Rewards for a Fixed Toilet

The project for the weekend was to fix the head. Inevitably, as a side note, I need to remind myself (and The Girl when she gets home) that I need to out a sticker on the door to the head that says "If you didn't swallow it, the toilet won't either."

Starting at the toilet, I systematically removed, cleaned, and reinstalled each hose until I find the culprit, a paper towel from the lack of toilet paper times.

After a couple of hours of cleaning up after myself, I needed to shave my head and take a shower. I finished up to The Dog enjoying time on the deck with the rare sunshine.

Dogs on Boats

I was nervous at first to be moving onto a sailboat with my dog. I didn't know if my dog was going to do alright with the close quarters, the jumping and climbing around, the docks, all that stuff.

First off, Ketchikan has very drastic tides. The average difference between high and low tides is something around 16 feet. That means when the tide is low, the ramps leading to the docks are very, very step. One half of any ramp here in town has these pseudo steps built in so you can climb them like stairs when it's steep.

The dog struggled at first. Some of the walkways are metal grates that you can see through. I image he was either scared or it was painful to walk on. But, with some gentle coaxing and bribery, the dog found his way.

Down the ramp and to the wooden walkways of the docks, he's now good to go off leash for the entire experience.

Getting into the boat was scary at first, too. He couldn't commit to taking that first step. It took him a couple of weeks to figure it out, but he got there.

Here he is on the dock just hanging out.

CHRONICLES: The Struggle, The Comeback

These days, not much can be done except trying to cover your ass from all of the shenanigans that go wrong in life.  That's how it feels to me.  I often wonder if my cell phone will still have service at the end of the day, if my lights will be on when I get home.  It's a weird and difficult time.

The sun is trying to fall asleep.

I've been thinking a lot lately about why I started this blog.  It was my intention to show people why they don't have to be scared of being different.  I wanted to live in a van.  I wanted to push the envelope and take the extra money I had and travel around the country.  I did some of those things.  I travelled.  I pushed the envelope.  I went on climbing trips in Utah that many people dream of.  I bought gear.  I had passes to ski areas that I wanted to ride at, and I could always afford to ride at a place I wasn't covered at.  I went as far east as Orlando, Florida and wound up as far west as Ketchikan, Alaska.  That's kind of where I dropped.

I was lucky enough to have spent some time in some stellar places, cool and trendy apartments in the cool neighborhoods, cozy dwellings, like where I am now, in a beautiful spot on the map.

I've fallen in love with this spot on the map, and some of the people that have come along with it.  But these people are also the ones reminding me that my lifestyle isn't as simple as it should be.  A wonderful and inspiring family I've met, they're moving up north so they can more/less homestead, raise chickens and goats and have a garden and live simply.  My own to-do list has "ministry" and "yurt" on it.

The fire keeps us warm as we tuck the sun in.

But getting there... I've been putting in so much unnecessary bullshit into the ideas that there has to be a certain lifestyle that one has to lead to be considered successful, when really, I never met quite as many great people as I did when I lived in a van, even when I never went anywhere.

The comeback lies in the Pacific Ocean.  Specifically, the Tongass Narrows, or even more precise, Thomas Basin harbor.  Next month, if everything goes to plan, I will be moving onto a 32 foot sailboat, and the adventure will continue.  It won't be the same, but it will continue.

Part of the reason I wanted to share this with you all, is because I was at the beach yesterday.  I had to decompress, and I wound up just looking at the sunset.  I just looked at it.  I remembered the sunset from the deck of the cabin a couple of summers ago.  I remembered the sunsets in Moab, in Salida, in Clarksville, in Kansas City and Yakima, on the M/V Malaspina, and I remembered how free I felt.

Freedom, I've missed you.  I'm coming home, and I'm bringing friends.

I'm coming home.  I'm free.