Four months on the road… four wheels, four legs, and eight paws. Seven thousand miles later, I don’t know if we call it a summer vacation or an excursion. But it wasn’t quite there and back again, as Rachel and I left our cozy cottage apartment at Venice & La Cienega for the next step — city, state, and chapter — of our lives together.
I moved to Los Angeles in my early 20s, knowing it was the place to start a career in media. And after a decade, it finally felt like home. But growth often comes most from leaving home. After a decade there, as remote work opens up post-covid, it seemed like maybe time to look beyond the TMZ. We had a packed summer itinerary, namely three trips to the east coast, so for the sake of savings, it was smarter to actually put most of our stuff in storage, move out, and drive for the summer. Keep in mind this includes a grumpy cat, wild puppy, and a little too much camera gear.
The trip became infamous among friends and family who’d heard—or seen—an armed carjacking that left me empty handed outside or Airbnb in Washington DC. Considering the duration of the whole roadtrip, it was pretty spot on for a false defeat midpoint beat. And it happened in broad daylight in a safe-looking neighborhood, with half a dozen people around us. Thankfully I’d paid for parking so many times along the way that, after seven years with my trusty blue RAV4, that I finally knew my license plate number!
So there I am in the middle of Capitol Hill, with some nice people offering condolences. Our pets were unloaded and inside already, Rachel was with a friend — everyone that mattered was safe. Still a hell of a thing to happen and so quickly; I felt I’d gotten off a close encounter easy. Even relaxed. For a moment I wondered a late night show gag or prank moment could be like… I mean really, do you know YOUR license plate number? Imagine, at the end of call, the operator reveals it was staged. Random person standing nearby with a small dog and phone is an actor, and you just won $100 for getting the license plate right. Right or wrong, the robber returns the car, reveals under the ski mask he’s Bryan Cranston, and everyone gets ice cream.
I’ve received a lot of absurd advice about what I should have done during an armed carjacking, from some well intended people, but this unharmed survivor suggests you just comply and know your license plate number. Also, don’t divulge your real name or residence to a reporter, because you’ll never know if police apprehended the wrong suspect and you’ll be doxed on the nightly news:
My fondest memory of the vehicle came at the start of this very trip. On the final night in Los Angeles it was packed to the brim, to absolute zero visibility from any window, every corner filled — mostly boxes, fortified with heaps of miscellaneous towels, detergents, home goods beyond recollection — as I escaped LA. Mind you, this perilous drive was done as late as possible just to avoid all potential traffic or getting jailed for basically driving a boulder with blinders on. Rachel was meeting me in Arizona, prepping our summer travel luggage, waiting to help unload this last stash. We left for Bryce Canyon a few days later, cat and dog in town — relaxed, re-packed, and with slightly more visibility.
Our pets were good roadies, or maybe we were theirs. I do not envy musicians on tour, it was brutal enough to do a different city each week, and on our own terms. We drove through our Sundays, worked all week, then explored on Saturdays. Four straight months of it.
We live in a beautiful country, the scale of which is really hard to grasp without actually traveling it at a ground level. Planes are amazing, but you miss all the sights. Cars are flexible, but the drive wears and expenses add up from days on the road—let alone weeks. I’d love to take an extended rail trip someday, that seems like the best way to go.
Our trip was inspired by two east coast weddings, another that Rachel was preparing with her best friend for end of year, and even a surprise proposal to signal our own. The route took us up through Utah, across Wyoming into Denver, Chicago, Niagara Falls, New York City, down into Philly, DC, into the literal boonies of the Appalachians (Boone, NC) then back west through Nashville, Dallas, Albuquerque, and culminating with a 10-day excursion in the Nevada desert (sans pets) for Burning Man.
I wrote about our previous trip there in 2019. The ephemeral Black Rock City is very… different… and somehow compelling enough to bring people back year after year.
That sunburnt, desert exodus was our most brutal leg of the trip, a 25-hour trudge back down to Arizona. Its first half was the worst, traveling at four hours per mile. Does that even count as driving?
And it took us two and a half years and 80,000 strangers, but at the end of this wild trek we both finally caught covid and were sick for the week following Labor Day. Kind of ironic, since literally everyone there has mask and often wears it for the dust storms.
Remarkably, though our planned summer was over, this was just an antibody intermission for our travelogue.
Next, we headed to Oregon. My parents recently relocated there and we overdue for a visit, as our search for a new home continued… or the next AirBnB, whichever came first. Weeks following were back in Southern California, from my favorite beach city Ventura then to the foothills of Rachel’s favorite Bernardino mountains. And another wedding.
Halloween is around the corner, so we’re seeing a 102-year old German expressionist film: The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari at the Walt Disney Concert Hall, accompanied by organist scoring… one more only in LA kind of night, before we relocate long-term.
For Thanksgiving, some friends and family will mete up in Hawaii, then to the Dominican Republic for another wedding—a tropical follow-up to the traditional Nigerian wedding ceremony a few weeks ago. This was also a first for me…what a year of those!
I hope to do it all over again someday, except for facing a loaded gun. And Omaha. They have a huge zoo, where we saw the only baby elephants in America, apparently. It’s probably a fun town if you know where to go, and the gyms were massive, but we joke about that stop the most. 28 states visited, if you count a raised freeway that veers over the Michigan state line, and lots of fun.
Along the way I produced something unique for FailArmy, a new “man on the street” format react series. My first interview was with someone on his second day out of an extended prison sentence; he was one of the nicest people I met all year. I recorded these in a few in different cities and hope to do more in the future. Here’s a taste of our fans in Nashville:
TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@failarmy/video/7143412016202534190
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/failarmy/videos/480960140498385
