If you’ve found this page, you’ve probably heard about my adventures. You might have connected with me in a hardware store, an ice cream shop, or we’ve been friends for awhile. Whatever brought you here, thanks for joining me.
You’ve heard me say that I’ve spent a long time living in the 53-year-old camper that I call the Cosmic Nomad, and that it recently followed me nearly 4,000 miles across the country.
But how did we get here?
Bold Statements, Big Consequences
At the end of 2018, I ended a two year relationship by saying “Hey babe—I think I want to live in a van or a bus!” By the end of the conversation, I was single, and wanted to make the dream come true.
Dreams danced in my mind of yellow curtains and a string of prayer flags blowing in a breeze. Dreams of a place to call my own tempted and teased me for years, foggy like a dream when I tried to explain them to anyone who’d listen.
Dirtbag Life
In 2020, I was a rookie raft guide. Like everyone else, my life had been shaken up like a snow globe by COVID and I was still watching the dust settle. At the time, I was living in a tent. At the time, I had finally gotten approved for COVID unemployment since my job had evaporated when the pandemic happened.
And all I wanted was to buy a camper.
I’d researched like it was a second job. Browsing Facebook Marketplace every evening, I’d saved hundreds of listings. I compared, contrasted, and agonized, not quite finding what I wanted for months.
Here’s what made this search so hard: I’d already decided that $2000 was my max budget.
The Cosmic Nomad Appears
On July 7, 2020, I found the perfect camper. It was in Morrill, Nebraska. It was a slow day at the outfitter, and I asked my boss if he could spare me and a buddy to go check it out. He had just three questions for me:
- Will your car make it?
- Can your car tow it?
- Do you have the money?
When I said yes, yes, and yes, he joyfully told me “Well go get ’em, kid!”
We took off, and I stopped by an ATM to withdraw $1600 in twenty dollar bills. I was scared—it felt like so much money to have in my hand.
After hours in the car with no AC, we arrived, and the guy came out to show me the camper.
It was beautiful, a perfect 1970s time capsule. Dirty, empty, and with a soft spot in the bathroom floor.
I tried to haggle him down to $1500 over the bathroom floor. When he hesitated, and told me that he had other people interested, I committed: I whipped out the stack of cash and counted out his asking price, wondering if I was making a huge mistake or the best choice of my raft guide life.
With the deed done, we headed to the county clerk’s office, getting there five minutes before closing to sign over the Wyoming title, get it and the bill of sale notarized, and make things official.
After that, we hitched it up and headed home.
First Journey, First Fuck-Ups
We drove through hurricane-force winds. I didn’t even think to worry—I’d spend the summer of 2016 being an intern, hauling way sketchier things through way worse weather.
The worst I’ve ever overestimated my skills was trying to take it through a Taco Bell drive through, on the way home.
Things went… Worse than what you’re picturing.
My buddy got out and assessed the situation.
“Go forward.”
Metal on metal shrieks.
“Go backward.”
Same metal on metal shrieking.
He pauses. Thinks. Looks at the situation. Finally, he says very seriously:
“Just go.”
I damn near left my food in the hands of the guy working the window, two-thirds of his body out the window gawking at the spectacle of pure hubris unfolding in his drive through lane.
But I figured… We’ve come this far, and I really want that Crunchwrap.
The Cosmic Nomad Has Landed
We got back late. It was dark. My boss was waiting to see how things went.
I told him what happened, how it’d been great until my pride decided I needed Taco Bell.
He looked solemnly at the faint pinstripes of purple and gold paint, then patted me on the back, declaring “Congratulations, it’s really yours now!”
Making The Cosmic Nomad My Home
When I first got The Cosmic Nomad, it had been a hunting camper.
And it was dirty like one.
The first day, it was a mess. It was damp, messy, and begging for a deep cleaning.
Days of cleaning and two concentrated bottles of Simple Green later, it was ready to sleep a night in. I got sent to Buena Vista for a different rafting gig. The Cosmic Nomad got its name, after my favorite rapid on Clear Creek.
I put its name on its bumper, drove to my new spot, and kept settling in.
After awhile, I had gotten things squared away. By August, this was the situation .
Where Are We Now?
We’ve come a long way since then, both The Cosmic Nomad and I.
Lots has changed—we both look a little different, and have seen a lot since then.
There are so many stories I’d love to share with you. Thanks for sticking around and learning a little about how The Cosmic Nomad landed in my life, and how I got to the point of wanting to live in a camper.
Currently, I’m living in The Cosmic Nomad again! But that’s a long story that we’ll dig into in other blog posts.
If you want to join me in reliving where I’ve been, and where The Cosmic Nomad continues to take me, stick around.
This story is far from over.
The Cosmic Nomad 