The first 7000.


In the books.


7000 miles, 7000 lessons, or so it seems.


Lesson #1... Don't EVER leave the cat again!!
(Other than the weeks of Burning Man and Fest because pets aren't allowed and it's a dangerous environment for The Dude especially)


I'm almost glad to be back here at my house having gained some insight into what it will take to live out on the road. As with most things I venture into, I tried to read and prepare as much as possible, but again as with most things I struggled with some MAJOR growing pains on the maiden voyage / shakedown cruise. My timetable was way too short and things got a little too out of control but all in all, what a great first trip it was!


It will be nice to be able to pull everything out and start over putting things away now that I've spent a couple of months in the space and have an inkling of an idea how things should work, what I need all the time vs. what I need once a week, once a year to things I just shouldn't have brought. For example, although my welder came in handy at Burning Man to help fix a trailer hitch (I'm assuming my shitty weld didn't hold because I never heard either way from the trailer owner), it was a big bulky thing that was in the way almost the entire time. I finally threw out the bamboo poles that held the generator exhaust deflection tarp at Fest right before I left California... After a month of their totally being in the way all the time. Can't do stuff like that in such a small space.


One of the biggest lessons was water... Or more specifically, coffee. Knowing what I know about the Vogue, I don't drink or even cook with what comes out of the taps, triple filtered or not (And I WAY over-sterilized the tanks). Because coffee for me is a social experience I ended up making a shit ton and it severely impacted the potable water supply at Burning Man. I think I'm going to have to make specific 'coffee hours' at Fest and the burn because there were times I had too much fun with the flow of people as I brewed them cups and before I knew it half a day would fly by and the water supply would be 2 gallons lighter.


Perhaps the greatest lesson I have learned as far as the Vogue herself goes was imparted to me by the last mechanic who worked on her in California, the one that identified and changed the fuel filter that nobody else could find. “Don't over-think this project.” Truer words have never been spoken. So far, everything that has been wrong, has needed the simplest possible fix (removal of the water bottle from the poop tank, changing the fuel filter, etc.) but the route chosen to get there has consistently been the most expensive and biggest possible project. This needs to stop. K.I.S.S.


To plan or not to plan.
I choose to NOT PLAN!
I recently read on a Burning Man discussion something to the effect of, “The less you plan, the less you are setting yourself up for disappointment when you don't do them.” Along that line, I had one actual plan going into the ride back here and that was deep fried French Toast and home made Corned Beef Hash at a diner in Kansas City I saw on tv at my sisters house in California. Got to KC and the place had gone out of business. Stupid television. Stupid planning stuff.
A short series of comments on facebook later, however, led to 3 amazing days in Chicago with some super cool people I met when we camped together at Burning Man. That was a fantastic unplanned. Speaking of Fantastic, Let's talk Moab. The only reason any of that happened was because a guy standing in front of an information sign overlooking the, “Scenic View” smoking a cigarette and nursing a bad tooth noticed my Pennsylvania license plate or Phillies cap and struck up a conversation. Thank you kind sir! It was truly unreal... And by that I mean the most real thing I saw the entire time. Peeling another layer off that onion, I was only on Highway 50 because a Burner I met at Fest told me it was the most beautiful road in America. Same with taking the road I tookout of Moab back to the highway, it was a backtracking pain in the butt and I lost my daylight because I hiked the heck out of Dead Horse Point but the pilot dude I met in the RV park with the toy hauler he'd just gotten was pretty adamant about that being the way to get back to the highway after riding it on his Harley. He was right of course. My neck hurt like heck from craning it to see out the windshield and up the rock cliffs to my left and right and in front of me and behind me and holy moley donut shop!
So again, no plan is my plan. The best things happen when I just fly by the seat of my pants.


Don't waste daylight.
Mornings are worth getting up before the sun.


I never thought there would come a day I'd be more comfortable driving a 35' bus than I am driving my Jeep but that happened this week too. It feels quite strange sitting in the Jeep and it's incredibly weird how it feels like I'm sitting on the road.




So ultimately, what did I really learn on my first trip around the country in an RV? I learned that all those years I thought living in an RV would be the coolest thing ever... I was right.
Now that I had a small taste of it, I can see the goal clearly in front of me, so working towards it has become much more of a necessity rather than the esoteric concept it used to be. If I play my cards right, I'm pretty sure I've laid the groundwork necessary to be a full-time Rver. I just need to stay focused on the goal and make sure my income generators are ready to go so I can go. I need to look more into the workcamping scene and set up some places for next year. I know, that goes against the making no plans concept but, as with any lifestyle, there are job and financial considerations and constraints. But when those constraints can come in the form of hosting tours of a remote lighthouse on the Oregon coast for a month, SIGN ME UP PLEASE!!!