So, if you had to guess from all of my social media pics and posts that my newest hobby/obsession that has taken over my lifestyle it would have to be the my new found love of OVERLANDING. Now I’ve juggled several hobbies over the last 40 years or so ever since i was pre-pube. My first hobbies I can recall my collecting hot wheels, toys of such and skateboarding when we lived in our little tri-level home in Belle Mead to GI Joe, Star Wars figures and comic books when i was uprooted and placed into care in the lush, cow patty pastures of HWY 86. I had about half a dozen siblings living with me the first 10 years of my life but 6 years divided me from my next sibling in age so much of my childhood I spent entertaining myself. To say I was an unexpected addition to an already overpopulated situation in the Gangwer household would be an obvious understatement but if I had to guess ol’ Ron (Dad) wasn’t a fan of condoms. I would spend all day in my playrooom jumping cars off of book ramps, playing with my JJ Armes action figure, a secret agent that had removable hands that became weapons, while Ultra Man reruns played on the TV in the background. I had my Star Trek Enterprise that was just laminated cardboard diarama with printed graphics of the inside of the ship. There was a little spinner in the back of the box that you when you twisted it fast enough it would throw William Shatner’s miniature likeness out the back of the box and BOOM you had teleportation. “Beam me up Scotty” just meant shoving his plastic little body back through the little door of the USS Cardboard Enterprise. In the evening time I’d grab my shitty little skateboard and try to jump speed bumps like my brother and his friends. I’d come home covered in road rash looking like i got hit by a “ truck full of raspberries” as my mom put it. If helmets and pads were available at that time my parents were unaware of their existence.

My love for GI Joe and Star Wars toys were insane and probably cost me some financial points for my college fund savings. I was birthed into this world at the ideal time for Star Wars to be the center of my childhood world and imagination. It was a solid trade out for being a child of the Cold War looking up at the sky every day wondering if that tiny jet stream in the sky was a Russian nuclear warhead coming to melt my friends and family. I always tried to keep the location of the nearest school desk in my peripheral vision to hide under just in case a holocaust should come our way. The first movie I remember seeing in a drive-in theatre off of Augusta road was the original Star Wars. I can recall people dressed up in sandman costumes and walking around with cheap lightsabers (also my first introduction to cos play). My love of science fiction slapped me in the face that night and I’m sure I screamed for my dad to drive me to Kmart the next day so I could peruse the toy section to find Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader figures so they could duel it out. I had every action figure molded from the OG to Return of the Jedi including the blue Snaggletooth that I still to this day can’t find in any of the trilogies. Remember when you could mail in proof of purchases and order the Boba Fett with the missile launcher through the mail? Fuck yeah that was me. I got mine right before they discountinued the removable missile because some mouth breathing kid swallowed one and choked on it. I remember checking the apartment mailbox at Club Key East 15 times a day to see if it had arrived. This was around ‘78-“79. There were no Amazon trucks or emails letting you track your packages. You mailed in these little cut out pieces of cardboard, essentially the 70s version of QR codes to the address on the back of your action figure box. And then you hope like hell the mail person can read your overly excitable, 7 year old handwriting on a candy smudged envelope addressed to a post office box in Tattooine with 10 stamps because you want it to be mailed faster. Eight weeks later it arrived in a little, unassuming, rectangular box. I recall being disappointed in the unremarkable packaging. The greatest action figure in Star Wars history came wrapped up in a cardboard vessel that had the same fanfare and pomposity of an individual tampon. No badass, plastic sheething caressing his actioness or graphic bio on the back. It did come with a little strip of paper explaining how not to shoot his little red missile down your throat. Several people have expressed to me the value of that particular figure and what its worth to this day in mint condition. Fuck that. Boba and I had some awesome adventures and i wore his ass out like i did all my toys. Also i lost that damn red missile first day i got him.

Now GI Joe was my jam. Yeah i had some of those 12” dudes with the velcro like buzz cuts and removable fatigues. They were fun but i was more into the smaller action figures. Every weekend when I’d visit my old man we’d drive to Greenville and I’d bee line into KB toys in the Greenville Mall and walk straight down the first aisle where they kept all the action figures and look for all the newest arrivals of the smaller 3.75 inch GI Joe figures. These were the old school guys way before the king fu grip was introduced. First one I bought was Stalker. I of course wanted Snake Eyes but he was always sold out. I managed to acquire the original 13 in about 2 months. Some weekends my old man would let me buy one figure at a time but if my grades were good I’d get two. Needless to say it took some time to build up my little army of happiness. Then I had to have the motorcycle and side car, then the jeep and then the tank. I had worked my way all the way up the fortress and jet, but my dad like 99% of everyone else’s parents wasn’t going to spring for the grand mother fucking prize- The Aircraft Carrier. This massive golden goose of all play sets was seven and a half feet long and retailed for $109.99 in 1985 which at that time was like buying a kid a PlayStation 5. I was averaging a dollar reward for each A on my report card (I hadn’t had an A since third grade) and at the rate I was going I wouldnt earn the USS Flagg until i was 32. By the age of 13 I had amassed a toy army large enough for the government to search my room for weapons of mass destruction. The GI Joe thermonuclear warhead was never to be created so I had to use bottle rockets instead.

I wasn’t always playing with GI Joe’s and Star Wars figures. My other and equally expensive hobby of comic book collecting was beginning to gain control. My toys started losing their luster as I got into my teen years. I had stopped using my GIs to take over small countries under my bed and instead would set them up as rock bands and have them sing and play in one of my diorama (shoe) boxes used as a stage. Picture if you will Gung-Ho, Scarlett, Snake Eyes and the Baroness singing Fascination by Human League on a shoe box. The action figure hobby era died right about the time MTV was introduced.

On the weekends when I’d go visit my dad we’d drive to the Jockey Lot so I could look at comic books. A lot of my friends in middle school would bring their collections to school and i immediately fell in love with the X-men. They were relatable for me as a young teen who saw himself somewhat as a misfit and outsider. When my parents split and we moved to Piedmont, the first couple of summers were quiet and lonely. We lived right on Hwy 86 and i didnt have many friends (2) who lived nearby. All my years at Wren Middle I was unhappy from being uprooted and split between two parents. I didn’t make too many friends at that time although the ones I did are still valuable friends of mine 40 years later. I loved comic books and how they could take me away from the stress of a divorced family and the depression and volatility that can comes leaving one parent to go hang out with the next every week. I was always a marvel guy. DC was ok but it was just Superman and Batman the characters in the Marvel comics had more believable stories and origins. They felt real to me. I cannot tell you how many times I tried to wish mutanr powers on me so I could feel relevant. X-men were always my go to and just like almost everyone else I loved Wolverine. I probably called my friends “bub” for a solid 4 years. I enjoyed the original X-men as well but once the new X-men were introduced I was obsessed. Spider-Man was next and I also owned every single GI Joe comic up until they fucked up and brought in Sargent Slaughter and then i just got really silly to me. My parents had this small RV in the backyard and every summer I would gather every extension cord I could find and lead it from the mud room to the RV and camp in that little trailer all summer long with all my comics and my cat. It’s fairly obvious that those nights camping solo in my parents backyard had a profound affect on the person I’ve become today (I’ll go into more of that another time).

The most expensive comic I ever paid for out of my pocket was Hulk #181 which every comic buff will know that it was the first appearance of Wolverine. Now before any of you nerds come on here and attack me, I’m well aware that Wolverine actually appeared in Hulk #180 but cmon man it was the very last page. I bought that comic for $12 at a collectors conference at the mall. My dad only shook his head and smiled when I came back with only one comic. I told him this was the only comic book that mattered to me. When I bought it I read it on the way back to my mother’s and slid it back into its plastic sleeve and it’s only been out a few times since. Little did I know at the time it would be the last time my father would drop me off back home. The following Tuesday he’d suffer a massive stroke and never wake up. That man was my hero. I still have that comic to this day. All the others suffered significant damage from a leak in my parents attic but this one was untouched because it moved every where with me when I left my parent’s house. You can find that comic on eBay in the upwards of $30k. I’ll probably never sell it. It’s significance to me is invaluable.

I’m not sure if you could consider my love for music a hobby. I don’t play any instruments in fact I’m terrible with them and im probably a C level singer at best. MTV was my best friend in my early teens. I would watch music videos for hours with my comics in my lap. It introduced me to legends like Rick Springfield, Journey, Talking Heads, Prince and Duran Duran. Man I fucking loved pop music in the 80s it spoke to my soul. I’d stay up all night at my friends’ houses in Mauldin and we’d line up our jam boxes in a circle and break out our cassette carrying cases that resembled a pubescent brief case for teens. We’d jam to Midnight Star, Lionel Richie and Men at Work all the while trying to moon walk and bust our nuts doing the centipede. My cassette collection was insane. Man, life was fucking good then. Music consumed me and all the lyrics about love were becoming relative because my puberty was driving me bonkers for boobs. I love looking back at the transitioning between the song’s fun upbeat rhythms to meaningful lyrics. I used to record myself singing on cassette tapes on my jam box. 80s will forever be my favorite genre of music. I would combine all of my favorite lyrics on paper and pretend to pass them to the girl that I had a crush on in middle school and never told her. We are actually fb friends today and she is completely clueless about me drawing hearts next to her yearbook pic. Don’t ask me who. I’ll never say.

After high school my hobbies took a backseat for a bit while I wrestled with my first experience with independence. Hobbies are a lot more enjoyable when someone else is financing them and my first job living on my own was at Bilo bagging groceries for $3.25 an hour. My hobby at that time was making my car payment and trying to find women to like me. Unfortunately it was mostly just me and my 200SX car payment. I started hanging out with some friends at Furman that were into mountain biking. So not to be left out I went to the Great Escape and spent a week’s paycheck on a shiny new Trek. I was told I needed some bike shoes so I went back the following week and spent another check on shoes, skinny shorts with a pad, a pump that I had to take apart and reverse it to fit my valve and a Pink Floyd riding jersey and a helmet that made me look like Rick Moranis from Spaceballs. I dug it. I loved the rush at dodging tree branches at 15 mph and flipping over the handlebars and landing on my head (I did that frequently). Cycling was expensive then but still somewhat affordable in comparison to now. I really put that bike to good use when I got my DUI in ‘92..

All the while I was enjoying my new found love of mountain biking I was getting a slight hard-on for hiking and camping. At 25 I was not the outdoorsman that everyone perceives me to be currently. In fact I hated hiking for the most part. I would drive out to Table Rock with my much more adventuresome friends and attempt to ascend the mighty Table Rock Trail. My first attempt I probably exclaimed “FUCK” over a hundred times while tripping over rocks and roots in my Nike Velcro high tops that I also wore while waiting tables in at the Blockhouse. I remember my excitement as we crested over the hill and I saw the little shelter that sat overlooking the hillside. I said aloud “that wasnt as bad as I expected” before finding out that was the halfway point of the hike. I chose to turn around and wait by the car, smoking Marlboro lights until my friends decided to come back down. I seem to recall thinking how ridiculous hiking was and telling myself to fuck the hell right off about ever going to Table Rock again.

I didnt get the wanderlust/nature bug until I picked up the book Into The Wild by Jon Krakauer. A friend of mine had introduced me to the book and when I started reading it I couldn’t put it down. I was jealous of Christopher “Supertramp” McCandless’s freedom and travels. At that time I was waiting tables at Arizona Steakhouse. I had never once been in the Rockies or even drove north of the appalachians. I was going through one of my “life is shit” moments that seem to come around every now and then for me. That book woke me up, albeit temporarily for the moment but it’s had an everlasting impact on me. Anytime I share that moment there’s always that one person that points out to me how his ignorance ultimately killed him and while I acknowledge and understand that he lived more in his short life than some of us may ever experience. At least that’s what I got from it.

Well back in my serving days at AZ we used to have these poker machines. Anyone over the age of 40 probably remembers seeing these scattered throughout restaurants and bars all around the state before they were banned. We had three of them lined up against the wall behind the bar cooler and on occasion I would drop a few bucks in them after work to try to make some extra drinking money. The most I would ever put in one for the whole day would be $20 total. Gambling is a slippery slope for me. I’ve never felt the urge to gamble that much and I keep it low because I could see it becoming a problem for me if I got into it. The poker machines were fun because for the most part they paid out ok and usually I’d win my money back so it was entertaining at least. My favorite card game was Shamrock Sevens. It was just like regular poker but if you got three sevens you could spin for the jackpot (I think). The total amount of the jackpot was always in red digital numbers on the front banner atop the poker machine. I had just completed my volume lunch shift and had about 30 minutes before our manager meeting. I was in my first full year at AZ and had become a key employee which meant one free shift meal and an extra $2 to my already fulfilling $2.13 an hour wage. I slid $5 in the poker machine and chose my go to Shamrock Sevens. I managed to keep that 5 spot going in that game for a solid 25 minutes. I was trying to get it up to $20 (the minimum cash out) before the meeting began. My GM came up and lightly smacked me on the back of the head and told me “ya got 2 minutes to cash out Gangwer” and he walked away. I proceeded to bet $2 a hand to close the game out quickly and whattaya know I hit 4 sevens and a wild card. There right 5 sevens. 5 sevens = jackpot. I hadn’t even looked at the numbers on the digital screen because I wasn’t playing to hit the jackpot until I started betting the max hand. I looked up at the digital screen and it read $3201.08. Listen to me for a second.. This was 1996. I was a server living in little house off White Horse with a roommate splitting $300 a month for rent. I was driving an ‘89 white jeep wrangler that was running me $146.00 a month in payments. I was probably taking home $400 a week on a consistent basis. $3201.08 was a lot of fucking money to me. Hell it still is. I screamed like a lunatic and started running around the bar and tables like I was riding an invisible bronco slapping my own ass like a fuck wad that just a won the lottery. My gm couldn’t figure out if he should yell at me or laugh. He did jokingly tell me that employees couldn’t be awarded the jackpot to which I responded with several different scenarios that might cause the restaurant to burn down. I was rewarded my money in cash the next day. Down to the fucking penny.

What did I do with my jackpot? Savings? Laughable. I was living day to day with my earnings as do most of us in the industry. Pay off my jeep? Too responsible and boring. I had a hole burning through through my pocket and I already knew what I was going to spend it on. Which is how my next hobby started.

I had only been camping a few times my whole life. I could count them all one on hand. Once with my family in Walhalla in an empty single wide with no power, once with my friend’s parents in a tent watching the Stone Mountain laser show and once when I was a Boy Scout, freezing my ass off in the sleet while looking for artifacts near the Savannah river and another time in Sumter for a mountain bike ride in 15° winter weather during the Super Bowl Sunday that the Cowboys destroyed the Bills. My upbringing didn’t involve the outdoors or hiking. Most of my childhood was spent driving back and forth between two parents. Any extra curricular activities on the weekends meant not seeing my dad and well I wasn’t having any of that shit. But that fucking book Into the Wild was screaming at me. Fate dropped 3 grand in my pocket and I was going to make the most of it.

I drove up to Sunrift with more cash in my wallet than I had ever held up to then. Money was big deal to me because I always never seemed to have any. I walked through the wooden doors of sunrift and the little bell on the door must’ve rang a little tune that said “this motherfucker is about to make your day” because it seemed like they were waiting on me. They sold me a 2 person tent, a sleeping bag, a roll out and blow up sleeping mat, a latern with an actual wick, a little camp stove, a back pack and some Birkenstocks because well I had always wanted some and I was fucking loaded. I drove back to work and requested the whole month of August off. I had it all planned out. One of my friends was getting married in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania. I wouid pack up my jeep with all my camping shit, drive to Pennsylvania for my friend’s wedding and then go west young man. All I had on me was my newly purchased gear, an old igloo cooler, my book of CDs, a shotgun I’d borrowed from my roommate and an atlas the size of a coffee table. My wanderlust fuel was about to be ignited.

This wasn’t my first trek to Colorado. I had moved to Aurora when I was 19 with my girlfriend at the time for about 4 months. I lived two hours from the Rockies but never once did I hike, explore or even drive towards them. I spent most of my time looking for a job, watching soap operas and drinking. We both got a little homesick and moved back home. This time was much different. I had a month and a long drive to myself. I had no itinerary other than to get my Wrangler to Estes Park, the doorway to Rocky Mountain National Park as fast as my jeep could take me. My jeep was on its last leg. If it rolled to a complete stop it would shut off so I’d put it in neutral and rev the gas each time I’d slow to a crawl. The tan top was one of the old school snap tops. Some of you won’t ever experience the fun of pinching the fuck out of your fingers while spending 10 minutes putting your top back on. The canvas was torn over back window and driver window half doors. I used old shoestrings to stitch the windows. If you wanted to drive with the window down you had to untie the laces first. The top part attached to the windshield, the snaps had rusted so once the jeep hit 50 mph plus the top wouid bow up and you’d get a nice gentle breeze forehead height. It was rejuvenating in the pouring rain. Also the the gas gauge didn’t work. Which meant every time the odometer hit 250 miles I’d stop for gas. If I remembered to.. I didn’t give a shit. Growing up I always loved jeeps. She was mine (and 42% Bank America’s)

30 years or so ago road-trips were a little different. Navigation was a book, gas stations out west weren’t as plentiful as they are now. Hotels were a lot cheaper. You could find a less than desirable road side motel for $25 and still have a breakfast bar to trough on in the morning. No Spotify or XM. I’d play with the dial on my Jeep’s stereo whenever I crossed through a decent sized town and in the plains I’d thumb through my book of CDs and feed them into my Sony 5 disc changer under my Jeep’s back fold down seat. No cellphones to call anyone if you broke down or got lost. I had a phone card I used to call my mom and girlfriend from pay phones to check in from time to time. I did run out of gas once on the trip and literally jogged 4 miles to a gas station. Everything I owned at the time was in that jeep. You breakdown in a soft top jeep it becomes a road side yard sale if you leave it sitting there too long.

Aside from all the quirks involved with jeep maintenance I loved cross country traveling. The Kansas plain’s wind was putting a number in my Jeep’s wardrobe. If you have never driven through the state of Kansas I highly recommend it. Once you hit Kansas City you can take I-70 all the way to Denver. 600 miles of widespread, monotonous. Kansas’ motto should be “Objects in mirror are much, much further away than they appear”. When you cross the CO border don’t get too excited. It’ll be a few hours more before you see the Rockies cresting over the horizon.

I spent three weeks in the RMNP. Backpacking, camping and sightseeing. I fell in love with the majestic Rockies, the mountain air, snow caps and tundra. They were intimidating at first, I’d never been so high up in the air. I knew little about acclimation but thankful I didn’t try to run up a 14 footer the first day. Hiking was still new to me. My girlfriend at the time had bought me a pair of Vasque hiking boots for my trip and I broke them in on small trails around Bear Lake and Lily’s Pond. Hiking amongst elk sightings and big horn sheep and I saw my very first black bear in the wild cresting over a switchback about 100 yards away from me. I’d go into town every two days and touch base with everyone on payphones with my calling card I had purchased. It would’ve been a pain in the ass traveling with 40 lbs of quarters and I was too metro to drive around with a phone bag. Man the freedom was exhilarating. I felt like Grizzly fucking Adams and had started growing out my very first beard. My company didn’t allow facial hair at the time so I took advantage during my leave of absence to grow the manliest 1/2 inch beard known to man. I had always been fascinated with Yellowstone National Park so I drove up there next and spent a week in the park.

The camping bug had bit me and I was stoked. I had everything I needed now to enjoy the life outdoors. I had the opportunity to go backpacking in Big South Fork Kentucky area with some friends and I pounced on it. During my month of Coloradoing I didn’t do much backcountry back packing. Most of my hiking consisted of driving my jeep to a camping spot and hiking at trailheads and coming back to my jeep to sleep. This trip was to be a 3 day excursion through some deep Appalachian wilderness guiding our steps with a series of maps. I packed several cans of food like a rookie idiot. I was too proud and stubborn to ask anyone how to pack a backpack for 3 days so I had my pack stuffed with canned tuna, soup and bananas. My can opener had the girth of a one inch nail clipper so that did allow me a little more volume and weight in my pack. The dynamics of the hiking group consisted of myself, my childhood best friend, his wife, two dogs and another good friend. This hike had all the vibes of being a good time with a few small exceptions- 1. My bff’s wife and I didn’t get along. It was universally known we couldn’t be that close to each other for a long amount of time. 2. We were in the middle of a huge drought and the heat index felt like 105° all weekend. Within first few hours of our hike we knew we were a little fucked. Not a lot of fucked just a little at the time. The maps clearly marked where we would cross creek beds on our excursion. Unfortunately due to the drought all of the creeks were dry. I had 2 Nalgene bottles and a water filter to use to refill those bottles each time we came across a creek. The Appalachian’s can get ripe toasty in the late summer. I ran out of my water by afternoon. Have you ever woken up extremely dehydrated and immediately go to the kitchen for a glass of water? Imagine that same feeling but waiting another 6 hours to take that drink. Was it a near death experience? Not even close. Did I have images in my head of dying from dehydration? Maybe a few.. Top it off with 90° plus temperatures and wet blanket humidity and you have the perfect recipe for “why the fuck do I do this shit?” We found a running creek later that evening. I fought with the overwhelming urge to drink straight from the creek but I didn’t want to be that guy with dysentery in Kentucky. The sweetest thing I’ve ever put in my mouth was the water filtered from that creek bed. Dehydration is no fucking joke.

Well we found our water source and camped for the evening. Everything was a ok and It couldn’t get any worse right? Hold my map.. Forestry service does an amazing job blazing and marking trails in state and national parks but the rest is up to you as far paying attention to how you navigate through them. The one particular trail we were following on was marked blue on our map. There were several other trails surrounding us illustrated on the map, one of them being a lighter blue trail that intersects the darker blue trail. If I were to second guess the logistics of a mapping project my only criticism would be not to use colors on a spectrum that can fade into another color on the map. The trail crossed over several times with a light blue trail and as we got deeper into the wilderness all the blues started to fade into a nice faded Levi’s jeans blue.. So day 2 we got lost for a bit. Walking around in circles in the middle of the wilderness even with the closest of friends can test the strength of friendships. I don’t mean anything long term such as never speaking again but just enough tension to where you sort a wish everyone was dead for about 24 hours until you can get your bearings. On a scale of 1-10, 10 being you wish your friends would disintegrate into Thanoish thin air, we were at a 9.9. By this time my camping bug was extinguishing rather quickly and I was ready to use all of my camping gear as a fire starter. I had enough of being thirsty and seeing the same tree 14 times while walking in circles so I told my friends I was going to hike back up the mountain out of the gorge, find my jeep and sit in that fucker until everyone was done camping. Fuck backpacking, fuck camping, fuck Kentucky, fuck trees and you know what? Fuck Daniel Boone too. I marched straight up the moutain, cutting through switchbacks with a pocket knife in my hand because I just assumed being eaten by bears or getting raped by one of the locals would be my total, camping royal flush experience.

Fortunately for me and my asshole these scenarios never took place. I came across a gravel road at the top and walked until I could find a passerby. Two Kentucky locals in meth mobile stopped after I encouraged them to by standing in the middle of the road. I had a $20 bill in one hand and my pocket knife hiding in my other. I offered them $20 to take me back to my jeep at the original trailhead of our adventure. They asked for payment first and I responded with a polite “fuck you”. I couldn’t tell if they were sneering or smiling, usually teeth can assist in those findings but dentistry is challenging in the Appalachians. I got into the back of their 1973 cousin carriage and get my pocket knife, blade open under my shirt. It took them 6 minutes to get me to my jeep which wouid explain the smiles on their face. Had I walked another half mile I would’ve humped it right to my jeep. I gave them the $20 and considered handing them all of my camping gear to go along with it.

It would be 15 years before I went backpacking again.

But that was ok because my newest hobby was right around the corner- Road Cycling

I bit into the Lance Armstrong/ Tour De France bug with every tooth I had. My first real road bike was a Cannondale R500 I had bought brand new from a little bike shop downtown. I was fitted for a frame that was a tad too big for me (60cm) so I always felt like my crotch was a little too snug on the top bar of my bike but I loved that bike. It was a metal frame I didn’t have the stomach or wallet to buy a carbon frame like my hero Lance uni-baller Armstrong so she was a tad bulky and heavy but she was mine. Cycling can be an expensive hobby. You gotta have the maxi-pad shorts, tight jersey with some sort of edgy mottos like “embrace sucky things”, shoes that need special pedals, pedals that need special shoes, socks with silhouettes of wheel spokes, large bike pump with reversible valves and stems, mini pumps for roadside flats, spare inner tubes, little purses that strap to your bike to carry said items, helmet, sunglasses that make you look like you swear at your wife, bike rack to carry your bike around on your car. Just to start.

The other accessories that aren’t so obvious but just as important are Lance yellow cancer bracelet, shitty little cycling cap that makes you look like you should be dancing around with a little organ tied around your neck, t-shirts with slogans such as “cycling before beer never fear”, Oakley’s sunglasses that make you look like a cyclist who’s not cycling at the moment, a cycling trainer, bar tape for your handlebars, carbon water bottle cage, water bottle that goes in cage, flat tire tools, pedal wrench and razors to shave your legs. Yeah I was one of those leg shave guys. “It’s for road rash” they always told me but I think dudes secretly just want to see what their legs look like shaved. The only problem I saw with shaving (other than wearing jeans) is where do you stop shaving? My body hair does not focus on parts of my anantomy. My hairy and hairless regions don’t stop at each body part. For example and sorry for the tmi but if you’ve read this far you might as well keep going, my leg hair doesn’t stop at my ass, my ass hair doesn’t stop at my ass, my feet have little islands of hair around the toes. When you’re shaving your legs for the first time (cyclists) you aren’t driving home with the razor thinking “ok when I get to my taint I’m going to stop there” or “do I leave this hair line around my waist untouched or do I try a fade?” Do I shave my ass? If I do should I spread ‘em and hit every corner or just hope I’m never in an accident?” “Asshawk it?” “Do I shave my toes?” “Do I go full hairless in front or try to shave a shape into it?” And if I just trim the hedges do I go Pencil thin mustache or Tom Selleck?” Remember these illustrations next time you eyeball a cyclist’s junk hanging out of his spandex.

Upgrades are a thing for cyclists. Sure that $5k bike is nice but did you know you can upgrade those brake pads to silicone inserts the astronauts use for their yeti cup liners for $300?? Or wireless speedometer that will monitor your heart rate and give you needle injections of EPO when you need that extra kick for $700? I remember walking into a bike shop with one of my bike guru friends while he was purchasing a $1000 crank for his bike. “Why is this crank so expensive?” I had asked. “It’s 16 grams lighter than the regular crank on my bike. It shaves off the weight off my bike” – he replied. I couldn’t help but think to myself that a $1 laxative the night before a race wouid be a lot more economical.

Here’s another thing, if you choose cycling as your hobby be prepared to by hated by everyone. Including other cyclists. If you were to build a giant dome and filled it with a conglomeration of petty assholes they would all be wearing spandex. No offense to all of my cycling friends. There are exceptions to the rule but y’all know it’s accurate. Because of this reputation, be prepared to be pummeled by soda cans, spit, bottles, cigarette butts, horns honking and people screaming “asshole” as they pass you. The helmet, I believe, is more useful for projectiles than wrecking. Cyclists will scream “on your left” if you aren’t pedaling fast enough, cut you off in your lane or yell out things like “get off the road rookie”when you aren’t abiding by their road rules. In my 30 years of cycling I’ve been hit by 2 cars, one being a hit and run, tried to ram a car in a fit of rage, pushed two cyclists off their bikes for being cyclists, spit on a group for rubbing my front tire after cutting me off and beat the shit out of two teenagers for flicking a cigarette in my eye. Viva la cycling.

I still enjoyed it. I was never a racer, I didn’t care about that part I just enjoyed getting on my bike and riding until my legs fell off. I enjoyed it so much I talked one of my best friends into cycling cross country.

My cross country trip is a little skewed because we only had three weeks to accomplish the trip so I’ll call it a half country trip. Also because of the time constraints we would skip over certain legs of the trip like 100 miles worth of Wyoming winds and plains. We chose the Trans America Trail central route that takes you from Yorktown, Virginia to Astoria, Oregon, a 4200 mile trek through the heart of America. Since we could only do half we chose to start our route from Alexander, Kansas a small unassuming town with a population of a Applebees staff. We decided to bring on a SAG to help carry all of our shit so we inserted Pappy, my bff’s grandfather to pull along his HILO trailer with his Surburban. It was fairly simple, we’d point on the map where we were heading and Pappy wouid drive to our temporary base camp and fish while we pedaled for 50-100 miles each day. I trained for this adventure by driving out to Pumpkintown and pedaling loops around hwy 11 around Table Rock state park and all the way to Keowee. I’d slide my Sony disc man with the 15 second skip delay into my back jersey pocket with around 4 cds in ziplock bags and ride for hours. Didn’t matter if it was raining or 99° outside, I had to get my 250 weekly miles in. To this day I can hear certain songs and they’ll take me back to that 26 mile loop in Pumpkintown, sweating my ass off, little bag of almonds in my jersey and red Gatorade in my bottle holder and that big shit eating grin on my face.

I’ll summarize that three week trip into some hot ass wind in the face in Kansas, cresting over the Rockies in Breckenridge, slowly approaching the Yellowstone with giant yellow warning signs for grizzlies, getting blasted on Moose Drool beer at the Happy Hour bar near Dillon, dancing to bluegrass in Missoula, riding along for miles along the majestic rivers in Idaho, spending the night surrounded by coyotes howling at a full moon while out of gas at a rafting outfitter, almost dying of heat exhaustion in eastern Oregon desert, and dipping my tire in my first trip to the Pacific coast. It was a solid time and a highlight of my life. I’d trade in Lance’s one good nut try it again sometime.

The following year I sold my cannondale for a trek 5200. That’s right, the postal team edition just like my boyfriend Lance rode to win his 7 EPO championships. I bought it on eBay along with another purchase of my first recumbent bike. For those of you that aren’t familiar with what a recumbent bike is it’s basically a bike that you sit in a reclining position like one of those exercise bikes at the gym. I had seen quite a few of them on my trans American trail adventure and my curiosity got the best of me. There was only one recumbent bike shop in the upstate and it was in Spartanburg. I drove up one afternoon to test ride one. I had read that learning to ride one of these was a completely different experience and took some time to get used to. The guys at the shop were more than happy to assist and took one of their Rebikes down for my test drive. They were located right next to a cemetery that was also used as a cycling try out track. “You steer with your hips not with your hands”- the salesman advised with his slender, shaved legs and a ridiculous tan line for April. “You rest your hands on the handlebars and don’t tense up or the bike will shake.” “Yeah, yeah I got it”- I replied. I had been riding bikes since my first ball drop. I knew how to ride a bike. It can’t be that hard considering I saw multiple senior citizens pedaling them around the west coast. I walked the rebike across the road to the cemetery and sat down in the long pleather seat. I felt like I was in the Kmart version of Easy Rider with my arms outstretched over handlebars and my legs splayed out balancing the bike. It was a slow day at the cemetery I could only see one car and an individual that seemed to be tending to a gravesite. The cemetery entrance was on steep decline so I thought I would I would slowly roll her downhill to get my balance proper before attempting to race the Recumbent 500. I nudged the bike forward and immediately felt my center of balance leave my body like a exorcised demon. The incline was probably only a 3% grade but it felt like 30%. As the bike began to pick up momentum I began to clutch the handlebars. Then everything the sales guy said back at the shop started making sense “Don’t grip the handlebar too tight”. That was solid advise but unfortunately my instincts from riding bikes since my first ball dropped was when the bike shakes, apply brakes. I did this and the bike began to shake more. By this time I was approaching the first turn in the cemetery. A hard right turn. So using my cycling instincts and muscle memory I turned the violently shaking handlebars sharp right. As the bike jackknifed itself all of the safety tips the shop employee went over with me started to make sense. It hadn’t quite clicked just yet but it was getting there. I did a nice swan dive over the handlebars and rolled right next to the individual tending to their little dead relative garden. Had it been an open grave I could’ve rolled right in and save my family a lot of expenses on my burial. I jumped up immediately and screamed “I’m ok!” startling the poor lady on her gardening knees. I hastily picked up the bike (most of it) and walked it back to the bike shop. I wandered into the store covered in road rash, sweat and blood. The bike’s chain had snapped off and the right hand brake had a nice little bend to it. I parked the recumbent bike next to the counter and told them it wasn’t the right fit for me and left without further comment, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind.

I did eventually purchase a recumbent bike. It was a fun ride for a little while. If you should ever want to purchase one let me cue you in on a few tips. 1. Pedaling uphill is a bitch. To gain momentum on a regular bike you’re able to stand on the pedals to achieve torque. One a recumbent you have to push with your back into the seat. It’s doable but those steep inclines are tough and if you lose your footing you have to go downhill a ways to regain your momentum again. 2. And the most critical, you are eye level to unleashed dogs. All it takes is one large canine spewing saliva in your face on a steady incline to make you rethink your choice of ride. It’s also unnerving to have car doors fly past your head. Also you need a side mirror to see behind you. If you try to turn your head around you’ll end up rolling over a grave like I did.

Cycling still remains a hobby of mine. I generally stay off the main roads although riding up the watershed in Saluda has to be one of my favorite rides still to this day.

The running bug hit me after my mental breakdown in my mid 30’s. I had a near death experience on my bike with a large Ford pickup and decided to put my bike in garage for a bit. Running was a side hobby of mine for years but I had never ran any races. I would run a mile or so around my neighborhood in Overlook and on my long runs I’d chug a slow three miles at Cleveland park. I started “training” for 5ks in my 30’s. I loved that high you get pre-race at the starting line with all that motivational music and shit. Surrounded by hundreds of Just Do it logos head to toe. Lithe and nimble athletes with 2% body fat lining up at the front line. It was fun to run the hardest run of your life, crossing the finish line and seeing the same 6 Kenyans, resting with a cup of coffee in their hands, feet being massaged smiling and waving at the runners who crossed the tape they had burst through 30 minutes before hand. You start obsessing on things like your PR, base mileage, foot strikes, cadence and glycogen. My 5ks turned into 10ks, my 10ks turned into 20ks. For awhile I could keep my running pace a solid 7:30 per mile on long runs and sub 7:00 for short runs. Running is a solid hobby. Your biggest expenses are running shoes and a chiropractor. I had began training for marathons and even did my first triathlon but opening up Southern Culture would put a stop all that madness immediately. If you should choose to open a restaurant you might as well discard your hobbies for the time being. The wear and tear on your body from long hours in the kitchen does not pair well with long distance running. I decided to take my running off-road to lighten the impact on my knees. On a positive twist my off-road running took me back to my long forgotten love of the mountains. I loved trail running. So much that my life revolved around it for several years. I would go into Southern, prep until 3, drive up to Paris Mountain, run a loop, shower and go back to work. I was running 6 days a week. On my days off I’d run up Caesar’s head or Table Rock. My PR for Table Rock climb was less than 55 minutes. My running diet was terrible however I never nourished my body enough to balance out the long distance running. At one point I was a beard trim away from sub 149 lbs. My ideal weight is usually around 175 lbs. I was clocking quite a few miles. Between the cycling, long distance running and 60 plus hours in kitchen crocs and the massive consumption of vodka my body was taking a toll on itself.

I will say I still have the passion for trail running and cycling, I’ve just taken down several notches. My body was sending me some SOS signals and I decided to listen to them.

I was missing something in my hobbies. My hiking and running made my moments in the mountains feel fleeting and short. Getting up at 5am to drive three hours away to hike or run for four plus hours and then drive back home was exhausting. Doing that on your one day off a week makes it even more depleting. I missed camping but not so much the sleeping on the ground. 30 years in the service industry breaks your body down almost like playing a professional sport. Sciatica, lower back pain, Achilles inflammations, neck problems from looking down at a prep station all day and standing on ceramic tiles don’t make for a good night’s sleep even in a regular bed. So I bought a Tacoma and a camper shell. I grabbed a futon mattress I kept in the den of our house and threw it in the back. I downloaded an overlanding app on my phone to try my luck at dispersed camping. I would scroll through the app and study all of those latitude and longitude thingies while looking at pictures people wouid post of sites and coordinates. I was taken aback by a photo of a truck sitting on the ledge of a gorge in the mountains near Linville, NC and I immediately pinged that spot. My next day off I drove up this long gravel road and found that exact spot. Just where they said it would be. I parked for the night, pulled down my tailgate, sipped on a vodka or 4 and watched the sunset over the horizon. I’d throw a bug net over my back of my truck and I slept to the sounds of whippoorwills and crickets singing. I got up the following morning and made coffee while the sun rose over Shortoff mountain. Have you ever witnessed something so naturally beautiful that it gave you chills and tears? This did it. This knocked it out of the fucking park and then some. I had this sunrise to myself. It was all mine. The experience, the clarity, the elation was intoxicating. There is no fucking drug or drink that compares.. ok maybe mushrooms.

Sundays were my days to drive up the mountains and camp for the night. My work week would end right after the brunch rush and I routinely took Mondays off. I would get the itch right around 2pm. I would put all three restaurants truck orders in, pack up and head north to camp. Next day I’d go for a hike/run and head home decompressed and relaxed. There is just something about that sunrise and sunset.

My first real road trip while truck camping was a week long trip up to Maine. I was about 99% checked out of my old company when I took this trip and burned out to a crisp from covid mandates and the stress. My first night on the road I stopped for the evening at an abandoned gas station in Virginia. I sat on the back of my tailgate and stared at the stars with a solo cup of vodka in my hand. I remember listening to a Tyler Childers album (the one with no words) and feeling free as fuck. I drove through the smokies, Adirondacks, New England for the first time in my life and parked in a small corner lot in Bar Harbor for the night. I slept out of the back of my truck that entire week, hiked all of Acadia National Park, hiked up Kathadin (the end or beginning of the AT depending on direction and paid my respects to Stephen King’s house. I had my very first lobster roll while watching the sunset over the harbor. I felt like a Tacoma gypsy. Stealthily camping for free in lots and pull offs. A blissful experience. On the way back down I camped outside of small patriotic New England towns with banners celebrating the memories of WWII vets. Man I dug this. All of this. I wanted to do this more. All of the more not just once a year. My life the very next week would change forever.

This little story isn’t about my career change so I don’t want to go off track. I parted ways with my company the very next day I got back from Maine. Things happen for a reason. Grasp those signals when they come your way and take them for a ride.

So yeah, I became unemployed for a month or two and decided to use my free time to take my truck out west for a bit. Just like my drive to Maine, I’d pull off at abandoned gas stations off the I-40 in Arkansas, northern Texas until I got to Durango. All of my recent trips to Colorado I never touched the southern region so Durango was my first real stop. The first night I stayed in the front yard of a friend’s cabin in 28° weather and I didn’t give a shit. I loved the temporary “tailgate life”. I hike Mt. Animas for the first time, walked around downtown Durango and ate as much local food as I fit in my mouth. I camped at an old train yard that night and worked my way up the million dollar hwy through Silverton, Telluride and spent the night in Ouray canopied in aspens. The next day I dipped into Utah, had lunch in Moab, hiked the Arches and pulled off a little dispersed spot off of I-70, pulled my tailgate down and once again watched a beautiful sunset over the Utah horizon. Next morning I drove through Vail, Leadville and dodged some widow makers hiking up a fourteener. Spent a cold night in Buena Vista and hiked up the mighty Manitou. It was one hell of a trip. The truck camping bug had bit me right on the noggin.

As per the norm with every other experiment in my life I wanted more. Truck camping is awesome but what about van life? Bus life?? I got caught up in this for no more than 6 months thankfully. If you want shit your money away rapidly then by all means sign up for this craze. I got all excited. I bought a 1996 GMC Vandura short bus (relevant) with only 77k miles on it. I was going to fix this bad mama jamma up and take my family on an epic cross country trip. Two things you should know about me if we’ve never met, 1. I’m an extremely impatient person. I don’t like to wait for anything. Put me in a line and watch me twitch. 2. I’m obsessive. Like manic, you should probably take something for this obsessive. If it pops into my head I’m gonna do it. There’s absolutely nothing you can do that’s going to change my mind. My wife is a fucking Saint for acknowledging this and still sharing a bedroom with me for all these years.

I bought this bus in November which is the worst month to buy a new hobby for an obsessive individual who’s business peaks in November and goes non stop until the new year. The second day I had it I gutted it out immediately and then it sat in my driveway for 2 months while I made 2982728282 charcuterie boxes. I then used that hard earned money trying to turn a short bus into a 45 sq ft rolling condo. Social media has it’s perks and it’s shitty sides. The perks were I could peruse instagram and Pinterest for all of these van and bus build ideas. There were thousands of them. I wanted to get a clear idea in my head how to build the ultimate camping bus/rv. The difficult part was having to read through the all of the “here’s how we installed the wiring through the inverter but first let me tell you about why I left my boyfriend of 4 years after he kink shamed me for wanting to pee on his leg.” I just want to see bus layouts Susan, please move out of the way in your bikini while I try to understand the framing over your overhead cabinetry. I did get a kick out of all women in their sundresses and big hats holding power drills up in filtered photos with hashtags #DIY. I’m not knocking anyone I’m incapable of wiring even a ceiling fan. Social media algorithms are dangerous. If you post your cards right your whole feed can become what you’re obsessing over. Take that anyway you’d like.

First step was I had to get the center flooring behind the driver seat replaced it had rusted a fist sized hole into it so that was around $1200. Vinyl flooring and insulation was $800 ish. Inverter, wiring and two batteries were $2500. Construction wasn’t terrible for the inside. I had a buddy who graciously volunteered his time for a few days help with the framing of the bed and cabinets but wood cost post pandemic had doubled so I’d say I spent around 1k on materials for just the build out. I bought stock cabinets from Lowe’s to save some money and a butcher block for kitchen counters. Next up was a water pump, stainless sink, window dressings, paneling for ceiling and overhead cabinets that I hired a meth head from Pickens to hang. I ended up anchoring them myself after observing his craftsmanship. I built two seats from gaming chairs for my family to recline while I drove, installed a CarPlay stereo and added some graphics on the outside panels. Any rust spots in the exterior I sanded down, primed and spray painted. Mechanically I had the radiator and brakes replaced. She looked solid and drove solid. She better because I sank a heavy month’s worth of salary to make her purr. I did all of this in the month late April early May because she was leaving for California first week in June. No pressure whatsoever. I had this little ex-shuttle from Lockheed looking just like one of those IG influencers driving around in a sun hat. The last piece of the puzzle was an awning to be installed two days before our trip. I was going to take the bus up to my buddy’s garage in Hendersonville and drill the awning to the passenger side of the bus, take her back down the mountain and load her up for adventure. We had already made a fucking IG page “the bus gang” . I had originally thought of “the Gang bus” but Brazzers had already trademarked it. Well the awning was never installed because the bus stalled going up the mountain right on the SC/NC border. She started to get warm going up the steep incline to NC and the warmer she got the slower she got. I pulled to the side just in time to watch the radiator cap blow off. A tow truck was called and we towed her back down the hill. I managed to get her back to base but the tow truck had cracked the engine mounts from towing so now the whole engine block shook like the entire massager aisle at Sharper Image. This was Monday evening. We were leaving Wednesday. The bus life was a huge let down for me. I spent most of my free time for 2 months building that bus into a pottery barn apartment and man she looked sharp. The goddamn curtains matched the bedding for fucks sake. I stained the wooded ceilings, I had a fancy pull out 12v fridge, leds everywhere, more cabinet space than my own house, water tank and I was even going to have Wi-Fi. This bitch looked just like every IG bus I had followed. And it was going to do is sit in my driveway. With hours to spare I had to buy a giant roof top tent to replace my 45 sq ft condo. It fucked up the whole trip but the Gangwer’s preservered as we always do.

When we got back from our little trip (it was amazing) I took the bus to be repaired. Gave it another run through and put her on the market. She was sold the next day. At the end of the day I really disliked the bus and my obsession with it. It’s like meeting the woman of your dreams and finding out she eats her steak well- done. I got exactly what I wanted and it wasn’t. If that makes sense. The van/bus life is too soft for me. Driving around in an Airbnb wasn’t my bag baby but man that bus sure did look sharp. Will I ever join the van life? Hell yeah but it’ll be a quigley on 35s with a cot inside and that’s it.

Well I had this gigantic Smittybilt XL generation 2 RTT on my truck roof now and I intended to get my money’s worth. She had served us well out west through Sedona and Colorado. Pros of a roof top tent are – Unfolded the tent could sleep three with plenty of leg room. You’re off the ground so creepy crawlers and small animals won’t come barging in. The tents are solid and heavy. They can withstand substantial downpours and semi high winds. The cons are they do take a minute to set up and break down. If you set up camp and forget something you have to close up shop, get what you forgot and set up camp all over again. Those tents aren’t rated for commuting when they are opened. Also when I had the tent installed the good folk at the local 4WD place said my Thule rack wouid serve itself well under the duress of the tent’s weight. That in fact wouid be a lie. That zipped up penthouse flattened my roof rack within weeks of installation. Also kiss your gas mileage goodbye if you choose to drive around permanently with a spare bedroom bolted to your car’s roof.

I used the cash from my bus transaction and bought me a little overlanding trailer to house the tent and any other overindulgences of camping purchases I’d made over the last couple of years. It’s a solid trailer with pullouts, racks, generator storage, axle less suspension, big fancy tires and other cool shit to make my hobby look rad. Yeah I’ll admit it’s cool to look cool just make sure you know what the fuck you’re doing while you do it. I put my spare camping bedroom on that trailer and an awning big enough to shade a mall parking lot and I was set.

Overlanding is expensive as fuck if you go all in and we’ll.. hi nice to meet you I’m all balls in with everything. If you ever want to see your savings account sweat and whimper just go online and google overlanding accessories. Yeti coolers, buckets, load boxes, blankets, cups, growlers, sandwich bags, Yeti is Mongolian for expensive ass cooler. I color coordinated mine like the gigantic douche bag that I am. I bought the bucket with all its accessories and have no idea what to use it for so I just use it to shit in it. Nothing says boujee like a morning deuce in a yeti bucket. Overlanding in the desert? Oh you need this 270° awning from gladiator thunder for $1200. Want a kickass water container? Here’s one that looks like a gas can for $90. A cool little rechargeable faucet pump for $99. Want a RTT with hard top shell and struts? $3900. Wait! You’ll need a rack to put said tent on your vehicle. One that won’t break like mine did. $900 or if you go the overland truck bed rack it’s $1500. This is just for the rack. Not brackets or accessories those are extra. Here’s a cool shiny overlanding shovel from Epic Shit Shovel for $300. Want to stick it to your rack for all the world to see? Bracket is $80 from Off Road Fat Fuck Fabrication. Camper shell for your truck? $4000 unless you want a tent/camper combo those start at $12k and they are awesome! Wanna eat while your driving over boulders in Utah? How about a pullout kitchen for your trunk with sink, stove and titanium pig sticker for $999? I found myself almost hitting checkout on a $60 paper towel holder from Outback Croc Fuckers. Let us not forget you’ll need an off-road vehicle so you can take videos of you driving over rapids and climbing up El Capitain in your Gladiator with 37s. DONT FORGET THE SNORKEL. Now that being said I’m one of the most frugal people you’ll ever meet. 30 years in the service industry can teach you how to turn shit into ice cream as my old boss wouid say. I buy my big projects used. I’m on eBay, marketplace, Craigslist probably 20 times a day. If you are quick you can score. I rarely buy anything full price and you’ll always find me going through all the returns at REI three times a week at least. 4WD for me is more gravel roads and mud. I love my truck too much to roll her down a boulder.

At 51 current years of age I’ve sorta combined all my hobbies into one adventure. I use my truck with all its overdone off-road mad max like components to drive me to the mountains so I can hike, trail run, cycle, camp and do a little off-roading exploration. And I fucking love it. Thinking of adding a kayak to all of it soon (looking on marketplace) . Need a little water fun in my life. Just to float I don’t need that white water shit. I harp on my expenditures over expeditions for my newest hobby for fun mostly. Do I need all of that shit? No, most of it are just extra luxuries that I tend to go over board on when I get all caught up in my hobbies. I do not own a $300 shovel nor do I have an $80 bracket to hang one.. yet. In all honesty it’s just extra shit you’ll have to remember to pack for you next trip. For me it’s not all the fancy gear and accessories it’s the experiences. For all the REI purchases and Quadratech goodies their value doesn’t compare to the paradise of sitting on my tailgate on a shitty old futon mattress watching the sunset.

Kyrie elision.