Other Righteous Unrulies

May 17, 2017 by Lorie Solis

Well, we've been on tour exactly eight weeks and it's time now to give some good old fashioned road-dog cred to some of the coolest rigs we've seen along the way. Some are retired, some are full-time road warriors and some are somewhere in between, but like us, they all share the Unruly Spirit and represent a break from the mold of conformity. In order as we saw them:

This guy, though he looked super intimidating in that way that only hermit, prepper, angry vets can look, wins for most preparedness. Solar AND wind power are feeding whatever his private needs may be in this old-school fifth-wheel that's being pulled by a badass camouflage, tough looking, zombie-ready truck. Extra points for added trailer with boat and gear for maximum mobility options on land and water. Look was completed with fierce looking canine. Mobile wind-power is something I definitely support and if our own system wasn't already over-kill I'd advocate harder for mobile water-catchment, too. Prep on, comrade. And don't forget to keep it classy. (Sorry for the crap on the windshield. A little splooge left over from bus construction. This pane of glass would later be replaced after a run-in with a golf ball.)

After the driver of the black double cab pictured in the background below drove his truck into the lake at Elephant Butte, New Mexico, all the crazy rigs came out to "help". In it's new civilian life, this lone-star badass above can get you, all your friends and all your food and drinks to the lake party in armored glory. Below, is your daily driver. It's what you choose when you just want to cruise low-key and possibly help win the war on zombies.

On to Colorado...

The Galloping Goose appears to ride no-more, but it's badassery is eternal.

I honestly don't remember exactly where in tarnation we happened upon The Galloping Goose, but I'm sure glad we did. Half train, a quarter bus and a quarter trailer, this dream machine makes up for confinement to the rails with pure sexy style. With over 140,00 miles of railroad operating in the US, I dream of what it would be like to take a tiny house like this on a wholly different kind of tour across the land. If these walls could talk....

Outside of the Grand Canyon we run into these guys at the gas station. The inside of the rig is set up a bit like ours, but the back third is reserved to house their "toys," two badass looking touring motorcycles. The captain, Dug Strickler, was far from his central Pennsylvania homeland with one of his homemade party busses (Party Bus Adventures, dugstrickler@gmail.com) but his mission was noble. Here, hundreds of miles from the chilly northeast, Dug was joining and aiding his comrade, Hotrod's (aka Chad Hoffman), around-the-world- motorcycle adventure. Follow him at Hotrodsridetotheotherside.com

Hotrod, himself had the peaceful aire of a buddhist monk expatriate who found more enlightenment on the open road than the stale breath of the ancient monestary. He was clear eyed and content and even though I was on my own epic, I yearn to join him, to be him... that kind of freedom come cheap but not easy and it's only for the Unruliest among us. Godspeed, comrade. And maximum respect.

Bad Trips can happen to anyone, y'all. Try not to let them happen to you.

You may remember from an earlier blog the Austrian/German couple we met at the Grand Canyon who sat at the helm of this Wicked Camper. This thing just screams "UNRULY!". You can rent minimally built-out Wicked Campers worldwide through their website www.wickedcampers.com where the quote on the mainpage, "Too weird to live, too rare to die" greets your hungering spirit.

It's not a competition, y'all, but the Top-Dog Prize of Unruly Badassery goes to these guys: The "Doggie Cowboy": Adventure Sidecar Piilot/ Gunfighter/ Actor and Chaco: The Canyon Commander- Co-Pilot (per their business card). This old-timer toured with The Grateful Dead and even did a stint as a circus performer at Wavy Gravy's circus school in California. One fateful night, he took his faithful but ailing pitbull to the the vet in Arizona and left him overnight for observation while he camped out somewhere in the Navajo Nation. That night, as he mourned under the stars, the Doggie Cowboy was adopted by another small pitbull mix that came through the shadows deep from the res. That night, an old dog died and a new dog found a mate. "You can take the dog off the res, but you caint take the res out the dog." These two were found reflectively taking in our bus on the butte atop Jerome, Arizona. We were happy to meet them (a few days after Saguaro's departure) and he was content to see The Unruly.

Above and (two) below were spotted in one of our favorite spots, Jerome, Arizona. Jerome could be home for us, suffice it to say. It's got just enough funk, weird, wild, nature, small town, tourism... maybe a little too much tourism.... but still... it feels... inspiring. It's a junk-yard ghost town filled with artists, desert rats, crazy rigs like these and real people walking the line between serving the Sedona tourist crowd and their own hedonistic desires. These homes have seemingly been retired but I believe in my soul that they could be exorcised, cleansed and made homey again in a magical, unruly world where dreams are fulfilled and nature rules the day.

This green machine looks conspicuously like it might be trying for another go at it.

Nothing random like a rainbow-colored barrage of semi-trucks to lead you to the "great" town of Weed, California. We didn't stop at Truck Village, so I don't actually know the story here, but isn't it just adorable? "Why not?" asks the Unruly Spirit. "I have no idea," answers everyone else.

Just a little white skoolie in Bend, Oregon.

I didn't actually get to talk to the captain of this rig even though he sat inside ours for a while; I was on a very important phone call with Renee, but Skeets had the honor and here's what he learned. "M" is from Oregon and he just scored this shorty from a school district nearby for $1000. He's in Bend for the evening to party and as the weather gets nicer all across the state, he'll spend the summer mountaineering and adventuring using this little gem as a home and a home-base. More power to him. Be smart, be kind and have fun comrade.

The Colombia River Gorge, especially where it runs between Portland and Hood River is a glorious destination for many adventure seekers this time of year. We've been in Hood river for two weeks and were drawn here for the wind (kite-bording), the snow (year-round skiiing/snow boarding), the water (fishing, kayaking, SUP, swimming) and the terrain (mountain biking, hiking, and the popping of farm fresh berries, veggies, herbs and meat) and the general sense of nature-related enlightenment. Top quality breweries on every corner and top quality legal and recreational marijuana puts this place over the top on the scale of summer-time desireability. It's not unusual to find rigs like the green machine above and others lined up at Waterfront Park enjoying the mellow vibe of Hood River laced with the adventure of your making. It could be heaven, but today, May 17, it's 65 degrees, and I think the cool, wet weather keeps the weaklings (like us?) out for the long haul.

If I were to spend some more time in Hood River, I'd eventually meet the captain of the Farm Food rig. I love it. It's got solar, it's low-key, it's nimble and humble, it's unique and hand-built, it's classy and sassy. It's just the kind of thing you'd be completely unsurprised to see around these parts making the Columbia River Gorge feel a little more like home.

In true artisitic/narcissistic fashion, all roads lead back to The Unruly. Our rig, our home.... the idea and embodiment of our own search for freedom and adventure. These last eight weeks have lead us through the hill country, the desert, the snow-covered mountains, the forests and the hills. We've seen the ocean, waterfalls, ancient volcanoes and have just barely tasted the wild....

And at the end of the rope is just us, one little Unruly family, amongst so many intrepid warriors paving the way to contentment. There's no one "right way" to "unruly". So many of our friends, comrades and acquaintances are building the path to the new paradigm that serve us all more wholly. More holy.

May we all seek the edges and live amongst the fringe, where ever we are, whenever we can.

McMenamins!

May 02, 2017 by Lorie Solis

I'll skip to the present and say we've made it to the holy grail, our northern most goal (this trip), Hood River, Oregon. It took us five glorious weeks to get here and we are thrilled about landing. The trip north through Oregon varied from old industrial wastelands to rolling green farmland to old growth forrest and snow-mountain studded paradise. We make it to Bend, where we were to stay for a few days and immediately were pleased with the beauty, the high vibe and of course, the beer. If the Sierra Nevada Brewery is Skeets' happy place, the Deschutes Brewery might be mine. All this marvelous water everywhere makes for some pretty sublime beer drinking.

Jack White at Edgefield leading into the secret room on our floor

We decide to find a room for the night and we step into McMenamins Old St. Francis School because it's right downtown and within budget. We had no idea what we were getting into. This is a great article about these two wackos who started the place: https://www.forbes.com/forbes/2005/0815/061.html

McMenamins Old St. Francis School is filled with historical photographs, paintings of the nuns who ran the joint, and an extensive and grossly impressive collection of gorgeous concert posters and psychedelic art. There are secret rooms in every building that hold mystical art installations and even a small hidden pub in one of them. Pubs, breweries, a movie theater and Turkish bath-style soaking room fill in the gaps here at the old school and I'm in heaven wandering the halls discovering the thoughtful nooks and crannies and drooling over the art decked walls.

The photos, of course, do no justice (because I suck at photography mostly) but they'll have to do.

May our lives be a little more... unexpected.... and filled with crazy art.

The Broom Closet. Hint: There's a full bar room hidden somewhere in this room. I die with pleasure.

Vegas and Beyond

April 27, 2017 by Lorie Solis

Was it six hours from Jerome to Vegas? I couldn’t tell you, but I can say that cruising into the Vegas Strip after a whole day driving through the “nothingness” of the desert seemed like a dream… or was it a nightmare? Strange to think that Vegas once looked just like all the desert “nothingness” that surrounds it. “This spot’s good,” I imagine someone said, and they began to build pyramids and fountains and golden lions and castles. Why not?

I’m not a gambler, but not because I’m attached to my money. I love to be released from the burden of cash just as much as the rest of these sinners; it’s losing I hate. Love to play, hate to lose, so The City of Sin appeals to me purely on a conceptual level. It’s a voyeurist’s paradise and for our two to three hours in the belly of the beast, I fluctuated rapidly from amusement to pity to slight disgust to amazement. Seems a sad place to call home meant only for those who can stomach superficiality... or else embody it, but whatever. Different strokes. It’s an American institution so here we are, doing it…. kind of (kid in tow keeps the sinning to a minimum).

We’re out of there quickly and back into the wild the next morning and I’m relieved. Though Vegas is perhaps unlike other cities, it’s unsettling how quickly "the city" ceases to make senses after connecting to the great outdoors. Highway 95 is shrouded in mystery as it runs stark along the west end of the enormous government missile test range, nuclear waste dumping zone and the ever-intriguing Area 51 and Groom Lake. There are some characters out here and my inner X File fangirl is on full alert. I want to believe, but more, I want Oregon so we blast through the desert and find ourselves eventually in another world…. the other-worldly Lake Tahoe.

Tahoe! We look cute, but this shot does not justice to the lake.

Tahoe. Wow. It’s my first time and I’m certainly impressed. It reminds me of Crater Lake, but like Disney Land. Gear clad skiers and snowboarders walk the streets fresh off the lift which begins and ends right in town while the rest of us enjoy fresh brews by the lake. The vibe is high. The winter season is sadly (for some) coming to a close but the snow gods have been merciful and the die-hards probably have a couple more weeks of bliss until Tahoe is turned over to the easier going fancy types who will undoubtedly enjoy the glory that is spring and summer on this mountainous lake. It’s hard not to be taken with the place, but it’s actually harder to find somewhere to park the rig- most campgrounds are still closed for “winter” and apparently Tahoe has buckled down on bootleggers in the last couple of years. Motel it is. We find a modest shelter, enjoy our weekly showers and sleep. When we wake, it’s snowing.

The drive out is gorgeous, the Truckee River glowing deep blue-green like nothing I’ve seen. It just looks cold. The snow is coming harder and I’m glad I’m not driving because all I can really do as we get onto the white highway and begin the journey over the Sierra Nevadas is whisper words of safety and affirmations to myself, “Nice and slow,” “We have new tires,” “We’re totally safe and this is totally normal,” “We’re not gonna die.” The kid is thankfully totally unaware of the apparent doom before us and is happily watching cartoons on the tablet while I white-knuckle it behind our intrepid captain. When we finally come out of it, he admits, “that was scary,” and I feel better for not being a total wuss. Just a Texan, I guess…

Eventually we make it out and the forest leading into the central valley is so sublime. Its quiet and ghostly and rich. I can finally taste Oregon in the distance. But first, Chico.

We stop for a few days to visit with some of Skeets’ old friends, Hans and Sarah and their two daughters Bella and Violet. They moved from the last home we visited, a more rural homestead in Cloverdale, and now enjoy a new home in a new development that is decidedly cookie-cutter and suburban for better and worse. We park on Wisteria (isn’t that the name of every suburban street in all those shows?) and immediately feel that every neighbor is peering out of their blinds, afraid. Whatever. Hans and Sarah are happy to have us and are tickled at the audacity of The Unruly. They get it.

Spending time with Hans and Sarah and the gals is comfortable… and comforting. Phoenix is in another level of heaven having two kids to play with and although I’ve only met them one other time (under very similar circumstances when we were traveling though Cali two and a half years ago) their company is easy and homey. I wish I could spend more time getting to know Sarah, though she has sometimes debilitating health issues, I find her to be strong and sharp and sweet and her goodness has shone through Bella and Violet who are forever kind and patient with Phoenix and show him the best time. I’ve seen some bratty and entitled little girls… these are not those.

We have been fed well, laundered our clothes and bedding, showered and have been shown loving company and alas, it’s time to go again…. and plus a pesky neighbor has called the sheriff on us for illegal camping (HA!).

To Sarah, Hans, Bella and Violet: thank you for everything- we owe you twice now. And to Sarah, specifically: I send you strength and love and insight. Until we meet again...

Reunited with the earthly remains of our friend, Saguaro.

The drive out of Chico and up into the central valley of California… ahhhhh….. orchards and vineyards and fruits and nuts and farm stands all up and down the bucolic 99. All I need are hot springs, waterfalls and farm stands.

May life be so pleasant for all of us.

Hank and Jerome

April 25, 2017 by Lorie Solis

From The Grand Canyon we make the broad yet easy- going trek down to the more mysterious parts of Arizona. I'm miffed to be heading south, but Flagstaff is on Skeets' shortlist for new homes for us to scout so I humor him even though I know in my heart that Arizona can’t be our new home (FU, SB 1070). However, I am intrigued... We're behind our nonexistent schedule but I've heard about Sedona… I’ve heard of the energy vortexes and I’m always open to a little magic. Plus, my old friend Hank lives in the ghost town of Jerome, a storied old mining town carved in the side of a mountain. So south we go…

Flagstaff is cool, really cool actually, but my sights are set elsewhere and within a day and some change we find ourselves descending into the sacred Verde Valley where after a gorgeous plunge downward through extraterrestrial red rock canyons and old towering pines we land our craft finally in Sedona, that other worldly oasis… unexpected… welcomed...

Like Austin, like many places I'm sure, I find myself thinking that Sedona would have been irresistible twenty years ago, back before the bougies moved in. It’s posh, for sure, but even so, the draw remains grounded. We give up on finding a place to bootleg, so we rent a motel room for the night and set out to explore the vortexes for ourselves in the morning. And no, we won’t be having our auras photographed for $45, thank you very much.

I hate to admit this, but we don’t really feel the surge of energy coming from the two vortexes we visit. Maybe it’s because Phoenix is being an ungrateful toddler today and distracting us with his incessant whining so much that we can’t feel the powerful forces rising beneath our very feet. I wanted to feel it, but this is our reality today and the hike and the view and being together on this ridiculous journey is magic enough for me. By the second vortex we are happy to find water, blessed perhaps, and spend a few hours in the sacred valley in what might be described as a supernatural euphoria. Fine. Perhaps that’s a slight exaggeration, but looking back now, a few days later, it was kind of ethereal…

Jerome is a different beast all together.

Jerome is a ghost town, enjoying a revival thanks to its legend, its quirk, and probably the well traveled route from Sedona to Prescott. But it’s more than that, thanks to people like Hank and his friend Jan, who we were lucky to spend a few days with up on the mountain side.

Hank and I used to be closer, back when our days were more carefree and all we had to do all day was swim and party and enjoy Austin. We were always hustling, but we were rich in time. Since I’ve seen him last I’ve married, had a child and been through the violent deaths of my dad and sister, whom he both knew and loved. Since he saw me last he had been diagnosed with thyroid cancer, had surgery and treatment, went broke, lost his step-dad and moved two states away. You know… life happened. I feel ashamed for not having kept up with him during that time in his life. When I moved away from Austin and was grieving I was a bad friend to many people I love, Charlotte, Sarah Megan, Hank. I could barely breath in and out under the weight of the grief…

I tell him these things and he brushes it off. His weight, too, was immense and he’s not holding a grudge. He plays us a song inspired by my dad and I die a little bit inside with the crushing pain and grace of being human, of healing, of friendships…

If you’ve never heard the music of my friend Hank Erwin, please stop reading and YouTube him. “Elizabeth” is maybe my favorite but I’ve always found his music to be straight from the gut. Not too cerebral, not too sentimental… they’re love songs, many of them, but they hurt and feel good at the same time. It’s like I wrote them myself, if I could ever write something beautiful. Anyhow, it’s comforting to be far from home and back in his company, listening to his dark and familiar voice. To spend spend these day with him and his lovely accomplice, Jan has made Jerome feel like it could be home. We are quite taken with the eccentricities and mystery and view and days go by and we can’t seem to leave.

Time stops in Jerome. Proof here at the haunted Grand Hotel.

But, of course, the time to leave arrives and it’s bitter sweet to leave such a lovely situation. We know the drive to Vegas is long and we’re not quite looking forward to it, but as soon as we’re on the road and Jerome is out of sight, we’re looking onward to whatever is next.

May we always find friends and that sweet taste of home.

Ain't It Grand?

April 17, 2017 by Lorie Solis

I text with a mentor-friend this morning. Michael is back in San Antonio on his nascent but already respectable farmstead and we "talk" briefly but candidly. His style is soft and laconic, honest, but not harsh as I can sometimes seem. I respect him, and when he says to me about his life, "I am never entirely home," it strikes the core of my longing.... and my defiance. I knew what home was as a child, but not anymore.

Earlier in the narrative I recall my seeking as a means to be humbled by nature, for her to take my breath away, but now, after a month on the road, I remember that awe is not what I seek.... not what I really need. What I need are space and silence, like only she can provide....

From afar the desert seems barren, but it is alive and well

The stretch of The Navajo Nation we traverse is as desolate and vast as any desert we've spanned, but somehow it's more-so. I am haunted by visions of the proud tribes of this land reduced to the reservations and all but fully assimilated. We pass by the Tribal Christian Reformed Church and I shudder, ghosts in ritual dance and song disappear in the dust.

Strange formations begin to appear in the desert as we head north to Page and by the time we reach the Little Colorado River, the wave-like land reminds me more of Utah than Arizona. We are taken with this dry, red ocean bed and waste no time jumping into the cold water, washing away the drive and musing on how quickly the landscaped changed around us. We are headed to The Grand Canyon, and the anticipation is somehow palpable... I can sense something massive in the distance....

Antelope Canyon has been on my bucketlist for years, and although we are within reach, other's have planned their itineraries with more care than we. Tours are required and booked through the month so on the bucketlist it will stay, waiting for our eventual return. We're a little surprised- it isn't spring break... we should be firmly in the sweet spot before the season explodes, but upon entering Grand Canyon National Park, we quickly come to understand that we are wrong. Maybe it was Desert Solitaire. Maybe it was the drive through Navajo Nation. Whatever it was, I envisioned having the canyon to ourselves. I had no idea we would be surrounded by thousands of pilgrims from all over the world coming to gawk at one of the largest canyons on Earth. Silly me.

The sight of it is hard to take in. The scale of it... it doesn't seem entirely real. I read a quote somewhere from the first European to explore the canyon for months, John Wesley Powell and it says something like, to truly know the canyon you can't just stand on the edge and look down once, at the very least you have to get down inside, so that's what we do. The next morning we take the Kaibab Trailhead (along with a hundred others) down into the canyon. We go only to Cedar Ridge, about 1.5 miles in, but the unrelenting downhill trek serves to constantly remind us that the only way out is up, up, up.......

It's exquisite. It's what we needed- a big hike through a massive crack in the sacred Earth. We are exhilarated with the size of it all and I begin to feel a closeness and camaraderie with the other pilgrims around me. Accents and languages of all kinds swirl around adding melody to the beat of my hard but steady breaths and I am honored to be here with my man and child.

Too quickly, the day is done and we are back at our campsite in the Kaibab National Forest just outside of the park already reminiscing on the trek. At camp, we are in good company with two sets of Germans, well, two Germans and one German and one Austrian. I'm happy to hear that they are enjoying America so much and I laugh with amazement and slight jealousy that the two Germans, two young male cousins ages 19 and 20 ran the whole depth of the canyon that day- down to the river and back up. It took them seven hours of fast going. I'm proud of them; they seem sweet and respectful and healthy and bright eyed. I hope Phoenix finds some adventure when he's their age. In fact, that's what his time capsule project is all about. More on that later...

For now, the kid is mostly content to be with us. He asked where Saguaro went and we talked about the chickens, ducks and fish back on our farm he helped bury. We talked about how the goats passed and how he isn't sick anymore. He seemed a little sad, but satisfied with this explanation.

May we accept the changing seasons and tides like a child.

Saguaro Espinosa. July 18, 2005- April 12, 2017

RIP Saguaro

April 12, 2017 by Lorie Solis

Saguaro Espinosa left this world today, April 12, 2017. I wasn’t his favorite person in the world, so maybe Im not the best to write this eulogy, but no one was his favorite, except for Skeets. Pit-bulls are incredibly loyal, one-man dogs and Skeets was his man.

Saguaro lived a glorious life. Over his twelve years he enjoyed a healthy and absurd mix of adventure, leisure, action, gourmet quality meats and cheeses, restful luxurry and affection from many admirers. it’s suiting that his final day on earth was mundane. We spent the whole day together walking round the town of Durango, lazily strolling, patronizing businesses and dreaming of our futures. “The magical mundane,” as Skeets said in our wedding vows. Indeed. He was tired, so then he went to sleep.

It feels emptier without him. No one is here to greet us and I reflect on our time together, understanding that he probably kept us safe more than I realize. He saved my life once, did you know that? I almost froze to death in the harsh desert of west texas the snowy winter after my dad died, but Saguaro crawled into my sleeping bag and kept me alive through the night. I might not have been his favorite, but we looked after each other ever after that.

there’s never anything to say after someone you love dies. I know that better than some. I’ll just say this: He was a great dog; a great protector, companion and friend and we’ll miss him always.

To Saguaro: Thank you, and we’ll see you in the forever happy place.

On The Edge

April 12, 2017 by Lorie Solis

The Million Dollar Highway is known as one of the most beautiful and dangerous roads in the country. Apparently you "couldn’t pay the locals a million dollars to drive the thing in the snow,” but lucky for us, it was a clear and beautiful day. Avalanche season is done but for this Caribbean/ South Texas gal the blankets of snow still covering the earth at 11,000 feet scare me enough to keep me moving on, ignoring the folks pulling over to snowshoe or cross country ski and to keep one eye always on the Cliff of Imminent Death on my passenger side.

Phoenix was passed out and Skeets was kicked back casually drinking beer so the weight of the world fell onto my broad shoulders. Ascending the mountain is always less scary than the decent. I put the bus in second gear to let the engine take some pressure off the breaks but The Unruly is heavy as hell and in my morbid mind I imagine losing control and tumbling down the side of the mountain. Surely Im not the only one who has had these thoughts on this road. Whatever. Suffice it to say that when we reach Orvis Hot Spring having gone through the surprising towns of Silver City and Ouray, I am ready for a beer, a soak, a massage and a nap.

It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but there’s definitely something inside that mysteriously high impermeable fence set basically in the middle of a cow pasture. The mountains around the scene are magnificent and as someone with considerable experience with and regard for farm animals, Im not at all offended by the smell of manure. Im more offended by the simply enormous propane tank surrounded by chain link and barbed wire that we have to park next to, but soon enough we are getting a tour of what lines beyond the mysterious wall and all perceived inconveniences melt away.

Inside the fence is the love-child of a Japanese zen-garden and a springtime mountain meadow paradise. Hot, mineral rich water flows into five different ponds ranging from 102-112 degrees and are surrounded by soft grasses, ponderosa pines, rock gardens, bulbs in bloom, herbs and blooming weeds and beautiful, freedom loving, naked mountain men and women…. mostly above the age of 60.

Phoenix, with Skeets’ tutelage, has recently taken to the phrase, “YOU’RE BUTT NAKED!” or “I’M BUTT NAKED!” so I was relieved when our three days at Orvis were behind us without one of these exclamations from Captain Obvious Jr. Day one, however, I was sure to remind him regularly that this was a quiet place so at least any shocking observations should be announced discretely. Turns out, group nudity didn’t appear to phase him one bit. I had a moment of mom patrol where I considered pedophiles doing whatever the heck they do to thoughts of Captain Obvious Jr. walking around “BUTT NAKED!” but in the end I decided that the risk to the kid’s wellbeing was low, so whatever. Get naked if you want. He and Skeets enjoyed about 50% of their time in the buff, while I, ever prideful opted for the mom-suit. Thankful, I wasn’t the only one raised with some shame, however there comes a point when if you’re the only one with a swimsuit on, you become the elephant in the room. Suddenly this lycra-poly blend in ridiculous colors doesn’t make sense pressed against your skin. This was not the case, yet. I was well within my societal rights to modesty.

The water at Orvis is some of the best we’ve had the privilege enjoy, which is to say, it’s hot and the ponds are big and well maintained. I will almost always choose a primitive hot spring over a resort, but Orvis is so remote, and mellow, it was almost a little bit of both. After dinner and when darkness falls we walk through the brisk night back to the ponds and ease our way into the hot water. This time everyone’s naked (even me!) and all though the moon is almost full (pun not intended but appropriate) we can all only see silhouettes of each other through the steam.

It’s important to be respectful and not creepy when bathing naked with strangers. This means no staring. But I find that it is normal to look discreetly and for a second, perhaps when people are entering or exiting the pond or maybe when they are floating (shamelessly) on their backs in the middle of everyone. I want to say that it isn’t sexual, but in the mountain wilderness, under the full moon in these ancient waters, it is…. sensuous. We are human animals here and we’re perfectly content in this Eden we’ve found.

I get a massage the next morning and as I lay down and begin to relax, tears begin to fill my eyes. This happens to me often at the beginning of a yoga session or before a massage. I realize that I tend to live my life on the offensive, always ready and one step ahead of whatever wants to happen next. Always anticipating and strategizing…. But in these times, when the space is safe and being held for me and time exists solely for my healing, stored trauma is released. I realize that the violent deaths of my dad and sister are still very much with me. That Im not over it, and that although Im able to function well day to day, what happened to them will always be with me… in fact, it’s what drives me to this freedom. It’s nice to let it out and after my session, the therapist seems to know somethings up. I thank her for her work and briefly explain my story and she is validated in her service. She is a trauma survival specialist and works with those in grief to help help them release and heal.

To Moni- Thank you again. The kind touch of a wise healer is never forgotten.

We make our way down to Cortez where for the next couple of days we explore Mancos State Park and Mesa Verde National Park. We are taken by the beauty of this area and can imagine ourselves here. Mancos is especially nice, a fertile little hamlet surrounded by national forest with easy access to both Cortez to the west and Durango to the east. The locals are nice and we enjoy a beautiful dinner at the local farm-to-table restaurant which also serves as a mini-market and art gallery.

Mesa Verde National Park is impressive and thought provoking. What drove the ancient Puebloans off of the mesa and into these hard but homey cliff dwellings is the mystery of the century and one of the topics of research here at the academic center. I am convinced it was wartime but I’m not a historian or archaeologist so don’t bet on my word. It just the pattern. It’s the same reason the Christians built the massive underground cities in Turkey we toured a few ago when they moved to escape the Arabs during the Byzantine Wars. Maybe it was weather related. For whatever reason, these ancient ones established themselves as cliff dwellers for a hundred years, building settlements that were only accessible by descending the cliff’s edge by hand and toe holes- an easily defendable abode, if you ask me. Not good enough though, I guess. Eventually they disappeared.

Driving down back down the mountain and out of the park I wonder if Cyborg-humanoids will travel to view the anceint settlements of today’s simple people. “What crappy materials they used! What foolish inefficient heating and cooling systems!” Earthships, y’all. Build you one….

We’re back in Durango to get our windshield fixed and then it’s off to Utah. We were headed for Moab and Arches, but turns out it’s Jeep Week up there and although I’m a huge fan, it’s desert solitaire I seek so instead we’ll turn our wheels to Grand Staircase Escalante. I love Utah and I’m ready to cross a border again.

Saguaro, our faithful pit-bull companion has an appointment to get either medication or euthanized today. He’s old as the hills and for the last four months or so he’s been having seizures every couple of weeks. He hadn’t had a single one since we embarked on The Unruly three weeks ago, but he had one two nights in a row recently and Skeets is realizing the end is near. We left home knowing this could be his last big adventure, but still, it sucks. For now, he lays in the sun contentedly while I sit in the shade and fein control.

May we always recognize and respect points of no return.

10,000 Ft. Somewhere on the Million Dollar Highway.

Heaven and Hell

April 10, 2017 by Lorie Solis

We don’t always hang out with a bunch of naked strangers, but when we do, we’re typically at a hot spring. This time it’s Orvis Hot Spring, off the Million Dollar Highway in Colorado, one of the most dangerous and beautiful roads in the country. But first, the journey…

Miller Creek Campground in Durango was glorious. It hadn’t gotten too cold and we were still jubilant from our successful escape from the mud. We spent a quiet morning at the lake and cruised into town for some wifi. We find Durango to be an extremely attractive mix of progressives, students, nature-lovers, mountain hipsters, old-time mountaineers and friendly, long-time entrepreneurs set against gorgeous vistas of mountains, rivers and pastures. It’s wetter here, better for farming than New Mexico, but I’m afraid it’s a bit too…. homogenous for me. The Ute reservations are all around and with town names like Cortez and Durango I thought I’d see a bit more diversity, but not so much. Is that a deal breaker when seeking a future home? I don’t know. Probably. I can’t usually stand for long the monotony of a group of people who are only ever around and exposed to their own kind, unphased by or unaware of the lives of others- worse, a group of people musing about the hardships of the others and how those people might help themselves. It’s bound to come up. Or maybe it won’t. Maybe we’ll move here and live in clean, white heaven. As a woman of color and one who knows herself well, there’s only so much of one thing I can take. Nevertheless, let me reiterate that the place is, in many ways, heavenly.

The bus drew the normal attention during our time at the park and eventually we were approached by a friendly, cute and sporty looking gal. She tells us that her husband and she are building a bus too, that they want to hit the road with their two children and she’d love to see the layout and pick Skeets’ brain about the solar. She tells us about their lives; they are mountain kids, avid outdoorsmen, do-it-yourselfers, resourceful and tough. She invites us out later for a playdate for the kids and disc golf- She’s nice and I’m almost taken aback by a conversation with someone other than Skeets and Phoenix. I realize that although we’ve had plenty of short, passing conversations here on the road, we haven’t yet gone beyond the surface, and here, on the brink of going a little deeper, I feel guarded and strange. I remember this feeling. It’s similar to how I felt reintegrating into society after my year in Hawaii, after living in a treehouse and communing with the spirits of nature. It’s hard to relate. But that was extreme. This is not. I remember quickly how to be a person and Im grateful for the invitation and the show of kindness and solidarity- the road can feel lonely.

This is part is just silly. We head up to the ridge above town where the college sits, where we were supposed to meet for disc golf. We were early so we cruise around taking in the charming and impressive hamlet below. We begin to pass a golf course on our right and driving, I begin musing to myself about how I hate golf. Such a gross waste of space and resources, such a symbol of privilege and backdoor deals and haughty ego. Such…. CRASH! “What the…?!” Out from the green a ball came flying straight at us smashing our passenger side windshield. Ugh! We pull over and find the ball. There are only three men close by behind the chain link fence at the closes hole. Skeets walks over, has an exchange I can’t hear, comes back and relays that the golfer says he isn’t responsible for the damage, the golf club is and “at least now we have a souvenir". I don’t know what got into me. Maybe it was the sass, maybe it was golf, maybe it was having just gotten the dang bus out of the shop and out of the mud… either way, I went on a shake down.

The owner of the club tell me that it’s actually the golfer’s responsibility and that his homeowner’s insurance will cover the damage. He drives me out in a cart to find the “gentleman” at the next hole and the old man is surly at best. “Sir,” I say, “ I’m not mad. No one got hurt. Just please do the right thing and allow our insurance companies to work it out so that we can be on our way.” He won’t even look at me. He only regards the male owner. I hate men like that- it’s so fucking pathetic. The very kind and diplomatic owner tries to reason with the proud old fool, but the fool won’t budge. He hit a shitty shot and he’s mad. Some brown little hippy girl is here in his club trying to tell him what-for and he’s refusing to help. I’m being cool, but I’m losing patience. “Sir, do the right thing. My family is in the FBI and law enforcement and I’d hate to get them involved for such a minor issue.” Haha. Now, this is true, but rest assured Cousins C and M, Aunties M and M and Uncle J that I’d never abuse my connections for such a ridiculous situation. I was just trying to buck up a little.

Anyway, the jerk wouldn’t budge so I did end up calling local law enforcement who were incredibly kind but were not impressive by my joke about going all together to go “shake him down.” The sight of the law and probably the realization that golf was never his strong suit allowed him swallow seventy years worth of pride and call his sweet old wife who took care of everything for him, we never spoke to him again, she took care of everything.

A word about attitude. I’m not exactly the sweetest person. I’m firm and salty but I’m honest and loyal and I try to live with integrity. I’m not unpredictable in my dealings. The club owner, the wife and even the small town cops who knew the man assured me that “usually he’s such a nice man. I’m not sure why he’s acting like this.” His wife, sweet as can be, even went as far as to say, “ You know how it is when you have a bad golf game, it just ruins your whole day.” No, lady, I don’t know how it is when you suck at golf and ruin other people’s property, but I can tell you that when I’m responsible for damage, I grow some ovaries and do the right thing. Whatever. I’m sure he’s an angel.

This debacle makes us late for disc golf with our new road friends, but we meet up with them and Phoenix has a much welcomed play session with their two and four year old kids while we sit on the grass, faces in the sun and talk about our journeys, about what got us all here and what we’ve found along the way.

Generously, they invite us to their home for the night and follow them up a steep and narrow road to the top of a hill with a downright heavenly view of snowy mountain in the far distance. We make dinner together, the kids play and we imbibe a little, enjoying each others company the way old friends might. It’s extremely nice to have a “break” from Phoenix, from being his sole playmates and he, Im quite certain, feels the same. He is in heaven with these two mountain kids, running inside and out, playing with new toys, working with them on “building something” I can’t quite figure out from this distance and generally being engrossed with his peers. He’s been so flexible and fun. I hope he doesn’t end up hating the road- hating nature because of our relentless pursuits to connect with her. Surely he won't.

Morning comes and our friend’s have filled our water tank, shared their food for the road and are leaving us with the warmest wishes and thanks for our visit. It is we who are more grateful if gratitude can be measured and compared. We have everything we need and more here with each other and in The Unruly, but as we’ve found, the road has challenges, and although we seek them, need them, in fact, to feel strong and alive and capable and invigorated, it’s nice to reconnect also with the people of the world. With kin- brothers and sisters who understand the Unruly spirit, the call of the wild and are there to share a story, wine and water and a safe place whenever the opportunity find us.

To Jacob, Rebekah, Elan and Koru: Thank you. And we’ll see you again down the road.

We have an appointment to have the windshield replaced in five days so we decide to head up through the mountains and seek some hot waters. And that’s what lead us over the Million Dollar Highway…

May all the most incredible lands remind us of the grace of heaven and the power of hell.

In Too Deep

April 06, 2017 by Lorie Solis

Flagstaff or Durango first? That’s the choice we had to make as we reunited with The Unruly back in ABQ. Durango it is. We head north on 550 which is a looooooooong and lonesome but beautiful stretch of highway. We cruised for hours, gaining elevation, pleased with how the bus charged up the hills unphased. (Thanks, Summit.) We watched the landscape change from tans and golds to reds and oranges. Horses and cows dotted the vast landscape of reservations and eventually, as the sun set, we found ourselves in Bloomfield, New Mexico, enjoying some chicken fried steak at a local greasy spoon and beaming to be back in our rig and back on the road. The wind was back in our sails.

We decide to make it to some BLM land just north of Navajo Lake State Park. I wish I could comment on how striking the dam and lake are, but it was extremely dark and we carefully made our way over huge hills and around sharp turns trying our best to find the alleged BLM land… the road atlas and Google maps were useless at this point. We were in the middle of nowhere and all roads off the main one looked a little too wet and muddy to attempt with our 20k pound mothership. It was getting late though and we were getting a little frustrated turning onto one road after another only to have to slowly back out and continue on waiting for a safe spot to park that wasn’t coming.

Then we found one. We pulled through a cattle gate and drove a little way in, but then…. wait… this looks bad. Just keep going, its fine. And suddenly, I feel the bus sliding underneath us. My foot is on and off the break and Im trying to steer but the bus is slowly fishtailing this way and that. Panicked, I stop. Shit. “Shit!” Phoenix repeats. Shit. Skeets gets out and scouts the road. He decides that we keep going forward and try to turn around and come out in a small loop he found in the darkness. My heart in in my throat. I already know we’re screwed but Im trying to keep it together for Phoenix- he’s asking me what’s happening, whats wrong… he knows something’s up.

It’s almost 11pm and we work our way through the thick mud around the loop, but when we try to make it up the last stretch, a small little hill, the bus begins to slide again, down and backwards and sideways. The tires are spinning in place, and we’re sunk down deep. “Fuck!” “Fuck!” repeats Phoenix, elated to be sharing in the expletives, somehow knowing we have bigger problems than his budding vocabulary. Ugh. We’re definitely screwed and Im a little ashamed to say that I was kind of losing it. I was scared and I felt like a bad mother. We were stuck in the mud just a few hours after getting the bus back from the shop. We were in the middle of nowhere with no cell service and no plan on how the hell we were getting out. Skeets assured me that we were safe. We had food, water and our bed. We were together and come morning, we would call out and get the baddest tractor or crew of trucks to pull us the hell out of there. Or maybe we’d have to wait a couple of days until the road dried. But what if it rained or snowed again. Fuck. We’re screwed. And we’re idiots.

We went to sleep defeated and Skeets and I both dreamed of the bus getting stuck in worse mud and unfathomable dilemmas. It was a cold night, but we huddled together and stayed warm and when dawn broke I opened my eyes, remembering where we were and taking a minute to hide under the blankets from the sad day ahead.

Skeets got out to look around and shortly after I got up to run the heater. “I think we can get out,” he said. “The ground.. it's frozen hard.” Oh my god. Could it be? Phoenix was still blissfully asleep, snuggled deep in the blankets so I stepped out onto the before muddy and soggy road to find that he was right! The ground was hard! “We’re gonna make it out.” But we had to go right then, else risk the sun coming up fully and thawing the whole thing back to mush. Skeets dug out the back tire that was damn near fully in cased and I put it in low gear and hit the gas. It didn’t move at first, but a little bit back and a little bit forward and in just a few seconds I was triumphantly hauling our tiny but mighty home out of the trenches and back into safe territory.

We were elated and hugged and high-fived and hugged some more. We had been saved by the cold, by the mountain itself. We needed a break and we were granted mercy. Phoenix slept through it all and didn’t wake up until we were happily landed in Durango. We spent a pleasant day wandering Main Street, taking in some beers at the Animas Brewery and musing and laughing about our good fortunes. The wind was indeed back in our sails, and we vowed to be more conservative with our back country choices.

All I need are hot springs and micro-breweries. Skeets notices that the town smells of brewing beer...

We find ourselves tonight at Miller Creek Campground about 20 miles outside of Durango on a beautifully clear lake with snowy mountains all around. It’s not too cold and we are enchanted with what we've seen of the clean, friendly and hip town of Durango. Could this be a new place for us to call home?

May our questions be answered if we allow all answers to come.

Without The Unruly

April 06, 2017 by Lorie Solis

After leaving T or C we landed for a few days just up river in the beautiful Elephant Butte State Park. This little desert oasis gave us some much appreciated wide open space, wide open water and warm glorious sunshine. The water was a frigid 55 degrees but it didn’t stop us from taking a few plunges- even Phoenix got into the spirit. Skeet was able to kite board, too, a passion of his he doesn’t get to do near enough. It was pretty special sitting on the banks of that strange hole in the ground and at night, the stars and moon shone through the skylights in the bus, reminding us that we were home.

And then off to Albuquerque.

We knew we needed a new radiator, we just didn’t know it would take so long to happen. The crew at Summit Truck Group in Albuquerque told us it would be a day or two job. Without going into the boring details of how we ended there a full week later, let it suffice to say that we were lied to, mislead, strung around and in the end presented with a price tag that was almost as much as the bus cost when we bought it. Not cool, Summit… not cool. At least the technician knew what he was doing and the sales manager knocked off a few hundos. But I’m skipping ahead again….

Somewhere in the Southwest a mobile garden grows...

For the first few days in ABQ we worked on enjoying the city while feeling the wind knocked out of our sails without our Unruly. We did the tourist thing strolling around Old Town looking at art and jewelry, but the highlight for Phoenix was definitely this frozen yogurt spot where he was able to pick his dream cup of “ice cream”. We also hit up the zoo, and although it’s beautiful to see hippos and giraffes and elephants, zoos always depress me. It’s terrible to see the animals inevitably anxious and/or depressed. I know that people find them to be sanctuaries and educational, but the more we learn the more we find that these animals are intelligent beyond our expectations. Seems to me that zoos aren’t doing much in the way of actually achieving true conservation of lands and habitats. They just seemed like undignified jails. If we can't live with these amazing creatures and share the earth, perhaps we don’t deserve to walk around eating fried ice cream and gawking at them.

shocked and delighted at his good fortunes.

At the aquarium, Phoenix was pumped to have lunch in a cafe where a full wall peered into a deep blue seascape with huge tuna, sea turtles and sharks. These poor souls looked trapped too, some barely moving their powerful fins as they circled their cage, others feverishly lapping and lapping, never reaching their destinations. It's a double standard, but I was more into the aquarium than the zoo. Life underwater is so mystical. I was hypnotized watching these graceful beings and daydreamed of the desert, once covered in water and ruled by creatures I've only imagined. How much we've destroyed....

Well, at least we ended at the botanical gardens, where no plant or tree gave us any obvious signs of distress. On the contrary, their spring blooms gave us hope and solace and we ended the day thinking about our little farm back home- about our efforts to work with nature and restore and transform and grow.

Trex reminding us to evolve or tie. Flowers and P reminding us of the cycle of life.

After three days feeling kind of trapped ourselves at The Hotel Blue we decided to rent a car and head north to Santa Fe and Taos. We love this area, especially Taos. From the pueblo style sand colored architecture to the quirked out vibe of the desert rats, it always kind of feels like home in this area. We spent a couple days in Santa Fe hiking the Atalaya Peak trail and window shopping in the luxurious “high-end money siphon” that is the historic district of downtown Santa Fe. We ate, we drank and we were merry. And we saw our first real snow of the trip.

Taos is a different animal. The mesa is so vast and exposed and west of the wildly impressive Rio Grande Gorge feels like the wild west. That is where we stayed last time we were here and this is where we stay again. We’re lucky this time to have accommodations in the Greater World Community of Earthship homes on the mesa. This is a subdivision like none other. There are no paved roads and no infrastructure- no water, no electricity. There are only about two dozen gorgeously hand crafted homes made of earth and trash strewn about the lunar landscape- snow peaked mountains in the distance. The vibe is futuristic but the artictecturhe, or biotecture as Earthship creator Mike Reynolds coined, is now. Lucious curves, colorful glass bottle walls and south facing indoor greenhouses are the signature outer signs that you may have found an Earthship, but what makes these systems beautiful and desirable are the inner workings. Earthships are self contained and fully self sufficient systems that collect sunlight and water as they occur naturally to power and feed the home. Water is used three times before it is sent to the septic system starting in the sink or shower, then filtered through the indoor gardens and finally being sent to the toilet. How’s that for efficiency? No heating or cooling is needed as geographic orientation, a system of earth cooled vents and the earthen material itself breaths and retains heat brilliantly. We entered from a cold and dry 40 degree landscape to a balmy and humid tropical garden that naturally ran somewhere in the mid to high 60’s. We were elated to see bananas fruiting, jasmine blooming, figs and papaya, lemongrass, oleander and all kinds of fragrant, healthy looking beauties with a snowy outside of no concern at all. The whole house stayed warm the nights we were there and we never really stopped marveling at the genius of the place and daydreaming of how great our next home will be… of all the practices and skills we’ll be able to implement.

South-facing greenhouse room warming the house and heart.

I can’t talk about Taos without mentioning the infamous Taos Mesa Brewing Company. The beer is good, maybe not the best I’ve ever had, but the brewery, dare I say, is my favorite. Set out on the mesa just off the main road east of the gorge the vibe is Mad Max but the clientele is more eclectic than that. Cowboys brush shoulders and exchange hearty handshakes and hugs with hipsters, mountain guides, snow bunnies, ruffians and characters of all kinds. But it feels normal, too. It certainly isn’t trying hard to be “weird” or unique, but it achieves, because this area draws a certain kind of rebel. As a Texan, I recognize in the people of Taos an independent and adventurous spirit. I see people who are friendly but who have an edge… the edge of people who live close to nature, who know her extremes and respect the ferocity of the land. Bless ‘em.

Off in what seems like a junkyard for old trailers sits a classic airstream where the most legit radio station streams across the land the funkiest and most interesting barrage of tunes you could hear anywhere. Turns out the junkyard is actually a trailer park campground in the works called El Mystico. A blatant rip-off of Marfa’s El Cosmico, perhaps, but more power to ‘em. This world needs more options that speak to souls that haven’t forgotten our sometimes unruly natures.

Every so often as the days passed in Taos and Santa Fe and ABQ we’d got a little sad thinking about our bus in the shop. We kept calling only to hear “another day or two”. Early in the trip I wrote about these generic RVs, the Shastas and the Road Warriors and I felt self-righteous about breaking the mold with the Unruly. Well, being creative certainly has a much greater risk factor and sometimes price tag than just going with the flow. We drive around in our hyper uncool rental car and see the Prowlers and Imperialists wiz past us off to some cramped campground with full hookups that we don’t even need or want and still I feel a little jealous. (We never saw an Imperialist RV. Skeets just made that up.) But DIY creativity and style and form and function and beauty and surprise is what we’re about. We can’t do it any other way. I guess that’s why the Earthships and the ruggedness of the mesa and it’s people speak to us.

Our last full day in Taos we hike down into the gorge to a natural hot spring on the Rio Grande. The water isn’t as hot as we remembered, maybe because the river is up with the snowmelt, but it still feels spiritual to be here together again. I was just barely pregnant with Phoenix last time we were here, maybe a week pregnant, and now seeing our child enjoying himself in the warm waters, naked and pleased with himself reminds me of all we’ve been through in the last five years together- the deaths, the grieving, the sicknesses and hospitals…. the farm and our homestead. I’ve been extremely lucky but I’ve also been extremely clear on how I want to spend my time, on who I am and what I want. As a wife, mother and daughter, I’ve of course made sacrifices along the way, but in the words of Sean Rowe- "I’ve never had to sell my soul just to pay the bills. I never had that kind of job and I never will.”

Later that day we find ourselves at Ojo Caliente Hot Springs Resort. Another stop on our three years prior Conception Expedition, as I’ll now call it. This serene and rustic little resort sits at the base of some golden cliffs and can look like a dream when steam rises all around you in the cold. Like me, Phoenix loves hot springs and we are glad to soak our bones in the mineral rich waters.

I don’t want to mislead. I don’t want it to seem like our life with Phoenix is always so perfect and calming and interesting; it’s not. Our Conception Expedition took us on on a similar route through the Land of Enchantment, but life before Phoenix was certainly more…. quiet. I was going to say romantic, too, but although our relationship is certainly different than it was before Phoenix joined us, the romance has…. evolved. When before we soaked in the pools at Ojo, gazing at each other silently through the mist, now we hush Phoenix almost constantly, reminding him that this is a quiet place and laughing quietly with each other at how silly he is- at how silly we are. I love Skeets for going on this journey with me and for keeping it so adventurous and fun and real so that we can grow together, strong and wise.

Back in ABQ we were elated to get the bus back, and wasted no time heading north. After the debacle that was dealing with Summit Truck Group, in the end they did the job, and it was a damn good thing. The day took us over some big climbs and the Unruly didn’t overheat once. But no new parts would get us out of the unfortunate mess we’d find ourselves in just a few hours up the road….

May our appetite for risk not be the end of this adventure….

Trying to find this badass artist from Albuquerque who decked out Riverbend Hot Springs. Tips?

Gardening on the Road

March 26, 2017 by Lorie Solis

Another day in Truth or Consequences, another soak. There's really nothing else to do and honestly, there's nothing else I really want to be doing. Hot soak, read, cook, potty training, music, walk around, read, write, feed the kid, read, write, eat, study the map, sleep under the stars, repeat. Please feel bad for me.

I've met a lot of "full-timers" throughout my years of travel. Most of them are retired old-timers, but some of them are our age, and inevitably the words of Cake cross my mind: How do you afford your rock and roll lifestyle? Most of them blog for a living, or write about art or quilting or sports or do IT work. Some of them, like us, have a rental property they live on. Some have kids and retired early from big boy/girl jobs and have hit the road to live a life of simplicity. We all have different stories, but there's always the one thing in common: the need to be free. Skeets once told me when we met that freedom means being able to do whatever you want, but the only catch is, you have to do the right thing. I don't always know what I'm doing when I take to the road, but I do know that inevitably, it will restore and enable me to return to the work of healing the land and inspiring the people to follow suit. Lest we be destroyed.

Mr. Greedy taking over Saguaro's new bed. Trying to keep The Unruly undogified is a daily battle.

On to gardening. Those of you who know me won't be surprised that my hobby has followed me on the road. It's an important practice for me to tend plants. It not only gives me a sense of purpose but it keeps me connected to magic of nature wheverever we land. We brought one little basil plant with us from our hundreds of starts from our urban farm at Renewable Republic back home and it's proven almost harder to keep this one little bugger alive than all of the thousands we have onsite back home. But we give it sun and water and we've collected a few more: a strawberry, parsley and mint- Phoenix's favorite. All of the indoor plants are doing well and it's a blessing to have them taking this journey with us. Plants are so unassuming, so seemingly casual... but they'll outlive us all.

Phoenix tending our little mobile garden.

Last January. Another hot spring on the Rio Grande. Who knows where?

Hot Water and Unofficially SXSW

March 26, 2017 by Lorie Solis

We've hit a stride these last couple of days. We could probably use a new radiator and water pump, but a few days parked in the quiet but funky town of Truth or Consequences soaking in the mineral hot springs have erased much of the stress of the road... and our former lives.

One of many "resorts" in T or C worth visiting.

We started the day at Riverbend Hot Springs, a rustic little resort right next to where we parked. There are no kids allowed in the commons so we rented a private pool for an hour and soaked our bones in the mineral rich and healing waters as we gazed out onto the desert landscape. Pretty deluxe.

Sometimes in photos it's hard to tell if it's me or Skeets. Weird.

I wonder about the thousand "secret" and secluded hot springs that must bubble up along the length of the Rio Grande. I, myself, have seen almost ten. I'll never forget that secret one in the Big Bend... doing rituals with my soon to be husband under the desert stars. It's a treat these days to travel to a source and spend good money healing ourselves in what nature provides abundantly for free. It's kind of a shame. I'm vowing right here and now to find a place to live that gives me more immediate access to this kind of healing.

The kid lives a life of luxury. It's kind of ridiculous.

Earlier in the day we were tipped off by some locals admiring the bus about a VERY unofficial SXSW showcase that evening off Austin Street at a cool junkyard fabulous venue- seemingly the only venue in town. We had walked the sleepy town of T or C that day and aside from the bookstore and Italian restaurant we saw very little in the way of entertainment, food or art in the downtown historic district. We were assured by some locals, however, that this sleepy town does sometimes come to life and lucky for us tonight was one of those nights.

Not sure what this funky little place is called but it's awesome.

I'm almost ashamed to say that the first thing that struck me not only at this venue but in the town in general was the overall lack of alcohol being sold. Back where I come from SXSW means there's gonna be a little alcohol involved. Hell, back where I'm from alcohol is involved in just about every activity one could commit to. Not here. Not in Truth or Consequences. Maybe the consequences are too stiff. Anyhow, the crowd was as lovely as expected given our interactions with the locals the last 24 hours. A fine mix of hippy desert types, old timers and weirdos, some coming out of their caves for a rare and exceptional show in town, enjoying catching up with their neighbors and taking in the faint smell of herb in the air.

A terrible shot of the amazing Moody Little Sister.

Forgive me for not remembering the name of the opening act and skipping ahead to the headliner. If you have never heard of Moody Little Sister, stop reading now and find a video or mp3 now. Seriously. This blog is trash compared to the incredibly moving art this duet is putting out. It's kind of silly that we were actually in Austin the last weekend of SXSW and didn't see a single show but were able to catch something so magical from one of the artists out here in T or C. We needed a good night of good people and good music. The crowd was so attentive, so receptive and so grateful to this little band sharing their brand of art- unruly art, even. And the band definitely won hearts by announcing that they would be permanently relocating to T or C this fall.

The gorgeous Rain Lily Farm where we stayed a few days during SXSW in Austin.

The Unruly, of course, was a hit tonight. All the cool kids, young and old, were out in full force and had max appreciation for such a custom machine. The band even mentioned us on stage, musing about how they too had had a bus conversion they loved but had to sell to make the current album. We drove back to our spot on the river high on the positive vibe of the locals and the depth of music and fell asleep safe and sound in our little home.

May home be where we park it.

Upriver on the Rio Grande

March 26, 2017 by Lorie Solis

The winds proved too much for us and at 4am we decided it was enough. The bus was getting throttled and we couldn’t sleep anyway so Skeets got behind the wheel and drove us the heck out of there.

I woke up in Alamogordo. The air was cool, the wind all but nonexistent and everyone was in good spirits, including the bus who made it up some steep terrain while I slept without overheating. Maybe this is why so many skoolies stick to cooler climates.

After some breakfast at a local diner we took the short drive to White Sands National Monument. What fascinating land! Here, where what used to be a salty sea, lays acres of pure white sand dunes, the remnants of water dissolved gypsum rubbing forever against itself until it becomes this beautiful fine sand.

We set up shop for a couple of hours while Phoenix played contentedly in the sand and we mused about the other adventure vehicles coming and going.

There are always plenty of standard RVs with names like Shasta, Road Warrior or Emancipator. But then there are the old mini-winnies and the German Fiat van and every now and then we run across a Unimog. Impressive buggers. My favorite people behind the wheels of the these rigs are inevitably friendly old-timers who are retired and roadies mostly full time. These wise old outdoorsy types are no strangers to adventure and the trials and rewards along the way. They used to mountaineer or they did the Appalachian Trail fifty years ago or they lived in an old school bus a million years ago. Anyway, their kids are grown with kids of their own so they’re usually happy to see a young family in a cool rig out on the open road. I can see myself in them already. I hope I’m that cool in forty years.

We find ourselves this evening in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. I wish the story of how this town went from Hot Springs, NM to T or C was more gripping, but for someone who values and exudes sometimes brutal honesty, it seems like a fitting place to call home for a few days. Besides, natural hot springs are my favorite things on earth. We find a perfect parking spot in town right next to the beautiful Rio Grande and a block away on either side from a playground and a rustic resort where we plan to soak tomorrow.

It’s amazing to have seen so much of this river from the headwaters near Toas, all through the Big Bend and eventually down to the Gulf. Creosote cactus is still sparsely present telling us that we are still at home in our beloved Chihuahuan Desert. It’s still the place we met, the place we married. And although a thousand miles downstream, it’s still the river that will take my dad’s and sister’s ashes out to sea.

Last winter in the Big Bend near Solis campsite.

May the strength of the river be within us always.

The Journey Unfolds

March 25, 2017 by Lorie Solis

Turns our Satan’s happy trail is an impossibly evil, dusty and denigrated road called Highway 652 which shoots west from the unholy orifice of Orla, Texas almost to the New Mexico state line. Some of you pretty West Coasters won’t be surprised that all roads leading to Satan’s nether regions collide in West Texas and honestly, I’m not either. Im a born and bred Texan, and dang proud of it, y’all, but seriously, even this cosmic hippy cowgirl found herself unnerved at the godlessness of it all. But I’m skipping ahead.

We woke up happy at Balmorhea. The weather was perfect and we congratulated ourselves for our awesomeness. The Unruly drew more attention than I expected. I thought maybe people would side-eye us and go about their business, but several groups of families and old timers waved, cheers and stopped by our site to talk about the rig, ask about the solar, take a peek inside and congratulate us. We were feeling pretty good.

It was time to swim. The pool was uncrowded. It was heavy winds and most folks were wandering around the edges of the pool keeping in the sun while a few brave kids splashed with masks and mouthpieces giddy at the sight of the Comanche Pupfish which can only be found at these glorious waters. I took a quick jump off the small diving board and hauled butt to stay warm over to where Phoenix was riding Skeets like a dolphin as he swam through the cool water. When we had our fill, which wasn’t long in the windy morning, we headed back to the bus and organized to leave. Our goal for the day was Carlsbad Caverns National Park, across the New Mexico border. After the long haul that was yesterday’s 300 miles, today’s 120 seemed like cake.

Comanche Pupfish, taken with our underwater Fujifilm camera.

Oh, cake. You cruel, cruel temptress…

The drive to Pecos was uneventful. Skeets commented several times on the Mad Max aesthetic of the place, but a dusty and worn down town in West Texas is no stranger to us. Thank Gaia for La Tienda grocery store. Of course it wasn’t on Google Maps, which only led us to Wal-mart in our attempts to find produce, but unlike the sad latter, La Tienda got us stocked up with noplates, tortillas, meats, cheese, beer… all the staples…. so we happily headed north.

Forgive the crudeness, but on second thought, I think Highway 285 is actually Satan’s happy trail and Highway 652 is more like his taint. I’ll leave it up to you to decide what that makes Orla.

When you're going through Hell, just keep going.

For the 80 or so miles that stretched these gnarly roads we were blasted from all sides by extreme winds, crazy dust storms, aggressive oil field truckers and were rattled to the bone by the damaged asphalt beneath us. This is no man’s land, except it’s full of man-camps- oil field camps who’s inhabitants have stripped the land of all the native species that keep the dust at bay and work tirelessly to give us the oil that feeds our collective addiction. On this unforgiving and inhospitable stretch of highways the bus began to overheat. Skeets pulled over twice… or was it three times? Our awesomeness was waning. He got out his tool kit and went to work running some water line to some heater line and ratcheting this and that until he was satisfied we could make it out of Hades. God bless him. The bus and we were covered with a thin layer of sandy silt by the time we gratefully rolled into the welcoming but still windy gates of Carlsbad Caverns National Park. I was so looking forward to finding a safe spot to park the bus and kick back, drink a beer and laugh about the day’s wild ride. The wind was crazy fierce as we made our way up to the visitor’s center atop the peak of the park. Overheated again. This could be bad.

Another unexpected turn of events when the ranger at the visitor’s center tells us that there’s actually no camping at this park, but we can turn back another 20 miles and find some free BLM camping. (BLM is public land held by the Bureau of Land Management- bless them. Free camping!!) Hell. Ok. The bus does well down the long and winding hill and we find our way to where we sit now- a back road in the middle of nowhere in the desert somewhere between Carlsbad town and Carlsbad park. There’s a VW camper about 1000 feet away taking advantage of the free spot like us, so although the wind is the worst I’ve experienced, rocking the bus like a ship in rough waters, I can see them, I can see the highway in the distance and I feel safe in our small but mighty rig. We’re together and we’re celebrating crossing the Texas state line in one piece.

Our dusty, windy BLM site outside of Carlsbad, NM.

May these winds take our troubles away.

Leaving

March 23, 2017 by Lorie Solis

This time it was my mom and friends, some old and some new. They took photos of us as we loaded up and drove off on our maiden voyage, but i should have taken a shot of them looking back at us as the door folded shut. The image stayed with me all day because it accompanied a feeling I know intimately: the sweetness and pain of leaving.

Skeets and Phoenix about to take the plunge.

Not everyone is always compelled to be leaving, and even less actually follow through with the act. It certainly requires an amount of privilege and opportunity to travel and explore but it also demands humility, flexibility and humor. It is not these qualities that many people lack, but the willingness to leave the comfortable, no matter how unsatisfactory, and face the unknown. Travel and deep communion with nature have made me this woman- someone unwilling to stay, because nothing in nature stays. Everything is always changing, becoming, moving… leaving one state for another. And so I have learned that I am most content in search of the next experience that will take my breath away. And so again, although it hurts, I leave my mom, my friends and my beautiful farm to reconnect, grow and change. I need to meditate on my future, on how I want my son to grow, on what I want for my relationship and on where I might like to start a new project. And the best place to find answers has always been in the silence of my mind made possible by the impossible beauty and magnitude of the great outdoors.

Our home for the night is Balmorhea State Park, home to a beautiful manmade pool filled by the cleansing waters of the San Solomon Spring, “The Oasis of West Texas”. The spring flows prolifically; a lake was created in town to hold the overflow. Mescalero Apaches held the spring sacred but eventually the colonizers came and did what they do and for a century after the water was used to irrigate crops and cattle. These days the sleepy town of Balmorhea is on the brink of a new frontier- fracking. A few months ago we visited this area to participate in the opening of a protest camp to inform the public about the dangers of fracking on the local land as well as the very real threat of damaging if not drying up the spring. I hate to think that disaster for the spring and it’s stewards is inevitable, but we’ve all seen the greed, the fear, the complacency. I’m convinced that if more folks inconvenienced the rhythm of their lives to visit more often and more deeply the sacred, life enabling places that surround our cities, more us would be willing to fight for their preservation and to curb our consumption to conserve them.

A couple of months ago we came through West Texas in this cargo van. Luxury.

The water of San Solomon Spring is clean, cold and pure and there’s nothing like it for hundreds of miles. Think Barton Springs Pool in Austin but in the middle of the desert, a tiny fraction of the people (no beautiful hipsters, just beautiful old timers) with a backdrop of the Davis Mountains. We’re here just after spring break this time but two times ago it was summer and the crowd was still manageable. Two times ago Phoenix was just learning to walk out here…

Tomorrow we swim. It’s always a baptism for me to submerge in pristine waters…a leaving. I’ll leave my former self on the bank and emerge reborn. Tonight, it's baptism by the light of billions and billions of stars.

May we recognize the opportunities in our daily rebirth.

March 23, 2017