Since I'm on the topic of "things that I love," I suppose I'll take a moment to list some of the beloved activities I was privileged to engage in today.
In no particular order:
1. I made a wonderful lunch, packed it up, and then got some coffee at a good place and proceeded to eat my meal and read a book (with sunshine, even, and then, once I got too hot, I was able to jump into an air-conditioned cafeteria)
2. I worked out at a gym
3. I smiled, even when I didn't feel like it
4. I went shopping at the market, for food for tomorrow's beloved meals (assuming I'm alive tomorrow, which I do not; if I am, then I'll have food to eat, anyway)
5. I ran some errands, successfully
6. I did some work, also successfully
7. I made some money, and without robbing anybody
8. I drove my van, throughout, and I neither got in an accident nor caused one (and, of the close calls I had, none were my fault)
And, one thing that I wasn't quite able to love but would like to:
A few times when I felt sick and let it bring me down (though, there were some times when I didn't let it bring me down, as well as some times when I did but I was able to love my failing)
And, finally, what I'm grateful for: all of the above, and much more.
(What's this have to do with yoga? Absolutely nothing. Then again, when is expressing love and gratitude inappropriate ...?)
Thursday, September 21, 2017
Monday, September 18, 2017
Question: What Do I Love?
Answer: camping out in my new-to-me conversion van.
Such a simple recipe, for all its miracle. Drive somewhere I've never been. Find a nice, quiet parking lot where overnighting is allowed (or, perhaps, a dirty, noisey one, if I'm in that kind of mood). Take the few minutes required to set up my quasi-camper, then enjoy the feast of a dinner I'd made earlier that day, in the company of a treasured book and a descending night, and whatever wildlife I happen to share my parcel with, animal or human or otherwise (architecture makes good company, if you didn't know). And then, to top off this strange and free and priceless little sundae, I'll brush my teeth under the night sky and then take to the humble-but-perfect bed in the bowels of the van, where, even if the noise or the insomnia keeps me awake, I'll still have a better night's sleep than within the luxurious confines of a stationery home.
When morning comes, bringing with it rain or shine, health or disease, perfect peace or screaming war -- the result is always the same: joy in my heart and a warmth in my soul, in that special, nameless way that only true satisfaction can instill.
The recipe: a success. Mission accomplished.
This is something I love.
This is love.
Though it's been some time since I've posted to this blog, that doesn't mean I haven't been doing some post-worthy traveling. Certainly, I've had something to say; I've just preferred to invest my time in more travel, I suppose.
In the meantime, some things have changed -- my beloved vehicle, for one. In fact, it changed twice: first to a Ford Explorer, in which I took a minimalist approach to parking-lot camping, on a twin mattress squeezed into the tomb-like little cargo area (I'm sure there are some folks who've gone even more minimal, in station wagons or sedans or, of course, tents and the like; but, after previously staying in a minivan, I must admit that the Explorer was comparatively cramped). And then, after the Explorer's transmission spontaneously self-destructed on a jaunt through the Tennessee mountains, I found myself upgrading to my Chevy high-top conny-van (which feels something like a mansion, after my time in the Explorer).
As it were, I can honestly say that, after running the gamut, my current van is my definite favorite. Not only is it relatively huge, with more than enough storage and amenities for my needs, but it comes with an inherent perk: it's big enough to do yoga in (or most asanas, anyhow).
Yeah, I love to van-camp, and I love the van I do it in, too.
Such a simple recipe, for all its miracle. Drive somewhere I've never been. Find a nice, quiet parking lot where overnighting is allowed (or, perhaps, a dirty, noisey one, if I'm in that kind of mood). Take the few minutes required to set up my quasi-camper, then enjoy the feast of a dinner I'd made earlier that day, in the company of a treasured book and a descending night, and whatever wildlife I happen to share my parcel with, animal or human or otherwise (architecture makes good company, if you didn't know). And then, to top off this strange and free and priceless little sundae, I'll brush my teeth under the night sky and then take to the humble-but-perfect bed in the bowels of the van, where, even if the noise or the insomnia keeps me awake, I'll still have a better night's sleep than within the luxurious confines of a stationery home.
When morning comes, bringing with it rain or shine, health or disease, perfect peace or screaming war -- the result is always the same: joy in my heart and a warmth in my soul, in that special, nameless way that only true satisfaction can instill.
The recipe: a success. Mission accomplished.
This is something I love.
This is love.
* * *
Though it's been some time since I've posted to this blog, that doesn't mean I haven't been doing some post-worthy traveling. Certainly, I've had something to say; I've just preferred to invest my time in more travel, I suppose.
In the meantime, some things have changed -- my beloved vehicle, for one. In fact, it changed twice: first to a Ford Explorer, in which I took a minimalist approach to parking-lot camping, on a twin mattress squeezed into the tomb-like little cargo area (I'm sure there are some folks who've gone even more minimal, in station wagons or sedans or, of course, tents and the like; but, after previously staying in a minivan, I must admit that the Explorer was comparatively cramped). And then, after the Explorer's transmission spontaneously self-destructed on a jaunt through the Tennessee mountains, I found myself upgrading to my Chevy high-top conny-van (which feels something like a mansion, after my time in the Explorer).
As it were, I can honestly say that, after running the gamut, my current van is my definite favorite. Not only is it relatively huge, with more than enough storage and amenities for my needs, but it comes with an inherent perk: it's big enough to do yoga in (or most asanas, anyhow).
Yeah, I love to van-camp, and I love the van I do it in, too.
Sunday, April 23, 2017
4/23/17: The Hidden Value of Genericism
Tonight, something different: a word on genericism, and an odd, hidden benefit it possesses.
I've been traveling again, but, again, I've been nowhere new, or especially special, however much I've yoga'd there (and none of my destinations have been spared my yoga'ing, to be sure). Though, it's through this mundane, routine quality to my excursions that I've discovered something both unexpected and wonderful: the value of the United States' increasingly generic landscape.
In a nut, there are things to be learned from repeated exposure to outwardly identical places (and, similarly, people, and about anything else, I suppose). In particular, my adventures in such "genericized" environments have revealed to me what I do (or don't) like about any space.
Bear with me.
It's a matter of contrasts, as it were. Why is it that I liked that one Starbucks back in Charleston, while that one up in Charlotte was a total turn-off, despite being nearly identical in every respect? Well, there are the obvious variables -- the people present, the time of day, my mood and perceptions at the time, plus a million other chance factors. But, what about the times when, all things being more or less equal, I just ... liked that first one, for no reason I could readily put my finger on. Both were Starbuckses, with a standardized menu and decoration and general experience ... yet, they were different, and in a subtle-yet-significant way -- significant enough to sour me to one and endear me to the other.
And that's when we come to the heart of the matter: the highlighting of contrasts, an unintended side-effect of such standardized, Strip-Mall-America genericism. In the case cited above, of two almost-identical coffee shops in different geographical locations, I was allowed to see what I didn't like, due to experiencing a similar setting in a totally different physical environment -- visiting a Starbucks that wasn't a Starbucks, you could say. Here, the contrast was provided by the franchise's attempt to inject the good-and-appealing into multiple, separate locations, which, in retrospect, worked to isolate what was so enjoyable at the one Starbucks -- and, conversely, so repellent at the other. (And just what was that elusive contrast? Well, that's a whole other blog post, about psychology and architecture and the subtle, energetic qualities of space; but, as far as this post is concerned, the factor of the matter is, just, that the contrast was there.)
The point? That by traveling to such same-but-different places, the revealed contrasts can teach much to the traveler (and, in a broader sense, that there's value to any experience, however hidden or indirect).
Now, as for why you should care about this phenomenon? Well, I never said you should care about it, for the record. But, since you've read this far, I suppose you're entitled to some kind of takeaway, which would be this: that my "going to the same, uninspired places" brand of travel can be fulfilling, and in novel and surprising ways. And, for what it's worth, it bears mentioning that incidents of the particular sort cited above, involving the proliferation of cardboard-cutout franchises and their corporate parents, have been beneficial for me personally, helping me to find some good in these ubiquitous (and, sometimes, troublesome) non-entities. In my case, it's not a fully redeeming quality, exactly, but such benefit has gone a long way towards healing my somewhat rocky relationship with the corporate world and its controversial offspring.
Cool, eh?
I've been traveling again, but, again, I've been nowhere new, or especially special, however much I've yoga'd there (and none of my destinations have been spared my yoga'ing, to be sure). Though, it's through this mundane, routine quality to my excursions that I've discovered something both unexpected and wonderful: the value of the United States' increasingly generic landscape.
In a nut, there are things to be learned from repeated exposure to outwardly identical places (and, similarly, people, and about anything else, I suppose). In particular, my adventures in such "genericized" environments have revealed to me what I do (or don't) like about any space.
Bear with me.
It's a matter of contrasts, as it were. Why is it that I liked that one Starbucks back in Charleston, while that one up in Charlotte was a total turn-off, despite being nearly identical in every respect? Well, there are the obvious variables -- the people present, the time of day, my mood and perceptions at the time, plus a million other chance factors. But, what about the times when, all things being more or less equal, I just ... liked that first one, for no reason I could readily put my finger on. Both were Starbuckses, with a standardized menu and decoration and general experience ... yet, they were different, and in a subtle-yet-significant way -- significant enough to sour me to one and endear me to the other.
And that's when we come to the heart of the matter: the highlighting of contrasts, an unintended side-effect of such standardized, Strip-Mall-America genericism. In the case cited above, of two almost-identical coffee shops in different geographical locations, I was allowed to see what I didn't like, due to experiencing a similar setting in a totally different physical environment -- visiting a Starbucks that wasn't a Starbucks, you could say. Here, the contrast was provided by the franchise's attempt to inject the good-and-appealing into multiple, separate locations, which, in retrospect, worked to isolate what was so enjoyable at the one Starbucks -- and, conversely, so repellent at the other. (And just what was that elusive contrast? Well, that's a whole other blog post, about psychology and architecture and the subtle, energetic qualities of space; but, as far as this post is concerned, the factor of the matter is, just, that the contrast was there.)
The point? That by traveling to such same-but-different places, the revealed contrasts can teach much to the traveler (and, in a broader sense, that there's value to any experience, however hidden or indirect).
Now, as for why you should care about this phenomenon? Well, I never said you should care about it, for the record. But, since you've read this far, I suppose you're entitled to some kind of takeaway, which would be this: that my "going to the same, uninspired places" brand of travel can be fulfilling, and in novel and surprising ways. And, for what it's worth, it bears mentioning that incidents of the particular sort cited above, involving the proliferation of cardboard-cutout franchises and their corporate parents, have been beneficial for me personally, helping me to find some good in these ubiquitous (and, sometimes, troublesome) non-entities. In my case, it's not a fully redeeming quality, exactly, but such benefit has gone a long way towards healing my somewhat rocky relationship with the corporate world and its controversial offspring.
Cool, eh?
Saturday, March 25, 2017
3/25/17: Of Death and Departure
Departure is something of a death-trip, in my experience.
Preparations to be made. Loose ends to tie. Lists to write. Packing, packing, packing -- what'd I forget?!? And that's just for a single, untethered young yogi. Also, that knot of pre-trip considerations is just the start, not even touching on the finer points: inconveniences, deprivations; the breaking of the hallowed Routine; the loss of the creature comforts that have made sedentary life the norm in many parts of the modern world.
Logistical mayhem, this.
To leave one's home, however temporal that home might be, and however temporal the leaving -- it's no small thing, for mind as much as body. For the un-traveled, this reaction might come as something of a surprise (if not a shock). These attachments run deep, and strong, so much that, for many, there's ultimately no preparing oneself for The Departure, same as there's no preparing to leave the womb.
And so that's why a death is necessary.
For me, the process has become quite pronounced, as to be predictable. Before the departure commences, a stoppage must occur, an end to the primal continuity which constitutes the infrastructure of the average man's linear, time-lined, earthbound existence. The mind must shift from an orientation of survival and posterity and movement, to one of in-the-moment stillness -- a mentality of planning and tomorrows and progress, to that of Here and Now, and these things only.
There is resistance to this letting-go, of course, that of the ties that bind us (so securely, yes, but oh so restrictively). But, slowly, surely ... release is attained, either climatically, with our fingernail marks on it, or quietly, whimper-style. Then, a timelessness ensues, a cessation -- sometimes uneasy, sometimes tranquil, but always inevitable.
The hands untense. The bag is hoisted. The slate is wiped. The horizon opens up, and with it, the road.
Miraculous.
Such was the case for my latest journey, requiring this bittersweet ritual and its mental gymnastics. And, for all its ado (adieu?), this journey was a short one. Likewise, the journey was rather routine, just a few days of van-camping in some relatively staid suburban environs (without even crossing state lines, as it were). So routine and pedestrian, I once more will refrain from so much as my uninteresting pictures.
But I loved it, loved it, loved it. Loved the dying as much as the living that followed.
Preparations to be made. Loose ends to tie. Lists to write. Packing, packing, packing -- what'd I forget?!? And that's just for a single, untethered young yogi. Also, that knot of pre-trip considerations is just the start, not even touching on the finer points: inconveniences, deprivations; the breaking of the hallowed Routine; the loss of the creature comforts that have made sedentary life the norm in many parts of the modern world.
Logistical mayhem, this.
To leave one's home, however temporal that home might be, and however temporal the leaving -- it's no small thing, for mind as much as body. For the un-traveled, this reaction might come as something of a surprise (if not a shock). These attachments run deep, and strong, so much that, for many, there's ultimately no preparing oneself for The Departure, same as there's no preparing to leave the womb.
And so that's why a death is necessary.
For me, the process has become quite pronounced, as to be predictable. Before the departure commences, a stoppage must occur, an end to the primal continuity which constitutes the infrastructure of the average man's linear, time-lined, earthbound existence. The mind must shift from an orientation of survival and posterity and movement, to one of in-the-moment stillness -- a mentality of planning and tomorrows and progress, to that of Here and Now, and these things only.
There is resistance to this letting-go, of course, that of the ties that bind us (so securely, yes, but oh so restrictively). But, slowly, surely ... release is attained, either climatically, with our fingernail marks on it, or quietly, whimper-style. Then, a timelessness ensues, a cessation -- sometimes uneasy, sometimes tranquil, but always inevitable.
The hands untense. The bag is hoisted. The slate is wiped. The horizon opens up, and with it, the road.
Miraculous.
* * *
Such was the case for my latest journey, requiring this bittersweet ritual and its mental gymnastics. And, for all its ado (adieu?), this journey was a short one. Likewise, the journey was rather routine, just a few days of van-camping in some relatively staid suburban environs (without even crossing state lines, as it were). So routine and pedestrian, I once more will refrain from so much as my uninteresting pictures.
But I loved it, loved it, loved it. Loved the dying as much as the living that followed.
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
2/14/17: Tension and Release (Or, How to Make Something Out of Nothing)
The yogi has been out of action, for nearly two months. But, no longer.
Where'd I go? Nowhere new (same northern-family-visit circuit as catalogued exhaustively in this blog). What'd I do? Nothing new (camped in my van at a couple comfortably familiar places, where I yoga'd and such). What happened? Ditto.
Nothing ... and everything.
The trip, however unremarkable and routine and yawn-inducing for an outside observer, was absolutely blissful. How? Why? It was all about tension and release. Namely, that of being a riotously footloose person (a wandering yogi, as it were) who's been kept grounded by a conspiracy of health and circumstances and just plain stagnation -- only to finally break out of it, at long last. So, even though this breakout trip was absolutely routine (and lasted barely three days), it was, for the traveler, nothing less than manna from Heaven. I might as well have gone to the moon and back.
That first night out, I thought: This is how a supernova must feel.
Pictures:
The Horny Manta Ray, parked at the gym that hosted this trip's single night of public van-camping (which, keeping with the "nothing new" theme, has been previously pictured on this blog).
And then, what's this?!? Some actual content? Well, it was just the minor spectacle of some urban geese with whom I shared that gym parking lot, approximately six or eight of them waddling about and honking conspicuously throughout my stay -- but hey, some lousy content is miles better than no content (for the content-centric, at least).
Where'd I go? Nowhere new (same northern-family-visit circuit as catalogued exhaustively in this blog). What'd I do? Nothing new (camped in my van at a couple comfortably familiar places, where I yoga'd and such). What happened? Ditto.
Nothing ... and everything.
The trip, however unremarkable and routine and yawn-inducing for an outside observer, was absolutely blissful. How? Why? It was all about tension and release. Namely, that of being a riotously footloose person (a wandering yogi, as it were) who's been kept grounded by a conspiracy of health and circumstances and just plain stagnation -- only to finally break out of it, at long last. So, even though this breakout trip was absolutely routine (and lasted barely three days), it was, for the traveler, nothing less than manna from Heaven. I might as well have gone to the moon and back.
That first night out, I thought: This is how a supernova must feel.
Pictures:
The Horny Manta Ray, parked at the gym that hosted this trip's single night of public van-camping (which, keeping with the "nothing new" theme, has been previously pictured on this blog).
And then, what's this?!? Some actual content? Well, it was just the minor spectacle of some urban geese with whom I shared that gym parking lot, approximately six or eight of them waddling about and honking conspicuously throughout my stay -- but hey, some lousy content is miles better than no content (for the content-centric, at least).
Thursday, December 29, 2016
12/29/16: Beloved Travels
I've been traveling again, but that's the gist of it.
That is: I've been nowhere "new," visiting (and yoga'ing) only the now-routine places previously catalogued on this blog. Hence, no pictures, or even a description beyond, "Been travelin'."
Though, routine or not, I must say this of my travels:
That is all.
That is: I've been nowhere "new," visiting (and yoga'ing) only the now-routine places previously catalogued on this blog. Hence, no pictures, or even a description beyond, "Been travelin'."
Though, routine or not, I must say this of my travels:
I Love
LOVE
LOVE IT!
That is all.
Saturday, November 19, 2016
11/21/16: Another Holiday Norther
My latest trip: another Norther, to visit family, in the same Carolina-to-Carolina circuit I've been making for some time, with yoga at regular stops along the way.
As routine as they've become, I still love these trips, on multiple levels. However, this one proved not-so-routine.
First twist.
It started when, a day in, I received a phone call that sent me back south for a day, on some urgent and sudden business. More adventurous driving and yoga and more driving still, while parking-lot camping in my beloved van -- fun, fun. Next, once I'd done what needed doing and then headed back on my northerly ascent, I got lost -- three times, actually, having taken one wrong turn, then a second wrong turn upon trying to recover from the first, and then a third, in the same fashion, while recovering from my recovery. But that was okay, for it just meant more fun-fun driving, and I ended up in the quiet wilds of central NC, in a place I'd never been to but was glad to be in (where I did indeed van-camp and yoga).
Pictures from this leg of the trip (the only I remembered to take, as it were):
From there, it was a wonderful and uneventful Thanksgiving with my folks, up in the Applachians. And then, subsequently, an equally enjoyable and uneventful descent back to SC, again with van-camping and yoga and other assorted goodness.
It was then, on my seemingly mundane return trip, that the second twist came.
I had an epiphany of sorts, is what happened -- about this blog and its distinctly uninspired content, as it were. In a light-bulb moment, I realized just how much I delight in my seemingly dull, one-dimensional wanderings across the country. Taken at face value, my travels would be considered totally unnoteworthy to many people, especially your typical traveler -- after all, I don't visit museums or landmarks or anything traditionally considered worth traveling for (nor are my cell-phone pictures of anything but the everyday places where I perform my yoga). So, "dull" would be an understandable perception, sure; but only for the outside observer.
As the owner of the memories depicted by these rambling posts and their empty pictures, the reality of those events is absolutely priceless, as well as astounding.
It's a matter of psychology, you see. Setting out on these featureless journeys, thoroughly unthrilling and unentertaining and un-jaw-dropping, I always find myself discovering the joy of sheer existence, as to revel in the simple act of being, rather than only the rare instance of excitement or gratification. In this way, ALL is gratifying, ALL is exciting, ALL is nothing less than a thrill ride into the very essence of life itself -- "pura vida," they call it down in South America. Out in the sea of Modern Urbania and its interstate-connected strip-mall nothingness, with its artificial environment of cheap, limitless, endlessly duplicated sprawl-stores and restaurants -- there, I find something magical happening: that sea takes me, and, in my state of pura-vida dazzlement, I watch the world transform, and myself with it. Then, there is only a wonderland of being and life, bringing with it a fierce passion that is not surpassed by sex or drugs or other such pursuits. Just like the sailors of old, I experience a sea-change amidst my descent into the concrete McJungle, as to see the undying, unconditional beauty resident within it and all else.
Every faceless street corner becomes a carnival. Every Starbucks, a prized, locals-only secret. Every logo-wearing, smart-phone-staring 9-5er, simply a person, unique as a snowflake and delightful beyond words. In my travel-clarified vision, the world becomes a church, with God as life at large, and travel my worship.
Thus, my worship-voyages become absolute indulgence in this priceless-but-free commodity, brilliant and ravenous and nourishing to my soul.
Amen.
So, the point of this post? Simple: this is the context of my blog and its pictures, and why I bother to share something so seemingly pointless. And, after all: to one of like mind, who also travels to non-destinations for the sheer pleasure of it, perhaps this blog isn't so uninteresting ...
As routine as they've become, I still love these trips, on multiple levels. However, this one proved not-so-routine.
First twist.
It started when, a day in, I received a phone call that sent me back south for a day, on some urgent and sudden business. More adventurous driving and yoga and more driving still, while parking-lot camping in my beloved van -- fun, fun. Next, once I'd done what needed doing and then headed back on my northerly ascent, I got lost -- three times, actually, having taken one wrong turn, then a second wrong turn upon trying to recover from the first, and then a third, in the same fashion, while recovering from my recovery. But that was okay, for it just meant more fun-fun driving, and I ended up in the quiet wilds of central NC, in a place I'd never been to but was glad to be in (where I did indeed van-camp and yoga).
Pictures from this leg of the trip (the only I remembered to take, as it were):
From there, it was a wonderful and uneventful Thanksgiving with my folks, up in the Applachians. And then, subsequently, an equally enjoyable and uneventful descent back to SC, again with van-camping and yoga and other assorted goodness.
It was then, on my seemingly mundane return trip, that the second twist came.
I had an epiphany of sorts, is what happened -- about this blog and its distinctly uninspired content, as it were. In a light-bulb moment, I realized just how much I delight in my seemingly dull, one-dimensional wanderings across the country. Taken at face value, my travels would be considered totally unnoteworthy to many people, especially your typical traveler -- after all, I don't visit museums or landmarks or anything traditionally considered worth traveling for (nor are my cell-phone pictures of anything but the everyday places where I perform my yoga). So, "dull" would be an understandable perception, sure; but only for the outside observer.
As the owner of the memories depicted by these rambling posts and their empty pictures, the reality of those events is absolutely priceless, as well as astounding.
It's a matter of psychology, you see. Setting out on these featureless journeys, thoroughly unthrilling and unentertaining and un-jaw-dropping, I always find myself discovering the joy of sheer existence, as to revel in the simple act of being, rather than only the rare instance of excitement or gratification. In this way, ALL is gratifying, ALL is exciting, ALL is nothing less than a thrill ride into the very essence of life itself -- "pura vida," they call it down in South America. Out in the sea of Modern Urbania and its interstate-connected strip-mall nothingness, with its artificial environment of cheap, limitless, endlessly duplicated sprawl-stores and restaurants -- there, I find something magical happening: that sea takes me, and, in my state of pura-vida dazzlement, I watch the world transform, and myself with it. Then, there is only a wonderland of being and life, bringing with it a fierce passion that is not surpassed by sex or drugs or other such pursuits. Just like the sailors of old, I experience a sea-change amidst my descent into the concrete McJungle, as to see the undying, unconditional beauty resident within it and all else.
Every faceless street corner becomes a carnival. Every Starbucks, a prized, locals-only secret. Every logo-wearing, smart-phone-staring 9-5er, simply a person, unique as a snowflake and delightful beyond words. In my travel-clarified vision, the world becomes a church, with God as life at large, and travel my worship.
Thus, my worship-voyages become absolute indulgence in this priceless-but-free commodity, brilliant and ravenous and nourishing to my soul.
Amen.
* * *
So, the point of this post? Simple: this is the context of my blog and its pictures, and why I bother to share something so seemingly pointless. And, after all: to one of like mind, who also travels to non-destinations for the sheer pleasure of it, perhaps this blog isn't so uninteresting ...
11/6-11/15: The Cross-country Trip that Wasn't
This one started as a full-out, Carolina-to-California roadtrip, but somehow ended up as a confusion of un-destined exploration that spanned much of the Southeast, which would resemble a pretzel if mapped.
Don't ask me how it happened, or even where I stopped along the way (not to mention why). I started West, with every intention of continuing on that course until reaching the Pacific in some capacity; but then, a few days in, I just suddenly ... changed direction, surprising myself along with any imaginary passengers I might've had. Sure, this caprice wasn't quite as random and mindless as I'm making it out to be, for I did have reasons; those reasons are just highly personal and obscure, and hard to understand by anyone but me. So I'll just leave it at that: I had reasons, and they saw me Southeast, eventually to Florida.
I can sum up this trip pretty easily, despite it being nearly two weeks of reasonably intensive travel: I drove, and I slept in The Horny Manta Ray (as well as ate there, and did many other things for which no minivan was designed for), and did lots of yoga. And, I enjoyed every darn minute of it. Because I went nowhere that would be considered notable by anyone but myself, I won't elaborate on where I went. Instead, I'll just do another lazy summation: I stopped at many Anytime Fitness locations, and many coffee shops, and many gas stations, with a couple cheap non-van lodgings thrown in the mix, all located within the somewhat gun-shaped SC-GA-AL-FL geographical cluster.
As for pictures, I was at the absolute bottom of my game, forgetting to snap shots of my yoga-spots even more often than previous jaunts. Here are the ones I remembered to take, in no particular order other than date and trajectory:
Underwhelming to the outside observer? Yes (and, admittedly, even for yours truly, from time to time). But, all the same, I cherished this weird, stunted trip, no less than if it had succeeded in its cross-country aspirations (or, for that matter, if it had been to the Moon and back). The travel was perfect, and I loved it, and am eternally grateful for the experience.
Amen.
Don't ask me how it happened, or even where I stopped along the way (not to mention why). I started West, with every intention of continuing on that course until reaching the Pacific in some capacity; but then, a few days in, I just suddenly ... changed direction, surprising myself along with any imaginary passengers I might've had. Sure, this caprice wasn't quite as random and mindless as I'm making it out to be, for I did have reasons; those reasons are just highly personal and obscure, and hard to understand by anyone but me. So I'll just leave it at that: I had reasons, and they saw me Southeast, eventually to Florida.
I can sum up this trip pretty easily, despite it being nearly two weeks of reasonably intensive travel: I drove, and I slept in The Horny Manta Ray (as well as ate there, and did many other things for which no minivan was designed for), and did lots of yoga. And, I enjoyed every darn minute of it. Because I went nowhere that would be considered notable by anyone but myself, I won't elaborate on where I went. Instead, I'll just do another lazy summation: I stopped at many Anytime Fitness locations, and many coffee shops, and many gas stations, with a couple cheap non-van lodgings thrown in the mix, all located within the somewhat gun-shaped SC-GA-AL-FL geographical cluster.
As for pictures, I was at the absolute bottom of my game, forgetting to snap shots of my yoga-spots even more often than previous jaunts. Here are the ones I remembered to take, in no particular order other than date and trajectory:
Underwhelming to the outside observer? Yes (and, admittedly, even for yours truly, from time to time). But, all the same, I cherished this weird, stunted trip, no less than if it had succeeded in its cross-country aspirations (or, for that matter, if it had been to the Moon and back). The travel was perfect, and I loved it, and am eternally grateful for the experience.
Amen.
Monday, October 31, 2016
10/29/16: Florence -- South Carolina, Not Italy
Or, not Italy yet. I'd like to yoga it up in the Italian counterpart one day.
I had some business in Florence, SC, and so I spent the day there, my first time in the place -- a pleasant little escapade, as it were. I drove around. I bought some things. I saw the sights. I met some folks. It was a good day, and when it was through, I retired to a new (to me) Anytime Fitness location, for a workout and some yoga, and some van-camping in its parking lot.
A short trip, but a good one. I loved it (or, rather, love it). Thanks for some memories, Florence. Maybe I'll be back sometime.
I had some business in Florence, SC, and so I spent the day there, my first time in the place -- a pleasant little escapade, as it were. I drove around. I bought some things. I saw the sights. I met some folks. It was a good day, and when it was through, I retired to a new (to me) Anytime Fitness location, for a workout and some yoga, and some van-camping in its parking lot.
A short trip, but a good one. I loved it (or, rather, love it). Thanks for some memories, Florence. Maybe I'll be back sometime.
Monday, October 17, 2016
10/6-7/16: North Again (Again (Again (Again))) ...
I went North again.
Yep, same destination, same route, same old dance. I dodged Hurricane Matthew, this trip did accomplish that; but it was the only difference from my past migrations.
So I won't post any pictures, or even elaborate any further. Just: North. That is all.
Yep, same destination, same route, same old dance. I dodged Hurricane Matthew, this trip did accomplish that; but it was the only difference from my past migrations.
So I won't post any pictures, or even elaborate any further. Just: North. That is all.
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
9/20-23/16: The New Yorker
New York came calling (again), and I answered.
It was the coolest thing: from out of nowhere, I started seeing New York, all over the place. On the radio, on T-shirts, in random books and on signs -- often times back-to-back, such as hearing "New York" in a song precisely as, say, a car with a NY Giants bumper sticker cut me off. I even felt New York; on my last visit, I'd been left with a certain, all-over "imprint" of the city, a keenly-felt "energy," and, suddenly, in the middle of September, I was feeling this distinctive "groove," coinciding with the onslaught of NY mentions in my daily life.
I knew I had to go back, and so I did.
However, this time was a bit different: instead of staying in a Times Square high-rise hotel, the only room I could get within my window of opportunity was a Brooklyn hostel. And, what a difference. It was still New York, certainly, that much was for sure; but Brooklyn is a whole other ballgame than Manhattan, especially in the Bushwick neighborhood that housed my "hostel." Note the quotations, because this "hostel" turned out to be, rather, just a simple townhouse in an unfriendly neighborhood. I'll refrain from elaborating on the shortcomings of my lodgings; instead, I'll just say that it was a roof over my head, and I had a toilet and running water and some peace and quiet, and I was not robbed, stabbed, shot, or otherwise physically violated. Also: the hostel proved to have a private, serene little backyard, for which my room had exclusive access (neither of which were advertised when I made the booking, ironically).
And it was there that I commenced my yoga for my latest NY escapade, using a towel for a mat, among some nameless plants and a peaceful, unidentified tree. Gentle wind blowing, ethnic chatterings from the surrounding homes, a keen sense of distance from the surrounding metropolis. Lovely.
It was the coolest thing: from out of nowhere, I started seeing New York, all over the place. On the radio, on T-shirts, in random books and on signs -- often times back-to-back, such as hearing "New York" in a song precisely as, say, a car with a NY Giants bumper sticker cut me off. I even felt New York; on my last visit, I'd been left with a certain, all-over "imprint" of the city, a keenly-felt "energy," and, suddenly, in the middle of September, I was feeling this distinctive "groove," coinciding with the onslaught of NY mentions in my daily life.
I knew I had to go back, and so I did.
However, this time was a bit different: instead of staying in a Times Square high-rise hotel, the only room I could get within my window of opportunity was a Brooklyn hostel. And, what a difference. It was still New York, certainly, that much was for sure; but Brooklyn is a whole other ballgame than Manhattan, especially in the Bushwick neighborhood that housed my "hostel." Note the quotations, because this "hostel" turned out to be, rather, just a simple townhouse in an unfriendly neighborhood. I'll refrain from elaborating on the shortcomings of my lodgings; instead, I'll just say that it was a roof over my head, and I had a toilet and running water and some peace and quiet, and I was not robbed, stabbed, shot, or otherwise physically violated. Also: the hostel proved to have a private, serene little backyard, for which my room had exclusive access (neither of which were advertised when I made the booking, ironically).
And it was there that I commenced my yoga for my latest NY escapade, using a towel for a mat, among some nameless plants and a peaceful, unidentified tree. Gentle wind blowing, ethnic chatterings from the surrounding homes, a keen sense of distance from the surrounding metropolis. Lovely.
Sunday, September 4, 2016
8/19-26/16: North Once More
Super-short-blog-post -- go!
North again. Van-camping. Family. Couple Anytime Fitnesses. Forgot a couple pics. Yoga. Survived.
Amen.
North again. Van-camping. Family. Couple Anytime Fitnesses. Forgot a couple pics. Yoga. Survived.
Amen.
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
8/13/16: To the Beach, with Dean the Trash Bin
I made it to the beach again, refusing to yoga on my living-room floor for the bajillionth time.
It was nothing special ... or it was absolutely special, depending on how you look at it (in an "everything's a miracle" kind of way). In any case, it was markedly different than my last beach-yoga, some days previous, in a negative sense. I had to drag myself out there this time, for one; and then, the yoga just failed at achieving the magic of my last visit, as mysteriously as the magic was there previously. Eh. Oh well. I shrug at this; my yoga was yoga, and I'm okay with it.
And, yes, that trash bin kept me company all the while. I named it Dean (just now, writing this, I bestowed it this name). Thanks for the companionship, Dean, if you can hear me.
Thursday, July 28, 2016
7/26/16: Back to the Beach
Time to break the chain of "travel-yoga" posts that have dominated this blog for some time now, with one of a "just plain yoga"-type -- back to this blog's "roots," if intangible objects can have such things.
Yes, technically I've been "back" to the SC coast for the past year, off and on. However, my recent yoga here has been confined to my lodgings, which is a world apart from being performed on the actual beach -- like I used to do nearly every morning, but from which I'd fallen dangerously out of habit.
But not the morning of the 26th. Then, spontaneously, I went back, Schwarzenegger-style.
And thus was the panorama awaiting me. Tourist-filled, highly warm, and a bit more humid than I'd like -- but no less wonderful for it. For whatever reason, this session was particularly magical. Maybe it was just my frame of mind, with my long-time absence making me that much fonder of the beachfront; maybe it was the negative ions that are reportedly given off by seawater. Regardless, my yoga was something like transcendent, the kind that leaves a good psychic taste in one's figurative mouth.
In a word: marvelous. Thanks, God.
Yes, technically I've been "back" to the SC coast for the past year, off and on. However, my recent yoga here has been confined to my lodgings, which is a world apart from being performed on the actual beach -- like I used to do nearly every morning, but from which I'd fallen dangerously out of habit.
But not the morning of the 26th. Then, spontaneously, I went back, Schwarzenegger-style.
And thus was the panorama awaiting me. Tourist-filled, highly warm, and a bit more humid than I'd like -- but no less wonderful for it. For whatever reason, this session was particularly magical. Maybe it was just my frame of mind, with my long-time absence making me that much fonder of the beachfront; maybe it was the negative ions that are reportedly given off by seawater. Regardless, my yoga was something like transcendent, the kind that leaves a good psychic taste in one's figurative mouth.
In a word: marvelous. Thanks, God.
Tuesday, July 26, 2016
7/23-24/16: Another Quickie
I'm so capricious these days, and this is becoming evident in my travel habits.
Case in point: my spur-of-the-moment decision to pack up and take another little excursion, from the 22nd to the 24th, just cruising about the Carolinas again. Maybe it's the utter convenience (and economy) of the van-camping thing. I don't know, but I like it. Love it, perhaps.
And where else would I camp and, thus, do my yoga? Why, two Anytime Fitnesses, of course.
The first, in eastern NC, for your viewing pleasure:
And now, before you've recovered from that mind-blowing eyeful:
You might recognize the second one, because it's a re-post from earlier in the month when I camped at the same place, because I once more forgot to snap a memento-picture before jetting off (or, rather, I snapped one but it failed to upload or something, I don't know).
And from there, it was back to the beach, finishing yet another whirlwind few days of driving and sightseeing and exploration. Another wondrous and priceless experience, to join my others -- and all for the price of gas.
Excellence.
Case in point: my spur-of-the-moment decision to pack up and take another little excursion, from the 22nd to the 24th, just cruising about the Carolinas again. Maybe it's the utter convenience (and economy) of the van-camping thing. I don't know, but I like it. Love it, perhaps.
And where else would I camp and, thus, do my yoga? Why, two Anytime Fitnesses, of course.
The first, in eastern NC, for your viewing pleasure:
And now, before you've recovered from that mind-blowing eyeful:
You might recognize the second one, because it's a re-post from earlier in the month when I camped at the same place, because I once more forgot to snap a memento-picture before jetting off (or, rather, I snapped one but it failed to upload or something, I don't know).
And from there, it was back to the beach, finishing yet another whirlwind few days of driving and sightseeing and exploration. Another wondrous and priceless experience, to join my others -- and all for the price of gas.
Excellence.
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
7/15-16/16: A Quickie
After a week or so of being a beach bum, I got hot feet for travel again, and so the yogi was off -- though not for quite as long as planned.
Long story short: this one began as a long, regional trip through Florida and Alabama and who-knows-where, but, due to unexpected circumstances that I learned of only after departing, turned into a brief little caprice through the wilds of the South Carolina low country.
First yoga-stop: a pleasant Anytime Fitness in the south of Charleston.
With the Horny Manta Ray parked peacefully beneath a nice shade tree in the otherwise-concrete shopping plaza, I overnighted there (a sweltering, muggy night, contrasting the urbanly idyllic surroundings), then made use of the facilities for yoga the next morning. Success (albeit a repetitive, rather non-adventurous one)!
For all of the first stop's relative comfort and ease, the second was altogether different: a Wal-Mart parking lot.
It was a "going back to my roots," of sorts, since I had none of the amenities provided by my cherished gyms (not that a Wal-Mart bathroom isn't so un-luxurious; it just doesn't have a shower, or a lock on the door). Plus, this particular Wal-Mart was a totally unplanned stop, in a far-flung corner of the state, reached after a Thelma and Louise-style "pick a road and just drive." The night itself was far cooler than that previous, but only because there was a brutal thunderstorm (which, as it were, proved to be a magical experience as I camped in my van, eating and reading while inches of rain fell and fractal lightning tore through the horizon, even knocking out the Wal-Mart's power a couple times so that there were rare periods of absolute blackness -- fun fun fun). Thankfully, the next morning it had cleared off completely, such that I was able to yoga in the welcoming strip of greenbelt that circled the premises.
This yoga was, actually, a bit extraordinary, from a sheer "beautiful nature" standpoint (and, I suppose, due to my turning the heads of more than a few early-morning Wal-Mart shoppers). Though the angular hulk of the Wal-Mart loomed behind me, I was facing the other way, and so I saw this the whole time:
Groovy. Yum-yum.
And then, due to the aforementioned beyond-control circumstances, I returned once again to the SC beach, just hours away. Brief and domestic as the trip was, it proved to scratch my travel itch, and quite thoroughly as it were. I cherish the experience no less than my others, for all its brevity.
Long story short: this one began as a long, regional trip through Florida and Alabama and who-knows-where, but, due to unexpected circumstances that I learned of only after departing, turned into a brief little caprice through the wilds of the South Carolina low country.
First yoga-stop: a pleasant Anytime Fitness in the south of Charleston.
With the Horny Manta Ray parked peacefully beneath a nice shade tree in the otherwise-concrete shopping plaza, I overnighted there (a sweltering, muggy night, contrasting the urbanly idyllic surroundings), then made use of the facilities for yoga the next morning. Success (albeit a repetitive, rather non-adventurous one)!
For all of the first stop's relative comfort and ease, the second was altogether different: a Wal-Mart parking lot.
It was a "going back to my roots," of sorts, since I had none of the amenities provided by my cherished gyms (not that a Wal-Mart bathroom isn't so un-luxurious; it just doesn't have a shower, or a lock on the door). Plus, this particular Wal-Mart was a totally unplanned stop, in a far-flung corner of the state, reached after a Thelma and Louise-style "pick a road and just drive." The night itself was far cooler than that previous, but only because there was a brutal thunderstorm (which, as it were, proved to be a magical experience as I camped in my van, eating and reading while inches of rain fell and fractal lightning tore through the horizon, even knocking out the Wal-Mart's power a couple times so that there were rare periods of absolute blackness -- fun fun fun). Thankfully, the next morning it had cleared off completely, such that I was able to yoga in the welcoming strip of greenbelt that circled the premises.
This yoga was, actually, a bit extraordinary, from a sheer "beautiful nature" standpoint (and, I suppose, due to my turning the heads of more than a few early-morning Wal-Mart shoppers). Though the angular hulk of the Wal-Mart loomed behind me, I was facing the other way, and so I saw this the whole time:
Groovy. Yum-yum.
And then, due to the aforementioned beyond-control circumstances, I returned once again to the SC beach, just hours away. Brief and domestic as the trip was, it proved to scratch my travel itch, and quite thoroughly as it were. I cherish the experience no less than my others, for all its brevity.
Monday, July 11, 2016
7/4-8/16: Like a Rolling Stone
You might think that, after my traveling crosscountry (in a Horny Manta Ray, no less), even a wandering yogi might settle down and rest for a while.
Not this yogi.
Okay, so I didn't turn right around and re-cross the country, for this trip was only a little business/pleasure digression between the two Carolinas, spanning a short distance in a relatively long time (several hundred miles over the course of five days). And, I did technically rest for a spell before heading back onto the road. But, still: I did wander, and sooner than might be expected, given my little marathon of yester-week.
I wandered, and yoga'd.
First yoga-spot: the top of Mt. Everest. (Rimshot) Actual first yoga-spot: the Raleigh/Durham Triangle, and another Anytime Fitness, my partner in crime these days (whatever bizarre type of crime I'm committing, that is). Yeah, really: I'm reporting more uneventful yoga in another uninteresting place (or, at least, uninteresting to most inhabitants of USA, Planet Earth). But then, that's sort of become the ethos of this blog: repetitive, uninspired, non-wowing. Dare I say, even, that this is my blog's appeal?!?
Well, keeping with that theme, I forgot even to snap a picture of my uninteresting yoga-place. And this time, I won't even provide a cute little Photoshopped substitute. (Again, to be fair: my overnight at this gym was interesting for me, as to be distracting enough to make me once more neglect my one, simple obligation to this blog. So sue me, eh?)
As for the next stop, however, I do have a picture -- though this one, too, is of an Anytime Fitness storefront, also from the Triangle area (just a different corner of it, where I washed up after some more wandering). And, once again: there's much to say about my stay at this gym ... but only if you're me. To anyone else, my delightful overnight adventure would just come off as "blah blah blah" and the like, the way adults sounded to Charlie Brown and co. So I'll spare you all but the picture, which I somehow remembered (though that's about all that can be said for it).
So, moving along the timeline of my trip: the next day, 7/6, was spent at yet another Anytime Fitness (and it wasn't even that far from the last, still in mid-North Carolina -- there are just that many in the area, as it were). That's #3 for this trip, if you've lost track (or, you just really get off on keeping tabs on such figures). Did I face peril, adversity, and certain death during my overnight at this one? No; just yoga and dinner and a good hot shower (and a comfy couch to do my computer work on). Nor did I undertake the unspeakable chore of taking a picture. (That's omitted picture #2 so far, for you tabs-keeping freaks.)
Now, for the fourth night of this strange little escapade, some change: on 7/7, I did my van-camping thing in ... an office-complex parking lot! (Dun-dun-duh!!!) Note that I said "some change," not "exciting change." And, as if this one couldn't be less notable: it wasn't even a new parking lot, but one I'd stayed at before, when visiting a doctor who's a tenant there. But all is well, my dear reader, because I'll make up for it all with a picture. Prepare for an eye-feast.
Did that bad boy fill you up, eye-wise? I hope so, because the fifth and final night of my outing went unpictured, also. Not that it really matters so much, for the night was spent at a family-owned spot in the NC mountains, which I've pictured here too much already.
So. There's my latest trip. For all the flatness it assumes when written down, I had a ridiculously good time, and wouldn't trade the experience for the world (and I am not being the least bit sarcastic here). As for you, make of it what you will; I won't try and inject interest into this post by elaborating (plus, my fingers are refusing to type "Anytime Fitness" anymore.)
Not this yogi.
Okay, so I didn't turn right around and re-cross the country, for this trip was only a little business/pleasure digression between the two Carolinas, spanning a short distance in a relatively long time (several hundred miles over the course of five days). And, I did technically rest for a spell before heading back onto the road. But, still: I did wander, and sooner than might be expected, given my little marathon of yester-week.
I wandered, and yoga'd.
First yoga-spot: the top of Mt. Everest. (Rimshot) Actual first yoga-spot: the Raleigh/Durham Triangle, and another Anytime Fitness, my partner in crime these days (whatever bizarre type of crime I'm committing, that is). Yeah, really: I'm reporting more uneventful yoga in another uninteresting place (or, at least, uninteresting to most inhabitants of USA, Planet Earth). But then, that's sort of become the ethos of this blog: repetitive, uninspired, non-wowing. Dare I say, even, that this is my blog's appeal?!?
Well, keeping with that theme, I forgot even to snap a picture of my uninteresting yoga-place. And this time, I won't even provide a cute little Photoshopped substitute. (Again, to be fair: my overnight at this gym was interesting for me, as to be distracting enough to make me once more neglect my one, simple obligation to this blog. So sue me, eh?)
As for the next stop, however, I do have a picture -- though this one, too, is of an Anytime Fitness storefront, also from the Triangle area (just a different corner of it, where I washed up after some more wandering). And, once again: there's much to say about my stay at this gym ... but only if you're me. To anyone else, my delightful overnight adventure would just come off as "blah blah blah" and the like, the way adults sounded to Charlie Brown and co. So I'll spare you all but the picture, which I somehow remembered (though that's about all that can be said for it).
So, moving along the timeline of my trip: the next day, 7/6, was spent at yet another Anytime Fitness (and it wasn't even that far from the last, still in mid-North Carolina -- there are just that many in the area, as it were). That's #3 for this trip, if you've lost track (or, you just really get off on keeping tabs on such figures). Did I face peril, adversity, and certain death during my overnight at this one? No; just yoga and dinner and a good hot shower (and a comfy couch to do my computer work on). Nor did I undertake the unspeakable chore of taking a picture. (That's omitted picture #2 so far, for you tabs-keeping freaks.)
Now, for the fourth night of this strange little escapade, some change: on 7/7, I did my van-camping thing in ... an office-complex parking lot! (Dun-dun-duh!!!) Note that I said "some change," not "exciting change." And, as if this one couldn't be less notable: it wasn't even a new parking lot, but one I'd stayed at before, when visiting a doctor who's a tenant there. But all is well, my dear reader, because I'll make up for it all with a picture. Prepare for an eye-feast.
Did that bad boy fill you up, eye-wise? I hope so, because the fifth and final night of my outing went unpictured, also. Not that it really matters so much, for the night was spent at a family-owned spot in the NC mountains, which I've pictured here too much already.
So. There's my latest trip. For all the flatness it assumes when written down, I had a ridiculously good time, and wouldn't trade the experience for the world (and I am not being the least bit sarcastic here). As for you, make of it what you will; I won't try and inject interest into this post by elaborating (plus, my fingers are refusing to type "Anytime Fitness" anymore.)
Saturday, July 2, 2016
Crosscountry in a Horny Manta Ray (Or, How I Made Up for a Year of Stagnant Non-Travel)
Allow me to translate this post's title.
First, the horny manta ray -- or, The Horny Manta Ray (proper noun, since this is probably the only such manta ray you'll encounter today, virile or otherwise). AKA: my travel van, a Mercury Monterey sold by a dealer named Horne.
At first glance, I read the decal as "Horny Manta Ray." So, of course from then on it was impossible for me to know the van as anything else. Perception is a dubious thing.
As for the "crosscountry," that's a little simpler: for two weeks in June, I embarked on a crosscountry road trip (in my HMR -- call it the Hummer for short).
The trip was, for me at least, hugely ambitious, with my several health handicaps, plus several other unique logistical challenges I won't waste time listing. In a nut, to drive such a distance in itself was daunting beyond words, but then to do so in the fashion I imagined, strictly as a van-dweller, without the luxury of hotels or other third-party lodgings ... well, I was indeed daunted. But I knew I had to go, if only to make penance for my winter of stagnant lounging-around and private, indoor, non-adventurous yoga.
So I went, and I survived, and I loved every single minute of it.
Here, I'll again summarize, both for reasons of space and because it's just impossible to squeeze the enormity of such an experience into mere words. Starting in coastal South Carolina, I went West (insert obligatory "young man" quote here), and, moving in a big SW-to-NE loop, I eventually rounded New Mexico, went back through the Great Plains and the Ozarks, before eventually returning to the terra firma of the Carolinas. And, as mentioned earlier, I did so as a van bum, sleeping in a mattress in the back, mainly in parking lots of the nationwide gym chain with which I claim membership. Yes, I made liberal use of the gyms, hygiene-wise, so my van-dwelling wasn't nearly so austere as it might sound, with my having hot showers and the like (and, of course, a place to workout). Really, I was quite comfortable in this regard; throughout the trip, I wanted for nothing.
Thus, the gist of my trip was as such: drive for most of the day, then stop at the next conveniently located gym. Repeat.
And, also: yoga. At these gyms. Every day.
So, to recap thus far: Horny Manta Ray + accumulated travel-yen + lots of gyms and interstate driving and yoga = my crosscountry trip.
And this time, I remembered my proper, yoga-profile shot (of another Anytime Fitness gym, now one of two locations in Wichita ...).
And that's my latest trip. For me, with all that was unsaid and unsayable factored in, it was a life-changing experience, to say the least. As for everyone else, make of it what you will. Amen.
First, the horny manta ray -- or, The Horny Manta Ray (proper noun, since this is probably the only such manta ray you'll encounter today, virile or otherwise). AKA: my travel van, a Mercury Monterey sold by a dealer named Horne.
At first glance, I read the decal as "Horny Manta Ray." So, of course from then on it was impossible for me to know the van as anything else. Perception is a dubious thing.
As for the "crosscountry," that's a little simpler: for two weeks in June, I embarked on a crosscountry road trip (in my HMR -- call it the Hummer for short).
The trip was, for me at least, hugely ambitious, with my several health handicaps, plus several other unique logistical challenges I won't waste time listing. In a nut, to drive such a distance in itself was daunting beyond words, but then to do so in the fashion I imagined, strictly as a van-dweller, without the luxury of hotels or other third-party lodgings ... well, I was indeed daunted. But I knew I had to go, if only to make penance for my winter of stagnant lounging-around and private, indoor, non-adventurous yoga.
So I went, and I survived, and I loved every single minute of it.
Here, I'll again summarize, both for reasons of space and because it's just impossible to squeeze the enormity of such an experience into mere words. Starting in coastal South Carolina, I went West (insert obligatory "young man" quote here), and, moving in a big SW-to-NE loop, I eventually rounded New Mexico, went back through the Great Plains and the Ozarks, before eventually returning to the terra firma of the Carolinas. And, as mentioned earlier, I did so as a van bum, sleeping in a mattress in the back, mainly in parking lots of the nationwide gym chain with which I claim membership. Yes, I made liberal use of the gyms, hygiene-wise, so my van-dwelling wasn't nearly so austere as it might sound, with my having hot showers and the like (and, of course, a place to workout). Really, I was quite comfortable in this regard; throughout the trip, I wanted for nothing.
Thus, the gist of my trip was as such: drive for most of the day, then stop at the next conveniently located gym. Repeat.
And, also: yoga. At these gyms. Every day.
So, to recap thus far: Horny Manta Ray + accumulated travel-yen + lots of gyms and interstate driving and yoga = my crosscountry trip.
* * *
Now: the yoga reports, per this site's ultra-official format. That is: a bunch of gym pictures and other sub-awesome fare, all of them uncreative, perfunctory phone pictures.
Day 1: Western South Carolina
The grand departure for my voyage -- several hours later than planned, and after receiving a somewhat travel-unfriendly shoulder injury during a last-minute workout, but I did indeed depart. Leaving so late, I only had it in me to drive a couple hours west, where I gym'ed for the night and then yoga'd in the morning.
And would you believe that my first day out, I forgot to take a picture? (Hey, cut me some slack: it was hard to get away, and my shoulder was pretty screwed up.) So here's a filler picture (I'm the smiling yellow character in the Horny Manta Ray's window, if you didn't know).
Day 2: Georgia and Alabama
I covered some miles this day, in a crazed day-long interstate blitz through Georgia, by way of Atlanta. By dinnertime, I'd washed up at the edge of Birmingham, AL, where I located a new gym, showered, and then retired for the evening -- this time with the picture to prove it!!!
Day 3: Mississippi and Tennessee
Another day of interstate tourism (from now on, just assume I spent the day on the interstate), taking in wonderful Mississippi before laying my gym-stakes in Memphis. I saw the faux-Great Pyramid there, and I enjoyed its splendor, Gander Mountain insignia and all.
Day 4: Arkansas and Oklahoma
I will -- will! -- refrain from all Arkansas-name jokes, and "OK is flat" ones, too. After cruising through the better part of both states (the original, larger version of the picture would reveal the HMR to have begun accumulating bug corpses on the front bumper), I bedded down in Oklahoma City, at the most wonderfully desolate gym yet. (By this time, desolation had become a big draw for me, after hours upon hours of droning highway noise and the constant company of other human-driven cars.)
Day 5: The Texas Panhandle and New Mexico
What a wonderful experience, my first sighting of the mesa. Not only was I struck by its perfectly simple majesty (and in picturesque weather, no less), but its arrival coincided with a much-needed roadside rest stop (everything looks better after a good pee). So memorable was this rest stop and the mesa it sat upon, I took the rare, non-yoga-spot picture -- which proved to be a good thing, since I forgot to snap one of the gym I did ultimately yoga at (something tells me you might prefer it this way, I think).
Days 6-8: New Mexico Layover
Here, my trip changed gears somewhat, with my taking my time through New Mexico. Rather than blow through it like the rest, onward toward California, I decided to stop the "cross" part of my trip, thus lingering in a slow northern trek through NM for three days, which would begin my slow loop back East. I was hesitant to do so, as I felt to be falling short of a proper coast-to-coast trip, but I had a good reason: I wanted to see how I felt in a dry desert region (I've had lifelong allergies while on the east coast, and it's been on my bucket list for awhile to spend some time west and see how I respond). In truth, I don't feel I failed the crosscountry-trip ethos (New Mexico is crosscountry enough, in my book).
And would you believe that, with my relatively long stay in The Land of Enchantment, I forgot to take pictures of my yoga spots (in Albuquerque and Santa Fe and Taos-ish)? I do, however, at least have another substitute, this time of the Rio Grande Gorge (which is, to me, also a substitute for the Grand Canyon, which my curtailed trip deprived me of seeing).
Day 9: The Oklahoma Panhandle and Kansas
Now homeward bound, albeit in a northerly fashion, I cruised through the part of OK I'd missed on the way west, and then through the pleasantly green wastes of Kansas. Though I'll still refrain from flat-jokes, I will allow myself one exclamation of, "Wow, Kansas really is flat." So flat, I had to take another non-yoga picture.
And this time, I remembered my proper, yoga-profile shot (of another Anytime Fitness gym, now one of two locations in Wichita ...).
Days 10 and 11: Missouri
Back through the Ozarks, enough to become fond of them. Here, I slowed down a little, resting in Springfield for a day, rather than blitzing onward as I'd been. It would set the more leisurely pace of the rest of my trip. Hence two pictures, one for each morning of my Springfield layover.
This one is of a little roadside grass-island ... because that's where I yoga'd that day, unable to resist the sun (except for a couple days in New Mexico, I'd been doing quasi-private yoga in the gyms). As it were, this place was beside the gym I'd stayed at (nope, didn't stray too far, though it was far enough to get looks from passersby, surely wondering why a half-naked man was doing yoga along a busy Springfield byroad).
The next day, however, it was back to in-gym yoga -- so, more gym-pic goodness. (A second Anytime Fitness in Springfield, as it were.)
Day 12: Tennessee Part II
I had a little adventure, for this gym -- or, rather, "gym." That evening, after descending from Ozark-y Springfield, then brief pass-throughs of IL and KY, and down into the less-Ozarky tip of northeast Tennessee, a Bing search on my phone led me to my gym for the evening, only a few miles off the freeway and pretty much right on my trajectory -- perfect. Though, having been burned by inaccurate business listings in the past, I didn't yet celebrate. After some road-construction rigmarole getting to the blue dot on my phone's GPS map, I at last arrived, and there was my gym's purple-lettered sign ... but no gym. With much circling of a big business-park parking lot, I found that the "gym" was only a half-empty building bearing some equipment and a roadside sign -- not quite open yet, this one. Thankfully, the same vast parking lot I'd been circling around made a lovely camping spot, and I had no problem with taking a rag-bath instead of a hot shower. (I'd had it too easy for too long, anyway.)
Despite the missing gym, this spot turned out to be rather ideal; a peaceful, dead-quiet little oasis in the middle of the main drag of Clarksville, TN. While eating dinner and then getting ready for bed, I was even treated to an unexpected procession of bicyclists, approximately a dozen in number, which coasted past my camp several times (some kind of a nocturnal-riding club, perhaps?). So, pictured here is the lot with the phantom gym, where I camped and then, the next morning, yoga'd.
Day 13: The Rest of Tennessee
Day #13 was another freeway blitz, this time working through Nashville (which I ghosted through so transparently, I saw not a single hint of country music-ness), then Knoxville, where I overnighted at another gym, in the quaint Knoxvillian suburb of Farragut. Not much to say about this one. I remembered a picture, at least.
Day 14: Hot Springs, NC
After doing Knoxville (or one of its gyms, rather), I arrived at a wonderful destination I've come to adore: Hot Springs, NC, home of [drumroll] a famous, medicinal hot spring. When it comes to my romance with this charming one-stoplight town nestled alongside the French Broad River, I'll again summarize: besides being a generally enjoyable place to visit, the eponymous hot springs are, for me at least, every bit as invigorating and therapeutic as has been claimed. I overnighted there, enough for two soaks in the springs, and I left feeling like a million bucks -- notable in itself, but doubly so considering I'd just been on a physically punishing road-schedule for the last two weeks. Really, my stay in Hot Springs was nothing less than a shot in the arm, and I'd recommend the springs to anyone.
So soothing was my layover in the town, I forgot to take a picture of my home for the night. Please, don't cry. There're more coming. Promise.
Day 15: Asheville, NC
Next came Asheville, which, while not quite a NYC-like metropolis, certainly felt like one after my stay in the comparatively microscopic Hot Springs. There, it was back to gym land, where I took what is probably the overall least-satisfying picture of the lot, even for me. Behold, mediocre web-content made flesh!
Days 16-18: Home for Fathers Day
Okay, I don't really consider my NC hometown "home" anymore, with my being such a wanderer these days. Nor did I make it there for Fathers Day, instead landing a couple days late. But, in any case, I was in that neck of the woods, and so I dropped by for some family-visiting (and, of course, some yoga when I got the chance). That's all I'll say for this one, having tortured this blog with far too many "went North and visited folks" posts already. I didn't get a picture for this one, either, though I think this might've been intentional, due to the aforementioned "done it to death" number of postings.
So. Moving along.
Days 19 and 20: Heading Back South
This could be considered the end of my trip, since I then returned to the well-traveled circuit between North and South Carolina that I've carved out over the years. On the way, I overnighted in one final gym, of which I again somehow managed to neglect to picture (I was pretty road-weary at this point, even after my Hot Springs pick-me-up, so I'll again plead some slack-cutting). This time, however, I did remember my forgetting to remember, the next afternoon, and so I stopped and took a substitute photo, for this express purpose. As it were, I remembered while getting gas at the famed South of the Border attraction in South Carolina, and so it became the subject of my surrogate picture. Enjoy. (And, yes: that is a baboon statue in the lower-left of the frame, under the tree. If there are baboons in Mexico, I didn't know it.)
I had a little adventure, for this gym -- or, rather, "gym." That evening, after descending from Ozark-y Springfield, then brief pass-throughs of IL and KY, and down into the less-Ozarky tip of northeast Tennessee, a Bing search on my phone led me to my gym for the evening, only a few miles off the freeway and pretty much right on my trajectory -- perfect. Though, having been burned by inaccurate business listings in the past, I didn't yet celebrate. After some road-construction rigmarole getting to the blue dot on my phone's GPS map, I at last arrived, and there was my gym's purple-lettered sign ... but no gym. With much circling of a big business-park parking lot, I found that the "gym" was only a half-empty building bearing some equipment and a roadside sign -- not quite open yet, this one. Thankfully, the same vast parking lot I'd been circling around made a lovely camping spot, and I had no problem with taking a rag-bath instead of a hot shower. (I'd had it too easy for too long, anyway.)
Despite the missing gym, this spot turned out to be rather ideal; a peaceful, dead-quiet little oasis in the middle of the main drag of Clarksville, TN. While eating dinner and then getting ready for bed, I was even treated to an unexpected procession of bicyclists, approximately a dozen in number, which coasted past my camp several times (some kind of a nocturnal-riding club, perhaps?). So, pictured here is the lot with the phantom gym, where I camped and then, the next morning, yoga'd.
Day 13: The Rest of Tennessee
Day #13 was another freeway blitz, this time working through Nashville (which I ghosted through so transparently, I saw not a single hint of country music-ness), then Knoxville, where I overnighted at another gym, in the quaint Knoxvillian suburb of Farragut. Not much to say about this one. I remembered a picture, at least.
Day 14: Hot Springs, NC
After doing Knoxville (or one of its gyms, rather), I arrived at a wonderful destination I've come to adore: Hot Springs, NC, home of [drumroll] a famous, medicinal hot spring. When it comes to my romance with this charming one-stoplight town nestled alongside the French Broad River, I'll again summarize: besides being a generally enjoyable place to visit, the eponymous hot springs are, for me at least, every bit as invigorating and therapeutic as has been claimed. I overnighted there, enough for two soaks in the springs, and I left feeling like a million bucks -- notable in itself, but doubly so considering I'd just been on a physically punishing road-schedule for the last two weeks. Really, my stay in Hot Springs was nothing less than a shot in the arm, and I'd recommend the springs to anyone.
So soothing was my layover in the town, I forgot to take a picture of my home for the night. Please, don't cry. There're more coming. Promise.
Day 15: Asheville, NC
Next came Asheville, which, while not quite a NYC-like metropolis, certainly felt like one after my stay in the comparatively microscopic Hot Springs. There, it was back to gym land, where I took what is probably the overall least-satisfying picture of the lot, even for me. Behold, mediocre web-content made flesh!
Days 16-18: Home for Fathers Day
Okay, I don't really consider my NC hometown "home" anymore, with my being such a wanderer these days. Nor did I make it there for Fathers Day, instead landing a couple days late. But, in any case, I was in that neck of the woods, and so I dropped by for some family-visiting (and, of course, some yoga when I got the chance). That's all I'll say for this one, having tortured this blog with far too many "went North and visited folks" posts already. I didn't get a picture for this one, either, though I think this might've been intentional, due to the aforementioned "done it to death" number of postings.
So. Moving along.
Days 19 and 20: Heading Back South
This could be considered the end of my trip, since I then returned to the well-traveled circuit between North and South Carolina that I've carved out over the years. On the way, I overnighted in one final gym, of which I again somehow managed to neglect to picture (I was pretty road-weary at this point, even after my Hot Springs pick-me-up, so I'll again plead some slack-cutting). This time, however, I did remember my forgetting to remember, the next afternoon, and so I stopped and took a substitute photo, for this express purpose. As it were, I remembered while getting gas at the famed South of the Border attraction in South Carolina, and so it became the subject of my surrogate picture. Enjoy. (And, yes: that is a baboon statue in the lower-left of the frame, under the tree. If there are baboons in Mexico, I didn't know it.)
* * *
And that's my latest trip. For me, with all that was unsaid and unsayable factored in, it was a life-changing experience, to say the least. As for everyone else, make of it what you will. Amen.
Sunday, June 5, 2016
5/29/16-6/3/16: North!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So ... another trip north, again to catch up with the folks. Except, this one was special -- super special, in fact, for it marked my return to being a van-dwelling road-warrior extra-awesome nomad.
First stop: a gym along the way.
On the surface, this yoga-spot wouldn't seem like much, just a layover in the parking lot of the nearest location of my gym chain when I was ready to stop for the night. Though, note that laying over in a parking lot requires a layover-mobile, which would be my new-for-me van; and, likewise, it requires the status of van-dwelling nomad, of which mine is now officially restored (I have my license and everything). Hence, the super-specialness. And yes, I know this would all be ridiculously easy for most folks (okay, 99.9% of folks), but I'm playing this game with some weird handicaps, and after a lot of unexpected obstacles and disruptions and other rigmarole. So forgive my seemingly misplaced excitement.
There, I stayed, without incident, thus christening my minivan as a bona fide extra-awesome road-warrior nomad-mobile. And the next morning, I yoga'd in the facility's comfortable stretch area. Success!
Next stop: the NC mountains.
Not much to say, here. I stayed with the folks awhile (still in the van, but now a bit less nomadic, with the promise of a parking space every night), and for the few days of my visit, I yoga'd to idyllic scenes similar to that captured above. Once again: success (albeit of a highly mundane kind).
I overnighted at another parking space on the way back south, in Winston-Salem, NC, but alas: circumstances and time constraints forbade my yoga'ing there, not even a single, photo-allowing asana. So, no picture, because I hold to my own rules, even when it means depriving my huge numbers of steady readers. But that's okay. If you want some Winston-Salem in your mind's eye, just picture a big, spread-out non-metropolis with lots of history and a grid of cleverly named streets.
Okay, so this post is, like most of this blog, deserving of the "it was notable for me" disclaimer. But, well ... it was notable for me. I love my mundane/extraordinary travels. I love my life.
First stop: a gym along the way.
There, I stayed, without incident, thus christening my minivan as a bona fide extra-awesome road-warrior nomad-mobile. And the next morning, I yoga'd in the facility's comfortable stretch area. Success!
Next stop: the NC mountains.
I overnighted at another parking space on the way back south, in Winston-Salem, NC, but alas: circumstances and time constraints forbade my yoga'ing there, not even a single, photo-allowing asana. So, no picture, because I hold to my own rules, even when it means depriving my huge numbers of steady readers. But that's okay. If you want some Winston-Salem in your mind's eye, just picture a big, spread-out non-metropolis with lots of history and a grid of cleverly named streets.
Okay, so this post is, like most of this blog, deserving of the "it was notable for me" disclaimer. But, well ... it was notable for me. I love my mundane/extraordinary travels. I love my life.
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
4/23 and 4/26/16: More Hotels
I went up north to see family ... again. And stayed in two more hotels ... again. And did some routine, shut-in yoga in said hotels ... again.
So, to make things interesting, I graffiti'd the two hotel rooms before leaving.
Okay, the graffiti was just Photoshop'd, if that isn't obvious. But, still ... I traveled, and I yoga'd, both of which feel like enormous triumphs, these days.
In that sense, I am pleased.
So, to make things interesting, I graffiti'd the two hotel rooms before leaving.
Okay, the graffiti was just Photoshop'd, if that isn't obvious. But, still ... I traveled, and I yoga'd, both of which feel like enormous triumphs, these days.
In that sense, I am pleased.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)