Roam Report: Crossing All Kinds of Bridges

Roam Report: Crossing All Kinds of Bridges | Marker #2

Three months into this new lifestyle, we find ourselves enamored. Trailer park living (Colan HATES when I call it that, but sometimes I can't remember when I showered last, especially when there's a lake involved, so it seems fitting), and life on the open road has our hearts wholly. Life as nomads became home just as much as our beloved Bruyn Estate. With that said, it is rough in ways that roots aren't. In a traditional brick-and-mortar lifestyle, we have systems in place, service providers we trust, friends, and family that make us feel grounded. Nomadic life can be vulnerable and unmooring, and nothing has driven that home more than the life and death of our beloved dog, Red. (There's a country song in here somewhere.)

Just weeks into our new life, Red was diagnosed with prostate cancer, colloquially known as Take Your Dog Home To Die Best of Luck Here's Your Bill Cancer. We were gutted, as he was the best best boy, a dog we'll miss for the rest of our days. As any dog lover knows, any cat lover for that matter, let's say any decent human— that's tough enough. Layer into that a lifestyle where we no longer have a vet and instead multiple across many states, plus an oncologist, plus have to deal with appointments and delivery of special prescriptions and food and whatever Hail Mary ingredients I wanted to stir into his witch's brew, and we were looking at an extra daunting reality.

But do you know what else we had? Time with him, doing his favorite things, and technology to connect us to resources throughout the country, and most importantly: The reminder that every moment counts in this life because there are never enough. Life on the road is hard, but life anywhere is hard, right? Anything is possible, so we just made adjustments. Yeah, it wasn't ideal being under self-imposed fifth-wheel arrest in begging-to-be-explored locations once we knew the end was near, but there's always next time (unless there isn't, womp). We chose to focus on making his last months his best, filling them with the things he loved. Food. Truck rides. Walks everywhere. Lots of time cuddled together in heaps. Red always in the middle. There you have it, pretty much an exhaustive list. And when it became evident to us that this best boy's best days were becoming numbered, we made sure there was always a plan in place.

For us, that meant that when Red had a near-perfect day, seemingly his old self as we moved from San Francisco to Truckee, California, it was time to send him off over the rainbow triumphantly. We already had an angel-among-us veterinarian scheduled to visit our home and realized it needed to happen sooner. A morning of Go For Rides and fast food by Lake Tahoe followed by a profoundly beautiful, peaceful, absolutely gut-wrenching goodbye in the cab of his beloved pickup (excuse me one sec, I can't see my keyboard through the tears) meant we had successfully navigated life on the road and what we would have considered an insurmountable obstacle, in a way that honored Red and was best for him. We're sure he went up and told his brothers how great the send-off was, the Sausage McGriddle eclipsing all else. We're now concerned Ox and Royal are threatening not to meet us at the gates when the time comes. (Sorry, boys, you're the bestest, too, and we'll figure out a way to come bearing McGriddles!)

I tell you all this because committing to a nomadic life, or even a partially nomadic life, is intimidating and overwhelming, and sometimes living it is that, too. But, BUT! It is also exhilarating and freeing and allows you to discover new ways to go about things, whether out of necessity or want. Maybe we weren't surrounded by friends or family to help comfort us, but they were always available by phone and made their love and concern known. And in the meantime, because 65%(!) of RVers travel with dogs and it's such a warm and social community, we were surrounded by strangers-turned-friends-for-a-moment all along the way. Neighbors genuinely connected with us and loved on our boy in ways humans tend to do when given the opportunity. It's beautiful out here in all ways possible, and I hope you experience it in any small or big way you can. Oh, and for the record, I know lots of you have bestest boys too, so please tell 'em no need to bite me. Room for all!