A Journey with an Unknown Destination

We didn’t know we’d end up in Fort Collins when we left Bailey. In fact, we didn’t know where we’d end up at all. How many people take journeys without destinations? I like that about our trip. We took the best part of any adventure (the journey) and made it the entire purpose of the experience.

When we did finally pull into town I felt like a shell of myself: brittle, if someone were to have touched me I would have crumbled like a snakeskin. The fear and worry and anxiety of the past year began fading away almost immediately. I realized I had done it. I’d driven a 34’ travel trailer clear around the country and managed to not let something terrible happen (not to mention that everyone else in the family overcame their own individual fears on this trip). That fear and worry and anxiety had been constant companions and they’d fled like a trio of fair weather friends. So, I felt hollow. There wasn’t really any celebration, no ticker tape parade (really, Fort Collins), no rush of press asking questions (where’s the paparazzi when you need it). We just sort of drifted into town and stopped. Like ultrarunners who barely make it to the end of a race.

Life in Fort Collins is good. The change came quickly and I was not prepared. I envisioned having the RV in the driveway while I lovingly took care of her after all she did for us. After keeping us safe for 356 of hard abuse. I pictured old race horses who, upon retiring from an incommensurable career, get put out to pasture at a world renowned retreat with perfectly manicured grounds and sparkling white picket fences and immaculate stables. Well, that isn’t quite how it went. We hurriedly unpacked her on the side of the road and then took her to the storage facility and left her there. Oh, the horror.

The girls have loved the change. They all have their own room now and we’ve gotten some real furniture. I woke up early the other day and went and spied on them asleep in their rooms in their big beds. It made me happy…but also sort of nostalgic. Can you get nostalgia so quickly? That word always has the ring of age about it. 

It’s there though, in little ways. I needed gas yesterday so I pulled into a gas station, making a wide turn and immediately scouting the lay of the pumps so I could maneuver appropriately but then…oh yes, that’s right, no trailer. Like an old friend was gone. 

We can walk and ride many places here in town, the bike infrastructure in Fort Fun is fantastic. I took the girls to the library and we worked on our bike lane skills and I taught them how to do a left-hand box turn (which this country boy certainly had no idea how to do until I searched up ‘safe city cycling skills’ on Google). Sienna has started training with the high school cross-country team. Ava took a swim trial for the team and made the discovery squad. Teagan has made two friends on the cul-de-sac already. Wendy has met up with some of her new co-workers and has found lots of dangerous places for lunch near her school. As for me, well I sit around and write about our trip and look at pictures and try not to get too nostalgic. It should take longer, shouldn’t it? I mean, ho can I be nostalgic already…anyway.

I miss making coffee outside every morning. I still could, but why when I have a fancy new mini Kuerig now? I miss walking outside to relieve myself in the middle of the night and seeing the stars. Whey would I when I have a fancy bathroom now? I miss taking evening walks. But why would we when we have a fancy new TV and xfinity? It is so easy, and discouraging, to get lulled back into all our creature comforts.

I think about Bailey, way off in the distance, and it feels weird. That was our home for 17 years, we raised our kids there, and then we got this crazy idea and left and won’t be going back. Do I miss it? Of course, the space and smells and peace and quiet. We won’t get that here in the burbs. Do I want to go back? No, that was another life and the one we are starting here in FC is going to be good. Just different.

Here’s a classic little life-in-an-RV-park story to finish off:

On our last day of camping in the RV – at the Fort Collins KOA – I filled up my grey and black tanks and put a bunch of tank treatment in each to prepare them for a long stay in storage. I was going to dump them in the evening after we washed up from dinner. When I turned to exit the RV to go do so I noticed our neighbors were setting up their spread for dinner outside. Of course, as experienced RV’ers know, your ‘living’ side always faces your neighbors ‘utility’ side. Meaning, to dump my tanks I’d have to walk behind my camper and right past them with their lovely dinner spread. Sienna noticed too, we spent a few minutes ogling their repast. They had a flower print tablecloth and a bowl with sliced lemons in the center, little bundles of cutlery wrapped in a napkin, some grilled chicken, a salad and a bottle of uncorked white wine. I just couldn’t bring myself to walk past that and pull the valve to dump my shit down the sewer.

“Hey, how ya’ll doin? Don’t mind me. Lovely dinner there. Whatcha havin’?”