Still no better off with Spanish.
Only slightly more equipped with bike knowhow.
Tying up our last few loose Portland ends.
Currently perched on our apartment's only remaining piece of furniture, an unaccompanied, Craigslist-castaway blue chair that we take turns sitting on. I'm a morning person though so routinely (read successfully) claim it pre-brekkie. Aidan's left to do business from the makeshift sleeping-bag-turned-bean-bag situation in the opposite corner of the room. The unjust reality being that he's actually working and I'm likely getting my daily Amazon Prime fix. (2 days. ANYTHING.)
We've been eating breakfast every morning on the Amazon Prime box that our bike tires arrived in. Actually, Amazon shipped each of the four tires in separate boxes, which seems insane, but we're grateful for the array of surfaces to dine on. I still set the "table" the exact same as when we had a heavy-duty-family-of-four fixture, insisting on a comprehensive condiment selection, fully loaded French press, our favorite (read heaviest) mugs, all causing the table's corrugated center to consistently cave. Well-seasoned, amply sauced eggs though.
The last few weeks have been an exhausting, yet liberating blur of preparation combined with a little procrastination. Sense of time is all out of nine to five whack. It took about a day and a half to completely lose track of days of the week. Evenings have dissolved, spent staring at our bikes in a space formerly known as the living room, homeschooling ourselves, learning what's what, how-to's, cause and effect. I know significantly more about bikes than I did even a month ago, proving that the only way to actually learn how to do anything is to do it yourself. There was however a near nervous breakdown involving a rear derailleur. It hasn't been all rainbows and aha moments. More profanities and flying parts.
Liquidating your life is an ordeal.
So. Many. Wacky. Craigslist. Interactions.
A generous colorway description for a car I never once washed the exterior of.
Not even before it changed hands.
The new owner's identity was verified via Instagram after he failed to provide any sort of official documentation.
357 followers. And a feed full of car selfies.
Whatever man, just gimme the cash and get outta here.
Our sidewalk sale was no less strange.
People. Will. Buy. Anything.
The only phenomenon more mind-blowing than a crappy yard sale is the resulting, even crappier free pile.
It hasn't all been transactional though.
Plenty of goodbye beers.
And unexpected generosity*.
And a few solid panic attacks.
3:30 AM is usually the best time for those.
If my mom asks though it's definitely just excitement.
It's been difficult to quiet the mind for a slough of obvious reasons.
Admittedly guilty of overthinking just about every piece of gear. And then reminding myself/ourselves that we could leave at the drop of a hat, tomorrow, in five minutes, whatever, and it will not matter. The experience does not boil down to the fabric breakdown of your travel undies. Or does it?
Mostly though, we are excited to do what we want to do rather than what we quote unquote should do. And to unravel a pipe dream. I joke about escaping the desk job ball and chain, but also appreciate and respect that working hard affords the opportunity to pull the trigger on seemingly irrational life decisions. We are endlessly fortunate to come from a place where recreation is even an option, and know, amidst all the cheeky travel documentation, that we get it. And will appreciate each and every moment accordingly. We've now made this trip just public enough to be held accountable for responsible and thoughtful reflection/reporting. And yes, it's about so much more than penguin selfies** a year from now. Thinking about the amount of living that will happen each and every day truly gives me goosebumps.
*You know who you are.
The people who fed us.
And housed us.
And gave us nice things.
**This is happening.