B is for Bodhi

When I sold my home and bought a van in late 2021, my primary mission was to minimize my responsibilities. I’d shucked my mortgage and utility bills, given away my lawnmower, and stuffed my storage unit. I looked forward to an unfettered future—just me, my van, and my mountain bike. 

Camping at Muley Point, UT

Indeed, for a few months things unfolded pretty much as I envisioned. I chased a girl to Austin, bought a #vanlife van, and moved in, never imagining that I would soon have a four-legged traveling companion. Not to be cold-hearted, but my kids were both launched and my old old cats had finally died (RIP Kai and Mittens, truly, we loved you), and my mother was safely in the care of Brookdale and my brother. The open road beckoned.

There’s no cut and dried way to explain how Bodhi ended up a #vandog, how I ended up with a dog in my van, but here we are, counting down to nearly a year together in June. Long story long: I met a woman on Match.com early in the pandemic. She had just rescued a Mexican street dog she named Bodhi. I fell in love with that dog, and even when the woman dumped me, I pined for Bodhi.

Bodhi, when we first met in 2020

Bodhi is the perfect dog. He’s indifferent to food. He could care less what I’m eating and rarely, if ever, begs. He’s low-key, not jumpy, not barky, certainly not yippy. He’s loyal and loving, and though he can be incorrigibly needy at times, he can also be independent.  He is as cute as a button and unimaginably personable.

I went on Match.com and fell for a dog. Unfortunately, the dog’s owner and I did not part as friends, and when she went away, so did Bodhi. Then, fast forward two years to last June, and quite by accident, I discovered that Bodhi’s owner had recently fallen seriously ill, and, upon reaching out to a mutual friend, I learned she was not expected to live.

I asked after Bodhi. “Where is he?” “Is he going to be okay? Are you guys keeping him?” I figured our mutual friend would keep him—they already had one dog and two kids who knew Bodhi well. I just wanted to make sure he would be well-cared for.

Van Dog

“Do you want him?” she asked, laughing as if she in no way expected me to say yes.

“Yes!” I said without even hesitating. Not a second to contemplate how I had just complicated my life. “Yes. I want him.”

“Seriously? But you just sold your house to live in a van!”

“Yeah, but I love that damn dog! Where is he? When can I get him?”

Reader, I picked him up that very afternoon in June, and he has been with me ever since (except for a few weeks here and there when I just couldn’t have him with me). In fact—he’s the reason I ended up going to Mexico, now that I think about it. Had I not left him behind with my friend and her dog, she of the wine-addled international travel planning in my previous post, I probably would not have spent the past three months in Mexico).

Life sure takes some interesting turns, doesn’t it?

D is for Driving (and dating)

It took us two days of driving to finally make it out of Texas. The first leg took us from Austin to Cap Rock State Park, just south of Amarillo and amid “several small herds of small bison,” according to my traveling companion.

We split the driving equally. I took the first leg, she the second. I don’t remember who was driving when we careened into the Underwood’s parking lot for legendary BBQ and cherry cobbler. Ala Mode. We earned it. Winds gusted the entire first day of driving, buffeting the RV like grandma’s bloomers on the clothesline, and making for a very noisy, very taxing time behind the wheel. Never mind that Texas highways generally do not have medians or guardrails or really anything to prevent violent head-on collisions. Never mind that one minute we’re cruising along at 80 mph and suddenly there’s a stoplight or someone turning left. Texas roadways are bonkers. Truly.

Alas, our schedule did not allow for much dilly or dally, languishing or loitering, so we pressed on the next morning after a quick drive around the park to gaze upon the red rock canyons and meandering beasties before heading into downtown Quitaque (KIT tee-kway), TX, for breakfast at the local coffee shop. I bought a t-shirt that says “Quitaque, TX” on a bison. Sated and properly caffeinated, we pointed the RV in the wrong direction and went an hour out of our way. But, as my friend Laura says, “Win a win, few a few.”

The winds died down, and we could hear each other enough to talk as we headed toward Colorado Springs. Gas mileage improved significantly (when we left Austin, gas was $3.09/gal), as did our moods, with the decreased winds and easier driving. That first day, I was a tiny bit concerned I had a very rattle-ish RV. This day, with very little wind, my fears abated. I had an RV with a normal amount of rattle.

We camped that second night at the base of Cheyenne Mountain—the home of NORAD. The views from our campsite were stunning: sweeping vistas of the city below, the great gray and snowy mountains lunging skyward directly behind us. The bathrooms were quite a hike from the campsite, but given that we’d been sitting on our asses for two days just driving out of Texas, a little walking wasn’t going to hurt us. And even though the bathrooms were a hike, they were also fairly new and well-maintained. Cheyenne Mountain State Park had only been a park since the early 2000s. We read about NORAD and said a little prayer before bed that the world leaders could all just get along for the next little bit.

The next day my niece and her boyfriend, who live just outside of Denver, told me that conspiracy theorists believe subterranean tunnels connect NORAD with Denver International Airport. And that big blue horse at the entrance to DIA, Blucifer? Not only did he kill his creator (he did, google it), but he also has something to do with the tunnels. Apparently.

From there we had just a short hop to the Holiday Inn Express at the Denver International Airport where she went back to Austin and I continued on toward Jackson Hole and points North and West.

It’s a terrible time, gas-price-wise, to have just purchased an RV.