Our wanderings

Embracing nomadism: a homey rhythm

On September 29, 2018 by Judy Nichols With 0 Comments - Blog, Our wanderings

Our second campsite at Goose Island Campground outside Arches National Monument.
Milt's Stop n' Eat in Moab.
Our campsite on the side of a mountain at Colorado National Monument.
Sunset from our campsite at Colorado National Monument.
Twinkling lights seen from our campsite at Colorado National Monument.
A view of Colorado National Monument.
A hike on the Rim Trail at Colorado National Monument.
Israeli melons at a Vetere stand in Green River, Utah.

There is an odd rhythm to nomadism, a dance, a feeling of slight disorientation as you get to know and embrace each new spot you call home, even if only for a few days.

Now, in year four of our journey in The Epic Van, we seem to have gotten better at it, reaching a comfort level we didn’t have in the beginning, when each new place felt wildly exciting, exotic and fascinating, but a little foreign.

An ancient bristlecone pine grove gives a lesson in patience

On September 27, 2018 by Judy Nichols With 0 Comments - Blog, Our wanderings

Aspen in beautiful orange and gold along the Alpine Lake Loop Trail.
A beautiful hike through sub-alpine forest, including quaking aspen. (Lovely, even though we were on the wrong trail.)
The Bristlecone Pine Grove sits just below the tree line in the Great Basin National Park in Nevada.
Bristlecone pines, one full of foliage, one dead, but still standing.
One of hte ancient bristlecone pine, some of which are 5,000 years old, in the Great Basin National Park in Nevada.
The dense, resinous wood of the bristlecone pines resists insects and disease.
A gnarled old bristlecone in the grove in the Great Basin National Park in Nevada.
A gnarled, dead bristlecone, white as bleached bone, in the grove in the Great Basin National Park in Nevada.
The base of a bristlecone in the Great Basin National Park in Nevada.
A living bristlecone pine, its bark flayed open by wind, ice storms and freezing temperatures.
Bristlecone branches with tightly packed needles.
A view of the Great Basin from the Bristlecone Trail in the Great Basin National Park in Nevada.
Near the end of our double-length hike, a reward: a beautiful stream strewn with aspen leaves.

If I haven’t mentioned it before, Tom has become a true tree freak.

On hikes, he frequently stops to gaze upward at branch arrays, set his hand on a trunk’s bark, count the number of leaflets in a bunch and test the spikiness of needles against his fingers.

He takes photos of the whole tree, the leaves and the bark, and then compares them to photos and descriptions in his tree book when he returns to The Epic Van.

He’s so thorough that I’m beginning to know the difference between an Engelmann spruce and a limber pine.

And so, when we were at Great Basin National Park in eastern Nevada this week, we headed for the ancient Bristlecone Pine Grove on Wheeler Peak.

Bristlecone, Bristlecone Pine Grove, Bristlecone Trail, Great Basin National Park, Wheeler Peak Trail

Arches and Canyonlands: The Permanence of Impermanence

On September 21, 2018 by Judy Nichols With 0 Comments - Blog, Our wanderings

Judy on top of the world on the trail to Double O Arch at Arches National Park.
Tom part way up the sandstone fin on the trail to Double O Arch at Arches National Park.
Double Arch at Arches National Park.
A view from below one of the arches in Double Arch at Arches National Park.
A view of the sandstone at Arches National Park showing the buckling and bending.
Petrified sand dunes at Arches National Park.
One of the 2,000 arches in Arches National Park.
Tom on the Park Avenue Trail at Arches National Park.
Landscape Arch, the longest arch at Arches National Park.
Window Arch at Arches National Park.
The Epic Van at our campsite on the Colorado River in Goose Island Campground outside Arches National Park.
A view of Canyonlands National Park.
Upheaval Dome at Canyonlands National Park.
Ranger Rick Jensen explains the geology of Canyonlands National Park at one of the scheduled daily presentations.
A hawk glides along the sandstone cliff face above our campsite at Goose Island Campground outside Arches National Park.

At Arches National Park, we scrambled over clusters of rock to walk along a sandstone fin with sheer sides, heart-stopping dropoffs and amazing views. I felt like I was queen of the world.

At its sister-park, Canyonlands, we looked out over miles of canyons, spires, and cliffs, cut by the Green and Colorado rivers. I felt small and insignificant.

And both parks, created from eroding and ever-changing rock forms, made me think about the impermanence of things that seem permanent.

Arches National Park, Canyonlands National Park

Big Sur: Our semi-wild life and semi-crisis in this semi-wilderness

On September 10, 2018 by Judy Nichols With 14 Comments - Blog, Our wanderings

The Big Sur coastline, fog rolling in.
The tiny pink flower of the wild radish.
A wild radish, small but mighty, containing the taste of wildness in Big Sur.
Fog and sun on the road to Andrew Molera State Park.
Tom and I with our official California State Parks volunteer vests, standing next to the kiosk by the parking lot.
The Cooper Cabin, the oldest structure in Big Sur, built in 1861 or 1862 for Molera's grandfather of hand-hewn redwood logs and hand-split redwood shingles.
Tom, standing on the plank bridge that crosses the Big Sur River to the Creamery Meadow Trail to the beach.
A view of the Big Sur coastline with the famous, often photographed Bixby Bridge, opened in 1932 and loved for its aesthetic curve, matching the coast. is one of the tallest single-span concrete bridges in the world.
Eucalyptus trees along the Big Sur coast.
Tom on the Ridge Trail with a view of the Santa Lucia Mountains.
California’s golden hills, a view from the Ridge Trail.
A view up the coastline from the Panorama Trail, which cuts through walls of Morning Glories.
The coastal view from the Bluffs Trail.
Wildflowers blanketing the hills along the Bluffs Trail.
Morning Glories carpeting the trailside.
Bluff lettuce growing in Big Sur.
Manganese garnet dissolving in the rocks create the purple sand along the hidden beach.
A driftwood structure built by visitors at the purple-sand beach.
Bird tracks in the purple sand at the hidden beach off the Bluffs Trail.
Sunset over the Pacific.

When I think of Big Sur, it is the wild radish I will always remember.

The crunch of it in my mouth, similar to the texture of a radish, but a milder, sweeter flavor.

A wilder flavor.

Big Sur, California, Volunteer

Roadtreking Reprise: Photo Safari 2 (for us)

On July 2, 2018 by Judy Nichols With 0 Comments - Blog, Our wanderings, The Epic Van

Roadtreks parked at Chewing Black Bones Campground on the Blackfeet Nation, just outside Glacier National Park.
View of burned area in the mountains.
Jeremiah, our guide and bus driver.
Blackfeet chiefs, part of a sculpture, made from recycled car parts, that welcomes visitors to the Blackfeet Nation.
A horse made of recycled car parts, part of a sculpture welcoming visitors to the Blackfeet Nation.
Clouds over the mountains.
Rain and clouds over the mountains.
A bison made from recovered car parts, at the hospital in Browning, a piece of art made by a tribal member.
Mist on the mountain near Glacier National Park.
Jack Copeland singing for the crowd.
Mike and Jennifer Wendland enjoying the entertainment.
Linda Peden watching the music.
Crowd participation, making bear ears.
Enjoying the singing.
A Blackfeet storyteller shares traditional tales.
Beautiful lake reflection.
Taking pictures of each other taking a pictures.
Snow on the mountains.
Views from the hike to Hidden Falls.
HIdden Falls.
View from the trail returning from Hidden Falls.
Josephine Lake.
View from our hike in Many Glaciers.
Wildflowers on the hillside.
Mariposa lily.
Beargrass blooming along the trail.
Indian Paintbrush.
A deer munching, from our hike back from Hidden Falls.
Judy and Tom in front of Josephine Lake.
Campskunk and his owner, Fiona.
Portrait of Fiona, mistress of the universe.
Campskunk fixing our window blind. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Campskunk fixing our bathroom door. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Campskunk models a very manly hat of his family plaid, a gift from Mary Jane.
"Don't fear any snakes" juice.

You know I love The Epic Van. And I love the company that makes it, Roadtrek.

The first year we were on the road, we went to the Roadtreking Photo Safari near Yellowstone. It was a gathering of my kind of people. We still have friends from that first meetup.

Now, three years later, we just finished our second Roadtreking Photo Safari, this one near Glacier and, once again, it was a blast.

My personal thank-you list is looooong. So, here goes. Thanks to:

Roadtrek, Mike and Jennifer Wendland, and Mel, for helping create and nurture this great community and for all the work to put this week together.

The Blackfeet Nation for sharing their home, their chief’s leadership, their storyteller’s wisdom, their delicious food, their beautiful songs and their dancers’ gracefulness and strength.

Campskunk for his generosity in minor (and not so minor) unauthorized repairs, and just for being awesome. Sharon for coming out to mingle with the riffraff. It was the highlight of the week. And feline Fiona for letting me take her picture. So accommodating for such a celebrity.

Mary Ellen and Sue for arranging and inviting me to participate in the Creativity in a Camper. It was great fun and I loved hearing all the stories and advice from our fellow writers. And for the wonderful books that I’m already tearing through.

Mary Jane (we finally meet) for her amazing Wild Tea and discussion of cook book publication, and Jeff for being a stand-up tea guy and a great hiking companion.

Sandy and Lynne for being lovely neighbors and lunch partners, and for forgiving American politics on behalf of all Canadians.

Dan and Rhonda for a great lunch and more Canadian/American political crosstalk. Are all Canadians so calm, considerate and insightful? It seems so. And Dan for allowing us to watch his creativity in action with his painting.

Linda for re-congregating our first photo safari group (missing you Mary Z), for a great late-night visit with Pat, our new friend Janet, Steve (we know you’re itching to go full time) and the nice man with the whiskey whose name I’ve temporarily misplaced.

Jeremiah for being an excellent bus driver, guide, singer and storyteller, for remembering all our names, and meeting ALL our expectations. And for the book recommendation.

David and Nancy for being just as interesting as we remembered, updating us about your lives and bringing gluten-free chocolate dessert to the pot luck. You’re the best. Next time in Big Sur!!! With your new rig?

Yan and Kiki for taking us to Hidden Falls, sharing huckleberry sodas and a barefoot walk in the grass, and for initiating us into Kiki’s Realm. I still have a warm feeling about it, but it may be from what came out of the bottle.

Glacier National Park, Montana, Roadtrek

The Everglades: A fragile river of grass

On June 18, 2018 by Judy Nichols With 0 Comments - Blog, Our wanderings

Sunset in Everglades National Park.
The river of grass.
Sawgrass bending in the freshwater of the Everglades River of Grass.
A crocodile lolling in the sun on the side of the road.
A wood stork perched in a tree.
A roseate spoonbill.
Mangroves, damaged by Hurricane Irma, struggle to revive.
The orange bark of the Gumbo Limbo tree.
Orb-weavers spin their nests at night, then pack them up in the morning.
Strangler figs start out vinelike, growing from the branches of trees, then strangle it as their aerial roots grow larger.
A bromeliad blooming along the Anhinga Trail.
A purple gallinule waling on lily pads .
An alligator glides through the water.
An anhinga perches on shore.
An Everglades morning glory.
A painting on the side of the building at the Hurcules Missile site in Everglades National Park.
A vintage photo of crews assigned to man the Hurcules Missile site in Everglades National Park.
A piliiated woodpecker in Everglades National Park.
A green anole lizard in Everglades National Park.
A green anole looking brown.
Oatmeal-looking periphyton mats, a mass of algae, cyanobacteria and microinvertebrates float under the surface, an important part of the food chain.
Corbin and Tom hiking on the Coastal Prairie Trail.
The waters of Florida Bay, seen from the Coastal Prairie Trail.
Tom in the canoe.
Tom in the canoe, following the ranger.
Our fellow canoe buddies on a ranger-led tour of the Everglades National Park.
Herons coming in at sunset to find their perch for the night.
Sunset in Everglades National Park.

The Florida Everglades, the River of Grass, feels fragile, like any moment a hurricane will wipe it off the map, or humans, after decades of abuse, will finally kill it, or invasive species will forever alter it.

The longer you’re there, the more fragile it feels.

Everglades, Florida

Fun in Grand Mesa National Forest, western Colorado’s land of lakes and magnificent overlooks

On June 16, 2018 by Judy Nichols With 0 Comments - Blog, Our wanderings

The view from our campground spot on Cabbott Lake.
The Epic Van, that little piece of silver, at its campsite viewed from across Cabbott Lake.
Views from the trail around Island Lake.
The Book Cliffs viewed from Land's End Observatory.
Looking into the canyon from Land's End Observatory.
The snaking road down from the summit into the valley.
A cabin formerly used by cattle herders who brought their stock up to the good grass during the hot months.
A view from the Crag Crest trail.

By Tom Nichols

I never heard any of my outdoor-loving friends in Arizona mention Grand Mesa National Forest. There are so many wonderfully eroded canyons and expansive mesas in Utah and Arizona, so many famous peaks and alpine parks in Colorado’s Front Range, it’s little wonder that Grand Mesa National Forest, the nation’s biggest tabletop mountain, is never mentioned.

Colorado, Grand Mesa

Summer freedom: Warning lights and a stunning Colorado road

On June 9, 2018 by Judy Nichols With 0 Comments - Blog, Our wanderings

A tin-roofed barn nestled in a valley along Colorado 145.
The beautiful variety of green in the trees of the San Juan National Forest.
The San Juan Mountains provide stunning views along Colorado 145.
A view from Colorado 145 near Lizard Head Pass.
A view of Mount Wilson from Colorado 145.
Alpine meadows near Lizard Head Pass on Colorado 145.
Granite towers and snow along Colorado 145.
A lakeside view on the way to Telluride on Colorado 145.

By Tom Nichols

There’s nothing more liberating than returning to The Epic Van and setting course for Glacier National Park, the next leg of our Year Four adventure. I feel like a first-grader on the first day of summer vacation.

Colorado

Don’t call my awesome ride an RV

On June 6, 2018 by Judy Nichols With 0 Comments - Blog, Our wanderings, The Epic Van

Sitting on the steps of The Epic Van in Texas's Palo Duro Canyon with our folding bikes and Pippi, our 16-year-old cat, who traveled with us until she went to the road trip in the sky.
The Epic Van driving through a tiny waterfall in Arizona’s Chiricahua Mountains.
The Epic Van at Capitol Reef National Park.
Deserted foggy campground on Pacific Coast in northern California.
The Epic Van squeezing through a rock tunnel in the Black Hills on South Dakota's 16A.
The Epic Van got to do some stream crossing on the beach road.
Sunset on The Epic Van
The Epic Van at a free campsite in the Buenos Aires National Wildlife Refuge. Seeing the United States makes it all worth it.
The Epic Van parked at the City of Rocks, a New Mexico state park that charges less than $15 a night.
The Epic Van at White Sands National Monument in New Mexico.
The Epic Van

This may be totally stupid, but I have a hostile reaction when people say, “Oh, you’re driving around in an RV. Cool. My grandmother does that.”

This usually happens after I’ve told them of our totally awesome, unconventional, fearless life on the road. After I’ve specifically told them that I live in a big camper van. (Which, OK, technically is an RV but, in my world, is my free-spirit house on wheels.)

Roadtrek, The Epic Van

La Manzanilla, Mexico: Baby needs new shoes

On May 9, 2018 by Judy Nichols With 0 Comments - Blog, Our wanderings

Jackie rings the bell.
Faces instantly appear once the bell is rung.
Campbell is part of the unloading crew.
Lucero, with her ever-present companion, Nico, survey the happy madness.
Carson hauling bags of shoes as Lucero looks on.
Nate unloads boxes.
Happiness is a new pair of shoes.
Shoes for everyone.
A big smile for new shoes.
Yea! A fit.
Mom is happy, too.
Admiring the newness.
Brian helps fit a little boy.
Polka dots suit her.
Old and new, next to each other.
Patiently waiting.
White sandals were her match.
Shiny blue and white sandals for a new friend.
He offered his kitten as thanks. We politely declined.
In La Manzanilla, Campbell keeps an eagle eye for new customers.
Carson dives in the back of Lucero's van, loaded down like Santa's sled, to find the perfect size.
Brian helps fit shoes for a baby as his mother watches.

In La Manzanilla, Mexico, and its surrounding villages, shoes can be hard to come by.

Especially if you’re poor. And you’re a kid.

So Lucero Castelazo, who now runs her late mother’s place, Casa Maria en La Manzanilla, also carries on Maria’s charitable spirit, collecting and distributing shoes for kids who need them. She gets money from friends and buys discounted shoes from companies in her hometown of Leon, a shoe-manufacturing mecca. Then she hauls them in her white van to La Manzanilla.

When we visited for Christmas, we were lucky enough to be included in a couple of the distribution runs.

La Manzanilla, Mexico

2 Comments

Reply
electricscootershq.org March 1, 2017

Nomads and the civilised look at each other with disapproval and misunderstanding. Why would anyone want to wander the wilderness and live in a tent? Why would anyone want to live in a box and obey unnecessary masters?
- Reply
  Judy Nichols March 3, 2017
  
  Ali, Mostly we’ve found people think it’s really cool. Many tell us they dream of being able to wander the world. Are you a nomad?

New American Nomads

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