Yesterday, after a sun-splashed and windless mountain bike excursion through hill and dale country (arroyo and mesa in eastern Utah), we returned to Camp Boonster and gathered at the steps of Goldie's Bar and Grill in order to further overdose on natural vitamin D. It was one of those Indian Summer kind of days where only fools retreat indoors to play with devices and check on the lack of progress in the hallowed halls of D C.
As we baked and tanned our way into the afternoon a lone biker rode up on a Cannondale and inquired if my name might be "Mark." It turned out that he was a longtime BCB reader from back in the The Artful RV Adventure days when our rig was an Excel Fiver. Kelly was from Port Townsend, Washington, and even though P T is in the so called "rain shadow," he was on a search for Nirvana...the perfect place to call home, a place with sunnier skies, warmer temperatures, and greater variety of landscapes. "Welcome to it my friend, it doesn't get any better than today right here."
Kelly knew of our search for the perfect place to live (my search, really...Bobbie has always known where her "home" lies). He had "a bone to pick" with me, too, that I ended up concluding the Artful Adventure search with the realization that Nirvana is only a concept that exists in the hearts and minds of restless dreamers, the kind of people who grow bored soon after plopping their asses down.
As an example, I told him how I loved the Pacific Northwest, Anacortes in particular, but qualified that sentence by ending it with, "in September." Yes, Anacortes is Nirvana...but only for about six weeks a year. When the clouds and rain return come October through July, Her light goeth out like a candle in the wind.
And while not all places are created equal, there is a climatical price to pay no matter where one lands if they overstay their welcome. I grow overheated in my beloved Sonoran Desert come April. And I grow too cold and sun-starved in The Crevice of Lovely Ouray come November. As Kelly rode away on his mountain bike, I told him that he was doing it right...that he was a close as one could get to NirvanaVille by living on the road in his home on wheels. Nirvana, you see, is a moving target...seasonal...and lucky are the restless souls who get to chase her down.
Peace Out from Camp Boonie, Utah.