Cleanliness is godliness…or work of the Devil

If we lived back in the Oregon Trail old timey days I’m sure that not bathing would totally fly with our covered wagon cohorts. In this day and age, a stinky woman with greasy hair and Sasquatch legs is not an ideal passenger seat companion.

Throughout the duration of this road trip, showers have become less and less frequent. The twice-daily tooth brushing regimen has been abandoned. What was left of any feminine appeal that I had before has disappeared entirely. As I sit in the car on our way to visit friends in Utah, I realize that the Mormon billboards and pamphlets have it all wrong. Alcohol and abortion aren’t the work of the Devil. Cleanliness is.

I’ve come up with the top 3 personal hygiene priorities that pretty much go to Hell in a hand basket when you’re on an extended road trip. They are listed in order of importance and subsequent abandonment.

#1: Bowel regularity

If you know me well (or have spent at least an hour in my company), you would know that the conversation will somehow inevitably end up on poop-related topics. I can’t explain why this happens but believe you me, if this girl’s insides aren’t happy she doesn’t make for a good road trip buddy.

The first thing to go on this trip was any semblance of healthy diet. Pretty much every meal involves French fries and a beer, and that doesn’t bode well on my already infrequent “habits.” I’ve found that exercise tends to help keep things on schedule, but that has also disappeared entirely. We had grand intentions of riding bikes every other day to offset the beer and bar grub but like most things in life that resolution fell by the wayside. As you can imagine, bathroom trips for this gal have degraded into a once in a blue moon experience. 

Actually we did fit in a pretty awesome bike ride in Redwood National Park.

And another day of bike riding with the added benefit of beer tasting in Bend, OR.

#2: Good hair days

Some people theorize that the less frequently you bathe, the less oils your body produces thereby reducing your need for a regular shower. I even know a few people who have tested that theory and they swear by it.

So far the longest I’ve gone is 5 days without showering and I can attest that this theory is completely bunk. The 100+ degree weather in Oregon and Idaho was not conducive to an acceptable odor in the car (not referring to the dogs). My beloved Mammoth trucker hat covers things up nicely but it’s starting to accumulate a ring around it that’s as big as the Deepwater Horizon oil spill.

It has been fun, however, figuring out ways to use the handy dandy solar shower that we brought with us. There is NOTHING in this world that is better than a crisp, clean shower in the middle of the woods with no one to sneak up on you for miles. The only thing wrong with this situation is when you have to source your water from a moldy lake that has more unidentifiable floaties in it than the population of Mexico City. Yes, that happened. Yes, it was still refreshing as ever.

Hippie shower essentials: 2-in-1 shampoo, travel soap, a mini towel, and a 5-gallon bag full of renewable energy-powered warmth.

Can’t beat an outdoor shower in a setting like this! Sans the forest fire smoke in the background.

This is somewhere on the Nez Perce Reservation in Idaho.

#3: Wearable clothes

We’ve only done laundry twice over the last month. ‘Nuf said. Which means I’ve resorted to wearing the same shorts for over a week and change underwear every other day (ick, I know). It’s more than likely that those shorts have a layer of poison oak on them somewhere (I contracted yet ANOTHER case of poison oak from who knows where). Dammitalltohell! I'm pretty sure it was Charlie who gave it to me this time.

To conclude, in the poetic words from the Pitcher side of my family I should mention that if you’re on my list to visit I promise to shit, shower and shave before we meet up. At least I hope to! 

Travels with Katie and Charlie

It's not so ironic that I am currently reading John Steinbeck's classic Travels with Charley while on this meandering tailspin of a road trip. I didn't really plan it that way, but it turns out that it is the perfect accompaniment for an adventure like this. Not to mention the fact that my dog's name is also Charlie, our truck is as well-equipped as the mighty Rocinante, and I write every bit as well as Steinbeck. Maybe not that last part, but pretty much everything else is totally on point.

One of the opening passages in the book talks about a concept that completely aligns with our approach to this trip, one that I don't mind plagiarizing in this post because there really is no better way to describe it. He writes:

"In Spanish there is a word for which I can't find a counterword in English. It is the verb vacilar, present participle vacilando. It does not mean vacillating at all. If one is vacilando, he is going somewhere, but does not greatly care whether or not he gets there, although he has direction."

I often think of what is going through our two dogs' minds as we've made our way through northern California, Oregon, Washington, and now Idaho. Case in point, these two are vacilando to the T and I have a feeling that they're loving it.

Take Charlie for instance.

This dog has spent 50% of his life in the cone of shame since he met me. 

If you've met him, you would know that he and I are a perfect match. We're like two peas in a pod -- we're both easygoing (unless we're tied up on a park bench or tree and are left alone with no view of our loved ones), crave affection (almost to a fault), love attention (but don't know what to do with it once we get it), have poop problems (more on that later), have separation anxiety issues (ask Bret about that one), and can't carry a tune worth a damn (it's a beagle/Ross thing). I'm pretty sure that the unpredictability of this road trip has messed with his head, but I'm judging it as a success in the long run because this dog really needed to lighten up. And so did I. And we're doing it quite well!

Katie, on the other hand, is Charlie's antithesis.

Katie and Arcata, reunited at long last.

Bret found her as a puppy just outside of Arcata 11 years ago. He has molded her into a dog of amazing fortitude and grace who is chill as f&%*. She would rather be left alone outside to watch the grass grow in perfect silence, away from Charlie's howls and out of arm's reach from those annoying people who want to pet her, rather than to sit on the couch next to you and put up with your human-ness. Unless you're eating, in which case she'll stare you down until she gets a piece of whatever you have and then swallows it without even chewing. She's an awesome dog and is a great role model for Charlie. Really couldn't ask for a better travel buddy (aside from Bret).

These two are masters of what Steinbeck means by vacilando because they have direction (whether they like it or not) but really couldn't care less whether or not we get to where we're going. That may be because they have no clue where we're going in the first place, but that's beside the point. We seriously have no home except for the bed of the truck, and they're totally ok with it. I think I may call them my vaciladores from here on out.

Here are a few pictures from their perspective during our early adventures on this trip:

Passed out after a long day of beer tasting and disc golf at Anderson Valley Brewing in Boonville, CA.

Going apeshit over the awesome waves at Clam Beach just outside of Arcata, CA.

Relishing the only shade after a 2,000 foot climb up Saddle Mountain in northwest Oregon.

I really couldn't be happier, even if I have no room to move.

More posts to come soon. Next time I promise they'll be about the human perspective of this trip!