In Contrast: The Reality of Life on the Road

What follows is an essay outlining the stark contrast of life on the road. It’s frankly easy to get really frustrated out here. Social media, blogs, and YouTube channels often paint a masterpiece of life on the road as an effortless, pillowy dream state and hall pass from reality. We’d certainly spent enough nights outside prior to this trip to know the ridiculousness of these claims. However, I like to be an honest guy on this website.

My mother nailed it when she said that the struggle for meeting basic needs and the lack of external social interactions can be a very real challenge. That said, might this be the very best place to be in the summer of 2020?

Let’s see why…

The Darkness: A Stark Contrast

The pitter-patter of rain thumps rhythmically on the fiberglass shell of our A-frame camper. It sounds like a torrent, but as I step outside into the damp mist, rushing to throw on a down vest and a rain jacket, I realize the rain is lighter than it seems. The thin fiberglass shell does a fine job of amplifying the noise, turning a subtle mist into what seems like a moderately kick-ass hail storm. It’s not.

Outside, I stand helplessly staring at the rain-soaked bed of pine needles, cones, and thick clumps of sub-alpine grass. Everything is wet. There’s no lounging around and stretching today. If this sucker clears out, maybe I can climb. But that’s hard to imagine with so much grey and wet. As I watch the steam rise from my exhales, I can make out, through endless tall pines, the faint outlines of homes and barn structures in the farmland in the valley below.

The well-lit structures look so inviting. I imagine myself sipping coffee on a couch in sweatpants. I imagine a shower, which is certainly not happening in my world today. Not in these conditions. I imagine a bright and broad kitchen island, well-stocked with pots, pans, and easily-accessible olive oil.

My god, the olive oil.

(Related Post: One Month on the Road: Getting a Groove)

The Lightness

Light reflects the pixilated image of a serrated rocky ridge on a small, marshy lake, just out of view of the nearby dirt road. The distant cirque above still holds the wind-sculpted remains of winter’s snow, but there will be no other evidence of winter today.

The low morning sun filtering through the dense pine forest is a hint at the warm and deep-blue day to come. Layers of brilliant green moss cling to the limbs and north-facing trunks of the massive pines. There will be no rain or mist today.

Hours later, I throw down my colossal pile of pads in front of a stunner granite boulder. The usual indicators of previous activity are here: chalked holds, weakly brushed tick marks, a well-trodden and dusty base. But there will be no one here today. No Bluetooth speakers, no spray, no rush to beat the crowds.

Back at camp, we enjoy a drink and homemade meal, occasionally pausing to reflect on the beauty of our surroundings in the northern Rocky Mountains. Evening fades to night; the full moon floods the forest floor. Everything is calm.

(Related Post: Selling Our House: On the Road, Pandemic Edition)

A Life in Contrast

I’ve always lived my life in contrast., As I mentioned in my recent Power Company Climbing Podcast interview, I always want what I don’t have.

When I was working a corporate job and living in a busy urban neighborhood, I wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by nature.

Well, I’ve now been completely immersed in nature for nearly two months. There is too much of a good thing.

Or am I just not fully appreciating the moment? Despite the frustrations of finding water or a draining battery after too many smokey wildfire days, won’t I look back at this experience with rose-colored glasses once I’m settled back in a home with all the comforts I now desire? Won’t I miss the peaceful tranquility of the forest once I’m jammed back in some neighborhood? I probably will.

We always want what we don’t have.

(Related Post: The Fallacy of Happiness and Meaningful Work)

The Contrast of Good Fortune

A young woman we met recently commented admirably that we are enjoying the summer that most people aren’t getting to experience. She was happy for us.

And she’s right.

My “enough-but-not-too-much” news intake doctrine is keeping me from slipping into an angered or depressed state. Clearly not everyone is experiencing well-lit mountain days and serene nights this summer.

But perhaps, even with the hardships—the shuffling of water, the seedy laundromats, the ever-changing and always unfamiliar grocery stores, the powerful changes in weather, the at-times insufficient amount of social interactions, dying batteries, and avoiding the I-don’t-wear-a-mask crowd—might we be in the very best situation in September of 2020?

I think we might be.

That’s the way that the world goes ’round
You’re up one day and the next you’re down
It’s half an inch of water and you think you’re gonna drown
That’s the way that the world goes ’round

John Prine

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