Remember that freaky cherimoya fruit I told you about? We finally got the courage to try this local delicacy.
The cherimoya is as mean and nasty looking as a gila monster, but slice it open and it’s soft flesh tastes somewhere between a pear and a papaya.
The sweetness of this fruit would probably go good with a gewurztraminer wine, but don’t get liquored up or you could break a tooth on the rock hard seeds.
With all of the crazy imported fruit from overseas, it amazes me that something this good that’s grown in our own backyard isn’t made more available.
Why would anyone want mediocre kiwi from New Zealand when we could have a cherimoya, or a fuerte avocado grown right here in the states?
Before we left Borrego Springs we played tourist and checked out these amazing roadside sculptures by artist Ricardo Breceda.
The pics don’t do them justice, and it’s hard to get an idea of the scale of these enormous creatures. They’re set up along the outskirts of Anza Borrego State Park, and you can just meander your way down the roads to check them out.
The detail of the scrap metal creatures is amazing. How does this guy find the time?
If you look way in the background of one of these pics, you can see how small our big truck looks next to them.
Angelenos are getting all worked up over the rain that’s been falling on Southern California. Yesterday, a tornado warning was announced, and minutes later a small “tornadic-like” formation touched down and blew over a car. The hills are sliding and freeways are a mess. Parents are keeping their kids home from school.
Even though this kind of weather action is mild in comparison to our old stomping grounds of rainy, wet Humboldt County, we’re still glad to be staying in a stick house while riding this episode out.
The Los Angeles area hasn’t seen rain since Christmas. I was hoping we wouldn’t see any bad weather this winter, but it is January after all. When the rain started falling, I had to dig our rain jackets out of storage in the RV. Even funnel clouds and heavy rain won’t stop us from going outside every day. That’s because Wyatt Ray just won’t cut us any slack. If our one year-old puppy doesn’t get three walks a day, he will eat the furniture. Morning, noon and night, he begs to go outside for a walk, and we comply. Dogs are great at getting you to break away from work and into the great outdoors.
One morning, as Wyatt led me on a walk during a heavy downpour, my soaking wet clothes were an unpleasant reminder that the Gore-tex water-resistance on my gear is fading away.
Gear lust started whispering in my ear again; I want . . . I want . . . I want. . .
Time to start looking for something else, like maybe a new Berghaus jacket?
Our rig has been parked on the streets of L.A. for the last few weeks, while we catch up on the chisme with family and friends. Life here is as hectic and noisy as it gets, and every day Jim and I are reminded of why we chose to leave urban living behind.
We started 2009 with one goal; find Jerry’s Acres. Seven months into it, we did. Our Colorado retreat now sits underneath several feet of snow, waiting for our return.
With that behind us, we’re getting the other big part of our life in order, namely, making a real income again.
Our defnition of “real income” is different from most people’s. While we would love to be able to spend money on the finer things in life (like picking up a $20 bottle of wine instead of our old standard, Two Buck Chuck), we also aren’t willing to surrender our freedom in order to do so. My very short gig at Satan’s Castle was a good reminder about that.
People wonder, what do we do. How do we make any money? Well, we don’t do any one particular thing anymore. We don’t want to have one business again. And we don’t want to rely on one job to bring in money. We believe that putting all of your eggs in one basket is risky business, much moreso than varying your skills and finding multiple ways to generate income.
For us now, tiny bits of money trickle in from various web-based outlets that utilize our technical, design and writing skills. In 2010, we’ll work on building up our income revenue streams in these areas.
The money is iffy, the hours are long and uncertainty always looms over our heads, but we are much happier than we ever were in our previous lives. While we are still officially in the red and dipping into savings, I know that 2010 will be the year we are back in black, finally. It would be great if we could actually contribute to our retirement accounts once more. When that happens, I’ll know that we’ve truly been successful these last two and a half years.
On that note, I’ll say “Adios!” to 2009, and give 2010 a great big welcome. May this year bring the prosperity, joy and peace that we all need more of in our lives.
And many thanks to all of you for being a part of our world. Life would be pretty boring without you!
Back when Lilla and Neal visited us at Jerry’s Acres, Neal suggested that we were in for a winter of heavy snow. His reasoning was based on a news story he had seen about the local Skunk Cactus — or at least he thinks that’s what the newscaster called this weed, and I think that’s what he called it.
Neal mentioned how the height at which the seed pods begin is an indication of that season’s snowfall depth. Based on a recent weather report from home, sent to us by Codie Rae’s people, I’m starting to believe him…
Red Feather Lakes: Snow and areas of blowing snow before midnight, then snow likely and areas of blowing snow after midnight. Low around 14. Wind chill values as low as -5. North northwest wind between 14 and 16 mph, with gusts as high as 25 mph. Chance of precipitation is 90%. Total nighttime snow accumulation of 5 to 9 inches possible.
Needless to say, I believe we left just in time. Based on the reports we’re getting from back home, we would have likely been stuck there quite a while – if not all winter – had we not pulled away when we did. That, or we would have been digging out the trailer to hit the road.
But we haven’t exactly headed to warmer climes, yet. Our second night here in Fernley, our hose froze. We had forgotten to leave a faucet dripping overnight. Keeping the water moving through the hose will help it from freezing solid and ensure you have running water in the morning. Insulating the hose with foam pipe-wrap available in the plumbing section of any home supply store also helps. As does having water in your fresh water tank as a backup.
How quickly we forget these things after staying put for a few months. I remember first seeing an RVer fuss with a frozen hose at a riverside park in Ashville, NC two years ago and laughing. The other morning it was my turn. After struggling to thaw things out enough to get our water flowing, we have now practiced these precautionary measures I preach. Good thing René hadn’t yet begun her early morning shifts at the Amazon warehouse!
Epic road trips are the stuff that great drinking stories are made of. But few of us have the skill to turn those tall tales into a full-length novel, and keep people laughing till they snort so hard their beer spews out their nose.
A stand-up comedian and former comedy writer for Jay Leno and other Hollywood comedians, Jerome shares the mishaps and adventures that happened to him on his travels across America in the mid ’90s. Slightly autobiographical and mostly so strange that you can’t possibly believe this stuff actually happened to him, Jerome tells the tale of Roastbeef, a shiftless, broke college student with an older father who’s ridden with Alzheimers. But Roastbeef’s dad isn’t just any old patient suffering from dementia. No, this guy truly believes he’s Franklin D. Roosevelt.
Shouting presidential orders from his hospital bed, Roastbeef’s dear old Dad demands that upon his death, Roastbeef must spread his ashes in “all 48 states” (remember, there were only 48 states in FDR’s time). Always the dutiful son, Roastbeef humors his Dad and halfheartedly agrees to it. But when Dad finally dies, Roastbeef rises to the occasion and takes up the cause of keeping this unusual deathbed promise.
He sets out in his crappy college-student car to literally dust every state with his Dad’s cremains. But hitting the road without much money presents challenges, and Roastbeef doggedly pursues his mission on everything from a moped to freight trains, while working odd jobs across America to help him fulfill it.
From the time Roastbeef unknowingly befriends a pot dealer and gets thrown in the slammer, to hitching rides with pregnant brides and psychopaths, to being coerced into visiting a Tiajuanna whorehouse with his Dad’s old military buddy, Jerome’s dry humor never runs out of gas.
In the back of the book, Jerome promises that if any reader takes a photo of him or herself holding “Roastbeef’s Promise” in any of the specific locations mentioned in this story, they’ll get a free Roastbeef’s Promise t-shirt for their efforts. So because I’m tightwad looking for a freebie, here I am at Colorado State University in Fort Collins, where Jerome spent a couple of weeks couch surfing with frat boys.
I really loved Roastbeef’s Promise, and not just for the free t-shirt offer either. Get your copy today, or, before October 30th, send me an email along with your funniest road trip story (which we get to publish on our blog). In return, you can have my almost new copy (hey I have limited space in my rig, I’m happy to give it away). If we have more than one person who enters, we’ll draw a random name.
It was always apparent that we didn’t get rid of enough stuff when we left Eureka in June 2007. Our $250 a month storage bill said it all.
When we hit the road, we hired a moving company to store our stuff, thinking that someday we would be willing to pay to ship it to us, wherever we landed. But until the moving company actually put it all in their warehouse, we had no idea how much our storage bill would be. By the time we learned what the damage was, it was too late.
The Horrors of Excess
While in storage, our stuff took up five crates at 4′ x 7′ x 7, for a grand total of 980 cubic feet. Once we closed escrow on our house and saw what our finances looked like, that there was no way we were going to shell out the $5k the moving company wanted to deliver our stuff, so we opted to go get it ourselves.
The only problem was that I never actually saw how much space our junk took up, until we landed in Eureka for just one stealth night in August. When we arrived at the moving company’s warehouse with our 26′ moving truck, our jaws dropped.
A massive amount of boxes were stacked and waiting. At first, the two movers we hired to help load weren’t even sure if it would all fit. As they started loading, I began making piles of stuff that we would ditch if it didn’t.
I wanted to cry. All this time I thought that we had really downsized. Who was I kidding?! The excessive boxes of clothes, kitchen stuff, and knicknacks, was unreal. I kicked myself up and down the parking lot, cursing at our naivety in thinking we had gotten rid of all but our essentials.
Eventually, the movers made it all fit. We left Eureka in less than 24 hours, and lugged it back to Colorado.
Note to Self: Lesson Learned
Two years ago, I thought we were keeping only the essentials. But I’m not the same person I was then. The road has taught me that I don’t need much to have an enjoyable life. I don’t need eight pairs of jeans, or three different sets of dinner plates to feel complete.
Sure, it’s nice to have some of my favorite things back under our roof, like my card making stuff and my bread machine. But when it comes down to it, I’ll take the incredible journeys we’ve had over all of our material possessions any day.
I always knew that our stuff took up five crates at 4′ x 7′ x 7, for a grand total of 980 cubic feet, but i never actually saw how much space that takes up until we landed in Eureka for just one night, to get our stuff into our moving truck.
Last Fall as we left Colorado and headed to the Tetons and Yellowstone for Jerry’s final road trip adventure, we stopped in Fort Collins for lunch. A friend from Portland told us it was a cool place to live, and I thought that if a Portlander paid a compliment to the city, it must be something special.
And it is. Located north of Denver in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, this city’s vibrant downtown, thriving business community, bikeability, excellent university and great breweries immediately pulled us in, and has been calling us back ever since.
Nine months later, we have returned to scout the nearby mountains for Jerry’s land.
When we fell under the spell of this “Best Places” city, I didn’t know it at the time, but my long lost cousin, Robert (aka “Son”) Chavez lives here. He found me on FaceBook and we started communicating again for the first time since we were kids.
Our families have such a long history that even though we aren’t blood relatives, we still call each other “cousins.” Our Dads have known each other since the 1950s, and our families shared a lot of good times and camping trips while growing up. As life went on and we got older, our Dads still remained close, but the rest of us eight kids scattered about to live our lives.
When I found out that Son and his partner Steven, are Fort Collins locals, I was thrilled. When I learned that Steven’s sister and brother in law, Mike and Marie, are well-established real estate agents here, I was ecstatic. Then, I learned that one of my dearest friends, Renee, is moving here from California, and I’ve been giddy ever since! We are determined to find our mountain property somewhere within 1 hour of the city.
What a find. We have family and friends here, and we love the fact that we can get lost in the Rockies yet still so close to such an aweseome town. It’s everything we’ve been looking for.
After two years of searching, it really feels like our destiny is written here. Now, if we could only find that property . . .
During our stay in the Hill Country, I found a great article in Texas Monthly called “The Best Small Town Cafes in Texas,” and mapped out our eating route where we would get to try out some of these hidden gems. If you’ll be traveling through the Lone Star State, I highly recommend printing yourself a copy of this article and keeping it handy.
If there’s ever a state that could turn me into a carnivore, Texas would be it. As we drove across West Texas and into the Hill Country, BBQ aromas wafted out from so many eateries along the way, that, even I, a 23-year vegetarian, had a hard time turning down the flesh.
But I stayed true to my convictions, because we all know that aromas are oftentimes more powerful than taste. Whenever I get close to pondering what a spare rib would taste like after all these years, it’s pretty easy for me to turn it down, once I consider what meat would do to my guts (ick), and the guilt I would feel after eating it.
Luckily, as I discovered at Paula Deen’s restaurant in Savannah, southern cooking has a huge variety of side dishes (some with vegetables!) that I enjoyed, as well as catfish done up every way imaginable. Plus, with the Tex Mex influence, I was happily chowing down on beans, tortillas and all sorts of mismashes of southern and Mexican dishes at the same sitting (like homemade mac and cheese and pinto beans!) wherever I went.
Granted, most of the food in Texas is made with a TON of sugar, bacon fat and salt, but if you’re an easy-going vegetarian like I am and can look the other way, then you won’t starve. You won’t stay skinny (check out these Texas-sized onion rings!), but you’ll certainly eat some of the best downhome cooking in the U.S.A.
All things in moderation, right?
Not when it comes to Allen’s Fried Chicken in Sweetwater! This home cookin’ haven was listed in the Texas Monthly article as Ma Allens, and has to be one of if not the best regional food experience from our entire trip to date.
The food is served family style, and there’s lots of it. Both food and that down home family feeling that is. We waited in line outside the small nondescript building for just a few minutes before joining a party of bikers from Lubbock, at a table with teo seats left.
These good folks were practically regulars, and knew what dishes to ask for, like butter potatoes! But the dishes kept coming, roast beef, cole slaw, okra, squash, mashed potatoes, potatoe salad, green beans, pea salad, creamed corn, macaroni and cheese, yams, homebaked rolls … and of course a massive pile of some of the best fried chicken Jim has ever had. Sorry mom.
Founded in 1973, this local chain used to be called “Dan and Fran’s,” until the couple split up. They each went their own way, and started their own separate restaurants. We only tried Dan’s, but next time we’re back in Austin, we’ll be sure to sample Fran’s fare too.
Go to Dan’s for breakfast, and if your eyes are bleary like ours were, make it easy on yourself and just order the #19 Special. For just $3.69, you get a heaping of eggs, toast, biscuits and gravy, and sausage too.
And believe me, if you’ve been hanging out with crazy Austinites like our friend Skinny Chef, you’re gonna need it!
Texas is being good to us, and we love it here. Never in a million years did we think we would say this. As native West Coasters, we fell for the popular snotty stereotype about the Lone Star State: that it’s flat, boring, full of rednecks and the only redeeming thing about it is Austin.
Now that we’ve been to the Great State two times in the last year, we just want to say; We were wrong. Sorry Texas!
The most peaceful, relaxing drives we’ve had in the last two years have been along the back roads of West Texas. The land here is as varied and beautiful as anything we’ve seen in our travels. Nowhere else in the United States can you drive through such wide open spaces and see vistas that go on for miles, without a single inhabitant except for a herd of cows. Tall rock formations line the horizon against a deep blue sky, and even if you’ve seen “No Country for Old Men,” Hollywood still can’t come close to replicating this kind of beauty. One visit to Big Bend National Park, and you’ll see for yourself how stunning this country is:
We haven’t been to a national park since saying goodbye to Jerry in Yellowstone. Coming here felt somewhat like a betrayal to our baby, since the last time we set out to do the tourist thing was with him.
But I knew if we didn’t go to Big Bend now, years might go by before we had the opportunity to go again. Since it was “only” 240 miles out of the way from our next destination, the Texas Cowboy Poetry Gathering in Alpine, and diesel is hella cheap in Texas, we went for it.
Arriving at the park and hitting the trails without him didn’t seem right at first. But after a day of sweating in the blazing sun, and getting stabbed by cacti on the trail, I realized that Jerry probably would’ve hated this kind of terrain, which helped my pangs of guilt to subside.
Remember that freaky cherimoya fruit I told you about? We finally got the courage to try this local delicacy.
The sweetness of this fruit would probably go good with a gewurztraminer wine, but don’t get liquored up or you could break a tooth on the rock hard seeds.
Before we left Borrego Springs we played tourist and checked out these amazing roadside sculptures by artist Ricardo Breceda.
The detail of the scrap metal creatures is amazing. How does this guy find the time?
In the back of the book, Jerome promises that if any reader takes a photo of him or herself holding “
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