RVing – Monkeywrench Your Life!

Distance

What I didn’t expect is how clearly some things would come into focus once I wasn’t inside them every day. How much more I appreciate them. And how little of me is still only American.

I spent twenty-seven months in the Philippines — October 2023 to January 2026. In that time I met, dated, and married Inday. We bought the farm in Dueñas. We developed infrastructure. We built a house for her parents. We lived life.

Then I got on a plane and flew into South Dakota in the middle of January.

That was a shock to the system. Straight from the tropics to a South Dakota winter. I established residency, got my driver’s license, picked up the used F-150 I’d arranged to buy from the Philippines, picked up the Winnebago Thrive 18FBS I live in, and headed south to Texas to get out of the cold.

I spent three months at Big Bend National Park as a Volunteer Backcountry Patrol. I left at the end of April. Had the front cap on the trailer replaced under warranty. Spent a couple of months slowly making my way east to Shenandoah National Park, where I’ve been working as a camp host. I’ll finish here at the end of September, then I have to make my way west to Las Vegas, find a place to store the truck and trailer, and head back to Dueñas for November through March.

That’s the timeline. That’s the frame, not the point.

The point is what distance does.

Inday is at the farm — running things, building our house. I’m back on the itinerant nomad life in the States, volunteering in exchange for a place to park and utilities. We keep the relationship going on video chat and wait for November. While I’m here I’ve also been setting up a trust for my daughter Anju in Connecticut, and gathering the documentation to submit I-130 petitions for Inday and Edrian. Practical life, split across an ocean.

What I didn’t expect is how clearly some things would come into focus once I wasn’t inside them every day. How much more I appreciate them. And how little of me is still only American.

Morning on the farm looks like this: the tubigan — literally “water place,” our riceland — is cultivated with a carabao. Inday gets up, goes outside, and builds a small fire to boil water for coffee. While the water is heating she squats with her phone, and we video chat over the farm-wide mesh network that connects to the Starlink mounted next to the water tower.

Carabao and satellite. Firewood and mesh Wi-Fi. We straddle worlds on the farm. We straddle worlds between the farm and the US.

In the United States, every location has an address. Our off-grid property in Arizona has a 911 address. I had to go into town and show the guys in the county clerk’s office where on their satellite image of my plot the entrance was, so they could register it exactly.

The farm in Dueñas has no address. The address on government paperwork is just the name of the closest named road. If somebody is coming to see us, we tell them to go to the Sawe Barangay Hall, and ask anybody you see where the Kano lives.

I walked into a Walmart not long after I got back. The greeter called out, “Hey Buddy!”

I flinched inside.

I’d grown used to Filipino politeness. Walk into a store with my wife and the guard smiles and says, “Good morning Sir! Good morning Ma’am!” Once we’re shopping, we collect half a dozen clerks who help us find what we need, carry our selections up to the register, wait while we check out, then haul it all out to the truck and load it for us.

Neither version is wrong. They’re just different operating systems. After twenty-seven months on one OS, the other feels loud and abrupt in a way I couldn’t have explained while I was still overseas. Distance made the contrast physical.

I sometimes flinch when I think how crude Kanos must seem to Filipinos.

In the US, when you want to make a point forcefully, you raise your voice and speak sharply. In the Philippines, speaking like that is shameful. You’re demonstrating a lack of self-control. It embarrasses everyone who witnesses it. The one who loses control loses face. And you should never cause anyone to lose face.

I knew that rule existed. Living under it is different from understanding it. From here, I can see how often my low-context brain wanted the American move — say it straight, say it hard, get it done — in a world where that move costs everyone in the room.

On the farm, when I talk to builders or the well driller or the electrician, I know the operating system is different. I don’t know how to emulate that OS in my own brain. I know there is subtext being communicated. I can’t read it.

I don’t know when “Yes Sir” actually means yes, and when it actually means, “Yeah, it would be really great to get this done by next week, but you’re crazy if you think that’s really going to happen.”

I’m autistic. I process language literally. I’m a low-context person living and trying to accomplish things in a high-context society. That mismatch was stressful when I was there. From here, I can name it without drowning in it.

Inday has had to step into the role of translating the Filipino OS for me — and translating me back the other way. That’s an unfair burden. I wish she didn’t have to carry it. She does it anyway, often with a smile and some version of “Sweetie, it’s the Philippines!” She saves me from walking into walls I can’t see, and she softens the walls I create without meaning to.

Building in the province is very different from building in the States. There is no detailed price quote. You start with a sort of general idea. I want a house of so many rooms, about this big. Can we build that for ₱700,000?

A “Yes” doesn’t mean they just agreed to build it for ₱700,000. It means, “Yeah, you’re in the ballpark. But it depends. We can get started.”

Then they’ll tell you what they need to get started. We’ll cut your bamboo over there to build our barracks and for scaffolding. We need this much sand and gravel and cement and rebar to build the footings and columns and tie beams. As time goes by they figure out the next step, and the materials and time needed, and then the next step. It’s all incremental.

On the first couple of projects I was always fearing they were playing the Kano to get more money. Over time I’ve learned that this is simply how it’s done in the province, where it’s common to work until you run out of money, then pause until more money is available.

I couldn’t see that cleanly while I was in the middle of it, bracing for the next surprise. From a campsite in Virginia, with time to think, it looks less like a plot and more like a system I didn’t grow up in.

So that’s where I am. Half a world away from the farm. Talking to Inday on a screen while a carabao works the tubigan and a satellite talks to the sky. Parking the Thrive in exchange for volunteer hours. Doing the paperwork that ties the two halves of this life together. Seeing the Philippines more clearly because I’m not inside it every hour. Appreciating it more for the same reason.

I’ll be back in Dueñas in November. The house will hopefully be done. The farm will have its own new list of incremental surprises. I’ll still be the low-context guy in a high-context world.

But I’m not 100% American anymore. We are a Filipino-American family now.

I’ll be walking back in with a little more distance behind me. Sometimes that’s the only map you get.

Fill ‘Er up! No, wait! Don’t!

This morning I hiked out to Laurel Falls, and on the drive out to the trailhead I stopped for gas. As usual, I was going to fill the truck up, but as I was pumping gas I thought “No, wait. You’re not going to use a whole tank of gas before you leave here!” So heck, I’m less than a tank of gas away from leaving. I’ve got about half a tank of gas in the truck. No sense selling it with $50 worth of gas in it.

BTW, when I sold the AdventureMobile last year, it had a nearly full gas tank. At 80 gallons to a full tank, that was a couple of hundred dollars. And it’s not like I got more money from the sale because of it.

Anyway… Two weeks to go. Two weeks until I fly out of here, bound for the other side of the world. I’ve just about go the last few details lined up.

I leave early in the morning on Wednesday, October 25. On Monday, the 23rd, some folks will be coming to get all of the furniture and kitchen stuff in the apartment. I decided to just give everything away, rather than deal with the logistics of trying to sell everything, while also needing it all since I’m living here until the last minute. So it is all going to end up going to an international student at ETSU who apparently is living in a mostly empty apartment.

Tomorrow I’ll be heading over to the local Ford dealer to hopefully come to an agreement for them to buy the truck on Tuesday, the 24th.

The only other final detail left is to sell the washer and dryer. I’m going to try to make that happen on the 23rd as well, so I can leave here with all my laundry clean.

So on the 23rd all the furniture goes and the apartment will be empty. I have a hotel room reserved for two nights starting then.

On the morning of the 24th I do the walk-thru of the apartment with the management company, and they give me all the bullshit reasons why they won’t be returning the full security deposit.

That afternoon, I drop the truck off at the Ford dealer, and take an Uber back to my hotel.

And finally on the 25th, I get an Uber to the airport, and I’m off for the next insane adventure.

Adventurous Plans

I’ve been here at Big Bend for a bit over two months now, and have been enjoying my time. I’ve really gotten into some of the human history, and have moseyed around finding some of the sites. I’ve explored Robber’s Roost, some of the ruins and the cemetery at Glenn Springs, the same at La Noria, and I’ve revisited old San Vicente, TX. I’ve also trekked out to the ruins of Camp Neville Spring, which was manned by Black Seminole Buffalo Soldiers back in the 1890’s.

I’ve got a few weeks left here, but my mental attention has turned to what’s next. My last day working is scheduled to be April 29. I’ve got to turn in the park equipment and uniforms I have on the 30th, then I’ll be off on the trip back to Tennessee on May 1, hopefully arriving back in Johnson City on the 4th.

I won’t be there long, though. I have an appointment with my doctor on the 8th, then on the 10th I’ll fly up to Boston and stay at Jihad’s apartment in the Back Bay for a few days. It’ll be fun being back in Boston, and I’m looking forward to some good big city restaurants, which I’ve missed terribly since I left there back in 2017. We’ll also get to see some other folks I know in Boston, so I’m expecting a fun few days. Then come the 13th, we’ll be off to the Philippines via Istanbul, for two weeks exploring Iloilo City and the surrounding area.

And finally, once we’re back in Boston and I’ve flown back down to Tennessee, I’ll have a couple of weeks to get myself, the motorcycle, and my gear all ready to tackle the Mid-Atlantic BDR with my brother Dana in June.

Phew! I’m excited about it all. Stay tuned!

It’s 2023 Already?

Okay, this’ll be a short one. It’s 2023 already, what the heck happened to 2022? A lot happened in 2022. At the same time, not much happened in 2022.

I tried to settle down here in northeast Tennessee. I rented an apartment. I bought some furniture. I traded in the AdventureMobile on a travel trailer. I tried to hike with the local hiking club, but didn’t really click with them. I took some short trips with the new trailer.

And it doesn’t work for me. Settling down; ugh.

In a couple of weeks I’ll be hooking up the trailer and making my way to West Texas, where I’ll be doing volunteer backcountry patrol at Big Bend National Park again, from February through April. That will put me back in Tennessee in early May. Come June, my brother Dana and I will be taking a motorcycle trip on the Mid-Atlantic Backcountry Discovery Route.

I have some nascent plans for after that, and if they work out the way I hope they will, I’ll be throwing a monkey wrench into my life once again, and starting over. Starting over is exciting. And scary. Stay tuned.

Coming Home

A quick update. I finally got a move-in date for my apartment in Johnson City. I was hoping for early April, but it won’t be available until May 11. That’s disappointing, but nothing to be done about it.

Right now I am in Louisiana, literally on the banks of the Mississippi with Natchez just across the river. I’ve decided that apartment or not, I’m moving to northeast Tennessee, so I spent several days contacting campgrounds and RV parks in the area, and finally found a place with a vacancy and a reasonable rate, so I’ll be in Erwin, Tennessee come April 1. Erwin is only about a half hour drive from Johnson City.

New Year, New Life?

In my last post, back in September, I talked about my yearning to settle down. As it turns out, that wasn’t just idle talk. I’ve slowly come to realize my discontent with nomadic life comes from a pretty deep-seated loneliness. As a deeply introverted person, it takes me a very long time to make friends. The constant moving doesn’t allow for that. I think if I had a partner to travel with I would feel very differently about the nomad life, and would probably not give it up until I couldn’t see to drive anymore.

I’ve spent a lot of time since that last post researching options in my chosen area. I was really attracted to western North Carolina, but when push came to shove, rents there just proved too expensive for my modest income.

So I moved my search across the mountains to eastern Tennessee. As of a couple of days ago, I’ve committed to a small apartment, with a big garage for my motorcycle and my bicycle and all my outdoor gear, in Johnson City. It should be available for me to move in around April. There is tons of hiking in the area, and I’ll only be a half hour drive from the Appalachian Trail.

As always, big changes are both scary and exciting. My biggest fear is that my years of wandering have ruined me for being stationary, and it will turn out that I can’t be content with either life. I do plan to sell the AdventureMobile, but I also plan to buy a smaller RV, something I can tow with the pickup, so I can still travel when the urge strikes.

Now that I’ve settled on a course of action, I’m really anxious to execute it. I’ve never been good at patiently waiting. I’ve got another month here at Big Bend, then in February I’ll head back to East Texas to get the cracked windshield on the AdventureMobile replaced. I’ve got reservations to spend my birthday on the beach in far southeast Texas. Then I’ll slowly start moving east.

Happy New Year everybody!

Is It Time?

The basic theme of Monkeywrench Your Life is not being afraid to make big changes when you recognize the time has come to do so. That time may have come.

The AdventureMobile has been my only home for more than four years now. I’ve been all over the US, all over Mexico, and have explored a bit in Canada. And all the time, people have asked me questions like “What’s your favorite place” or “If you were to settle down, where would it be?” And I’ve always said that those questions miss the point entirely. I didn’t want to have one favorite place. I didn’t want to settle down. In fact, the whole idea used to make me shudder. Movement was the point.

But suddenly, I find myself yearning for exactly that. The idea of having a fixed address seems so simple and comforting. My mail wouldn’t have to chase me around the country. I could subscribe to a magazine or two. I wouldn’t have to plan doctor appointments a year in advance, for the next time I manage to be in the state. I could go backpacking for a week or a month, or load up some gear on the motorcycle and take off for a trip, and just lock the door and come back afterwards and everything would be just as I left it. The simplicity of it is very appealing.

Of course, the change didn’t actually happen suddenly. I’ve been struggling with discontent on several fronts for a good while. It’s the realization that this is what I want that was sudden.

But where? Where do I want to live, and perhaps more importantly, where can I afford to live? There are lots of affordable places all across the country, but I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life in most of them. I miss trees and green grass. I miss the mountains, easy access to lots of hiking, and hiking culture.

The obvious choice might be New England, as it has all of those things, and it’s where I spent most of my life. But I can’t afford to live in New England, and I can’t deal with the long, cold, dark winters there. The last decade or so that I lived there, I suffered terribly with SAD in the winter. I can’t do that again!

My first thought is the southern Appalachians. Eastern Tennessee or western North Carolina. Yes, they have winter there, but it’s relatively mild and short. But that’s just my first instinct. Someplace else might bring itself to my attention. In fact, if you have a suggestion I’d love to hear it.

Nothing is going to happen right away. I’ve got commitments for the next four months. I’ll be in Livingston tomorrow, and I’ve got doctor and ophthalmologist appointments lined up. I’ve got to get the truck inspected. The usual stuff I take care of every year while I’m there. Then in three weeks I’ll head west to Big Bend National Park, where I’ll be volunteering patrolling backcountry campsites for three months. When I leave there at the beginning of February, maybe I’ll head east and start checking out possible places to settle down. Or maybe I’ll change my mind entirely. Who knows? Only time will tell.

Oh give me land…

Something I’ve been thinking about on and off for the last couple of years is having some sort of home base that is mine, and that I can go to whenever I need or want without worrying about availability or reservations.

It’s taken a while to clarify the parameters of what I want. First up, there are few places where the climate is right for RVing year round. Most places are 3-season. It’s either good in spring, summer and fall, but too cold in winter; or it’s good for fall, winter and spring, but too hot in summer. So which 3 seasons did I want? Secondly, did I want some kind of RV park experience, or a boondocking spot where I could just park the RV out in the middle of nowhere?

In December of last year, on my way from Death Valley to the RGV down in Texas to meet up with the Mexican caravan I was joining, I spent a couple of nights at the Escapees Saguaro Co-op in Arizona. The co-op is quite nice, with large spacious lots and very well kept, and Escapees are always friendly and helpful. Before I left the park I added my name to the waiting list to be able to purchase a lot. It takes a couple of years to work your way up towards the top of the waiting list, and I am leaving my name on the list. At the end of the day, though, I’m not really an RV park guy.

I finally decided that I want a place I can go in the summer rather than the winter. Last winter I camp-hosted here at Death Valley, just as I am again this winter. Next winter I will be camp-hosting at Big Bend down in Texas. If I am not camp-hosting, there are plenty of places to boondock for free around the desert southwest. Summer, on the other hand, can be difficult. In the summer all of the weekend and vacation campers are out, and many places are full. I’ve always managed so far, but it’s not always been easy. I’ve even spent a holiday weekend parked in a casino parking lot!

So, as I said, I decided I wanted a place that would be comfortable spring, summer and fall. Further, I decided I wanted a piece of vacant land where I could park the motorhome whenever I liked. Now, there are lots of places where you can own vacant land, but you can’t necessarily park your RV there whenever you like. There are often zoning rules or HOA rules that limit how long you can “camp” on your property, or that require you to install a septic system and maybe drill a well. So it’s important to be sure you understand the limitations where you intend to buy.

In late October I made a quick trip out to eastern Arizona, up onto the Colorado Plateau, south of the Navajo Nation, to look at several properties. One of them I really liked, and after spending the night in town I went back out the next morning to spend more time wandering about and confirmed to myself that this was the one. I’ve got a contract on the property and will make the final payment after the first of the year.

The property is 40 acres; the southwest quarter of the southwest quarter of Section so-and-so. For those easterners like myself who have a hard time envisioning what 40 acres is, it’s a square 1/4 mile on a side. I’ve heard people refer to this area as high desert, and that feels appropriate to me, but it doesn’t technically qualify as desert. The area averages about 11″ of rain per year, and a few inches of snow.

It’s about 2 miles from the nearest paved road, along unmaintained county roads, to the property. There’s a road that goes through the property, roughly from the northeast corner to the southwest corner. Above the road the property is dead flat. South of the road the property rises somewhat, with a couple of big level spots up on top, and at the southeast corner it drops into a ravine.

I have no immediate plans for the land, other than to spend time there in the motorhome whenever I feel like it. As for what might happen in the future, I guess time will tell.

This is the flat section north of the road

As an added bonus, there’s even a decent Verizon signal!

There are more photos here: https://photos.app.goo.gl/s3MJm8HfjSCSoh6E6

So… 2020

I’ve tried to write this blog post several times. In fact, there are a number of posts I’ve started and not managed to finish. So I’m just going to write this stream of consciousness style, and not even try to write an organized essay. I hope it’s not too painful to read.

2020 has been a real messed up year, in so many ways. Of course, it affects different people in different ways. I know millions of people have gotten sick, and hundreds of thousands have died. I’m incredibly lucky in that that hasn’t happened to myself or those close to me. I know that’s so.

But it is human nature that the things that affect us directly are the things that have the most importance to us. And what affects me the most?

Worrying about my daughter getting sick, who lives in a fairly large city and has to depend on mass transit to get around. And if she did get sick, what would I do? How would I get back across the country, and where would I stay when I got there?
Being separated from the woman I’m in a relationship with. She lives in the UK, and there is no tourist travel between the US and the UK. The last time I saw her was when she came to Death Valley last December. We had planned to see each other back in April after I got back from the Mexican caravan I was with last winter. So it’s been 10 months now, and it may very well be another 10 months before we are free to travel.
Closely related to that is worrying about her getting sick. The UK is experiencing yet another spike in infections, just as we are in the States. She works for the NHS, lives in a large city, and uses the bus to get back and forth to work. There have been infections in her office. Her younger sister has contracted the virus, and fortunately recovered quite quickly.
I lost a summer’s worth of income. I was supposed to work at an amusement park in upstate New York this summer, but for obvious reasons that didn’t happen.
I have avoided traveling frequently. Rather than moving every week or two, as I usually would, I spent almost 3 months in Texas after returning from Mexico early. When I left Texas I traveled to Vermont for a couple of months, which gave me an opportunity to see my daughter and both of my brothers and their wives. When I left there I went to Colorado where I volunteered at Colorado National Monument for a couple of months, and then I came here to Death Valley where I am spending 3 months camp hosting. And during my travels between one destination and the next, I avoided all unnecessary interactions. My only purchases were buying gas for the RV, and those were all self-serve.

So I guess I’ve worked out a way I am comfortable being in a covid world, in the day to day things I do. Yet it’s deeply disturbing. I feel a constant sense of unease and uncertainty. I find it hard to concentrate on one thing for very long. Thus my slap-dash way of getting this post down. I also find myself constantly putting things off. There are really no future plans; everything is just marking time until we know what the future is going to bring. So why bother doing this or that task today? Tomorrow will do just as well.

It’s not that I haven’t done anything at all this year. There have been a few changes that are worthy of mention. In fact, I’ve tried to write about them but haven’t managed to finish any of the posts. so I will do my best to actually get some of those out at some point in the near future.

Okay, this is pretty rough and raw, and I’m sure there are things I totally forgot to mention. But I’m going to publish this the way it is right now, because if I save it with the intention of getting back to it later and polishing it up, it will never happen.

So Now What?

Those who know me know that I am a planner. Always have been.

Once I had started to settle into this RV lifestyle, I thought I had gotten over this penchant for planning, at least to some extent. I think I’ve even mentioned that in one or another of these blog posts. I have on a number of occasions woken up in the morning and just decided that I’m going to go somewhere. I remember waking up one Saturday morning at Telephone Cove in Nevada and deciding I was going to Oregon, and the next morning I was on my way.

And then 2020 happened.

I was in Mexico with the caravan I had been traveling with since early January when the news about the Coronavirus was ramping up. It’s a bit of a story, but by the end of March we had basically abandoned our itinerary and were heading north for the border as quickly as was reasonable.

If you think back, there was a lot of uncertainty and a lot of unknowns about the whole situation. States were starting to shut down non-essential businesses, and in a lot of states that included state park and private campgrounds. For full-timers, where to go became a huge question.

I already had a reservation at Rainbow’s End in Livingston for 2 weeks in April, as I had made appointments with my GP and with my ophthalmologist, and I needed to get the annual inspection on both vehicles done. So I emailed them and moved my reservation up, and extended it to one month. So I was lucky enough to have a place to go, and for the time being I had a plan; get back to the States and make my way east to Livingston.

So I did that, and I got to Livingston. And I settled in here and my doctors both canceled all routine appointments with no idea when they would be able to reschedule. And more and more of the world shut down. The end of my month was up and I extended another month. And I had no idea how long I was going to be here, or where I was going to go when I left.

And holy crap, all the not knowing drove me crazy! I had trouble sleeping. I’d think about things I had to do, and then I’d think “Nah, tomorrow is just as good as today.” I discovered that while I am perfectly happy changing my plans on the fly, I really need to have a plan to change. I need to have activities and deadlines on my calendar.

The original plan for this summer had me in upstate New York in early May and working at Six Flags Darien Lake until the end of September or maybe into October. They still haven’t opened yet, and even if/when they do, working with thousands of random people every day doesn’t seem the smartest thing to do in The Age of Covid, so that’s not going to happen for me.

So I’ve spent many hours staring at maps and thinking of this or that possibility of what to do with the rest of the year. The first thing I nailed down is my return to Death Valley for the end of the year. I will be a volunteer camphost again for the mid-October to mid-January season, at Furnace Creek Campground.

After considering and discarding a number of possibilities for the summer, I settled on heading to Vermont. It’s been a while since I’ve been back in New England. Vermont is close enough that I’ll be able to visit my daughter Anju and my brothers and their families in Connecticut. There’s tons of hiking and cycling. The biggest hurdle is how expensive campgrounds and RV parks are in the Northeast, but I found a small campground with a reasonable monthly rate, so that was settled. The only question was exactly how long I’d stay in Vermont.

As of now I have a likely, but not definitely confirmed, stint as a volunteer camphost at Colorado National Monument which would start at the end of August and finish when I need to leave to head to Death Valley. So if that does work out, I’ll spend 2 months in Vermont and leave there mid-August to head for Colorado.

I think that makes a good balance. I’m avoiding frequent travel around the country, but still getting to experience a variety of locations.

I haven’t been completely idle here. I’ve had both of my doctor appointments. I’ve gotten both vehicles inspected. I’ve had a number of repairs done to the RV. I bought a motorcycle. I took the MSF course, and once DPS opened up again by appointment, I got the motorcycle endorsement on my license. And right now I’m working hard on getting out of here. Today is Sunday, June 7. My plan is to leave here on Wednesday, the 10th. The last RV repairs should be done, hopefully, tomorrow. When I took the motorhome to get the annual inspection done I noticed the check engine light is on. So I’m trying to find a place to check that out for me without having to wait weeks for an appointment.

And then… I’ll be back on the road at last!