The Blog of John Patrick Larson

Matrimony marked the month of June.

Two weddings were among the summer’s regularly scheduled, and one extra found its way in to our regiment.  When Taaj (fiance of the proprietor of our AirBNB lodgings) dropped by to welcome us with a bottle of wine I quickly realized I had met a brother from another mother (which is of course colloquial ‘hood for “kindred spirit” or “insta-best friend”).

Maybe it was his above-average lobbying for us to not skip India in the coming year, maybe it was his blessing/prediction that we’ll have an amazing network of folks by halfway through our journey¹, or maybe it was his worldliness in general, owning to a lifetime of travel that gives me something to look both up to and forward to.

Whatever it was, I knew that this was someone with whom I should make time for a man date.  Whether I came to this conclusion before or after he suggested we crash his flash-mob wedding at Red Rocks that coming weekend, I do not recall.  But two days later, after 5 hours over beers, gyros, and hanging in his backyard I figured it quite appropriate to add his and Velina’s nuptials to our weekend agenda.

But first up was elegant Evergreen: the wedding of my sister-in-law at the Lake House on the lake there, nestled up in the gorgeous mountains just west of Denver.  I loved this wedding for the myriad roles I got to play in it.  The first role was that of webmaster, by virtue of putting together their wedding website months earlier.  Second, as husband of the Matron of Honor² I was assured a spot near the bride and groom at the head table.  Third, I got to get my theatrical groove on during the ceremony in a dramatic reading of E. E. Cummings poem “I Carry Your Heart”.  (The night before saw me clicking around on Tracy’s iPhone to take in various readings and interpretations of this poem, that I might transcend the–for me–bewildering punctuation and sentence structure in order to really convey it to the congregation.)  Forth, I got an exception to hang around in the suite where the bride et al were getting hair and makeup done (otherwise a very no-boys-allowed situation, as is oft the case).  “Jester to the bride” is the most fitting title I can put this this role: in Jen’s words I was a welcome presence for making her laugh, making the mood light, serving sandwiches, and generally keeping wedding day stress well at bay.  Fifth was in-house dance machine, responsible for keeping the dance floor as populated as I could muster (which was less than I would’ve liked: being again at altitude after a month away took its toll on my endurance).

As if seeing my sister-in-law throughout such a weather-and-otherwise ideal wedding (and picking up a kickin’ brother-in-law in the process) wasn’t win enough for the day, I got to witness some serious and unbeknownst theatrical stylings in Tracy.  Her delivery of a really well-written and heartfelt toast during the reception was touching indeed, and revealed performance chops in my wife that I didn’t know existed³.

The next day we drove down from the mountains and in to Red Rocks for wedding number 2.  We weren’t about to hurry any familial happenings in Evergreen for this wedding crashing, but fate had aligned pretty well to fit it in at no one’s expense.  With deepest respects to Taaj and Velina, I daresay this gathering fell well short of the sort of military precision in timing that makes a real flash mob event.  It was only by the grace of dress code (i.e. anyone in formal wear then and there) that others recognized us outliers and helped us find our way to the spur-of-the-moment changed location.

After an hour of milling about both bride and groom were converged on the scene, and amid breathtaking scenery and super-fair weather a nice little ceremony commenced.  Most touching and unique to me was the inclusion of Taaj’s 7 and 10-year-old from his first marriage: the bride had vows to them for the role she was taking in their lives, and they in turn got to say “I do” in regards to welcoming her to the family.  So cool.

After a lovely week of house sitting for the bride and groom (of wedding  number 1), Tracy and I flew off to Boston for wedding number 3.  We touched down and got ourselves to the ferry that would whisk us over to Province Town, Cape Cod.  After 90 minutes of choppy seas (complete with a surprise visit to the head by me at about 70 minutes in–I used to love going on rides at places like Six Flags, but seem to have lost some of that tolerance for motion) we were greeted by two of my favorite people: the groom and his best man/sister, my business partners from the Playground days.

They whisked us off the epic estate at which the wedding would be held and close guests would stay for the week leading up to it.  We arrived on Monday which was already one day in to the revelry.  By then preparations were well underway, with terrariums being made up for table decorations and copious limes being juiced to make up batches of the event’s signature cocktail ⁴.

Tuesday was Tracy’s birthday.  It was also the day of her first ever root canal.  Tracy awoke 2 nights prior with searing pain telling her that a lingering issue of tooth sensitivity had come to a head, but it then being a Sunday and with travel on Monday, an immediate visit to the dentist was not an option.  So a Tuesday birthday root canal it was.  With the gracious loaner car from the groom’s dad (these were hot commodities at the estate, mostly reserved for schlepping people like ourselves from the ferry and other assorted logistical errands), we made a 4-hour field trip to the dentist.  It might sound tragic but it wasn’t.  Tracy was a sport and there were even some upsides to the whole thing: you should have seen the way her face lit up that night after swishing cold water around in her mouth post-brushing, pain free for the first time in months.

The week was a mixed bag for Tracy and I: the house atmosphere was akin to one long, extended frat party⁵.  That was fortunately balanced by the fact that attendees were an exceptionally fantastic bunch: seriously great people who collectively added love fest to the atmosphere.  My only real regret is how many of the cool kids smoked.  Easy to handle in smaller quantities, but when clustered I just couldn’t hang.

Much like the tasteful gender-bending done when Tom elected to have his sister represent as his best man,  Tana had a fellow named Adam represent as one of her bridesmaids.  My being a groomsman plus wedding party arranged by height ascending outward equals Adam and I were opposite one another.  Which means I got to walk Adam down the aisle, a degree of hetero-flexibility with which I am completely comfortable.  Made me appreciate the progressively waning homophobia of our generation, unlike in my father’s day I don’t think we scored any reproachful looks from an uptight audience.  And Dad, if you’re up there in heaven reading this, uh, sorry, I guess: no need to fret over my walking a man down the aisle at a wedding, just ask my wife.

By the time our days in the party house drew to an end our party-exhausted selves were ready to move on.  Still it took about 40 minutes to say all of the heartfelt goodbyes, a true testament to the quality of the crowd.  A much nicer ferry ride on a much calmer sea found us back in Boston, for a bonus day and a half of exploring a rather good lookin’ town.

Back here in Denver I’ve been all too keen to getting back into some work doin’.  After playing the tourist and party goer for 9 days I was just famished for a little of the more heady pursuit that is crafting code.

Next up is our week-long assignment to be counselors at a camp for kids with serious illness.  A trio of weddings is remarkable and memorable enough, but this forthcoming experience might well top it.  We hit the road for the Vail area in two hours.

Notes:

Our first night out of the friends-and-family circuit found us pitching our tent at Great River Bluffs State Park, a lushly forested area with high overlooks of the Mississippi River, located in in Minnesota and situated right across from La Crosse, WI.  We got settled in the afternoon (a good idea as this was Friday of Memorial Day Weekend, we snagged one of the last 2 available sites), and backtracked into La Crosse to catch dinner¹.

When we made our way back to camp the rains were in full force.  We contented ourselves to curl up in the tent and watch Kung Fu Panda on my laptop, which took us to bed time (which is indeed a flexible concept these days: on a night like that one, for example, turning in before the sun has fully set is surprisingly acceptable and desirable).

It rained all night.  Even the inside walls of our rather resilient tent were soggy by morning.  In the morning after a walk we packed it in and hit the road.  I was feeling a little gruff and we had laundry to do, so we resolved to take a night off from camping and grab a hotel for the next night.  By negotiating by way of William Shatner’s PriceLine Powers^TM we found a fine hotel to stay in in Sioux Falls, South Dakota for $50.  It seemed like a nudge and a wink from the Universe that we were on the right track when we found Kung Fu Panda 2 premiering on HBO in our room that night, so you can guess our evening’s entertainment.

The next day we were back on the trail headed for the Badlands, ready to give camping another go.  Incessant winds and a low of 38 degrees marked this night, and a forecast throughout South Dakota for the coming week didn’t look much better.  It had been our plan to take it slow and camp our way through the Badlands and the Black Hills, but clearly this called for some revising.  This was a bummer, for star gazing in the nighttime sky there in the Badlands was the most spectacular I’d ever seen, with the Milky Way quite clearly visible (though the prevailing winds kept me from lingering to enjoy during that mid-night potty break anyhow).  Additionally, by this time my gruffness had turned into a no-doubt-about-it cold.

So off we went again, this time retreating to the comforts of the Alex Johnson, the posh historic hotel in downtown Rapid City for which we scored a ridiculously good deal ($41) on Kayak for the night.  The AJ would be our base of operations for seeing the Black Hills attractions, Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse.

Both are impressive carvings, but Crazy Horse really sticks out to me as a mind-bogglingly inspiring demonstration of what gumption, vision, and perseverance is able to create.  They’ve been working on it for over 60 years, and by “they” I don’t mean a rotating cadre of anonymous employees of some large, well-funded organization (which is what usually springs to mind when an unqualified “they” is employed in language).  Nope, the “they” behind this decades-long endeavor is predominantly a single family: a fellow named Korczak Ziolkowski started it in 1949, and today it is run by his surviving wife and 7 (out of 10) of their children.  It’s a family business and an impressive one at that: the whole project is funded on admissions, on-site sales of souvenirs and whatnot, and donations.  They’ve turned down any and all government funding offered over the years.  One dude.  One family.  Probably a 3 or 4 generation project and legacy.  And they’re pulling it off.  A fine data point to illustrate the power of intention and play to create something rad in this world.

After our limited and less-than-hardcore sightseeing junket in SD we continued on to our next residence, 4 nights at the Inn at Silver Creek in Granby, CO.  Another find on AirBNB, our space there was a studio complete with kitchen and wi-fi.  By this time I was just plain hungry for some straight-up work time: just me, the laptop, and an internet connection.  I mean, ostensibly we’d just lived the last month on vacation.  It warms my heart to think how deliciously important it is for me to be actively creating something vis-a-vis work on a regular basis².

After the whirlwind of activity and camping, life in Granby was a sweet change of pace, and more indicative of how the flow of World Tour is set to go: a nice tidy abode which we get to settle into for a while, a kitchen for preparing most of the meals, and biding our time with having outdoor adventures, reading books, writing blogs, watching streaming Netflix³, and doing productive work.

The resort we stayed at offered a very nice lobby area with comfy couches, vaulted ceilings with skylights, stuffed bears and mounted bucks, old-timey jazz tunes, a 12-foot desk overlooking the balcony, and wi-fi.  I called this space my office, and even made a regular practice of things like “going off to work” and “coming home for lunch” by way of a walk down a long hallway through the resort complex.  Going off to work to a dedicated space during this nomadic existence is a treat indeed, and yields immense focus for inspired work.

Speaking of inspired work, Tracy and I have made a game of fitness capitalizing on a feature I’m developing, Metrics, as part of the new version of CoachAccountable.  We’ve resolved to do 60 minutes of exercise every day: biking, abs, pushups, yoga, power walking, whatever.  We’re testing out Metrics to track our progress: daily reminders sent by a text to Tracy’s phone keeps this “good idea” around and in our face, lest it just eventually fall out of vogue to be ultimately abandoned.  A quick reply via text and our score for the day is captured.  Easy peezy.  You can see how we’re doing by the graph the system makes for us:

(For sure it would be more impressive had my (and then Tracy’s) catching of a cold not derailed us for the last while, but you get the gist!)

We’re currently staying in a tidy little home in the Denver area, rather again impressed and inspired by the efficiency of smaller spaces.  For the coming month we’ve got 2 weddings to attend and a much more relaxed lifestyle to live, and that to me is just perfect.

Notes:

Goodness that was a whirlwind.

In the last 3 weeks  Tracy and I count 38 occasions of hanging out with people.  38 instances of meeting out for a meal, or grabbing coffee, or getting drinks, or staying the night.  The real kicker is there were still a good number of folks we wanted to see but couldn’t make the time.

Though quite enjoyable at the time, the 38 which constituted the bulk of our doin’s these last 3 weeks all kind of blur together in memory now.  So in lieu of recounting those, I’ll focus on a few delightful nuggets that have come from the experience.

A visit to the Shissler farm in the middle of Illinois cornfields have given me a fond appreciation for agriculture.  Thanks Adam for answering my endless barrage of questions on how you grow literally tons and tons of popcorn.  For it I’ll never see a pivot irrigation system the same way again, and I’m sorry to hear about those meth heads stealing your copper off of them.

After wading through 90 minutes of Chicago land traffic en route to the north side, nothing could be so comforting as hot fresh breakfast at 3pm featuring bacon and french toast.  Sister Susie and boyfriend Brad, you have our gratitude.

It was Friday the 18th when we realized we were running out of things to do around the Milwaukee area for the time being.  Our stay at a place we found on AirBNB downtown (at which point we would enjoy the non-family parts of our visit) wasn’t until the following Monday, so we had a big gap.  It was at this time we decided just to head to Madison early to enjoy a weekend there.

But wait–we weren’t scheduled to go to Madison until next Thursday when we had a dinner date with a friend.  To go there now would mean we were breaking the schedule, and bouncing around willy-nilly.  This to me seemed counter to my sense to appropriate behavior: like we were being naughty to waste gas, or flaky to be changing cities in on the fly.

Of course that sort of rebuke is ridiculous, head-trash to be discarded.  The real gem of the idea “Hey, let’s go to Madison” is the realization that Tracy and I have serious liberties to design and redesign our World Tour however we see fit, so long as we are able to responsibly swing it.  Which implies an even juicier bit of insight: if World Tour is at all sucking, that’s because we’ve gotten lazy in our design thereof.  We’re on the verge of boredom in Milwaukee having exhausted our family visits?  Then it’s our job to do something about it–loving the time that we have for the next 15 months is our job.  If we’re not having fun, we’re slacking on the job and have no one to blame but ourselves.

Speaking of the non-family part of visiting Milwaukee, I am happy to report that my hometown¹ is way cool.  Oddly enough, this was the first time I really got to experience Milwaukee as an adult, for I went off to Madison right after high school and never moved back, and visits since have always centered around seeing family.  This time Tracy and I got to play around the downtown area for two days, taking in brewery tours, great scenery and architecture along the lakefront and riverfront, niche restaurants (Soup Bros. is amazing), and fab bike rides to tie it all together.  The capstone was the view from Lake Michigan aboard my Aunt & Uncle’s boat: bolstered by zipping along the coast with a glass of Chardonnay in hand, the skyline at sunset is striking.  Dang, Milwaukee, you’s a good lookin’ town.

It was a delight to see our friends and family in St. Louis, Chicago, Milwaukee, and Madison.  And in the interest of variety, is it my pleasure to say that our appetite for John, Tracy and John & Tracy time is now well whetted.  (A break from listing off the countries we intend to visit should also be rather lovely.)

Onward we now go westward, back towards Denver for the first wedding of the summer.  We don’t know a soul in Minnesota or South Dakota, so our break from visiting people will happening whether we want it or not.  Glad we got it all in while the getting was good.

Notes:

At the tail end of our St. Louis tour we took a vacation from our vacation, and ventured to the outskirts of Augusta, Missouri to get away from it all¹.  The wine country is apparently a well-kept secret, and we learned as much while talking with the proprietors of the Lindenhof, the fab bed-and-breakfast we stayed at during our visit.

“So what do you do?” asked Bill as we sat down in the Lindenhof’s guest living room for a glass of wine.  “I’m a web programmer.”  This was greeted with more interest than I’m accustomed to getting, for our hosts were part of the city council of Augusta who would be meeting the next night to go through a proposal for a new town website, one meant to show off the town as a desirable tourist destination.

It was neat to hear snippets of how a community with its business owners & leaders collaborates and struggles to cause their shared prosperity.  In my estimation Augusta, with its vineyards, microbrewery, bed-and-breakfast scene, and access to the Katy Trail, had already done the hard work of actually being a great destination.

We talked about this all a little more over breakfast, and eventually I had my laptop out at the breakfast table, setting up a simple WordPress-based site for the Lindenhof in exchange for a few nights worth of credit.  It was a fine team effort: Tracy was taking pictures around the property which I would then upload and post, Debbie was poring over themes to serve as a design foundation, and I busied myself setting things up to make it easy for Bill and Debbie to post info about events and itineraries, info just right to paint the picture for would-be visitors about the what and why to stay.  A lovely exercise in barter at its best!

Our time at the Lindenhof and Augusta was fantastic.  The afternoon and evening featured a few winery tastings and hasty (but not regretted) wine purchases, a burger and beer at the brewery, and a delectable back and forth (and back again) sequence of enjoying both roaring fire in the outdoor fireplace and soaks in the hot tub, all appointed with fancy plush robes.  The following day featured, besides breakfast business, and a fantastic 12-mile bike ride on the Katy trail.  With my bike in still in the shop from the misdeeds of an errant Eagle Talon, it was super sweet of our hostess to offer up to me her bike as a loaner (we were also sent along with bananas to enjoy, which nicely complimented the mulberries off of mulberry trees for which I kept stopping our ride in order to munch on).

Our trip in Augusta was finished off with a trip to the terrace at Mount Pleasant Winery–aptly named for its gorgeous views, lovely libations, and tasty food. 24 hours well spent.

Notes:

Though not sexy at all, St. Louis was the first stop of our road trip phase of world tour, a bustling nine days of catching up and hanging out with many fantastic people.

First things first: I’m totally fine.  As I write this my shoulder is a little stiff and it’ll be a few nights before I sleep on my right side, but my friend Katie the MD has given me an excellent prognosis, explaining in terms I barely understood and am less able to recall how nothing is broken, everything will heal, and I would do well to enjoy a little ibuprofen now and again in the coming days.

It happened while I was biking across the city of St. Louis¹ to meet friends out for pizza and go see The Avengers.  As I crossed Grand Avenue at Magnolia in the pedestrian walkway while having a green light, an oncoming car made a right turn on to Grand right into me.

I don’t know if this is characteristic of all being-hit-by-a-car instances, but for mine there was this 2 second window in which you know that the hit is going to happen, and there is nothing you can do about it.  A time during which your thoughts are “Oh-crap-she’s-not-seeing-me-she’s-headed-right-for-me-this-is-totally-happening.”  Well, you get those thoughts rattled off in your head in a fraction of second (because thoughts are really fast like that),  which leaves you with like 1.7 seconds left to express yourself while catastrophe is imminent.

I choose to fill my 1.7 seconds with profanity.  Loud, unabashed, you-rarely-get-the-chance-to-swear-in-public-quite-like-this profanity.  I think at the time it was my hope against hope that it would be heard to make my presence known and stave off disaster.

As I rolled on to the hood of that red Eagle Talon convertible I knew it didn’t work, but the uncertain motion of collision suddenly ended and thus my need to pontificate on the worst and/or tuck-and-roll protocol was suddenly gone.

I got up and in a flash pondered in earnest curiosity: so how is one supposed to act right now?  All pissed off?  Sheepishly cool and walk it off?  Get all legal and demand insurance papers?  Find humor and grace in that it could have been much worse?  The last option seemed most fitting as I was gratefully still able to walk with no substantial pain.

“Are you alright?” the 40-something red headed woman yelled out from her car.  “Um… yeah, I think so–a little stiff here and there…”  I don’t remember exactly what I said next, I recall gesturing her ahead to pull over so we could talk.

That’s when she drove off.  Which was a little bitchy of her, methinks².  But in fairness, I reckon within the looseness of my dazed, unclear communication she would somewhat understandably glom on to an interpretation of my words in which I were suggesting I was fine and she should just go on about her day.

Thankfully though help came right in the car behind her in that fateful turn lane.  A lovely woman yelled out “We saw the whole thing, are you ok?  Do you need any help or a ride?”  Turned out my bike was not in riding condition at this point, so my answer was yes, a ride would be fantastic.  It was then my great pleasure make the acquaintance of Ana and Richard, a nice pair of professors from SLU whose car had an ample trunk for stowing my huge-framed bike.  No doubt noting the foot-plus I had on her, Ana was even kind enough to offer me up the front passenger seat.

Surprisingly clear-headed thinking reminded me of a bike service shop on the south end of the park about a mile away, so that’s where I asked to be taken.  Once there they were kind enough to help me get the bike out and walk me over to the shop to be certain that I get well on my way.  Turns out the shop is closed on Sundays, at which point I asked: “Might you possibly do me one more favor and take me to the Central West End?”  With immediate bike service out of the question catching up with my friends was the next best thing.

Like the awesome people they were there was no hesitation to grant my bike and I a second ride.  We got to talking about travel on our way and I had the rare chance to practice my French with them–lovely folks for sure.  Just a few blocks shy of our destination I noticed the car dash clock read 3:56.  “Hey, I don’t know if you guys are big on irony, but thanks to you I’m going to be right on time to meet my friends for 4pm pizza!”

From there we parted company with a hearty handshake, I being super grateful.  Their help made a rough situation way way less burdensome, and following the drive off of my unwitting vehicular assailant they did swiftly rekindle my love for and faith in humanity.

In the end all was well enough: a few bruises and a stiff shoulder marked the entirety of my battle damage, and $390 for new tires and crankshaft has my bike back in working order.  For my swiftness to forgive and forget, and willingness to say things like “Man, if one had to get the “Get hit by a car” item crossed off the list of things to do before you die, it couldn’t have gone better!”, I’m told I’m being a little too light hearted about it³.  Even Tracy I think was more upset about me getting hit by a car than I was (can’t blame her–after all, her property did get injured).  And while I delight in the poetry being laid down by friends who would be my avenging angels (words like “She’ll get hers in karma”, “Oh my god, I would so mess her up–driving off after hitting my boy like that, nah-uh!” and my personal favorite, “I’ll shank a bitch”), I think any attempts of exacting vengeance, even cash for my bike fixin’, would be super draining and not worth it.

In the end, we’re just two people whose paths crossed unfortunately and we made a little mark and experience in each others lives.  She’s alright in my book, stuff happens.  I think I’d be content as far as justice is concerned to know that I left a tidy little John-sized dent in the hood of her car.  Really either way is good with me.

Notes:

“Aw man, I forgot to eat the last sausage and rest of the potatoes!”

As we pulled on to Santa Fe and out of my in-law’s neighborhood, embarking finally on World Tour with car loaded with camping gear and fancy bikes strapped to the back, the missed opportunity to finish the remnants of the morning’s breakfast was apparently foremost on my mind.  At the slightly-seasoned age of 32 my metabolism remains cartoonishly high, and with the road trip into Kansas ahead I sought simply to be well fed.

“Do you think we should go back?” I turned to ask Tracy with as dead-panned an expression as I could muster.  She laughed and said no, thankfully calling my bluff.

There would be no hard feelings about one or two things falling through the cracks when measured against the sheer amount of details and preparations tended to during the last 2 weeks (and really the last 4 months) by Tracy and I.  Actually when it came to getting us moved out and transitioned logistically to nomadic living it was 90% Tracy: cancelling services, selling, giving, and donating our stuff, packing the few (8) boxes with what little we kept, rerouting mail, booking flights, making the most of our miles (one free ticket to New Zealand, two business class to Peru), and more–this was all Tracy, handled with grace and wicked-high precision.

The last few weeks I spent largely getting my consultancy ready for the road: wrapping up projects, earning a little more nerd fame on Slashdot and Hacker News, setting up my stand-in for my clients’ support issues, and laying down the foundation for my next vocational adventure, version 2.0 of CoachAccountable (just the day before move-out I launched the alpha version to two people I’m coaching, who graciously volunteered to be my guinea pigs for testing and fine tuning).

So our exodus from Denver was rather smooth sailing, considering the degree of life-uprooting it entailed.

For those of you not familiar with this plan, World Tour is where we get rid of most of our stuff, put the rest in storage, and go travel & live around the world for a year.  Our first 3 months, now currently underway, constitute the US phase where we road trip around visiting friends and family and attend a few weddings.  Then on July 26th our third wedding of the summer, being held in Cancun, beckons us to fly on out for the international phase, taking us to parts of Central and South America, Australia/New Zealand, Oceana, Southeast Asia, and East and West Europe¹, and then the plan is to fly back from Ireland around September 2013 to lay down roots in Denver once again and make little people.

And it’s all in motion now.  On Saturday, April 29th we moved out of our place and transferred the things we are keeping to Tracy’s parents’ place (a bed, a dresser, a couch & love seat, the aforementioned 8 boxes, and Ozzie the kitty²). Sunday morning we rearranged the car and loaded in a big brown cooler on loan from the Lee collection.  With our car loaded for camping mode and containing all of the possessions we’d be enjoying the coming 3 months, we proudly bid the parents goodbye and were on our way.

To have the luxury of a sausage and potato snack on my mind at this point and amid these happenings suggests we were in a good place.  About 20 minutes later as we merged on to I25 to leave Denver, we remembered a few more things forgotten, including folding chairs for the camp fire with those great little beer coozies.  So we had reason enough to double back after all.

Thus the journey began, and yes, in case you were wondering the breakfast remnants did indeed make a lovely 1pm snack.

Notes:

Tracy and I have a theme for this year: World Tour.  The gist is we’ll be finishing out our lease at our current place at the end of April, and setting ourselves up to live abroad in various countries as we make our way around the world for the duration of a year.

I’ll no doubt have plenty of tales to tell about this experience, but before it falls to far into the shadows of memory, I’d like to first recount the origins of this vision which has steadily morphed into a “wow, this is not just a cool idea, we’re actually doing this.”

It was June 8th of last year when a friend forwarded me a notice put out by one of his associates:

I’m converting my million-dollar+ mountain-retreat in Breckenridge, Colorado back into a members-only club for entrepreneurs.
…
We’re going to open the doors in September, so I’m looking for a host-couple (husband + wife) who would like to live
there rent-free as entrepreneurs come and go / hang out.
…
This is the perfect opportunity if you are either retired of if you have an internet business.

The ideal couple would have one person with entrepreneur experience and the other person who’s a friendly people-person or host.

I was struck by how good a fit Tracy and I would make, and that afternoon we spent an hour exploring if we’d actually be game to do something that cool and adventurous.

We ultimately agreed that we were.

I reached out to the fellow looking for his couple, proudly throwing our hat in the ring.  Four minutes later I got a reply that he’d already found someone, but appreciated my contacting him all the same.

Easy come, easy go, right?

Lucky for me, my fabulous wife had developed a certain affinity for doing something that cool and adventurous as a product of our lengthy consideration of the opportunity.  That evening she broached the subject directly: “So all this talk about living in Breckenridge for a year got me thinking: I want to do something cool like that.”

“Go on,” I replied.

“Well, we’ve been thinking about a trip to Thailand, right?  And we wanna make it long as possible, since it’s super cheap once you get there and already paid for the flight.”  “Yep.”  “And there’s a lot of countries we want to go experience, pretty much all of which come with that overhead of a flight to get there and back, making each pretty expensive.”

“I’m with you.”

“What if we took a year and just lived everywhere we want to experience, without having to fly back to the US between each country?  We could sell most of our stuff, put the rest in storage, have the kitty stay with my parents, and just travel and live abroad for a year, without all the carrying costs of having a place in the US.”

(I don’t know if her words went exactly like that, but that was the gist: it all sounded immediatly so clear, simple, and above all affordable.)

“Holy shit, that’s awesome.  Yeah, we should probably do that.”

(I don’t know if my words went exactly like that, but that was the gist: I was immediately sold, and stoked.)

The rest of the night we discussed in animated fashion the vision and logistics.  We further explored the feasibility of it all.  It felt like we were somehow cheating or forgetting something important: surely there must be some loophole we were exploiting or some pitfall we were failing to consider in order for this large-scale dream appear so doable.

But no, with our mutually entrepreneurial careers, my ability to do work and earn money abroad with just laptop and wi-fi (as battle-tested in Argentina), our lack of a mortgage (fuck yes), and Tracy’s super supportive in-town parents whom we then (rightly) assumed would take the cat, this dream was our for the living if we were so bold as to do so.

We were/are.

Today, over six months later, plans are coming along swimmingly.  Everything is falling into place, and for how much of an upheaval in lifestyle this is it sure doesn’t feel stressful.  Our intended plan around the world keeps evolving.  To track it, last week I made a map with pins and string detailing the plan, which you can see here.

Super big thanks to Tom Schaff with his simple email forward that sparked all of this.

Tracy and I recently returned from a week of camping in Wyoming.  Just her and I, we stayed one night in a lodge outside Jackson Hole, 3 nights in the Grand Tetons, 2 nights in Yellowstone, and 1 night in an off-the-highway camp site named “Windy Valley Creek”.

Here are 13 observations which nicely capture the feel and flavor of the trip:

1. Our ability to fill 8 hours on the road with lively and fresh conversation (among other things a lot of waxing hypothetical of our parenting style and game plan) is damn useful, and bodes well for the seven more decades we plan to spend together.
2. The local beer should be enjoyed while you can–there’s no telling which ones ship out as far as your home town (for example, the quite tasty Snake River Lager cannot be found tucked away in the liquor stores of Denver, whereas the vastly inferior Trout Slayer can).
3. A 200 square foot A-frame cabin might make a fine place to hole up and write a book for the span of a winter, provided access to the a lodge 100 feet away serving aforementioned tasty lager.
4. Hiding dry and snug from the rain in a tent you pitched 15 minutes earlier is more satisfying than it rationally should be.
5. Piles of bacon, fruit and pancakes from the buffet quickly mollify the shame of visiting the restaurant in the first place due to morning campfire starting difficulties.
6. Peeing outdoors is more satisfying than it rationally should be.
7. Turns out campfires are way easier to start when it’s NOT the morning after a rainy day, so it’s ok to have enjoyed aforementioned piles of bacon, fruit and pancakes.
8. When camping, dinner is a roughly 4-hour ritual of food prep, fire starting, beer drinking, fire roasting, food eating, dish cleaning, and s’mores making.  The expense in time and effort is a joy, not a problem.
9. S’mores are just as delicious at 32 as they were when I was 8.  I’ll take 4, please.
10. There is no one I would rather spend an extended stint of one-on-one time with than Tracy, and it is so nice to have that fact laid so bare during a week like this.
11. Having 2 sleeping bags which zip together to make one big one is a setup for primo snuggling.  Useful in general, doubly so when the temperature dips to 28 degrees Fahrenheit at night in the early September of Yellowstone.
12. A place like “Windy Valley Creek” is apt to be named so for good cause: choose this as your campsite for the night with caution.
13. Our honeymoon in the Philippines lasted 3 weeks and cost around $5,000 in total.  This camping trip lasted 7 days and cost around $800.  To the extent that it is expedient to be content with less, I’m thrilled by how much I preferred the camping trip.

The journey back home was long but largely uneventful.  Peaceful.  Given the tail end of our trip we were ready to return.  During the layover in Seoul’s gorgeous Incheon airport I rejuvenated myself by doing full fledged yoga poses in my jeans and New Balance sneakers in front of the massive windows that look out to the air fields, taking full advantage of the right to be weird when you’re a stranger in a strange land.  Before we knew it we were touching down in LA.

It was in the international terminal at LAX where we met my friend Doc, and bleary-eyed and jet lagged from our recent 13 hour flight across the Pacific, I said whatever it was that came to mind then and there in answer to our first state-side inquiry about how our honeymoon was.  What exactly did I say?  I don’t know.  But as you may recall from the prelude to this tale, it was soon paraphrased as “The food sucked, we got majorly sick, and John went to a strip club.”   That surprised me, but I suppose now it could be an accurate description of my bleary-eyed blurting.

Back at Denver International we were punctually picked up Tracy’s parents, Chipotle burritos in tow made precisely to our preference.  (Cindy, my brand-new mother in law, had taken jotted down our order on a piece of paper at her desk back in October–have I mentioned how awesome my brand-new parents in law are?)  During the drive to their place we happily recounted tales which much more fairly represented our trip than my first account at LAX, including the strip club.  Soon we would be winding down in their Christmas-adorned living room (as I learned last year it’s a treat to return to the states with the Christmas season already in progress–so many decorations without any feeling of excessive build up!), and then retiring for a good 12 hours of sleep in their comfy and cave-like guest room.

It was so good to be home.

The touchdown of Zest Airways flight Z2-171 into Manila marked the beginning of the end to our wanderings in the Philippines.  Darcy’s driver picked the five of us up and made the rounds though the bewilderingly dense traffic to drop us all off at our respective destinations about town.

Tracy and I were plopped right in front of the Somerset Millenium Makati, which Darcy was good enough to recommend and have his staff make us a reservation.  We checked in and quickly got settled into the relative luxury of our room with its stellar 18th floor view of the city, and foraged out to the nearby swanky mall complex known as Greenbelt 1 through 5 for a nice sushi dinner.

Back at our room Tracy was spent and so passed on our invitation to join Darcy and his peeps out at a bar he owned nearby, Heckle & Jeckle’s.  In the interest of camaraderie and raising a beer to the man whose resort and hospitality made such a difference for us the last 3 days, I set out myself into the warm Manila night.

There’s something I absolutely love about wandering about in an active city by myself at night.  The lights, the flow of people and the architecture all have a certain vibrancy that calls to be observed in an unhurried way that you just can’t do as well in daylight or with others around wondering why you’re smiling at everything with maw agape like some enchanted 6-year-old.  Conditions are perfect to wander aimlessly and be distract-able by shiny.  I found myself in a triangle-shaped park nestled among sky rises, faced on one edge by a slew of open fronted eateries with hoards of happy people enjoying things like late night ice cream, and throughout with bushes and trees strewn with elaborate strings of lights that put the typical Christmas yard decoration to shame.  Add in the summer evening perfume of the abounding plant life and you’ve got a faint sensation of magic in the air.

Eventually I made my winding way to Darcy’s bar.  It was a bustling joint with pool games being played, darts being thrown, and three Filipino women joining vocal forces to do a pretty darn good set of Alanis Morrisette covers.  I ordered a trusty Red Horse (by this time my well-established local brew of choice), and found Darcy in short order.

“Red Horse, eh?  That’s the beer of the poor people!”  For real?  I thought all along it was the good stuff… it was more expensive back in Boracay!  “Yeah, it’s a cheaper way to get drunk because it comes in those bigger bottles and is a higher percent alcohol.”  Ahhh… yeah, that makes sense: I started to notice the tendency for it to come in these jumbo-sized bottles of liquid fun back in Sagada.  It reckon the whole scenario was like some hapless Brit coming to the US proudly drinking Budweiser, the King of beers, presuming that we Americans somehow held fast to a reverence of monarchs.  Whatever, it tasted alright and facilitated a talented dance exhibition to Lady Gaga.

It was now at this point that I was invited to the strip club as referenced in the preface to this whole saga.  It was the next stop of the night for Darcy and his crew, and since we were all getting along so swimmingly I was a welcome tag-along.  At this point I did indeed have presence of mind enough to remind my new chums the vague inappropriateness that this would be, what with this being my honeymoon and my new wife back at the hotel sound asleep.  “Right on,” I was assured: “this one will be pretty mild, so it’ll be fine.  Now, the second one we go to, that’s gonna be inappropriate for a man on his honeymoon.  You should probably skip the second one.”

“Oh, and if the DJ announces he’d like to welcome back Darcy and his friends when we get there, he’s talking about some other Darcy.”

Fair enough.  In the interest of having experiences that I wouldn’t be embarrassed to confess to either my wife or the world, I happily joined the gang as they hopped into the Range Rover of fun bound for our next destination.

There the crowded smokiness to the cheesy choreography reaffirmed for me that, yep, strip clubs even in this part of the world aren’t really my thing for anything above, say, 20 minute doses of novelty (even if the men’s bathroom was bemusingly wallpapered with naughty cartoons).  That, and contrary to the observable taste in about 60% of the older white men we’d seen during our trip, I don’t really have a thing for Filipino girls.

With my confidence again bolstered about my recent decision to take a wife of pasty-white European descent, I finished my beer, called it a night, and gave thanks to my new friends for having me along and the fun times.

Darcy walked me out and awesomely summoned his driver to give me a ride back to the Somerset, further cementing his role in my memory as a bad-ass host.  Despite my earlier ramblings about loving to walk city streets at night, by this time it was after midnight and the tropical rains were falling in force.  Back at the hotel I stripped out of my smokey t-shirt and gave the report of my evening’s activities to a sleepy Tracy, who just chuckled.

My wife is so awesome.

Soon to sleep, for tomorrow we travel.