The Trials & Tribulations of a Millennial Nomad

It had been raining for days, maybe weeks. We were in Seattle where I grew up, where my father still resides. We were parked in front of his apartment on a narrow street, lined with cars on one side and apartments overlooking Lake Union on the other. Our van, a 2008 Ford Econoline E-150, was sandwiched between an orange VW Beetle and something silver and sedan-like. It was cold. It was wet. It was October. And we had been in the city for far too long.

Living in a van, or out of one in our case, is a romantic idea to many Millennials. Traveling here and there, making a living off the Internet, parking at picturesque campgrounds, overlooking the ocean, or on great swatches of land, where your lady can do yoga and you can brew up a cup of freshly ground coffee on your camp stove. At least that’s what Instagram tells us #vanlife is all about. But I’m here to tell you about the harsh realities of living this nomadic life, when it’s no longer a “journey” and instead just life, lived in a van, maybe down by a river.

Read my thoughts on Expedition Portal (LINK).

Currently...

Kyra and I are currently in California. Having escaped the sad grey skies of the Pacific Northwest, we've been enjoying waist high waves and that crazy shit called sunshine from Santa Cruz to C Street. We'll be in Long Beach this weekend attending the International Motorcycle Show and then making our way further south in search of surf. Oh, and we'll be eating a ceremonial turkey sammich and drinking champagne with our feet planted firmly in the sand. Other items on the itinerary? More slides atop me swine, perhaps some Pliny with the pig man himself, breakfast at Captain Mauri's, lunch at Pipes Café and dinner at Pizza Port. Maybe a sunset surf in Encinitas followed by a Pineapple n' Chile Margarita at Las Olas? We shall see.

Lessons Learned From A Year Living In A Van

A little more than 14 months ago, I was moving into an apartment on Queen Anne, one of Seattle's more well-to-do neighborhoods. A phone call from my friend Chris prompted a six week long search for surf in Southern California, a project later dubbed The Peelgrimage. My hasty return home and ensuing divorce motivated me to move. Anywhere. So I went south... Check out the story I wrote for Gizmodo about the lessons I've learned after living in Fargo the Cargo Van for more than a year.

The Peelgrimage: Part Four

Internet friends are funny. Because of a common connection, you know almost everything about them - from where they work and what they do for fun, to where they've traveled, the friends they keep close and more often than not, what they eat everyday. So when you sit down for dinner with a table full of internet friends you've never met, not in person anyways, it's interesting how easy it can be. Conversations come naturally, as you already know what sort stuff they're into. You ask a couple of questions, and then fill in the gaps that Facebook or Instagram haven't been able to harvest.

You drink wine and beer and eat potato tacos and explain Elephant Ears to the uninitiated. You laugh. You tell surfing stories. And then, at the end of the night, you part ways better friends than you were before. Because the internet, in all its glory, cannot replace a dinner served on a long wood table outside someone's house in Ojai, a stones throw from the Los Padres National Forest. And those experiences, those people, are what make a trip like this worth while.

The next chapter, however, involves a top secret surprise, surfing a cove in a rather upscale community, excessive whiskey consumption, a place called Beverlywood, a pit bull puppy named Kurt, a BBQ with the Eastside Moto Babes, Venice Beach and our eventual escape from the shit show that is Los Angeles. Stay tuned. The Peelgrimage continues.

Ryan Lovelace Surfcraft

Santa Barbara is an interesting area. Rocky, right hand point breaks dot the coast, from Refugio to Rincon. The waves are a bit better than what you'll find down south - faster, bigger and considerably more consistent. Which is why Ryan Lovelace, a Seattle born, Southern California shaper settled in this area. Ryan shapes in a small shed, nestled between flower farms and other organic growing operations. His boards are built by hand, from beginning to end. He scrapes, shapes, color coats and glasses each one himself. Watching him work was like standing behind someone performing complicated calculations on a TI-84; quite confusing to the uninitiated. But we stayed for a few hours, chatting with Ryan about his boards, the process and his interest in shaping everything by hand. We even locked ourselves inside his shed while he glassed a board. Ryan is a self-taught shaper. He never apprenticed under anyone, or worked his way from factory floor to an air tight shaping space. Instead, Ryan learned the hard way - trial and error. And now, some ten years later, his boards are being sold on both sides of the states, and in countless countries. Hat's off, amigo.

The Peelgrimage: Part Two

I'd seen people surf it in short videos shot by guys like Michael Kew. I heard them call it The Queen; a rocky point break just south of Santa Barbara. Rincon goes right. On a good day, forever. One section connecting to the next. A fast wave by comparison. And while I had heard and seen so many things about this break, as with a lot of stuff in life, it's not the same until you've seen it yourself.

I paddled out on my Pig. Not the best board for that particular place, but it's what I brought, and what I'm most comfortable on. We paddled past people's homes on the point. Empty, with shades and curtains across their windows - hiding from the sea shredders stumbling past. Ten or twelve people were also in the water. Friendly faces. A few frumpy ones.

That evening, shortly before sunset, we drove back to see what she looked like. Lines followed by lines. Rolling right across the rocks. Ryan Lovelace and a few friends were in the water, taking full advantage of the swell. We had our turn with The Queen, although it seemed we should have waited. Oh well.

The Peelgrimage: Part One

In an effort to avoid over analyzing our experience, I'd like to look at the idea as opposed to the activities. Two guys, travelling in a mildly modified cargo van, sleeping on the side of the road, searching for surf, eating, drinking, and working when we have to. I'm aware this is something most people can't accomplish. Tied down to a desk, a dog, an apartment or an idea. So when Chris came to me, willing to split the cost of gas and sleep in a small space while we wandered from Washington to somewhere south of San Diego, I agreed before he finished his first sentence.

As long as I have access to the internet, I can, hypothetically, be just about anywhere. So we settled on the month of March. Chris would fly into Seattle on the 2nd, load his shit into the van, and head south as soon as possible. Logistics were our only issue. When and where to surf, etc. A problem that would be remedied following a few phone calls.

Three logs lay atop our cargo van as we pulled onto I-5, with the front end pointed due south. The bed Karissa and I built the year prior would serve as both sleeping and storage space. Chris brought quite a few cameras, an assortment of wetsuits and a duffle bag with all sorts of other stuff. I packed equally as light. We had arranged to stay at Point Mugu, a military base on the coast of California, just south of Ventura. Ten days in that area, and then south toward San Diego.

It was almost midnight by the time we pulled into our friend Angel's driveway just north of Portland. She fed us roasted chicken and peach pie. The next morning we ate a late breakfast before getting on the road around noon. The second day of our trip would take us all the way to Williams, CA, where we would sleep in a truck stop parking lot. On the the third day we went to see my friend Steve, who was visiting his mother's vineyard, somewhere to the west of Cazadero.

Rough roads turned to gravel. Our cargo van creeping through the corners. The vineyard sits on something like forty acres, seven of which have been planted with grapes for syrah and pinot. That afternoon, after exploring a small piece of the property, we drank wine and watched the sun set through a clearing in the trees. Set on Santa Cruz, we said our goodbyes and then wound our way through the woods, arriving at New Brighton State Beach shortly before 3am.

Searching for Something

Chris and I have loaded our logs atop Fargo the Cargo Van and are headed south in search of surf, sun and something else. We've just crossed the border into California, and will be spending the first ten-to-twelve days at Point Magu. If you wanna buy us a beer, or know a good place that we can park, email me. Otherwise, follow our #peelgrimage on Instagram, Facebook, etc.

Mobile Surf Movies - Vol.1

Bring a blanket or a cozy camp chair and park it in front of Fargo the Cargo Van for an evening of sixties stoke! We'll be showing Blue Surfari on the smooth side of our creepy cargo carrier, Saturday, August 31st and Sunday, September 1st shortly after sunset. This is the first of three 'Mobile Surf Movies,' sponsored by Stoke Harvester, that we'll be showing this September! Click here for additional info.

La Poel

Coming back from the coast, Karissa and I stopped at the La Poel picnic area on the south side of Lake Crescent. Once home to the La Poel Resort - which included eleven cabins, a store, dining room, tap room, and service station - this lakeside loop is now part of the Olympic National Park and is a perfect place to pull over on your way home from the peninsula.

After finding a place to park Fargo, we walked down to the water to get a better view of both the lake and Mount Storm King. Thanks to the lack of nitrogen in the water (which inhibits the growth of algae), Lake Crescent is exceptionally clear and crystal blue in color. Formed during the last Ice Age, the lake is officially 624 feet deep, but many believe it to be nearly twice that deep.

Build-A-Bed

After a couple of uncomfortable nights spent on the floor of Fargo the cargo van, Karissa and I decided we should build a bed before heading south to surf this weekend. Piece of cake, right? Right. With a general idea of what we wanted - tall enough for a few sticks to lay flat, long enough for two tubs to sit nut-to-butt and wide enough that we wouldn't have sleep sideways - we headed to Home Depot with some printed plans and plenty of enthusiasm.

After sorting through tons of timber and finding the right size wood screws, we headed to my grandparent's to put things into place. First came the frame; a two part structure consisting of four 20" tall boxes connected by two 66" long pieces of lumber. Once the frame was fitted, we cut ten 72" long 2x4s and set them two inches apart across the top. Then we secured everything using 3.5" wood screws. The end result: a 22" tall, 72" wide and 66" long sleeping platform perfect for two people!

Fargo & The Foggy Waves

A loud knock woke me up Sunday morning. Joe, peering through Fargo's front window, was eager to see what the swell looked like. I climbed out from the comfort of our cargo van and wandered toward the water. A heavy fog was waiting... and waves! Small, glassy little bastards. I managed to slip into my Matuse and sneak out to sea without waking my wife. Joe, Charlie and I surfed waist high waves for maybe four hours. We called it quits when the wind picked up. Came ashore to find Karissa getting ready to go out. We kicked around camp for awhile before the three of them paddled back out. I stayed on shore to document the occasion. Follow the link for a few photos.