWJwdp8Yc_MhglX0LBVg9_CVjQKQTgjUQTQBwG9LuoTkYF7lvuAyFurfD9jVyNViReFCyYluR-b-o1ezFgeCVMHhD2bFlEyRqJe0JsMykLEy2iDY6A/s640/IMG_20170825_162805068_TOP.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sina is absolutely amazing! Crab Terror Island will be growing in leaps and bounds over the next 12 months!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
It's clients like Ed and Sina that seem to be why we love what we do for a living; Marketing, website development, and business coaching. <br />
<br />
Which brings me to my current conundrum; this drastic life change Steve and I have had.<br />
<br />
Frankly, Steve and I don't ride our motorcycles as much as we used to. We still love them and love riding, but living in the RV has changed our lives drastically. We seem to be working on our business <a href="http://toomuchtina.com/">Too Much Tina Marketing</a> more than ever. We spend a great deal of time planning our next destination, which includes searching for RV parks with availability. We never anticipated that this task would be so incredibly time consuming. Then there's the loading, unloading, setting up, etc., at every park. The overnight stays in parking lots, the long drives in the truck and climbing over and around the bikes in the living area every night we are on the road. Something as simple as making a piece of toast becomes a major endeavor! Mia the Road Beagle has grown more needy and nervous, mostly because of her age. At 15 years old, she's starting to have some issues. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyRqDzECXkV0GVp2AEntvz4eZZdBIzGo7lVgnHmJkqppNNRvlFIMOyuf7XdOqelBchyNIo5IolOHwfMgBsh3kW_lX4GDPB34FhR2x4uNcPxvnQpIOkTR4-T7NgyGh4QaOVVZA8_Iu58OM/s1600/P_20170813_112555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1087" data-original-width="1152" height="602" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyRqDzECXkV0GVp2AEntvz4eZZdBIzGo7lVgnHmJkqppNNRvlFIMOyuf7XdOqelBchyNIo5IolOHwfMgBsh3kW_lX4GDPB34FhR2x4uNcPxvnQpIOkTR4-T7NgyGh4QaOVVZA8_Iu58OM/s640/P_20170813_112555.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who could leave this beautiful, sad face behind?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Don't get me wrong, I absolutely LOVE being on the road with Steve! I LOVE our life in the RV. It's very convenient and meets all of our needs. We love having Mia with us too. She makes our little family of three a "pack". Our home is cozy and comfortable, with great workspaces for the two of us. And this leads to us staying inside working more than ever, rarely exploring our surroundings. I keep telling myself I'm going to get outside more, but it's just not happening. It's too easy to get up in the morning and go straight to our computers. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidRW9ADkf9ReUoV3_-T7FlWVy62Ywe-DcEEjcw4KsiyQ3EsmFMeJWOh0FnLtZ2ZZgSN4Q5j3oz-Dc4uBczujWOlf2n4UALUrcA2BWNF2B8kJOmEytzAHi0RtK_B4K2LFhqTHYh3-dDePY/s1600/ATC-Toyhauler-working.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidRW9ADkf9ReUoV3_-T7FlWVy62Ywe-DcEEjcw4KsiyQ3EsmFMeJWOh0FnLtZ2ZZgSN4Q5j3oz-Dc4uBczujWOlf2n4UALUrcA2BWNF2B8kJOmEytzAHi0RtK_B4K2LFhqTHYh3-dDePY/s640/ATC-Toyhauler-working.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We had custom, aluminum work stations installed at 99 West Trailers in Portland. The set up is so comfortable that we find it hard to tear ourselves away from home. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC3j3TFkBgMb_TpgEpdk3owO_nhz33polwFzmDIAaoIPGFyJpq_rkPq8Z8Vt7Cef-oGBOGtDJwfPuXq0e5cj_X6ttsA3pShM5aFWhzx8tTGzODJXdAr8Xh-ymtinHOr55JGdl4owm3SpM/s1600/P_20170813_111813.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC3j3TFkBgMb_TpgEpdk3owO_nhz33polwFzmDIAaoIPGFyJpq_rkPq8Z8Vt7Cef-oGBOGtDJwfPuXq0e5cj_X6ttsA3pShM5aFWhzx8tTGzODJXdAr8Xh-ymtinHOr55JGdl4owm3SpM/s640/P_20170813_111813.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most of my Getaway Time is spent here in bed with my tablet and a hot drink.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>For now, we'll be working more and exploring less, until something changes. I'm not sure what will happen, but I'm entirely open to seeing what the Universe has in store for us. So I guess now we are not the motorcycle vagabonds we once were. Now we are RVing vagabonds with motorcycles, living full time on the road.<br />
<br />
And for some reason, it makes me a little sad. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: deeppink;">We're on another Road Pickle! We hope to find great breweries, tacos, steak and biscuits with gravy, as well as some roadside oddities along the way. If you don't want to miss a thing, join us by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCKdskRgw19SGQe9gKSvmitQ">subscribing to our vlog</a> on YouTube. <i><b>I PROMISE</b></i> you'll see some cool stuff!<br />
<br />
And don't forget about my book, Rude Biker Chick, Lessons From My Daddy. Click below for more information.</span></i></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s1600/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="rude-biker-chick-lessons-from-my-daddy" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s200/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" title="" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-297604839093329032017-08-07T04:30:00.000-07:002017-08-07T04:30:23.799-07:00Riding To Happy Camp<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFts7M4d1Di82rwA9xVk86-9wnb2rw1XRlzcH_-77OHNVibOf-0M5cQsNR1F2LMTKYHle03ce4GXUF9lddOD2_UYVJLgM_I6G96jjoQuVUYc9oToDAzVLDCgxzuV83aN1uaMZQDHbdRdU/s1600/happy-camp-mercantile-sash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="woman-motorcycle-rider" border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFts7M4d1Di82rwA9xVk86-9wnb2rw1XRlzcH_-77OHNVibOf-0M5cQsNR1F2LMTKYHle03ce4GXUF9lddOD2_UYVJLgM_I6G96jjoQuVUYc9oToDAzVLDCgxzuV83aN1uaMZQDHbdRdU/s640/happy-camp-mercantile-sash.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stopped at the abandoned mercantile. It was bustling with activity on my visit 10 years earlier.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Since I began riding my own motorcycle, I've felt a great urgency to ride to Happy Camp, CA. I've only been to this remote mining town once before, to attend my Aunt Marcia's funeral in 2007. I knew I would return one day, answering the pang in my heart to see her final resting place. <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsOsXyYAlbJfcHB6ecsNVq4teFpGyWbLQ58vm79PLpLLEyiu9e9WYbppPqWA1yihv34v4u3wiEKZtNrsAlBx-qtx8ugCPkFadqnMKvj6ii_Hfl6Nvj7x-DWXxXbbda53dS1bgckgXe3bk/s1600/marcia+graduation+photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="marcia-rogers" border="0" data-original-height="233" data-original-width="155" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsOsXyYAlbJfcHB6ecsNVq4teFpGyWbLQ58vm79PLpLLEyiu9e9WYbppPqWA1yihv34v4u3wiEKZtNrsAlBx-qtx8ugCPkFadqnMKvj6ii_Hfl6Nvj7x-DWXxXbbda53dS1bgckgXe3bk/s400/marcia+graduation+photo.jpg" title="" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marcia's Graduation photo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Marcia and I have always had a great deal in common. She and her husband Bill raised 3 boys and lived in my hometown of Fontana, CA. They moved into an RV when Bill retired and started new careers, gold mining and selling crafts. But after 43 years of marriage, Marcia divorced Bill and moved to Alaska to marry a man she met online. She was a writer, a web developer and an adventurer. I have always admired Marcia, even when she did things that everyone in our family thought were crazy. <br />
<br />
Marcia was very timid, humble and conventional. She didn't learn to drive until she was nearly 60-years-old because learning made her so anxious she would quit. But after her divorce it was as if she had broken the shell she had built around her and she became amazingly brave. <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCjrMic4E3S20vxsmjtuSByOsu5DhqpeULoT9Vs59M726qSNr6xuk0jLjZn3QGq_W29-ZmkfEP_rnurugZFeaOdgvDls1L5dePYDPOwqjWo2yVP-WiPbXMWFsBlRY2kBPYj5zBj0VL8Oc/s1600/mom+grammy+marcia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="sarah-rice-dora-boles-marcia-foley" border="0" data-original-height="193" data-original-width="300" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCjrMic4E3S20vxsmjtuSByOsu5DhqpeULoT9Vs59M726qSNr6xuk0jLjZn3QGq_W29-ZmkfEP_rnurugZFeaOdgvDls1L5dePYDPOwqjWo2yVP-WiPbXMWFsBlRY2kBPYj5zBj0VL8Oc/s400/mom+grammy+marcia.jpg" title="" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Mom Suzi, my Grandmother Dora and my Aunt Marcia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>In 2003 she was diagnosed with lung cancer and returned to Happy Camp to live the rest of her days. We wrote long letters to one another during her final 4 years and we came to know one another intimately. She shared things with me that no one else knew and I'll keep her private stories in my heart forever. <br />
<br />
<br />
When Steve and I came to Crescent City, CA I was determined to ride to Happy Camp, which is only 85 miles away. But the ride intimidated me because it's over a rather serious mountain range. I invited Steve to ride with me but he wasn't much interested. I invited my friend Charleyn, who lives in nearby Brookings, OR. Charleyn and her husband Chad have a 2-year-old and most of their free time is spent close to home. So after 6 weeks of procrastinating, I set out to ride alone.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiCVoOOHwtvoAPguBdatOSxQqDjbgLxex60HOnKa-9-HfLGGqbNv59lZUB3oIY2gYKmani-7NjMLY_PPNplDao_yNhX_AqrEhOzRn7HRH8S_yeeO2o3hrY8eR0pf3-CIiQTu2s2E5Hnwo/s1600/obrien-oregon-caboose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="obrien-oregon" border="0" data-original-height="1195" data-original-width="1600" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiCVoOOHwtvoAPguBdatOSxQqDjbgLxex60HOnKa-9-HfLGGqbNv59lZUB3oIY2gYKmani-7NjMLY_PPNplDao_yNhX_AqrEhOzRn7HRH8S_yeeO2o3hrY8eR0pf3-CIiQTu2s2E5Hnwo/s640/obrien-oregon-caboose.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stopped in O'Brien for a break.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I left Crescent City, CA and took Route 199 for 46 miles to O'brien, OR. Just west of O'brien is Waldo Road. This well-maintained, two-lane road goes by many names, but most locals just call it Happy Camp Road. The first 10 miles of this 38 miles stretch are in Oregon and near the summit the asphalt is spray painted with the Cali/Oregon border. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAujtVN3SJC0VJ5DJNPRVSPdEGy5RVjynXfEU_DNqQ4xM3kPlTdP_U8m8BtvT0B2uIoI5sl3ArybEeREss0H4Gbl0v69eUXgWsZRRFfNoS-IQGMlgn1GQlbZTvaN_cq2fBap8iE_eNejc/s1600/klamath-national-forest-happy-camp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="klamath-national-forest" border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAujtVN3SJC0VJ5DJNPRVSPdEGy5RVjynXfEU_DNqQ4xM3kPlTdP_U8m8BtvT0B2uIoI5sl3ArybEeREss0H4Gbl0v69eUXgWsZRRFfNoS-IQGMlgn1GQlbZTvaN_cq2fBap8iE_eNejc/s640/klamath-national-forest-happy-camp.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near the summit in the Klamath National Forest</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Happy Camp Road was a thrill to ride! In 38 miles I saw only 7 vehicles. The asphalt is in amazingly great condition, but has the usual road hazards of wildlife, gravel and road kill. Cutting through the Siskiyou Forest on the Oregon side and then the Klamath National Forest on the California side makes for spectacular scenery. The twisties are tight with numerous decreasing radius turns. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgviCzqVr8ivYIkurvCr8LwTZxgxGygSWHN9nlkhyTXp_jDKWF_GegaX0TcbVudxlBzPSMF0UcRAzNr-XfvEFwujZNeP50bolcjnr5g24k_AvTV47Z-OFMbFFenrFtBJUwkeXpubLykb6o/s1600/map-crescent-city-to-happy-camp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="798" data-original-width="1600" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgviCzqVr8ivYIkurvCr8LwTZxgxGygSWHN9nlkhyTXp_jDKWF_GegaX0TcbVudxlBzPSMF0UcRAzNr-XfvEFwujZNeP50bolcjnr5g24k_AvTV47Z-OFMbFFenrFtBJUwkeXpubLykb6o/s640/map-crescent-city-to-happy-camp.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Google Map tells the tale</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Once the twists tightened, I could feel my anxiety rising. I'm accustomed to following Steve, so when faced with a challenging road, I start questioning my skill. So I slowed down and decided to relax and enjoy the scenery. <br />
<br />
As I came upon one short straightaway, a doe stepped out in the road before me. I wasn't going fast, so I slowed down and kept my distance. She stopped and we locked eyes. She was gentle, unafraid and utterly beautiful. I felt an amazing sense of peace and connection with the forest in that moment. <br />
<br />
I continued the ride and arrived in Happy Camp tired, hungry and happy. After I fueled up, grabbed a bite and a cold drink, I headed to the cemetery. It was hot and humid in the valley, as well as full of smoke from a nearby forest fire. The town had changed so dramatically over the last 10 years. Many of the businesses were boarded up and I saw quite a few homes abandoned. When the real estate bubble burst in 2008, this town was hit hard.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivWBOzg-0qTDCn0PxSUV_nxfTT7Xhk8IBdbd3w5eNS9Ox2s8oUzPNtTW524uOPAyEZE3M6pMNS1-PPAHGj6kQYqUinvmfLORJyXkqWBb_miKkSE4s2piXvB8-PkhF1f9CB7VPNcuYz5gc/s1600/happy-camp-cemetery-sash-walker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="sash-walker-motorcycle-rider" border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivWBOzg-0qTDCn0PxSUV_nxfTT7Xhk8IBdbd3w5eNS9Ox2s8oUzPNtTW524uOPAyEZE3M6pMNS1-PPAHGj6kQYqUinvmfLORJyXkqWBb_miKkSE4s2piXvB8-PkhF1f9CB7VPNcuYz5gc/s640/happy-camp-cemetery-sash-walker.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was so grateful to arrive!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The cemetery gates were locked up and it appeared as if there wasn't a caretaker anymore. I walked around the side and found a broken gate, so I went in. I knew Marcia was buried high upon the hill, so I set out on the climb.<br />
<br />
Then I saw another doe. She was standing off to the left, lazily eating the grass. She looked up at me and we both stood still for a long time. She slowly climbed the hill, stopping to nibble along the way. Something told me to follow her. Sure enough, she had been standing at Marcia's grave! <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwU4fOpX8jfL78coOjZvN-zqMp-PxQu5DBZ7YDAEJXJ-wW8gGJMStkqetKVEKfh4OgLcC0B5W3lbZZ4btm_VfAE111VOzuAbzymmIVXP1geq3di0WNxYyvaxUgfDZCZGjs3E0S1OJRoqE/s1600/cemetery-happy-camp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="marcia-foley-headstone" border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwU4fOpX8jfL78coOjZvN-zqMp-PxQu5DBZ7YDAEJXJ-wW8gGJMStkqetKVEKfh4OgLcC0B5W3lbZZ4btm_VfAE111VOzuAbzymmIVXP1geq3di0WNxYyvaxUgfDZCZGjs3E0S1OJRoqE/s640/cemetery-happy-camp.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></div><br />
As I sat beside her headstone I felt relieved. For a few moments I remembered her laugh, her voice and her smile and I felt really good. I guess I had expected to feel sad when I saw her headstone for the first time, but I didn't. It had taken so long for me to finally get back there and it was such a challenging ride, all I could feel was accomplishment and relief.<br />
<br />
I'm glad I took the ride and I'm really glad I ended up doing it alone. Although I didn't feel the way I had anticipated when I arrived, I was fine with it. It was just something I needed to do for myself. <br />
<br />
I'm sure Marcia was there with me and I'm sure she is proud of the adventurous woman I've become!<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijwWH5Bg-V3guLS8ix3_EfgNobYEmFLUJxoat6N1NW7B6O2X_rvxBp-UccV2u5x4FXZofmEHf-oaPrUf2EMHvxOziKXAGLTZH1C1InbYgpMtNSvfX7gfMXEWqkGkTCEjZwrinT9tN3U3E/s1600/sash-walker-oregon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="sash-walker" border="0" data-original-height="1089" data-original-width="1600" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijwWH5Bg-V3guLS8ix3_EfgNobYEmFLUJxoat6N1NW7B6O2X_rvxBp-UccV2u5x4FXZofmEHf-oaPrUf2EMHvxOziKXAGLTZH1C1InbYgpMtNSvfX7gfMXEWqkGkTCEjZwrinT9tN3U3E/s640/sash-walker-oregon.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was pooped when I stopped in O'brien on my way back to Crescent City</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: deeppink;">We're on another Road Pickle! We hope to find great breweries, tacos, steak and biscuits with gravy, as well as some roadside oddities along the way. If you don't want to miss a thing, join us by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCKdskRgw19SGQe9gKSvmitQ">subscribing to our vlog</a> on YouTube. <i><b>I PROMISE</b></i> you'll see some cool stuff!<br />
<br />
And don't forget about my book, Rude Biker Chick, Lessons From My Daddy. Click below for more information.</span></i></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s1600/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="rude-biker-chick-lessons-from-my-daddy" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s200/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" title="" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-34789391149122728002017-06-28T14:39:00.000-07:002017-06-28T14:39:32.389-07:00Minimalism of Travel<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ZrWhlAkgOH4pN2XdYtMjFWxSqjPLjBe_CaU6XNv2SZxcMPY7B2CVb5qKX3ItBRDZXPe-i4N-r_zyY6CLc7ri4ZkWwwc83vECn5OKYJkylpbez-8qPE9PHqnmH038i9Q8ZfQQgK-wHPA/s1600/village-camper-inn-crescent-city.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="ATC-toyhauler" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ZrWhlAkgOH4pN2XdYtMjFWxSqjPLjBe_CaU6XNv2SZxcMPY7B2CVb5qKX3ItBRDZXPe-i4N-r_zyY6CLc7ri4ZkWwwc83vECn5OKYJkylpbez-8qPE9PHqnmH038i9Q8ZfQQgK-wHPA/s640/village-camper-inn-crescent-city.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From mid-June to mid-July, this is our home.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The picturesque Village Camper Inn in Crescent City, CA is tucked away in the sky-high pines and redwoods and is surrounded by the echos of birds by day and the foghorn from the lighthouse at night. It's beautifully peaceful here, with only the faint buzz of a chainsaw off in the distance from time to time. In the front half of the park are spaces for tents and RVs staying for shorter stays, along with the laundry and bathrooms.<br />
<br />
We're staying in the back of the park with the monthly renters, among a wide array of RVs, mostly towables. There are a couple of "Tiny Homes", a mobile home, and a couple of structures that I couldn't even classify. Some of these homes appear to be built by hand, right here on the property. Each space is kept clean, well appointed and nicely cared for.<br />
<br />
From the window of our toy hauler I can see our neighbors are quite busy today. This older couple is going in and out of their RV, toting bins, laundry, and grocery bags. I'm rather impressed with their industrious nature.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYAqME-eRPEsuYnuGv5eWpOfNUbsths8MGvODsNlds7_UnoxXcSaB8gUanVgoaKFA-cmaqxvRcX_NnxIHQRUa6c5lD19N8Qo5PvCJKtZqj-CPM8z0BXYxetTejzcJ-ezsep5XuN-ROkNM/s1600/rv-park-neighbor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="RV-park-neighbor" border="0" data-original-height="1020" data-original-width="1600" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYAqME-eRPEsuYnuGv5eWpOfNUbsths8MGvODsNlds7_UnoxXcSaB8gUanVgoaKFA-cmaqxvRcX_NnxIHQRUa6c5lD19N8Qo5PvCJKtZqj-CPM8z0BXYxetTejzcJ-ezsep5XuN-ROkNM/s640/rv-park-neighbor.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dean is hard at work today.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The folks beside us have a 30' fifth wheel with a slide out. It appears they've lived here for quite some time, because they are quite dug in. They have a shed full of tools, a workbench, a chest freezer and a wishing well outside their RV. They also have a paved sidewalk, custom redwood steps to their front door and some beautiful plants, including a gorgeous hydrangea. Even though their space is narrow they have cut away some of the forest behind their rig to store even more items.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6FQz-e-QbYWFC72Dij-ITZTWeVP7_qaInbFewu0gf9MfuLgfj_8osvKFStW3BUvRZ24vPN7ykamQkkoKM3S25DMaEL0AxhBV1AyMhKyMko89M2J_xrbRa-NBzjR9z3KFcymatWmC3DTc/s1600/ATC-toyhauler-crescent-city.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="ATC-toy-hauler-with-motorcycles" border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="1600" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6FQz-e-QbYWFC72Dij-ITZTWeVP7_qaInbFewu0gf9MfuLgfj_8osvKFStW3BUvRZ24vPN7ykamQkkoKM3S25DMaEL0AxhBV1AyMhKyMko89M2J_xrbRa-NBzjR9z3KFcymatWmC3DTc/s640/ATC-toyhauler-crescent-city.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our neighbors have quite the set-up, including the most beautiful hydrangeas I've ever seen.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We've enjoyed our stay here. We have hiked a little, spent time on the beach, enjoyed coffee shops, the local brewery and even had Thai food delivered to the bar. There's good riding here, along the coast and into the twisty, mountain roads. It's quiet in Crescent City, especially at night when the last of the open businesses close at 10 pm.<br />
<br />
I can see how easy it would be to settle in here for a long time. And whenever one settles in, one accumulates.<br />
<br />
I'm very tactile, so I tend to accumulate things that feel good to the touch. I love fine china, real furs, soft blankets, beautiful jewelry, bulky sweaters, etc. I'm learning to appreciate things without owning or keeping them, which has helped me embrace minimalism. And in minimalism I'm finding more freedom.<br />
<br />
Certainly, seeing the panicked look on Steve's face each time I bring anything into the RV reminds me to keep things to a minimum. Steve has a terrible aversion to "stuff". His ex-wife is a hoarder and when he left that marriage he was determined to live with less. When we began living as vagabonds I began to see the benefits of minimalism. The less I had, the less I had to worry about. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDim0NIiCouyxqz2YiFeZzD_X986c27cXkYJYUtMRx9pI0ROuFc6WwO2kLzx2FYQrxJUE3pBQTNgWHQ2usI2FaPSE4yVGenqtKt_8wJ1GtaGi0DSaNK32bSxlPu3UInrNVuttF-byswP8/s1600/english-teapot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="teapot" border="0" data-original-height="1103" data-original-width="1600" height="441" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDim0NIiCouyxqz2YiFeZzD_X986c27cXkYJYUtMRx9pI0ROuFc6WwO2kLzx2FYQrxJUE3pBQTNgWHQ2usI2FaPSE4yVGenqtKt_8wJ1GtaGi0DSaNK32bSxlPu3UInrNVuttF-byswP8/s640/english-teapot.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love this teapot not just because I drink tea everyday, but because it was such a thoughtful gift from my Mom.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Still, I have things I want to keep with me. My English teapot of bone china was a birthday gift from my mother in my early twenties. I missed having it when we were vagabonding by motorcycle, so it's been nice having it with me in the RV. But when I dropped the lid and chipped it last week it made me a little sad. It had been pristine up until that time, but now I'm left to wonder how long before it will fall and shatter.<br />
<br />
I'm still attached to certain things, I suppose. I believe most of us are attached to a few things. If you're like me the thing you treasure reminds you of a special person or time. It's often not the thing that you value, but the feeling associated with it. <br />
<br />
As we embark on our RV-vagabond adventure, minimalism is constantly in the forefront of our minds. We're still determining what we need and eliminating things we thought we would need and don't. We're also finding we don't have everything we need, such as a chair for my workspace, an outside WiFi antennae, and wheel chocks for our motorcycles. (At this point each bike has fallen over once, regardless of being strapped down snugly.) The balance is a difficult one and something we must remain mindful of. <br />
<br />
As I watch my neighbors spend the entire morning moving stuff around, I'm grateful I don't have those types of things to worry about now. I have almost as few things now as I did when I first moved out of my Mom's home in 1983, when I packed everything I had into my Chevy Vega Station Wagon. I spent my life accumulating, hoping to find something I was missing, only to be left more empty than ever before. Now that I have less, I have found simplicity and peace and I've never been happier. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: deeppink;">We're on another Road Pickle! We hope to find great breweries, tacos, steak and biscuits with gravy, as well as some roadside oddities along the way. If you don't want to miss a thing, join us by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCKdskRgw19SGQe9gKSvmitQ">subscribing to our vlog</a> on YouTube. <i><b>I PROMISE</b></i> you'll see some cool stuff!<br />
<br />
And don't forget about my book, Rude Biker Chick, Lessons From My Daddy. Click below for more information.</span></i></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s1600/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="rude-biker-chick-lessons-from-my-daddy" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s200/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" title="" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-25637709444051672542017-06-27T17:36:00.002-07:002017-06-27T17:36:33.909-07:00Wearing Enough Motorcycle Gear<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNJ2tzyOuz3HLapCF5BN8N-nScQ9QH1eqtCWFTcUfm-R4Gr9FlMkO-WgwULqmoXdVk_58-GErqm8qoVlvXc3MbCL3MeVlEqRjwhKtKgwJHaGs8mOMIN5PEKOUTKj-2CfEaAnlouAgdNus/s1600/Sash-riding-Ramona.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="woman-motorcycle-rider" border="0" data-original-height="530" data-original-width="707" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNJ2tzyOuz3HLapCF5BN8N-nScQ9QH1eqtCWFTcUfm-R4Gr9FlMkO-WgwULqmoXdVk_58-GErqm8qoVlvXc3MbCL3MeVlEqRjwhKtKgwJHaGs8mOMIN5PEKOUTKj-2CfEaAnlouAgdNus/s640/Sash-riding-Ramona.JPG" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wearing enough gear</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
All The Gear, All The Time. How many times have you heard you need to be wearing enough motorcycle gear stay safe? <br />
<br />
How much gear does a motorcycle rider need?<br />
<br />
Certainly it will protect one from serious injury or death in the case of an accident. But are these "Gear Advocates" being just as cautious in all aspects of their lives?<br />
<br />
Most riders stop and have a meal during a long day of riding. If you're anything like me, you eat burgers and fries, not a salad. I have a huge appetite when I ride so I usually want something substantial. Riding burns calories, even if you're just riding a long, straight, boring highway, so it makes sense that you'll want a big meal.<br />
<br />
According to statistics, 17,629 American motorcycle riders died of heart disease in 2014, but only 4,295 American motorcycle riders in the U.S. died in a motorcycle accidents in the same year.* <br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<span style="color: deeppink; font-size: x-large;">This staggering statistic shows more than 4 times as many riders die of heart disease than in motorcycle accidents.</span></blockquote>
<br />
Chances are those "Preachers of ATGATT" are not putting the same thought about safety into every aspect of lives. Do these same people wear a seat belt every time they get into a car? Are they getting regular health checkups at their doctor, practicing safe sex, reducing their stress and going to the gym regularly? Do they smoke, drink too much or use drugs? Are they wearing sunscreen and drinking enough water? What other dangerous habits do these same critics have?<br />
<br />
As I said, wearing gear and protecting yourself is wise. But I'll be honest. I am fed up with being nagged about the jacket I wear or the type of boots I buy, especially if a rider is clearly not taking the same care with all aspects of their health.<br />
<br />
The hypocrisy is repugnant.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggA_A5wkDPcSASAJC0sG-EHAH02eZgtkM4_nxh4dfxHW-jaR-tlw8yk6Old6yUZziIKZ5qxBqFygVr3m78b5ewK0HwNLu3jyetvJGduTlM_3JGAOv_aD6Kt4XchO_YuUVIrCabTHz4L4c/s1600/bacon+cheeseburger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="bacon-cheeseburger" border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggA_A5wkDPcSASAJC0sG-EHAH02eZgtkM4_nxh4dfxHW-jaR-tlw8yk6Old6yUZziIKZ5qxBqFygVr3m78b5ewK0HwNLu3jyetvJGduTlM_3JGAOv_aD6Kt4XchO_YuUVIrCabTHz4L4c/s640/bacon+cheeseburger.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Like everything else in life I believe that my body is my business. If I ride without motorcycle gear, have casual sex with strangers and eat 10 Jack-In-The-Box tacos at midnight, it is my choice. It's not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, because I believe some of these riders really care. But I would hope that they are evaluating their own lives as much as they are evaluating mine.<br />
<br />
I guarantee you the next sanctimonious nag that gives me unsolicited advice about my choices is going to have their bacon cheeseburger slapped out of their hands and get an earful from me in a show of solidarity.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i><span style="color: deeppink;">We're on another Road Pickle! We hope to find great breweries, tacos, steak and biscuits with gravy, as well as some roadside oddities along the way. If you don't want to miss a thing, join us by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCKdskRgw19SGQe9gKSvmitQ">subscribing to our vlog</a> on YouTube. <i><b>I PROMISE</b></i> you'll see some cool stuff!<br />
<br />
And don't forget about my book, Rude Biker Chick, Lessons From My Daddy. Click below for more information.</span></i></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s1600/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="rude-biker-chick-lessons-from-my-daddy" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s200/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" title="" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">*I gathered data and worked extensively with a statistician to determine these figures. These statistics are from 2014. <br />
Total population of Americans - 318.9 million. <br />
Total registered motorcycles riders in the U.S. - 9,200,000.<br />
This means 2.89% of Americans ride motorcycles.<br />
<br />
4,295 American motorcycle riders died in a motorcycle related accidents, according to Motorcycle Industry Council.<br />
<br />
610,000 Americans died of heart disease.<br />
2.89% of Americans who died of heart disease averages 17,629. <br />
<br />
In theory, approximately 17,629 American motorcycle riders died of heart disease.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-23203970686954680512017-06-02T20:20:00.001-07:002017-06-02T20:29:26.859-07:00Motorcycle Skills<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHPq3Sa8iVdknJHfp6SDXR4QAW3EowsMBlWO8rGifT5kS5_OpNGmUefTciQpfnCEcDfLF5HBmAk5MBR0bsptxzwqrmUVyZ_tkLQPHXlFdHpDphawipf_LcD6bP12fe8_TCWLduPRfAq0/s1600/Kern-River-Brewing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="motorcycles-canyon-ride" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHPq3Sa8iVdknJHfp6SDXR4QAW3EowsMBlWO8rGifT5kS5_OpNGmUefTciQpfnCEcDfLF5HBmAk5MBR0bsptxzwqrmUVyZ_tkLQPHXlFdHpDphawipf_LcD6bP12fe8_TCWLduPRfAq0/s640/Kern-River-Brewing.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kern River Brewing is one of our favorite destinations in this part of California. There's great ride to reach it from any direction, along with rapidly crisp craft beer and satisfying grub waiting to be devoured, this rustic brewery has it all. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
The Kern River is overflowing it's banks this summer due to the heavy rainfall and deep snowpack in the Sierras. The water rages white over hidden obstacles drowning on the banks. The dramatic scene consists of towering cliffs carved over the years, the furious river, and the narrow road the winds beside it.CA 178 takes travelers from the Bakersfield basin up to Lake Isabella, a favorite destination for outdoorsy types.<br />
<br />
Steve and I decided to take a ride to scout out dry camping locations for our new RV. The ATC toy hauler is 32' long and 8.5' wide, so it's important to be certain of the roads we choose to take before we get stuck somewhere. The motorcycles are the perfect scouting vehicles, not only because riding is more fuel efficient, but because it's far more fun than driving a cage, even Steve's new Chevy Silverado.<br />
<br />
As we rode through the bright green groves flourishing in the 95 degrees outside of Bakersfield, we hoped to reach cooler temperatures at the higher elevations, but unfortunately, we did not. The ride through the canyon was not unbearably hot, but it would have been nice if it were cooler. <br />
<br />
Nearing the end of the canyon the twisties turned tight, with a number of 15 mph signs among the curves. Back and forth, back and forth, weaving through blind corners on tilted asphalt, my V Star labored. <br />
<br />
<blockquote><span font-size:="" style="color: #FF1493; font-size: x-large;" x-large="">"The guardrails along the highway are sporadic, so losing one's focus could result not only in flying over a cliff onto rocks that will assuredly break bones, but landing in the rapids to drown in a matter of moments."</span></blockquote><br />
<br />
When we reached the Kern River Brewing Company for lunch, Steve carried himself with ease, wearing a bright smile. <br />
<br />
"Did you enjoy riding?" I asked him. <br />
<br />
It has been quite awhile since Steve had done much riding.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, it was great. How about you?" <br />
<br />
"I struggled. I had become so accustomed to riding the Victory Octane for the past year it seems I've forgotten how awkward my V Star can feel. I was fighting with the motorcycle, struggling to find the sweet spot in the balance, and couldn't let myself to trust her in the turns."<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry you didn't enjoy it."<br />
<br />
I felt bad as I could see the disappointment come over his face.<br />
<br />
"I wasn't bad. It was just hard. I'll get used to it again. It's just going to take me some time."<br />
<br />
He smiled and we ordered some food.<br />
<br />
When we headed back down the canyon I was determined to diagnose my problem and fix it. I was frustrated with myself. On the ride up the canyon I had just surpassed my 60,000 lifetime mile mark, which may not seem like much to some riders, but it's quite an achievement to me for only 4 years of riding. <br />
<br />
I changed my posture on the bike, relaxed my arms and wrists, consciously breathed deeper (I tend to hold my breath when I'm stressed), and loosened my grip on the handlebars. Right away I found my groove and relaxed into the familiar rhythm of my bike. Before I knew it I was flying through the twisties with confidence and control, as I've done hundreds of times before. <br />
<br />
I took a deep sigh and smiled in my helmet. <br />
<br />
"There it is! That's it!"<br />
<br />
Even though the beauty of the canyon was stunning, I focused on the road ahead. I kept Steve far enough ahead of me to see him in my peripheral vision and still look through the turns. I don't like to follow too closely because I may come around a blind corner into a surprise. <br />
<br />
As I rolled down the canyon, I was wondering why it seems that the decreasing radius turns are always hidden behind the blind corners and if you're going to run into gravel, it's always right after the apex of the turn.<br />
<br />
The road straightened and I took a few glances over at the statuesque canyon walls shading the turbulent, white water. The guardrails along the highway are sporadic, so losing one's focus could result not only in flying over a cliff onto rocks that will assuredly break bones, but landing in the rapids to drown in a matter of moments. I turned my attention back to the road ahead and kept my focus on the road and my partner ahead of me.<br />
<br />
Just as Steve glided into a shaded "S" turn I noticed beyond him an SUV speeding towards us in the oncoming lane. As I came into the turn and leaned to the right my back tire jumped up out from under me and skipped. I had hit either a bump or a pothole. I don't know which because I didn't see it in the changing light. I corrected myself as I changed the turn to the left, but instantly realized I had over-corrected. My front tire skimmed the double yellow and I knew that speeding SUV was just around the bend.<br />
<br />
"SHIT!" <br />
<br />
I corrected again, leaning hard to the right towards the center of my lane, throttling hard so as to keep myself from low-siding, squeezing the clutch slightly. (I've learned that covering and/or squeezing my clutch slightly in a troubled turn I have more control of the speed and throttle. I'm not certain that this is "proper" riding technique but it works for me.)<br />
<br />
By the time the SUV appeared I was entirely back in my lane and had control again. When I caught my breath I considered what had just happened. <br />
<br />
There are times we simply can't see what's coming. It's just part of life. When we're stressed, losing our confidence, and holding on too tightly, we become dangerous, to ourselves and others. But when we relax, find the groove, and focus on the task at hand, we can deal the bumps in the road. Had I been manhandling the bike and hit that bump, someone might be fishing my mangled body out of the Kern River today. <br />
<br />
I believe my riding experience helped me greatly today, although I'm not so arrogant to think I had it all under control. Control is really an illusion. Experience has taught me that as well. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: #ff1493;">We're on another Road Pickle! We hope to find great breweries, tacos, steak and biscuits with gravy, as well as some roadside oddities along the way. If you don't want to miss a thing, join us by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCKdskRgw19SGQe9gKSvmitQ">subscribing to our vlog</a> on YouTube. <i><b>I PROMISE</b></i> you'll see some cool stuff!<br />
<br />
And don't forget about my book, Rude Biker Chick, Lessons From My Daddy. Click below for more information.</span></i></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s1600/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="rude-biker-chick-lessons-from-my-daddy" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s200/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" title="" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-56667015260871440122017-05-18T11:16:00.000-07:002017-05-18T11:16:08.523-07:00Hitting the Road in the New Pickle Rig<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga76KP6zRGbP_jSLc9MWcrUUX314RNidnyHTE4hlIZPGCYfQslskrAo2FjvXc4VFpHerrQ3NJs5n_xwZOqb6VmurjbQTmRREBvzbD8ANHFz9T1i474L9LeD2eWrvBLnwcbpNwAJCNPs2w/s1600/ATC+toy+hauler+vija+az.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="toy-hauler-aluminum-arizona" border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga76KP6zRGbP_jSLc9MWcrUUX314RNidnyHTE4hlIZPGCYfQslskrAo2FjvXc4VFpHerrQ3NJs5n_xwZOqb6VmurjbQTmRREBvzbD8ANHFz9T1i474L9LeD2eWrvBLnwcbpNwAJCNPs2w/s640/ATC+toy+hauler+vija+az.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span class="hasCaption" style="font-family: inherit;">At the gas station in Vija, AZ. This place is quiet and desolate, but takes cash only and restroom reeks like a pit toilet. Thank goodness I have my own toilet everywhere I go!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>The journey from San Diego, CA to Napannee, IN to pick up our new ATC Toy Hauler has been a whirlwind of chaos. Over the last 6 weeks we've struggled with one issue after the other.<br />
<br />
Steve's pickup has had a couple of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sjw4gfrYSH8&t=3s">mechanical issues</a> that have caused some setbacks. We've encountered some difficult weather, illness, exhaustion, and a couple of small repairs on the toy hauler. It seems with an endeavor such as this, things always cost more than one expects. <br />
<br />
We've been struggling to keep our work caught up on our business, packing, unpacking, digging through our storage, unpacking, putting things in cabinets, buying furniture. . . <br />
<br />
Our list of "RV Needs" never gets shorter. We no sooner buy one item then we realize we need something else. I've heard this is never-ending. For every item we've purchased we've donated, sold or thrown out 10 times more.<br />
<br />
It's been a huge transition. But it's been well worth it. <br />
<br />
This morning we are parked at Sweetwater Summit RV Campground, a park run by the County of San Diego. We are finishing up the last of our business in the area and then moving on. We finally have everything out of storage and in the RV, we have both motorcycles and all of the doctor appointments are completed. From here it looks like we'll be heading to Bakersfield to see our kids. <br />
<br />
Take a look at the video below of our toy hauler on the day we took delivery. You can follow our daily journey on <a href="http://www.roadpickle.com/">Road Pickle</a> or you can follow us on <a href="https://www.instagram.com/roadpickle/">Instagram </a>and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/RoadPickle/">Facebook</a> and get more indepth adventuring on our <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCKdskRgw19SGQe9gKSvmitQ">YouTube Channel</a>. <br />
<br />
Travel Fun!<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/B7hnzrPEgbk" width="560"></iframe>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-31380200761659748982017-04-16T22:04:00.000-07:002017-06-02T21:00:00.353-07:00And We're Off!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm993ru26iDz0CuUb_BPIS99lildMCxGWxYePFwWmyO-LRJBWsg9MXC-AM07Jdod7O6K61Y32c8Gf0ntCXE695oh0Rx-Bixzf5yhDv7ByBDtzSPKCmhyijahTf8MYH2I59IzrKskHspdg/s1600/IMG_20170407_185637_642.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm993ru26iDz0CuUb_BPIS99lildMCxGWxYePFwWmyO-LRJBWsg9MXC-AM07Jdod7O6K61Y32c8Gf0ntCXE695oh0Rx-Bixzf5yhDv7ByBDtzSPKCmhyijahTf8MYH2I59IzrKskHspdg/s640/IMG_20170407_185637_642.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nearing Casa Grande, about 80 miles from Tucson.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We've finally hit the road! After what seemed like an eternity of purging and packing we now have all of our belongings sorted out, freeing us up to get mobile again. <br />
<br />
My main concern was keeping the important items safe whilst Steve ditched everything else. The task of separating things for donation, for sale, trash, long term storage, RV use and temporary road use was arduous. This was my responsibility because had I left it for Steve everything would have gone down our apartment building's trash chute.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikOiIj7NVeqk6wvVFF8e_J-tJu-PLJ-MFO0PB9c_k4amKcTNDvCD-0gu6G23yU_wuGDfivFP-foV2mjTnstDq05w6_m7vlQwVbwewU90X_3pOZjkZwCQIOyUpjMxZqDdGlKUAn9DTH66c/s1600/0407170839.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikOiIj7NVeqk6wvVFF8e_J-tJu-PLJ-MFO0PB9c_k4amKcTNDvCD-0gu6G23yU_wuGDfivFP-foV2mjTnstDq05w6_m7vlQwVbwewU90X_3pOZjkZwCQIOyUpjMxZqDdGlKUAn9DTH66c/s640/0407170839.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our apartment, finally packed and ready to go.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Our focus is <a href="http://www.motorcyclephilosophy.org/2017/04/adjusting-to-smaller-living.html" target="_blank">"smaller-living"</a> but we both approach that differently. Steve wants to trash almost everything and only pick up what he needs along the way. And while that seems like a good idea, every now and then we realize we're missing something <i>very, very important</i>. This stresses me out terribly, so as a control freak I believe I can manage every item we have in our possession if I'm just given the time to sort through everything. <br />
<br />
Some boxes, tubs, closets, drawers and cupboards took longer than others. They all took an emotional and physical toll on me. Thankfully, it's done now.<br />
<br />
As we arrived in Tucson we climbed into bed and both slept about 18 hours the first day. Once refreshed we started getting out and about in the city, running errands and seeing friends. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaI4t5X3wJ8m8XUnL1cn5cWRul2r2A-eUC2Pgy0JsTl1y1gl0pTkDtPY-O0HQxhjfb1N30D7wzZqmN21yM8mfS0LTdJq1SDuq-9-Hm5SDH1Rewb6ZtV5IvYg3UjDsslNAW5ibnrHFloTA/s1600/IMG_20170409_194843_801.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaI4t5X3wJ8m8XUnL1cn5cWRul2r2A-eUC2Pgy0JsTl1y1gl0pTkDtPY-O0HQxhjfb1N30D7wzZqmN21yM8mfS0LTdJq1SDuq-9-Hm5SDH1Rewb6ZtV5IvYg3UjDsslNAW5ibnrHFloTA/s640/IMG_20170409_194843_801.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We joined the ever elusive Ken at Barrio Brewing in the heart of Tucson's barrio. </td></tr>
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This was our first time meeting Ken face-to-face. (Yes, he dropped the menu for us, but he's camera shy.) We've been long time friends on a Google+ Community <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/communities/106948994194527652231">Motorcycle Riders</a>. By far this has been my favorite online motorcycling community as we find so many like-minded riders there. Actually, we've met a few of the folks face-to-face since we started Road Pickling. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzM0y45bytBG4Maxzxa03TCvb_csQifzxcxYdktghMVv_H9w94LXk3nTElX9G_4SMhjQOUGRcMfg4jAFJ9_ABW98dEPutJj2ZxNrY87dsMt6HsfJfh6V638GeqY8V4N_GVSKqs8BSOVc/s1600/0413171941.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzM0y45bytBG4Maxzxa03TCvb_csQifzxcxYdktghMVv_H9w94LXk3nTElX9G_4SMhjQOUGRcMfg4jAFJ9_ABW98dEPutJj2ZxNrY87dsMt6HsfJfh6V638GeqY8V4N_GVSKqs8BSOVc/s640/0413171941.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We met Wallace and Lynn at Nico's Taco joint in Marana, just north of Tucson. </td></tr>
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Wallace and Lynn are avid riders, owning 5 or 6 motorcycles between them. They also RV regularly so they were giving us some tips for our future vehicle. We shared lots of laughs and they have some great riding stories. Unfortunately, the night we met up with Wallace and Lynn I wasn't feeling well and I missed out on my favorite food, tacos. <br />
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By the time we got back to the hotel I was in terrible shape. I ended up in bed for a day and a half completely wiped out. I'm assuming it was the flu. Because I have Fibromyalgia I have a weakened immune system so I'm constantly getting sick. It really sucks. Luckily I wasn't out for long! <br />
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I joined Chris Black of The Adventures of Olive and Emilie at <a href="http://www.5pointstucson.com/">5 Points Market and Restaurant</a> in Downtown. We talked about kids, motorcycles, travel and RV's. Chris and I both seem to be in sync with our views on life and I value every minute I spend with her. She's been a good friend for a long time now. You'll see a little bit about Chris in the video below. <br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KVMV4fvHV9U" width="560"></iframe><br />
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We leave tomorrow (Monday April 17) morning and have a few stops planned between here and Nappanee, IN. We're hoping for a couple of breweries, a good steak, and some roadside oddities along the way. If you don't want to miss a thing, join us by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCKdskRgw19SGQe9gKSvmitQ">subscribing to our vlog</a> on YouTube. <i><b>I PROMISE</b></i> you'll see some cool stuff!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: pink;">My ebook, "Rude Biker Chick: Lessons From My Daddy" is available <a href="http://rudebikerchick.com/">for purchase here</a>. Buy your copy now or if not for you, buy a copy for a friend! The woman in your life will love you for it. </span></i></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s1600/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="rude-biker-chick-lessons-from-my-daddy" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s200/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" title="" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><br />
Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com2Tucson, AZ, USA32.2217429 -110.9264789999999731.791571400000002 -111.57192599999998 32.6519144 -110.28103199999997tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-80955167052838550512017-04-04T12:13:00.001-07:002017-04-04T12:13:47.021-07:00Mimi and Moto - The Motorcycle Monkeys<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5rmpqDiNosmoRFiA_F-ZpUL_Fh34Jt_8PatHDylI09OMWqV6RNeTxqMoR773DVY0QX0TNZNfvX3ZaT6iRQTUonjFsWhOFGU1c6EQD0_Tr5mLWYswnr-99fnSKplvbaup3lkk0Nz_si5w/s1600/mimi_and_moto_cover2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5rmpqDiNosmoRFiA_F-ZpUL_Fh34Jt_8PatHDylI09OMWqV6RNeTxqMoR773DVY0QX0TNZNfvX3ZaT6iRQTUonjFsWhOFGU1c6EQD0_Tr5mLWYswnr-99fnSKplvbaup3lkk0Nz_si5w/s640/mimi_and_moto_cover2.jpg" width="507" /></a></div><br />
Recently the authors of <i><a href="http://mimiandmoto.com/">The Adventures of Mimi and Moto, The Motorcycle Monkeys</a></i> sent a copy of their children's book to me as a gift for my grandson Jackson. I can't wait to share it with him!<br />
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This adorable children's story about motorcycling monkeys is going to be a great way for me to introduce motorcycles to Jackson. Jackson and my great-niece Sophia, who will be 3 and 4 years old in July, respectively, are both fascinated and frightened by motorcycles. They love to look at them but the loud noise of the engine is too much for them. Short of buying each of them small motorcycles to learn on, I couldn't figure out how to help them relate to my all-time greatest passion. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlWP9TnlRq5vwgj-txDOljtqMFaCQ0QHMjo5Q3SMjILhWDPLjzY-hRlqHckjfCgWKweEnPjEa8hx_hyXCyK_Ym3P9Ctk0oaLUT_BvZGnpPCeVdKbPZFtDutQLhfr2EHDZYEv58TunO6Uk/s1600/sofia-indian-motorcycle-toy-150x150%25402x.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlWP9TnlRq5vwgj-txDOljtqMFaCQ0QHMjo5Q3SMjILhWDPLjzY-hRlqHckjfCgWKweEnPjEa8hx_hyXCyK_Ym3P9Ctk0oaLUT_BvZGnpPCeVdKbPZFtDutQLhfr2EHDZYEv58TunO6Uk/s640/sofia-indian-motorcycle-toy-150x150%25402x.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sophia loves the Indian Roadmaster I bought for her a couple of years ago.</td></tr>
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That is, until Mimi and Moto rode into my life. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7mNXpkrZLiO7FEe2EforwcvSK1SqDn5-HJ8GnpArBuQO5vGpC359sWZCdoU35ijBIyUbsabAQ0BVwkIKsFnzelVeCk1Lum2GHc1knEuifLALbpvjcdl200IgptLv4kvMN80niNjupDms/s1600/mimi_and_moto_beach_fbshop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7mNXpkrZLiO7FEe2EforwcvSK1SqDn5-HJ8GnpArBuQO5vGpC359sWZCdoU35ijBIyUbsabAQ0BVwkIKsFnzelVeCk1Lum2GHc1knEuifLALbpvjcdl200IgptLv4kvMN80niNjupDms/s640/mimi_and_moto_beach_fbshop.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
This furry faced duo tell the story of two road hungry riders making their way through a variety of roads. Unlike most motorcyclists, Mimi and Moto seem to love almost every motorcycle style on the road. From baggers to UJMs, sport bikes to dirt bikes, and even a sidecar, these two have the garage I would love to have! This makes the story more universal and should certainly appeal to the children of most riders. <br />
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The illustrations by Estaban Alvarado are bold and vivid, clearly depicting the distinctly different bikes. The pages are thick for little hands to easily turn. As a parent and now grandparent, I remember how important that is for young readers. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3S-nZa82Dj2cErkQglQP9Rq4Beedvf_FGJMk12KNEBYejLncWJW_17aUKaYsy3xT7dE5yvmcWopNyHOXyn_gxA3CLsAfaJoJ7W9pXeMH-hVQ40zx9UOVYJo-7iEKeG0wUmK0Njj_0szA/s1600/Jackson-Bootsie-Sash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="587" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3S-nZa82Dj2cErkQglQP9Rq4Beedvf_FGJMk12KNEBYejLncWJW_17aUKaYsy3xT7dE5yvmcWopNyHOXyn_gxA3CLsAfaJoJ7W9pXeMH-hVQ40zx9UOVYJo-7iEKeG0wUmK0Njj_0szA/s640/Jackson-Bootsie-Sash.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jackson is one of the happiest people I've ever met. I can't wait to get him riding!</td></tr>
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I'll be visiting my great-niece Sophia on Friday, so this copy will go to her, after we read it together, of course. I'll be ordering <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Adventures-Mimi-Moto-Motorcycle-Childrens/dp/0692735348">a copy from Amazon</a> to be shipped to Jackson's house in Bakersfield. We can read it together as soon as I arrive for a visit in May. <br />
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As a <a href="https://www.ridelikeagirldesigns.com/blogs/ride-like-a-girl-designs/biker-mommas">Mom Who Rides</a>, I want to see my kids and grandkids find the love of riding. Perhaps this will be a good way to help make that happen.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: pink;">My ebook, "Rude Biker Chick: Lessons From My Daddy" is available <a href="http://rudebikerchick.com/">for purchase here</a>. Buy your copy now or if not for you, buy a copy for a friend for the holidays! The woman in your life will love you for it. </span></i></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s1600/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="rude-biker-chick-lessons-from-my-daddy" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s200/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" title="" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-44688002265717529072017-03-28T11:12:00.000-07:002017-03-28T11:12:34.890-07:00Road Pickle AgainWe're getting back on the road. <br />
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The difficult decision was not whether to get back on the road or to stay in San Diego, but how to best execute the plan. We took in so many suggestions, rolled ideas around for months, and finally formulated a plan.<br />
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We've purchased a 28' toy hauler from ATC to tow with Steve's 1999 GMC Sierra and we're hitting the road. These are so popular that we had to order it and we're currently waiting the 7 weeks for delivery.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRSkqh-0YHX1if6JDz0KcA2eB-GM0r3YQY-GjfXgpdbt1TFCDEFFXvZg3EyHPH_pN_zXH8-2Ub0-NAfvDmQqcs6pgErVBR3x_VXC4Mb_BWktDBCDq_UIzhcMpaYuSzIKRBPOBHMykzT5Y/s1600/atc+side+view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="337" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRSkqh-0YHX1if6JDz0KcA2eB-GM0r3YQY-GjfXgpdbt1TFCDEFFXvZg3EyHPH_pN_zXH8-2Ub0-NAfvDmQqcs6pgErVBR3x_VXC4Mb_BWktDBCDq_UIzhcMpaYuSzIKRBPOBHMykzT5Y/s640/atc+side+view.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We'll be rolling our motorcycles in, of course. We selected solid black exterior.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8PB1mXRvVUBzcrqHMpoDopNeVPDALpVyK_KO9GXLHEcmiSyMBk3qnM08m7mYymLLB_C9blFMLkUl9_M9T-2DG4Yq0Vo6cbDQKqsRPrJdnZCByB8ouK86YXQU4G2ZQKtiwv-XwVYX19c/s1600/bedroom+lg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8PB1mXRvVUBzcrqHMpoDopNeVPDALpVyK_KO9GXLHEcmiSyMBk3qnM08m7mYymLLB_C9blFMLkUl9_M9T-2DG4Yq0Vo6cbDQKqsRPrJdnZCByB8ouK86YXQU4G2ZQKtiwv-XwVYX19c/s640/bedroom+lg.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bedroom with substantial storage around and under the queen size bed. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy00RPivMqR2TCJeKGpmN3AbaNa-tDg3ZuuB0FXJ_6kZB5DJPb3dWtFFM5M1L_2wvXLeQXzHOBtAZtSoNXUTTiidlaU02EnQ9Gby4pmyffC43pPZf7D8fUnQrN5eJFiCz1mZbIf9fnRDk/s1600/toy-hauler-bathroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy00RPivMqR2TCJeKGpmN3AbaNa-tDg3ZuuB0FXJ_6kZB5DJPb3dWtFFM5M1L_2wvXLeQXzHOBtAZtSoNXUTTiidlaU02EnQ9Gby4pmyffC43pPZf7D8fUnQrN5eJFiCz1mZbIf9fnRDk/s640/toy-hauler-bathroom.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bathroom has everything we need for full time living.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCYewmsDmu_5JrjsO0y0SAk-6WRDeW8kFGdmm89H9XgEdYwydnHTs4jpuo5-asfmpKP8KIBdtEp9EL1ONwbtC-_ga8KErQWkkRv02ypFdInCLgC2sKNEYEAuOII-_dU0aceoc4QR_UCJk/s1600/ATC_7x20_Bathroom_2_780.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCYewmsDmu_5JrjsO0y0SAk-6WRDeW8kFGdmm89H9XgEdYwydnHTs4jpuo5-asfmpKP8KIBdtEp9EL1ONwbtC-_ga8KErQWkkRv02ypFdInCLgC2sKNEYEAuOII-_dU0aceoc4QR_UCJk/s640/ATC_7x20_Bathroom_2_780.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Along with more storage space. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ciGKGepw-LIaRcSCHLUr0b9P2yS4fbSMvff9v9ZgL48h3CmbfUnGWDSv9SmPhG-qa2ZE4J8kypxV2p-NqWVhty0imgdqkbBlREPu15f7Iqq_rpW0bra3kU6JnykrV9XxbKgtSCHSK78/s1600/ATC_7x20_Kitchen_1814.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ciGKGepw-LIaRcSCHLUr0b9P2yS4fbSMvff9v9ZgL48h3CmbfUnGWDSv9SmPhG-qa2ZE4J8kypxV2p-NqWVhty0imgdqkbBlREPu15f7Iqq_rpW0bra3kU6JnykrV9XxbKgtSCHSK78/s640/ATC_7x20_Kitchen_1814.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The kitchen is small but has all of the essentials. </td></tr>
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Steve and I have had no experience with RVing so this will be a learning experience for the both of us. Instead of vagabonding on motorcycles and staying in hotels, we'll be taking the bikes, our Beagle and our home with us. <br />
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The motorcycles are an integral part of the traveling equation though. We both know we enjoy time to ourselves, so we intend to take turns spending time at the RV with the dog while the other takes a long ride for a few days, or maybe a couple of weeks. <br />
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We move out of our San Diego apartment on April 7 and head to Tucson for two weeks to wait for the trailer to be completed. Once we are certain of the completion date we'll drive to Nappanee, IN to take delivery. From there we're going to Bolingbrook, IL to visit the nearest Ikea. We'll stay just a couple of nights to visit friends there as well. From there we drive directly back to CA to get our motorcycles and a few things to set up house. Then, we are on our way.<br />
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You're welcome to come along with us by subscribing to our new <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCKdskRgw19SGQe9gKSvmitQ" target="_blank">YouTube Channel, Road Pickle. </a><br />
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Stick around. This should be fun!<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/2rKz2HhfoFI" width="560"></iframe><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: pink;">My ebook, "Rude Biker Chick: Lessons From My Daddy" is available <a href="http://rudebikerchick.com/">for purchase here</a>. Buy your copy now or if not for you, buy a copy for a friend for the holidays! The woman in your life will love you for it. </span></i></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s1600/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="rude-biker-chick-lessons-from-my-daddy" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s200/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" title="" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-35471688560748972702017-02-28T11:35:00.004-08:002017-02-28T11:52:43.153-08:00Big Announcement Coming<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1If4XDWJHRm9tJ-mbDBBxJtv_ADxsNi9V5ZwRShgULgNqWVyEHrH7CQk0kOg3Vm0I21xZSsxIaf23rk9cfgjXk0q8Eqx6NM7oNNJMV9GI5lunAW4_1bSN7HZZPHivZNVYOu6LabyoilA/s1600/sash-steve-the-dungeon-bar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Sturgis-dungeon-bar-motorcycle-riders" border="0" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1If4XDWJHRm9tJ-mbDBBxJtv_ADxsNi9V5ZwRShgULgNqWVyEHrH7CQk0kOg3Vm0I21xZSsxIaf23rk9cfgjXk0q8Eqx6NM7oNNJMV9GI5lunAW4_1bSN7HZZPHivZNVYOu6LabyoilA/s640/sash-steve-the-dungeon-bar.jpg" title="" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steve and I loved the Dungeon Bar in Sturgis! It was the highlight of the rally for us. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>The time has come to make some big changes in my life. If you've been reading my recent blog posts you've probably anticipated some changes that are coming.<br />
<br />
But I guarantee you'll still be really surprise by our big announcement.<br />
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You can join both Steve and I LIVE on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/tinasashwalker">my Facebook page</a> on Sunday, March 12 at 12 noon. I will also be posting the news here on my blog if you want to catch it here instead.<br />
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(Coincidentally, March 12 will be Steve's Birthday, so you can drop by our LIVE announcement to wish him well.)<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="true" allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="400" scrolling="no" src="https://www.facebook.com/plugins/video.php?href=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2FTinaSashWalker%2Fvideos%2F10212449434493330%2F&show_text=0&width=400" style="border: none; overflow: hidden;" width="400"></iframe><br />
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(For some reason Blogger cut off the bottom of my video I have above. Just take a peek at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/lularoeashtinbrookevips/">Ashin's LuLaRoe Store</a> for more info and a much better view of the clothes I've fallen in love with.)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: pink;">My ebook, "Rude Biker Chick: Lessons From My Daddy" is available <a href="http://rudebikerchick.com/">for purchase here</a>. Buy your copy now or if not for you, buy a copy for a friend for the holidays! The woman in your life will love you for it. </span></i></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s1600/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="rude-biker-chick-lessons-from-my-daddy" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s200/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" title="" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><br />
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Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-23098813863748514132017-02-20T16:37:00.002-08:002017-02-28T11:36:45.724-08:00The Road Owns Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfQUGssppYKvAfPLXq4cyelBxztE02Ct97m1OpC11lLQvzD8H09y24quVvDTjUvuHvn5DjDx1akyhsM4C8OvzlwvnFcnAjJVuks6FpU36HpUwEapNRiizUzI9o_8ZII0Ia3Xba_SX_Nk/s1600/biker-chick-riding-sash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="women-motorcycle-rider" border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfQUGssppYKvAfPLXq4cyelBxztE02Ct97m1OpC11lLQvzD8H09y24quVvDTjUvuHvn5DjDx1akyhsM4C8OvzlwvnFcnAjJVuks6FpU36HpUwEapNRiizUzI9o_8ZII0Ia3Xba_SX_Nk/s640/biker-chick-riding-sash.jpg" title="" width="640"></a></div><br />
This love of the road has a strong hold on me. I need to find a way to answer it's call. <br />
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Song lyrics are haunting me. . . <br />
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<blockquote><span style="color: #c27ba0;">"Moving me down the highway, rolling me down the highway</span><br />
<span style="color: #c27ba0;">Moving ahead so life won't pass me by</span><br />
<span style="color: #c27ba0;">And I'm gonna go there free. . . "</span><br />
<span style="color: #c27ba0;">- Jim Croce</span></blockquote><br />
How was I to know in May 2013, after only being on the road a couple of months, that I would be <a href="http://www.sashmouth.com/2013/05/spoiling-my-future.html">spoiling my future</a>? That I would fall so madly in love with the road that I may never be able to live stationary again. <br />
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<blockquote><span style="color: #c27ba0;">"I hear it call</span><br />
<span style="color: #c27ba0;">Sounds so sweet and plain</span><br />
<span style="color: #c27ba0;">I gotta go, baby</span><br />
<span style="color: #c27ba0;">Because the road's my middle name."</span><br />
<span style="color: #c27ba0;">- Bonnie Raitt </span></blockquote><br />
If this all sounds very romantic, well, that's because it is. My romance with that asphalt is as real as any romance I've ever known. The independence of my own ride, my own hands steering my bike, determining my path, following my heart, is the only thing I can think about now. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFEiT9D_VvRDhyQGzdidbHKleBeBkINyxpxMg-djAtHtU9eKgv5wukDouPZfrIrJP2Vqt_2QUO17cEKTKHHRL4VR4b26cSBYVcodIuUcQkkc0RIxmC7uL0eYj_f6FXufcoFp8Pw2fQCtE/s1600/rainbow-kenai-river-alaska.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="kenai-river-alaska" border="0" height="532" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFEiT9D_VvRDhyQGzdidbHKleBeBkINyxpxMg-djAtHtU9eKgv5wukDouPZfrIrJP2Vqt_2QUO17cEKTKHHRL4VR4b26cSBYVcodIuUcQkkc0RIxmC7uL0eYj_f6FXufcoFp8Pw2fQCtE/s640/rainbow-kenai-river-alaska.jpg" title="" width="640"></a></div><br />
When I was in Alaska riding my friend's Sportster down to Homer, I had this incredible epiphany. There was a moment when the clouds opened and the sun shone through on the two lane Sterling Highway ahead. I was overcome with a sense of autonomy, this breathtaking singularity. <br />
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"I can go anywhere. . . I can go anywhere I want to go. I don't need anyone to go with me either."<br />
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It was if, for the first time in my life, I had liberty. Finally, I was emancipated from my own fears. <br />
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<blockquote><span style="color: #c27ba0;">"Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose</span><br />
<span style="color: #c27ba0;">Nothin', don't mean nothin' hon' if it ain't free."</span><br />
<span style="color: #c27ba0;">- Kris Kristofferson </span></blockquote><br />
I want to be unattached. I want to own nothing that I'm not willing to let go. Even if I lost my motorcycle I hope I would not lose my freedom. <br />
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You know, we may own our things, but they in turn own us. <br />
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Though I want to be on the road, perhaps I am not actually free. Perhaps now, the road owns me. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: pink;">My ebook, "Rude Biker Chick: Lessons From My Daddy" is available <a href="http://rudebikerchick.com/">for purchase here</a>. Buy your copy now or if not for you, buy a copy for a friend for the holidays! The woman in your life will love you for it. </span></i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s1600/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="rude-biker-chick-lessons-from-my-daddy" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s200/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" title="" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6036212943721143157.post-14570809069641898212016-12-21T14:13:00.002-08:002016-12-21T20:28:34.410-08:00How To Earn Money On The Road: Vol One<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP1rdpa2pJYaS2FnAG-jCJ-VmTNQdaz2WGxyybzXZS45MTWjsYLsa_NzK0QFHvqjpQ70q-RnQfqm13UjilRJURXiO2twd-WP2gPIfAk4IOwu-wCPfL1VSTfkbPzC6JpJHc5gnc3zFwrV8/s1600/steve+sash+riding+ninja.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP1rdpa2pJYaS2FnAG-jCJ-VmTNQdaz2WGxyybzXZS45MTWjsYLsa_NzK0QFHvqjpQ70q-RnQfqm13UjilRJURXiO2twd-WP2gPIfAk4IOwu-wCPfL1VSTfkbPzC6JpJHc5gnc3zFwrV8/s640/steve+sash+riding+ninja.JPG" width="640" height="396" /></a></div><br />
I intend to address how to earn money while traveling full time in a series of articles and videos. Initially I want to discuss how my husband Steve and I earn money while traveling. <br />
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Steve and I own <a href="http://toomuchtina.com/">two companies</a> that publish online, sell advertising, coach business owners on marketing and/or market for them. Our entire enterprise is designed be accomplished wherever we have WiFi and phone reception. <br />
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Steve has been interested in computers since he was a teenager in the 1980's. When the internet became a buzzword he began <a href="http://cleardigitalmedia.com/">online publishing</a> as a hobby. He was interested in genealogy and built a <a href="http://www.interment.net/">cemetery records directory in 1997</a>. In 1999 he began selling advertising on that genealogy site and by 2003 he was making a six-figure income and left his day job. In 2004 he came across a magazine <i>Revenue</i> for online affiliate marketers featuring wealthy publishers who traveled full time. It became his goal to do just that. <br />
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As for me, in 2005 I left a full-time job and took a 70% pay cut to work part-time as a publisher's assistant. I have always wanted to be a writer and publisher. My family and I tightened our belts dramatically so I could learn all there was to know about print publishing. By 2008 I was making a fair living writing, selling advertising and learning every aspect of print publishing. That same year I noticed many of my advertisers going to online advertising. Since I saw this was a growing industry, I contacted a <a href="http://www.menifee247.com/">local online news publisher</a> to write for him and learn about blogging. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid4nU-SQKWtSFZpEGWCB4y5L4lbhpIEAZLew57Z0yZ-isAwqnYIs4tbmbfBiMPG9wUSgHf6zbGju97OwkSSZZ-N4g9Zwp-ioiP6YR2t7VVvYrdqTVMX0-rHKXMQX7MxjNKlEaOOzs4huQ/s1600/Sash+Steve+at+bar+working.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid4nU-SQKWtSFZpEGWCB4y5L4lbhpIEAZLew57Z0yZ-isAwqnYIs4tbmbfBiMPG9wUSgHf6zbGju97OwkSSZZ-N4g9Zwp-ioiP6YR2t7VVvYrdqTVMX0-rHKXMQX7MxjNKlEaOOzs4huQ/s640/Sash+Steve+at+bar+working.jpg" width="640" height="480" /></a></div><br />
In 2010 when the magazine I'd been working for had been sold I was looking for a job selling advertising. I met that online publisher in person for the first time to ask him for a job. It was Steve. Thus our business relationship began based on our mutual career goals. Steve had recently returned from his first long, motorcycle trip; a 30-day ride from Menifee, CA to Fairbanks, AK. He was working toward living that life on the road. <br />
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In 2011 Steve and I began our romantic relationship, married in 2012 and in March 2013 left for our 2 1/2 year life as working vagabonds. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMK_1scXsEpPzVR2F5Eh2V4Xk2Ox7csBVXeUunj65b1xS6UPkc2PtBkW2CirIViiEld3e3kO5Tg4hzsxQcJtlvCSicEUYTJ30k8M0S-O83VSt8JhhrytqYDUK6zIKp8r2fWdZhcgCk3GY/s1600/10456288_10204166594067496_1453750749_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMK_1scXsEpPzVR2F5Eh2V4Xk2Ox7csBVXeUunj65b1xS6UPkc2PtBkW2CirIViiEld3e3kO5Tg4hzsxQcJtlvCSicEUYTJ30k8M0S-O83VSt8JhhrytqYDUK6zIKp8r2fWdZhcgCk3GY/s640/10456288_10204166594067496_1453750749_n.jpg" width="640" height="640" /></a></div><br />
It didn't happen overnight. We spent hundreds of hours creating careers out of our passions and hobbies that would lead us to a mobile lifestyle. It took long work hours, pay cuts, sacrifices and an inordinate amount of time of planning. But it has been well worth it!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxfpJg1PYQndKzoFJv5gQEA3_e7hYxxhJTJvpp69wJ_QSI1a_D7JsQqggDISg6vxAMZFIo33p7DD1af5-fcW2Q91TwwjxXMUH0_YYvvVkmVHdQcatwwoS3OM1DI1njFM8BZWHDl1ltAQQ/s1600/IMG_7095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxfpJg1PYQndKzoFJv5gQEA3_e7hYxxhJTJvpp69wJ_QSI1a_D7JsQqggDISg6vxAMZFIo33p7DD1af5-fcW2Q91TwwjxXMUH0_YYvvVkmVHdQcatwwoS3OM1DI1njFM8BZWHDl1ltAQQ/s640/IMG_7095.JPG" width="640" height="480" /></a></div><br />
What works for us certainly won't work for everyone! But we are not the only people who vagabond.<br />
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Your first step to create a career that affords full time travel is to evaluate your skill sets, both in your career and hobbies. If you (and your spouse) are the adventurous types, willing to make sacrifices, willing to open your minds to a new way of life, you too can live and work on the road. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAuJG0afdUTFAM-ndgps_TNtqfXFTzB03D7HUEeMCmwWjuyB4JUReSz00LNTzt3r-JsOoyfYNf6CX0rISCHHSX5QuYH_2e189y7aRc3s-tby7_Xch-kEMP1FlHKBUCOUJWekTpz0Lj1dg/s1600/IMG_7064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAuJG0afdUTFAM-ndgps_TNtqfXFTzB03D7HUEeMCmwWjuyB4JUReSz00LNTzt3r-JsOoyfYNf6CX0rISCHHSX5QuYH_2e189y7aRc3s-tby7_Xch-kEMP1FlHKBUCOUJWekTpz0Lj1dg/s640/IMG_7064.JPG" width="640" height="480" /></a></div>You have to want the road so bad you can taste it, you dream about it, or perhaps are obsessed with it. We were deeply determined to make it happen and motivated one another throughout the process. It's not a life for everyone. If you're interested in <a href="http://toomuchtina.com/marketing-services-2/">one-on-one coaching, we can help</a>.<br />
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In future articles and videos I'll be discussing specific careers of vagabonds to give you ideas in insight for yourselves. I'll be interviewing these travelers who earn money as they live on the road to teach you how you can do it for yourself! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span style="color: pink;">Help me put a little fuel in my gas tank. My ebook, "Rude Biker Chick: Lessons From My Daddy" is available <a href="http://rudebikerchick.com/">for purchase here</a>. Buy your copy now or if not for you, buy a copy for a friend! The woman in your life will love you for it. </span></i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s1600/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="rude-biker-chick-lessons-from-my-daddy" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsRFtdFcDtdJMzZAiizn1w-0WUoGFTbukeGQSqKAYEifqcgmVBZEZVkoFv_72EpBM14ZVvgh-3Ap2UpuOK5JDCvuZGZ5qexDM7sP16kkVm4iSqBNqq00PRH1fU3lO38paaUH4d6_4x0U/s200/Rude-Biker-Chick-book.gif" title="" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div>Sash Johnsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11030587181417666338noreply@blogger.com0