The Road To Nowhere

murica   

Me: Henley, sweetie, how old do you think Mummy is turning?

Henley: ummmmm, like the dinosaurs.

An auspicious beginning to life in my 30’s, to be sure. We are on the road; fully, wind-in-our-hair, nothing-but-the-open-road, peeing-in-a-bush, on the road. An attempt to reclaim my youth, it is not. The cold and damp permeates my elderly frame and my spine I’m sure has adopted the curvature of a 90-year-old after many hours stooped in our van.

Six hours and one ferry ride from home gave us our first destination of Port Townsend, Oregon. Let me preface this by saying that however enthusiastic, we are still new to this life on the road. In hindsight, finding a free place to park our sweet ride for the night, or ‘boondocking’ as I’ve been told this freeloading form of camping is called, is much easier in the light of day. Regardless, we found a suitable place to camp for the night in what appeared to be the outskirts of a charming Christmas light adorned community-on a dead end street. I have chosen to blissfully ignore the obvious metaphor that I spent my 30th birthday in a onesie (no regrets, it’s one of my best purchases ever) on a dead-end-street. In the light of day the charming camping spot was much more meth-y than magical, but with survival comes the application of blinders. First night, survived.


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