The Opening Week (of 2026)

 

Chapter 118: Toby Keith, I Love It (Apparently)

Today was exciting in a very specific adult way: lunch plans with friends. We were meeting Jachin and Ben.  I had been dying to meet Ben, and Jachin had somehow never met Nelson in person, despite knowing everything about him via stories, photos, and probably complaints (they met virtually once).

They made reservations at a Bricktown restaurant called “Toby Keith, I Love This Bar & Grill.”
This name caused an unreasonable amount of confusion between Nelson and me.

Nelson spotted the place and went, “Toby Keith!”
And I, thinking I was being helpful and respectful, kept saying, “Yes, Toby Keith, I Love This Bar & Grill.”

Then Nelson asked me for dish recommendations.
I said, “How would I know? I’ve never been here.”
He pressed on: “Did you visit another location?”
“No?? What’s wrong with you??”
“But you said you love it.”
“I did NOT!”
“Yes you did.  Every time I said Toby Keith, you said you love it!”

Ten minutes of escalating confusion later, it finally clicked.
This is another Park Road 5 situation. America, why do you name things like this.

Lunch itself was wonderful. The food was great, but the company was better. Everyone in the restaurant knew Jachin and Ben... every five minutes someone stopped by to say hi. I felt like secondhand royalty, while also feeling bad that our friends probably never get to eat here in peace.

Jachin ordered fried pickles for the table, which sounds wrong but is absolutely right. Nelson and I got the famous ribs (Toby’s favorite, apparently), while the OKC boys got healthy grilled chicken and made us feel mildly judged. We talked about the city, the road, the weather, all the good stuff. The kind of conversation that reminds you why you bothered driving thousands of miles in the first place.

After lunch, Nelson and I wandered the restaurant like tourists, checking out Toby’s memorabilia and stage outfits. I loved the bench seats made from the backs of pickup trucks, even though my feet didn’t touch the ground. I assume real cowboys have longer legs.

Originally, I wanted to stay another night in OKC and visit the Cowboy Museum (I only recently learned Oklahoma counts as “the West,” not “the South”). But Nelson was experiencing acute fishing withdrawal after six whole days without casting a line, made worse by the fact that the San Juan River produced zero fish and a hundred theories.

For the sake of our marriage, I agreed to leave early and head toward Roaring River.

Before leaving, we stopped at the Oklahoma City National Memorial. It was freezing but sunny, and incredibly still. The field of empty chairs hit me hard. Each chair represents a life lost ... offices interrupted, routines erased. Having worked in offices most of my adult life, I couldn’t stop thinking about what an empty chair means. I once had a colleague who died suddenly over a weekend (heart attack). Monday came. His chair stayed empty. Life doesn’t snap back the way schedules do.

The reflection pool, built where a street once was, says: something changed here forever. I admire places like this, and the people who design them, who turn tragedy into reflection instead of spectacle. Walking away, I felt sad, grounded, but hopeful.

Oklahoma City surprised me. I can't wait to come back.

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Chapter 119: Coming Home, Slowly

It felt surreal to drive straight through Bentonville without stopping, heading north instead to Roaring River. Familiar roads, different destination.

The next morning was cold and slow. Nelson didn’t fish until late morning, and caught nothing. All his theories? Busted. I laughed. Gently. A lot.

We wrapped up the trip and headed back to Bella Vista.
2,600 miles in 16 days.
Probably the longest drive we’ve ever done.

There were van hiccups: a flat tire, a table falling off under the bed (which I briefly believed meant the bed itself had broken), and the mysterious propane switch incident. There were unplanned workdays, unplanned fishing days, and plenty of plan changes. But we felt more confident this time, more comfortable improvising, more okay with sleeping at rest stops, more at ease with motion itself.

Vanlife feels most real when you’re constantly moving.

Back at Blowing Springs campground, we immediately went into spring-cleaning mode. Two massive loads of laundry. Making the bed together (putting a duvet cover on in a van is Olympic-level cardio). I cooked pork ragù pasta, and we ate on our nice plates, a luxury reserved for full hookups, celebrating a safe, happy trip.

The next few days were gloriously ordinary. Nelson went back to work. I enjoyed having the van to myself. I ran errands, picked up mail, and cooked like a person who owns spices again. One unusually warm day inspired a meatball salad with naan dippers and hummus. Refreshing. Delicious. 2026 had officially begun.

Fog rolled into Bentonville one morning so thick I could barely see the car ahead. I dropped Nelson at work, went home, and “waited for the fog to clear” by taking a nap. Winter naps require no justification.

I wore a skirt. I saw my legs. The tan lines were still there. Life was good.

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Chapter 120: Winter Routines and a Pom-Pom Eagle

I drove up to our land in Bella Vista to check on progress and found a surprise: a porta potty.
I have never been so excited to see a toilet I did not need to use.

It was brand new. Clean. Fully stocked with toilet paper. Arkansas law requires one porta potty per twenty construction workers, and while it’s not technically for us, its presence meant things were really moving. I opened the door like a tourist. It was beautiful. I was genuinely proud of this toilet.

Back at Roaring River, we settled into our winter camping system, which we have perfected through trial, error, and mild embarrassment. Campground 1 has winter bathrooms but trees that block the Starlink Mini. Campground 3 is great for Starlink tree-wise but no bathrooms. So we shower here, work there, shuffle around at exactly the right times, and hope the camp hosts understand.

I love me a fancy snack!

One did. Mostly.

Later in the week, Nelson finally caught fish: big, fat trout. He was ecstatic. I went to Tim’s Fly Shop and bought materials to tie beetle flies, something I’d always wanted to try because they’re adorable. Mine came out… creative. One had a loose butt. The others looked more like obese ants. The trout don’t care. Hopefully.

Beetles or ants?  Can trout tell?

The highlight of the weekend was Bald Eagle Day at the CCC Lodge. The room was packed. We learned bald eagles migrate south for winter, mate for life, and build nests that can weigh literal tons. Then, as if on cue, a bald eagle appeared in a tree just outside. It felt staged. It was not. Everyone lost their minds.

Behold!  A real eagle.

Afterward, we made bald eagles out of pom poms. I checked first... not a kids-only activity. However, this was my first encounter with mom aggression. One mom aggressively guarded the glue gun like it was contraband. She yelled at me. She yelled at another mom. Eventually, she yelled at her kids and demanded to know where their dad was.

Southerners are lovely. Moms are scary everywhere.

My pom-pom eagle was perfect. We named her Tweety. She lives on the van’s AC vent. She now owns a tiny cowboy hat and a fishing rod. This was inevitable.

She is VERY cute.

As we drove back toward Bentonville under a glowing sunset, it felt like the rhythm had returned. The road behind us. The year ahead. The van humming along like it always does.

I think we’re ready.