Yes, we are still alive, despite our social media presence. As it turns out, it's difficult to live adventurously and write about living adventurously at the same time.
To say there is a learning curve to mobile living is an understatement. It's not quite as intuitive as I expected. In fact, I was confident my years of road-tripping, backpacking, and outdoor exploration (along with some genetics I never asked for) had trained me to be prepared for any eventuality. And I'm slightly ashamed to admit that we are prepared for the following:
-A blizzard of Biblical proportions.
-An impromptu spear-fishing excursion.
-A casual road-side suture, IV, and/or intubation.
-A camping trip with up to 10 members of our extended families.
-A siege of up to one month.
As you can imagine, the amount of stuff we have is impressive. And burdensome. The one thing I didn't prepare for is the consequence of being prepared for everything.
We've discovered that life on the road requires even more simplicity than we expected. We have to give up some opportunities (like backpacking, or climbing, for example). We have to give up some possessions--even more than we originally thought. But when you try to have it all... you end up with nothing.
Our first month was a series of trials and errors. We had way too much stuff, and the effort it took to move locations was comparable to moving a small studio apartment. Every weekend. With work during the weekdays, and moving consuming most of the weekends, we didn't actually have any time. I'm willing to sacrifice many things for this lifestyle, but time is not one of them.
In addition to this learning curve, we were afflicted with improbable events. Our vehicle broke down and needed almost $1000 in repairs--while we were away from our trailer home. I had an unexpected medical situation. While boondocking in the La Sal mountains of Utah, a windstorm destroyed our solar panel and kitchen tent. On a bumpy road we broke the TV I use for work (and obviously entertainment--just cuz we're off the grid doesn't mean we don't binge watch Netflix). Our first month of saving money turned into a month of spending money until we were both broke, demoralized, and ready to call it off.
For whatever reason, we went double or nothing. We decided to make some changes, especially with the amount of stuff we're carrying the frequency at which we're moving. After weeks in the western slope of Colorado and Utah, we hobbled our way west to northern California to stay with my friend, Rick. We've been parked in Rick's backyard for two weeks now in the charming town of Gold Run, which an interstate sign claims exists somewhere back here in the woods (I think the census must have counted his dog Rocky too, because 124 is wayyyyyyy too generous). We are thrilled to have space to spread out, recuperate, plan for the next few months, and most importantly, pee in a flushing toilet. We're also fortunate to have the company of Rick, who is about as generous and thoughtful as humans come these days.
We're planning to stay here in Gold Run until mid-November, when we'll begin the drive down to the southernmost point of Baja Mexico for a Thanksgiving celebration with friends. When we get back into the country (pending election results, of course) we are planning to head straight to Houston, Texas where I'll be interviewing for medical school. After that, we'll hit the road again for a cross-country tour of the southern states and east coast before returning to the midwest and finally Utah. Of course, we'll be stopping along the way to celebrate Christmas with our mothers, because even the most wandering nomads need Christmas dinner with mom.
I've been thinking a lot about the components of a really good life. For so long, I've believed that good living comes from spending your days doing really good things. And so I've filled my life with enviable activities, like traveling to foreign countries and learning new outdoor sports. I keep doing and doing more. But in the last few months, I've realized that my desire to do often overpowers my need to be. The greatest moments of living on the road haven't been the most exciting or adventurous--they've been the simplest. They are the times when doing is only a means to being. These words may sound empty--like ornate frames without paintings--until you experience them. I hope you do.
And now, a parting blessing: May friendship be your best insurance in difficult times. May you simplify the complexities in your life. May you be loved by many dogs. And finally, may you live adventurously!... and meaningfully.
See you on the road.
Ben
Friday, October 21, 2016
Thursday, August 18, 2016
Space, Harry Potter, and Butter
The most obvious challenge to tiny home living is the physical space. A lifetime of living habits and possessions must suddenly be condensed into a 6x8 foot box. What can't shrink gets left behind. The things which make the cut generally have one thing in common: they can serve multiple purposes. This process of evaluation has happened over and over again in the past few days.
"What about this table?"
"Well, we could use it for cooking when we're standing behind the trailer, and we could also use it as a sitting desk inside the trailer." The table made it.
The trailer itself serves two purposes: a living space and and a cargo bay for a dirt bike. These two requirements ruled out almost every other trailer we considered: pop-ups can't haul bikes, cargo trailers don't have windows, etc. What we ended up purchasing is a 40-something year old Kampmaster camper. If you haven't heard of Kampmaster, you're not alone--apparently it's a local fabricator that made these types of campers for a few years several decades ago. It hails from Woodinville, Washington, not far from Seattle, and we are thankful that a small company many years ago predicted the needs of future millenials almost perfectly.
Along with our desire for multi-purpose objects, we are also seeking efficiency. We'll need to conserve many basic commodities: water, electric power, and even the weight we're carrying. I've never cared so much about the wattage of an LED bulb or the efficiency of a power inverter until now.
Overall, our needs are different from a typical RVer, camper, or even off-the-grid nomad. Unlike RVers, we don't require certain comforts: air conditioning and plumbing, for example. Unlike campers, we do require a relatively large amount of electricity. Since we're working remotely, we need the ability to power two laptops, a wireless router, a second monitor/TV, and our phones and gadgets. These unique circumstances means that we'll be experiencing an odd mix of habits--our work lives will be modern and well-connected, and our personal lives will be rustic. The powerhouse of the trailer is a solar setup (which cost more than the trailer itself) including a 100 watt panel, 400 watt solar generator (with built-in 33aH battery, inverter, USB output, charge controller, multimeter, etc) and a second deep cycle battery that will be chained to the solar generator. On sunny days, we might almost break even with our power consumption, but on many days we'll be running on a power deficit. We have a small gas generator to give us a little boost when we're low on power.
Other than our high-tech electronics, our belongings are standard camp essentials: a Coleman two-burner propane stove, an assortment of jerry-cans for water, a screen-house, and some comfy camp chairs.
Besides our scrutinous evaluation of equipment, we've been steadfast in projects to renovate and improve our little trailer home. In just a couple weeks, our hunk-of-junk has transformed into a cozy camping den. We've painted the interior, installed a pantry cabinet, installed a ceiling track light fixture and hung a low-watt LED string, and improved the environment by adding new curtains, a rug, and rear blinds. We've made the trailer road-ready with new wheels, tires, and hubs.
The more time I spend in the trailer, the more the space seems to expand. Sometimes when I step outside and look at the trailer exterior, I can't believe how small it looks--almost as if I was just inside a magical Weasley-esque tent that has been put under a spell to make it larger on the inside than the outside. This type of adaptation is just like any other human adaptation--first our expectations are violated, then we learn to accept a new idea or environment, our sense of what is normal changes, and our sense of satisfaction changes with it. I'm looking forward to many more expectations changing: how I spend my money, treat other humans and expect to be treated, how I spend my time, what food I put into my body.
In a time when society, especially in America, feels tenuous and on the verge of a crisis, I've never been so desperate to free myself from its norms and expectations. Clara and I both need this--it's no longer negotiable. Our space is small, but our hearts are bursting with anticipation.
I'd like to end with a quote from the film Room. After living his entire 5-year-old life as a prisoner in a backyard shed, little Jack experiences the rest of the world for the first time:
"There's so much of 'place' in the world. There's less time because the time has to be spread extra thin over all the places, like butter. So all the persons say 'Hurry up! Let's get going! Pick up the pace! Finish up now!'"
Like Jack, I agree there is so much "place" in the world, and time never seems like it's enough to cover it. So we're shrinking it down; ironically, so that we may throw open the doors to wider and better spaces--spaces which are not our own but are communal with all living things. In these spaces, there is enough time.
"What about this table?"
"Well, we could use it for cooking when we're standing behind the trailer, and we could also use it as a sitting desk inside the trailer." The table made it.
The trailer itself serves two purposes: a living space and and a cargo bay for a dirt bike. These two requirements ruled out almost every other trailer we considered: pop-ups can't haul bikes, cargo trailers don't have windows, etc. What we ended up purchasing is a 40-something year old Kampmaster camper. If you haven't heard of Kampmaster, you're not alone--apparently it's a local fabricator that made these types of campers for a few years several decades ago. It hails from Woodinville, Washington, not far from Seattle, and we are thankful that a small company many years ago predicted the needs of future millenials almost perfectly.
Along with our desire for multi-purpose objects, we are also seeking efficiency. We'll need to conserve many basic commodities: water, electric power, and even the weight we're carrying. I've never cared so much about the wattage of an LED bulb or the efficiency of a power inverter until now.
Overall, our needs are different from a typical RVer, camper, or even off-the-grid nomad. Unlike RVers, we don't require certain comforts: air conditioning and plumbing, for example. Unlike campers, we do require a relatively large amount of electricity. Since we're working remotely, we need the ability to power two laptops, a wireless router, a second monitor/TV, and our phones and gadgets. These unique circumstances means that we'll be experiencing an odd mix of habits--our work lives will be modern and well-connected, and our personal lives will be rustic. The powerhouse of the trailer is a solar setup (which cost more than the trailer itself) including a 100 watt panel, 400 watt solar generator (with built-in 33aH battery, inverter, USB output, charge controller, multimeter, etc) and a second deep cycle battery that will be chained to the solar generator. On sunny days, we might almost break even with our power consumption, but on many days we'll be running on a power deficit. We have a small gas generator to give us a little boost when we're low on power.
Other than our high-tech electronics, our belongings are standard camp essentials: a Coleman two-burner propane stove, an assortment of jerry-cans for water, a screen-house, and some comfy camp chairs.
Besides our scrutinous evaluation of equipment, we've been steadfast in projects to renovate and improve our little trailer home. In just a couple weeks, our hunk-of-junk has transformed into a cozy camping den. We've painted the interior, installed a pantry cabinet, installed a ceiling track light fixture and hung a low-watt LED string, and improved the environment by adding new curtains, a rug, and rear blinds. We've made the trailer road-ready with new wheels, tires, and hubs.
The more time I spend in the trailer, the more the space seems to expand. Sometimes when I step outside and look at the trailer exterior, I can't believe how small it looks--almost as if I was just inside a magical Weasley-esque tent that has been put under a spell to make it larger on the inside than the outside. This type of adaptation is just like any other human adaptation--first our expectations are violated, then we learn to accept a new idea or environment, our sense of what is normal changes, and our sense of satisfaction changes with it. I'm looking forward to many more expectations changing: how I spend my money, treat other humans and expect to be treated, how I spend my time, what food I put into my body.
In a time when society, especially in America, feels tenuous and on the verge of a crisis, I've never been so desperate to free myself from its norms and expectations. Clara and I both need this--it's no longer negotiable. Our space is small, but our hearts are bursting with anticipation.
I'd like to end with a quote from the film Room. After living his entire 5-year-old life as a prisoner in a backyard shed, little Jack experiences the rest of the world for the first time:
"There's so much of 'place' in the world. There's less time because the time has to be spread extra thin over all the places, like butter. So all the persons say 'Hurry up! Let's get going! Pick up the pace! Finish up now!'"
Like Jack, I agree there is so much "place" in the world, and time never seems like it's enough to cover it. So we're shrinking it down; ironically, so that we may throw open the doors to wider and better spaces--spaces which are not our own but are communal with all living things. In these spaces, there is enough time.
Tuesday, August 9, 2016
Introduction: Project Office Space
We're Ben and Clara, and we're searching for a bigger office. We suffer from a very human longing for wide open spaces and views that can't be captured in photographs. We like seeing things we've never seen before, and we like doing it every day.
Our problem, like your problem, is that we have jobs, and these jobs require us to save our adventures for the weekends and keep them within a 100 mile radius of our home. Our solution (unlike yours) is that we are both employed remotely, which gives us the unique ability to live and contribute economically to society from a mobile office.
This brings us to Project Office Space, a unique adventure that's not quite off-the-grid and not quite on-the-grid. We'll experience conference calls and bucket showers. We'll be masters of Microsoft Excel and national forest service logging roads. In the morning, we'll make breakfast on our green Coleman propane stove, then punch the clock and put in our 8 hours. When the day is over, we'll be exactly where we want to be--which is... I suppose wherever we want to be on that given day. We are seeking to prove that a life filled with adventure doesn't need to be a double-life.
How are we doing it? Let's start with the gear. We'll be driving a V8 Chevy Trailblazer with a 6x8 vintage camper in tow. The camper will be our mobile office and bedroom, and the Trailblazer will house all our adventuring supplies, clothes, and food. On the road, the camper will also serve as a hauler for a dirt bike, which we can use for utility and pleasure. When we arrive at wherever we want to be, we'll pitch a canopy tent to spread out and cook some good food. Our office will be equipped with a Verizon 4G LTE Jetpack, which will allow us to connect our computers and phones to high-speed internet wherever we have Verizon data service. The mobile office will be powered jointly by a 100 watt solar panel and a 1200 watt generator, both supplying power to a Goal Zero battery. Finally, our most important possession is our floppy lab pup, Fitzroy, who has no idea how many sticks he's about to have access to.
Our current housing lease ends on August 31 (we just paid our final rent!) which means we only have three short weeks to make our plan a reality. We just picked up the camper a week ago, and while it's a sweet little rig, it needs about a dozen small projects, both mechanical and aesthetic, before it's adventure-ready. We've started our blog already so that we can document the trailer renovation and tasks leading up to our launch day.
If you're interested in off-the-grid living, tiny homes, or travel journals, we invite you to follow this blog and our Instagram @projectofficespace (content coming soon!). Words are probably from Ben, and sweet photos most likely from Clara. If you follow our media content, you'll hear more about our motivations for living simply, the values that drive us, and the practical challenges and joys of life on the road. We'd love to start a conversation about our trip and the larger societal issues that surround our lives, work, and travel. Leave us a comment or--better yet--come kick it with us and enjoy the good life.
Our problem, like your problem, is that we have jobs, and these jobs require us to save our adventures for the weekends and keep them within a 100 mile radius of our home. Our solution (unlike yours) is that we are both employed remotely, which gives us the unique ability to live and contribute economically to society from a mobile office.
This brings us to Project Office Space, a unique adventure that's not quite off-the-grid and not quite on-the-grid. We'll experience conference calls and bucket showers. We'll be masters of Microsoft Excel and national forest service logging roads. In the morning, we'll make breakfast on our green Coleman propane stove, then punch the clock and put in our 8 hours. When the day is over, we'll be exactly where we want to be--which is... I suppose wherever we want to be on that given day. We are seeking to prove that a life filled with adventure doesn't need to be a double-life.
How are we doing it? Let's start with the gear. We'll be driving a V8 Chevy Trailblazer with a 6x8 vintage camper in tow. The camper will be our mobile office and bedroom, and the Trailblazer will house all our adventuring supplies, clothes, and food. On the road, the camper will also serve as a hauler for a dirt bike, which we can use for utility and pleasure. When we arrive at wherever we want to be, we'll pitch a canopy tent to spread out and cook some good food. Our office will be equipped with a Verizon 4G LTE Jetpack, which will allow us to connect our computers and phones to high-speed internet wherever we have Verizon data service. The mobile office will be powered jointly by a 100 watt solar panel and a 1200 watt generator, both supplying power to a Goal Zero battery. Finally, our most important possession is our floppy lab pup, Fitzroy, who has no idea how many sticks he's about to have access to.
Our current housing lease ends on August 31 (we just paid our final rent!) which means we only have three short weeks to make our plan a reality. We just picked up the camper a week ago, and while it's a sweet little rig, it needs about a dozen small projects, both mechanical and aesthetic, before it's adventure-ready. We've started our blog already so that we can document the trailer renovation and tasks leading up to our launch day.
If you're interested in off-the-grid living, tiny homes, or travel journals, we invite you to follow this blog and our Instagram @projectofficespace (content coming soon!). Words are probably from Ben, and sweet photos most likely from Clara. If you follow our media content, you'll hear more about our motivations for living simply, the values that drive us, and the practical challenges and joys of life on the road. We'd love to start a conversation about our trip and the larger societal issues that surround our lives, work, and travel. Leave us a comment or--better yet--come kick it with us and enjoy the good life.
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