Life’s a Cave (and Then You Stub Your Toe)

 

Chapter 55: Mondays, Matcha Mistakes, and Condo Rage


 Mondays hit differently when you’re unemployed. You’d think freedom would erase the blues, but no—admin tasks have a way of finding you. My morning was swallowed by endless back-and-forth emails with Nadine, our broker, as I tried to get our New York condo board package wrapped up. Who knew leasing out a “normal” condo to a “normal” tenant could feel like applying for parole? Add in fees that look suspiciously like daylight robbery, and Nelson pacing like a man cheated at the slot machines, it was a whole production.


My attempt to escape adulting didn’t go much better. I called the RAM dealership (or “RAMS,” as I insist on calling it... RAMS is a financial institution in Australia and I kept mixing these two up!) to schedule a safety recall. After an hour of hold music and two dropped calls, I gave up. Apparently, Monday is national “fix your truck” day.

So I retreated to Crystal Bridges Café, my new Monday ritual. I wish I could say it restored my soul, but it mostly assaulted my wallet. A $7 matcha latte that tasted like melted green candy, a bitter cold brew, and a tea so bland I made puns about it to myself. The art is stellar, but the drinks? Overpriced mediocrity in a cup.

At least food saved the day. I finally tried the Vietnamese place I’d been passing for weeks. The pho was decent, the interior felt legit, and the floor was so uneven I thought vanlife had permanently wrecked my balance. Dinner later was Taiwanese tomato eggs and beef stir-fry, cooked shamelessly at a public park. Vanlife tip: if you look serious enough while juggling a wok and hot oil, people generally leave you alone.


We wrapped the night eating under a big tree at Crystal Bridges’ lot until security guards made sure we knew we weren’t welcome to stay. We weren’t trying to, but still—nothing like being “gently evicted” after dinner. At least the twilight trail walk afterward was magical: deer darting, sculptures glowing ghost-white in the dark, and a moon so huge it felt like a spotlight just for us.



Chapter 56: Exploration Tuesdays and Emo Cave Comedy


 I declared Tuesdays “Exploration Tuesdays” after last week’s Walmart Museum trip, and this week I was extra excited: Bluff Dweller’s Cave in Missouri. A woman I’d met on another tour told me she’d spent 30 years visiting every show cave in the state, and this was her final one. How could I not check it out?

The drive was classic Ozarks—winding roads, farmland, tiny towns, and then, suddenly, stairs leading to a cave entrance. Inside, I joined a family with a very quiet, emo-looking son. Our guide Cory was both funny and knowledgeable, but the real star of the tour turned out to be Mr. Emo.


The moment we lost natural light, the kid transformed into a stand-up comic. Cory pointed out a massive limestone “shawl” that looked like bacon in a cave; the kid deadpanned “Kevin Bacon.” When the lights went out to show us total darkness, he sighed, “Still brighter than my future.” I nearly died laughing in the cave air.


The formations were stunning—fluted walls like a slot canyon, only with salamanders instead of sunlight. Afterward, the cave museum surprised me: massive mineral collections, geology lessons that made my high-school science teacher look lazy, and a talking mannequin named “Papi” that scared me more than the bats ever could.


I even chatted with Ray, grandson of the cave’s discoverer. He spoke warmly but a little wearily about inheriting the family business after a corporate career. It made me reflect on my own shift—from glossy ad exec life to vanlifer cooking eggs in parking lots. Different paths, same theme: life never goes as planned, but maybe that’s the fun part.


Of course, vanlife brought me back to earth fast. Fresh off this reflective high, I treated myself to a pedicure—only to slam my toe into the van’s jump seat hard enough to bleed for hours. Nothing says “enlightened traveler” like limping around with a busted pinky toe.

By Wednesday, I surrendered to chores: laundry, reorganizing hooks in the van garage, DIY linen spray that made the bed smell like a spa, and even grilled salmon for dinner. Honestly, after cave laughs, toe drama, and three nights of stealth camping during my period, chore day felt almost luxurious.



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Goodbye Grid, Hello Bugs

Image
  Chapter 1 — The Movers, the Cheese Balls, and the Road Ahead What a day. Finally, the big day had arrived — and already it felt like a distant memory as I sat down to write this much later. The movers showed up right on time at 7:30 AM and didn’t finish packing and loading until 12:30 PM. Two technicians appeared somewhere in the middle of it all, building special crates for the mirror and the glass top of the dresser. Once the last box was sealed and the last tape gun click faded, Nelson and I went into deep-clean mode — scrubbing, sweeping, and packing the final odds and ends. By the time we rolled out of the apartment, it felt like we’d already done a full day’s work. We drove to Louise and Lewis’ place next, where Friday afternoon traffic was already in full swing. A few more last-minute items got loaded into the van, and Louise handed us cheese balls — an absolute lifesaver since my entire day’s food intake up to that point had been two pieces of chocolate. We pulled out...
Read more

Friends in High (Altitude) Places

Image
Chapter 9: Fiddles, Footwork, and the First Campfire We had a lazy breakfast—eggs sunny side up, smoked salmon, strawberries—before heading to the Blue Ridge Music Center. The Buck Mountaineers were playing, and the energy was infectious: jig-dancing, singing, and quirky little puppets “dancing” across the banjo and guitar strings. I learned that the banjo came from West Africa, inspired by the Akonting. Who knew? The day got even better when Lilian and Cindy arrived from New York. Seeing them set up tent and self-inflated mats felt like welcoming old friends into a little mountain home. At Stony Fork Creek campground, Nelson built his first campfire using dead wood, while Lilian displayed serious bare-handed log-breaking skills. Dinner was steak, baguette, salad, and wine from Round Peak, and Cindy and I finished the night with marshmallows over the fire—pure joy. Chapter 10: Seven Sisters Under a Summer Sun Hiking day! Breakfast was chicken sausages, scrambled eggs, and toast, w...
Read more

Blue Ridge, But Make It Hipster

Image
Chapter 13: Urban Oasis in the Blue Ridge We rolled out of Bear Den Mountain, leaving behind the smell of pine needles, bug spray, and slightly charred marshmallows, and hit Asheville, NC—the city that whispered, “You need caffeine, culture, and maybe a little weirdness in your life.” I was craving urban energy and professionally cooked food. Asheville delivered. Cute downtown streets, funky shops, and just enough hipster vibes to make me feel like I belonged…or like I needed a man with a man bun. We checked in at White Labs Brewery, strictly before 4pm because apparently the beer gods are very punctual. First order of business: pizza. This was not just pizza. This was a pizza that could stage a coup. Delicious, pepperoni-y, life-affirming pizza. After that, a downtown walk led to some unexpected culture: the Thomas Wolfe memorial, an art gallery we couldn’t escape, and Sunshine Sammies ice cream sandwiches—sweet, gooey, and absolutely necessary. Oh, and a victorious sauerkraut find ...
Read more