Base Units, Inches & A Kitchen = Home

 Almost got Rosy stuck in the sand. She's not the speediest or most powerful thing on the road.

Almost got Rosy stuck in the sand. She's not the speediest or most powerful thing on the road.

That's some crazy.

Back in D.C. I tended to think of time in minutes, or maybe hours. But things have changed and now hours are the small unit, and days are the larger. A three hour drive no longer seems far, and stringing a few drives together means 1,000 miles doesn't sound so tough either. 

Move slowly. 

The van is packed with gear, a nonsense cluster of stuff that spills out the back and leaves no doubt that someone is ... travelling in this thing. And so space is important. Two days ago I found an inch -- a single inch I could reclaim by cutting a small overhang off the bed/storage I built. Just one inch, but it meant I could completely rearrange the trunks inside.

Home, for a few days.

I worried initially that I'd brought too much stuff. This seems simultaneously obvious and absurd -- how much more can you pare down? And yet ... did I need a full kitchen? 

Turns out: Yes.

Having a kitchen means having a sense of place. After spending the first days of the trip eating granola bars and canned ravioli, moving place to place, I finally landed at a site I liked on the water. So I set up the stove, pulled out my knives and cutting board and made a simple dinner. And then eggs in the morning, And it all felt a little more like home.

Posted on October 17, 2013 .