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Traveling Trio

traveling trio full time four wheel camper couple traveling

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#11 mitch h

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Posted 12 June 2015 - 01:14 AM

Hey guys, how ya doing? Got another camper, An atc ocelot. Trying to build a few things in it,any way. We are heading to moab and the north rim around the first of sept. Maybe we could meet up somewhere unless you are heading to Alaska or Ca. We will give you a call. Have a great summer.  Mitch


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#12 rystjohn

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Posted 15 June 2015 - 05:33 PM

Just a couple shots from the past few days to keep y'all's interest piqued.

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A man, a woman and their dog. Traveling the Americas living in a 1997 Dodge Ram with a Four Wheel Camper Grandby in search of a new American dream. Promoting overlanding, sustainability, enjoying life and following your dreams. Tag along with us as we traverse the continent in search of adventure!
 

 


#13 rystjohn

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Posted 15 June 2015 - 05:36 PM

Hey guys, how ya doing? Got another camper, An atc ocelot. Trying to build a few things in it,any way. We are heading to moab and the north rim around the first of sept. Maybe we could meet up somewhere unless you are heading to Alaska or Ca. We will give you a call. Have a great summer. Mitch


Hey! We've been doing great! That's great that you got another camper, how funny. Which do you like more?

We (fingers crossed) should have a job lined up work camping as camp hosts in Northern AZ until September. But maybe we can line up when we leave there to when you'll be in Moab!
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A man, a woman and their dog. Traveling the Americas living in a 1997 Dodge Ram with a Four Wheel Camper Grandby in search of a new American dream. Promoting overlanding, sustainability, enjoying life and following your dreams. Tag along with us as we traverse the continent in search of adventure!
 

 


#14 Casa Escarlata Robles Too

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Posted 16 June 2015 - 12:11 AM

Thanks for the posts.

I just came across your blog lots of good info.

Might look into your brand solar controller.

Enjoyed the story.

Frank


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#15 mitch h

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Posted 17 June 2015 - 01:30 AM

We like both. Grandby a little roomer. Hope we like the front couch/ extra bed I made. We were going to north rim [ torrow weep ] too so maybe we could do that . Wonder if anyone else would be interested? More the merrier.  Mitch


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#16 rystjohn

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Posted 18 August 2015 - 04:41 PM

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Consciousness returns to my sleeping mind by the sound of a freight train headed straight towards me. I’d always heard this is how tornadoes sound before they hit. Hesitantly I open my eyes ready to face the inevitable.
 
An eighteen-wheeler rumbles past us, the jake brake and downshifting lets out a loud  VVVVVRRRMMMMPPPPPOP POP POP POP POP  bringing me back to this harsh reality. We are still in Oklahoma.
 
Peering out the camper window I thank the Adventure Gods for our continued safety through the night. A convoy of truckers roll by in the gentle misting rain of the early morning light. I forcefully blink to clear my eyes and glance at my watch. It’s 5:14AM.
 
What the hell are they doing leaving so early?
 
I wonder if we should get out of bed and follow suit, but my mind and body reside in a heavy fog, unable to properly function. I roll to my other side, the tender arms of Beth and sleep embrace me once again.
 
As time does when sleeping, two hours pass within a fleeting instant and I awake with a startle. We are greeted by overcast skies and gentle warm winds.
 
We’ve made it!
 
Westward we rumble down Interstate 40, coffee in our veins and our moods considerably lighter. We are still on edge but by day’s end we’ll be in Albuquerque!
 
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As though the Oklahoma Gods wish to smite our cheer of leaving their territory, the sky quickly darkens and fat juicy raindrops splat heavily upon the windshield.
 
You gotta be ****ing kidding me!
 
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Just off the interstate, an aging brick and mortar diner serves as our place of refuge from the storm, should we need it. The metallic man intones his sermon on NOAA weather station 162.400MHz and we chant along.
 
Take another trout.
 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FAngKb8xNYc#action=share
I watch the radar with intent. If we push forward we will hit the growing storm dead-on while driving. If we wait we’ll be sitting ducks. Hail pelts the roof, sounding like heavy pinto beans pouring on us from on high. We decide to wait.
 
I hope the solar panel can withstand this abuse.
 
Ten miles down the road after the weather has cleared our decision to wait out the storm is justified. A crumpled aluminum ball that was once a minivan resides in the median. Emergency vehicles surround the bent and rippled vehicle, their red and blue lights reflecting off its broken metal skin. We leave the wreck behind us, thankful for our safety.
 
Never in our lives did we imagine we’d crave Texas soil with such tenacity. A cloud of it rises from behind us as we skid to a stop at the border. I could kiss the sweet earth but instead we photograph ourselves jumping for joy. Have have further to go before this day is over.
 
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We arrive in Amarillo and the Cadillac Ranch is just as I remember from years prior- littered with spray paint canisters, paper and oddly enough, shoes. This place is an iconic interstate oddity, a location to leave your brief calling card of existence, only for someone else to cover your marks with their own.
 
A loaded down Suzuki DR350 catches my eye as we meander into the field. I instantly peg the rider – the only solo traveler amongst the mess, other than us the only person taking his time. Can’t be rushed when you have nowhere to be. I introduce myself and we briefly chat, but I can tell he’s desiring his solitude. I leave him be as I ruminate on memories of my solo cross country trip by motorcycle.
 
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The vastness of the Texan panhandle is lost on a road atlas. Crossing into the Land of Enchantment takes longer than expected, but as soon as that beautiful New Mexican soil is underneath our Cooper tires Beth and I breathe a sigh of relief. I know that tonight we will be swaddled in safety like the fresh made tortillas which wrap the Golden Pride burritos I plan on devouring first thing tomorrow.
 
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As the sun sets off our bow the lights of Albuquerque come to life, sparkling in the deep darkness of the desert. We have made it, tomorrow holds the promise of a better day.
 
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A man, a woman and their dog. Traveling the Americas living in a 1997 Dodge Ram with a Four Wheel Camper Grandby in search of a new American dream. Promoting overlanding, sustainability, enjoying life and following your dreams. Tag along with us as we traverse the continent in search of adventure!
 

 


#17 rystjohn

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Posted 18 August 2015 - 04:42 PM

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The sun has yet to crest the Sandias as we drive Westward from Albuquerque. Entering Arizona, the morning light revives the dark desert landscape with contrast and warmth, our long shadows cast ahead of us as though attempting to gain the lead.
 
Outside of Houck we stop to refuel: coffee in, coffee out. Only a few more miles down the road and we’ll be there – the Petrified Forest National Park.
 
Four years ago I stopped here on a whim as I drove East. I was on the last leg of a five week solo roadtrip and was not ready to go home. I had become enthralled by the desert where I had spent the last two weeks – I had often sat alone in the grandiose arid landscape, watching clouds drift towards me that had begun at the horizon. The vastness of the land placed an emphasis on my infinitely small place in the world and helped me to realize how insignificant my problems were in the grand scheme of the universe. The weight of a dozen worries lifted from my shoulders as I drove through the magnificently gorgeous section of the park called The Painted Desert.
 
“To the desert go prophets and hermits; through desert go pilgrims and exiles. Here the leaders of the great religions have sought the therapeutic and spiritual values of retreat, not to escape but to find reality.”
-Paul Shepard
 
Apparently hundreds of people a month pocket a piece of petrified pre-history only to return home and find their luck turned sour. In desperation these rock poachers send their spooky souvenirs back to the Park Service complete with letters asking for forgiveness.
 
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The rangers pile these rocks of repentance into great heaps, averaging 12 tons yearly. Supposedly the bad luck disappears after the stones are returned to their rightful place.
 
I recount this tale to Beth as we pull up to the gates of the National Park as a warning; we don’t need any bad luck while on the road. Just in case this is not incentive enough to leave the rocks be, the park ranger at the kiosk informs us that it’s a federal offense to collect or remove any of the rocks from the land, punishable by fines and/or imprisonment.
 
As we drive North into the park the scenery does not readily change – it is no surprise that so many travelers on I-40 zip right by this natural wonder without a second glance. We turn into the first overlook,Tiponi Point. From the corner of my vision I see Beth’s eyes widen as her jaw drops. She understands now why I wanted to stop here.
 
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200 million years ago great conifer trees thrived in what once was a vast floodplain. When these trees fell, a mixture of silt, mud and volcanic ash covered the logs and created an anaerobic environment that slowed the wood’s decay. As silica-laden groundwater seeped through the logs, the wood tissue was replaced with silica and minerals which petrified the logs in beautiful multi-colored designs. In the 1800s federal mappers and surveyors explored this area and recounted tales of a remarkable “Painted Desert and it’s trees turned to stone,” and in 1906 Teddy Roosevelt helped to pave the future of the park by declaring it a National Monument and preserving nearly 53,000 acres of natural pre-history.
 
I see a petrified log and point it out to Beth.
“Wait, where?”
 
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The tree-turned-stone is off in the distance and Beth isn’t sure what she is looking for. I describe as a large “dinosaur turd” and give her landmarks to locate it.
 
“Whoa. WHOA! Wait – they’re all over!” She finally finds what she’s looking for and I can see that her perception of the world has immediately broadened. Suddenly seeing or experiencing things that have been around you the entire time is a magical experience. Your world instantly changes and the only comparison I can think of is seeing the hidden object in a Magic Eye image. I will see this happen in both of us again weeks later while hunting for geodes.
 
We stop at Chinde Point and look out at a vast valley of tan and green. In the distance petrified logs are scattered about the landscape looking oddly alien in this parched tree-less land.
 
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“They’re everywhere!” Beth yells joyously as she points to the ancient logs. An elderly couple arrives and parks next to us, breaking the solitude of the desert with a friendly, “Good morning!”
 
The couple’s salutation makes us realize it is indeed morning at 8:57AM, and not mid-day as we both thought. The 90º heat and high sun had us in an alternate time, many hours later. Cheerfully knowing that we have plenty of the day left, we climb into Darlene and sweep South on the road through the park.
 
Slowly we drive the varied landscape – we are in no rush and are fully engrossed in the moment regardless of our time schedule. We pass multi-colored striations in the hills and valleys that tell tales of a time before man; fallen logs permanently speak of a great tropical conifer forest that existed before this dry grassland.
 
My favorite section of the entire park is the drive through the Tepees – ancient conical earthen mounds with varied bands of blues, purples, grays, and oranges, created by Triassic river deposits millions of years ago. Beth’s mouth is agape once more in amazement and I smile from ear-to-ear. These formations make us feel as though we are on another planet or in another time, this can not be our Earth. Indeed we are glimpsing out the truck windows into the past at ancient records of our Earth before man ever crawled from the primordial ooze. We are driving through the history of our planet, Darlene is a temporary time machine.
 
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Leaving the Tepees behind we continue South with a quick stop at the Jasper Forest. Seemingly growing once more from the ground, petrified logs jut from the grassy earth at random. We pause at the Crystal Forest and consider hiking, but our wimpy East coast bodies are no match for the mid-morning heat of the desert and so we forego the exploration by foot.
 
Leaving the park I swear I glimpse a pile of rocks behind a building, a mound of bad ju ju reversed. Silently, I hope there are no petrified specimens lodged in our treads and ask the forces at large for forgiveness if need be. Exiting the park we are immediately bombarded by billboards with “PETRIFIED WOOD” in hand-painted five-foot tall block white letters. Shop after shop promises free petrified wood, terms and conditions unknown, not to mention luck. Although collecting and selling the ancient hardened tree-bits is legal on private land, we agree it best to let history stay here as we continue towards Flagstaff.
 
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If you are ever in the area of the Petrified Forest National Park we highly recommend driving through and exploring the hiking trails, but only in fair weather – it can get HOT here. If you are heading East on 40, take exit 285 to US 180 East through Holbrook to the South entrance, which will lead you back North to 1-40. Westbound 40, take exit 311 and follow the park road South until reaching 180 West, which will rejoin you to 40 in Holbrook. If you don’t have a National Parks Pass (which you should) the gate fee is affordable and worth the adventure and sights. Personally, this has remained one of my favorite National Parks for years, second only to Arches. We’ll see if our continued adventures change this ranking.

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A man, a woman and their dog. Traveling the Americas living in a 1997 Dodge Ram with a Four Wheel Camper Grandby in search of a new American dream. Promoting overlanding, sustainability, enjoying life and following your dreams. Tag along with us as we traverse the continent in search of adventure!
 

 


#18 rystjohn

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Posted 18 August 2015 - 04:44 PM

I look around the Jeep at the other’s faces; behind me Beth’s face shows unease and nausea as Alfredo flops around with the sway of the suspension, beside me Chris is lost in concentration on the poor excuse for a road that lies ahead, his white-knuckled hands steadfast at ten and two. The map in my lap aggressively shifts as we bounce over yet another rock, a breeze from the open window flicks the corners like a dog’s panting tongue. I squint down at the bland white map as though this will somehow help discern our location. The road is getting worse. I don’t want to wind up like the ivory pile of gnawed bones we discovered that was once a cow.
 
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“I’m pretty sure we’re here,” I hold the map up and attempt to pinpoint a spot with my bouncing finger a measly two miles from where we began. Over an hour and a half has passed, we still have over eighteen miles to go. If we had known this road’s dreadful condition or if we were into off-roading, we’d be having a much better time and wouldn’t have left with only a few hours of light left. We decide to double back and try a different route tomorrow. At this pace we’re better off walking.
 
South of Sedona we had set up camp in the high desert after leaving the cool mountain air just North of Red Rocks two days ago. Darelene’s stock suspension received a rigorous workout on the dusty washboarded Forest Road 618 as we searched for a viable spot to pop our top – the Coconino National Forest Motor Vehicle Use Map Bill gifted us at Overland Expo promised dispersed camping all along the route but none of the sites seemed inviting or even accessible until we found the intersection of FR 618C.
 
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At night the fire’s crackle and the whisper of the wind was all we could hear as the flames lapped at the millions of stars above us. Just before dawn we awoke to the howl of coyotes nearby. We didn’t want to leave this place, but an adventure to an abandoned hot springs called our name.
 
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Forest Road 708, or Fossil Creek Road as most folks know it, is closed. We park on the side of the road and I call the number on the closure sign, hoping this is only temporary. The recorded voice informs us that the closure is in effect from 9AM until further notice due to high vehicle traffic. In desperation I look at the map and find a tiny road connects to FR 708 from an alternate direction, the black and white striping denotes “open to all vehicles.” We will find ourselves on this unmaintained poor excuse for a road in a few hours, bouncing over boulders, questioning our decisions, and eventually turning back to try Fossil Creek Road again in the morning: FR 9D.
 
A stones throw past mile marker 241 on HWY 260 East we arrive at our forest road, an unassuming dirt trail masked as a small farmhouse’s driveway. Trusting the signage we turn off the highway and follow the rough road bouncing over dirt, manure, hay and rock past the clapboard farmhouse and around a bend until we reach a vast grassy clearing. An escarpment of the Mogollan Rim is visible in the distance, to the East high power lines trace off to the horizon. At a poorly built fire ring we park Darlene, no use in taking both vehicles, and pile into the Jeep bounding our way down to connect with FR 9D, bubbling with enthusiasm.
 
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Three hours and three miles later we are back where we began: shaken, disheveled, and ready for a relaxing night around a campfire. The sun sets with a colorful wash of blues, oranges and purples, our campfire dances as we stare into the flames, each of us thankful we turned back and didn’t wind up like that cow.
 
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Pre-dawn light rouses us from slumber. With haste we stuff ourselves and our packs with coffee, breakfast, water, cameras, snacks, sunscreen, and a map as we race to Fossil Creek Road before the closure starts.
 
In triumph we cruise the rugged track towards our destination. Rocks, dips, bumps and washboards of this road feel smooth as silk compared to yesterdays rocky ride. A fine dust covers all, turning our pale skin and black Jeep tawny; far off ghostly plumes kicked up from vehicles reveal the distance we’ve yet to drive.
 
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Seventeen miles of Fossil Creek Road lead to seeming desolation pockmarked by sooty families in dusty camp sites, boxed in by gritty cars, tents and heavy lines of traffic passing by. Why people would choose to come out here only to watch dirty brown motorcades pass them at regular intervals is beyond my comprehension. At FR 502 we make a hard turn South towards Child’s Power Plant, breaking formation from the ghostly procession as it continues in a blanket of dust. The road gradually rises up and over a ridge on a one-and-a-half-lane switchback towards the Verde River, our journey’s end.
 
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The harsh scent of hot brakes sting my nostrils and I tell Chris to downshift lest we lose our ability to stop. We pause at an overlook to let the hot rotors cool, staring down at the Verde River below. It is hard to believe that there once was a resort down here in the early 1900s, that humans would ever try to settle such a desolate area in an attempt to tame this wilderness. Our adventure has already been a trek with modern vehicles and maintained roads, it is inconceivable that folks made this journey with some of the first automobiles on the first primitive roads. In this vast desert there is no sound but the gentle wind shuffling clouds about the turquoise sky, our breaths are insignificant puffs in this immensity.
 
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Overlooking a maintained campground on the river, we park next to an abandoned minivan; it’s tires are flat, the license plate has been removed and the sliding door is missing. I’m smacked by the smell of urine as I peer into the egress at trash, bedding and random automobile parts, hoping it will not be our misfortune to stay the night here. Below us the sounds of primitive drums pound, folks are wandering about half-clothed. Before venturing here I intently read all I could on the area; stories of folks making semi-permanent residence at the campground, prevalent nudity, drug use, and occasional violence had put me on alert, but the energy emanating from below was jovial. We duck under a gate and walk the rustic road past the abandoned Child’s Power Plant. A large spray of graffiti proclaiming “FEED ME YOUR BLOOD! HAIL SATAN!” places my mind and body back on alert – we are three scrawny white folk in the middle of the desert with no help for miles.
 
Several minutes down the road we pass a rock with a large spray painted ‘X’ that we later learn is the correct place to cross the river, affectionately called “X marks the rock.” Instead we follow the road until a footpath leads us down toward the river where we manage to ford across the surprisingly swift current. Walking downstream a trail manifests and leads us past oddly placed palm trees and crumbled foundations.
 
The hotel that used to stand where the hot spring pools are located now burnt down in 1962. Before then it apparently was quite the place in the Jazz Age and rumor has it that Al Capone used it as a hideout at times. Now all you see are remnants of the old structure, mis-placed palm trees and the pools.
 
A series of steps lead us down to a large pool signaling our arrival. Aside from us there are only two couples occupying the springs – one seasoned regulars, the others newcomers like us. The pools are fed from natural springs deep within the rocks, the basin’s drains plugged with bowling pins to hold the supposed magical water in place, the excess dripping out carefully crafted channels leading to the river beside us. Graffiti covers nearly all the man-made structures, colorful in hue and content with caricatures, warnings, biblical quotes and inspirational messages. The dark mineral water has an oily film on the surface and seltzer-like bubbles rise from abyss. We jump in.
 
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A scene from Dante’s Peak comes to mind as we soak in the blissful warmth – campers find themselves boiling alive in a natural spring as a volcano beneath them rumbles to life. We let our cares drift away with the clouds above and balance the heat with a dip into the brisk Verde River, our systems shocked to life from the contrast. We scoot from hot to cold and back again, eventually settling on the banks of the river, basking in the Summer sun like lizards.
 
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The day meanders by, we are alone in a paradise hidden within the desert, grateful for finding this place and having the ability to enjoy it unabated. Hours later the last sips of the water we brought signal time for our exodus from this paradise. Begrudgingly we head back to the vehicle.
 
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The sun nears it’s departure from the sky as we arrive back at camp. Clouds on the horizon threaten storms as we build our nightly fire. We sit around the crackling flames watching once again as they seemingly reach for the heavens; in a valiant effort, embers pop skyward attempting to join their starry brethren above, only to extinguish within the darkness around us. I stare intently at the flames as though searching for a hidden meaning within them, concluding that experiences such as ours this weekend are exactly why we travel and what we should be living for, sharing our stories is necessary.
 
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I smile comfortably in the silence of the night knowing that tomorrow we will awake to solitude in this field, fully able to enjoy our day free from any dirty cavalcade passing by in search of paradise. I think we’ll be coming back soon.

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A man, a woman and their dog. Traveling the Americas living in a 1997 Dodge Ram with a Four Wheel Camper Grandby in search of a new American dream. Promoting overlanding, sustainability, enjoying life and following your dreams. Tag along with us as we traverse the continent in search of adventure!
 

 


#19 rystjohn

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Posted 18 August 2015 - 04:48 PM

Just some updates for those of you who aren't subscribed or who haven't visited our site (Traveling-trio.com). We're currently on the Mogollan Rim in Northern Arizona, working as camp hosts (yes, we're the youngest they've ever seen at 27) until Sept 20 in order to save up some money. Come September, we are headed North (yes, we're nuts) to Montana for a wedding, then over to Minnesota to harvest sugar beets. At this point I believe we're headed South to Nicaragua, maybe. If we can figure everything out.

 

Check out our website if any of y'all have time - I often forget to post updates here, but love the interaction of the forum. We have very very limited internet where we are currently living so it's kinda hard to stay up to date on more than one website, and to be honest our's needs to take precedence. 

 

Anyhow if any of y'all are in the area we'd love to meet up or say hi!

 

Thanks for following along with our adventures!


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A man, a woman and their dog. Traveling the Americas living in a 1997 Dodge Ram with a Four Wheel Camper Grandby in search of a new American dream. Promoting overlanding, sustainability, enjoying life and following your dreams. Tag along with us as we traverse the continent in search of adventure!
 

 


#20 craig333

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Posted 19 August 2015 - 12:29 AM

Thanks for the update. Sounds like quite the adventure!


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