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Smoked Turtle Beans and Dill Jasmine Rice - A Broken Angel Food Trailer - Bend, OR

Time slips quickly by as I settle into this lengthy stop in Bend, homeless and middle-class in the town I call home. Regularly cooking beans in the van, more practicality than an expedition, little fanfare or adventure or purpose beyond the standard goodness of beans for breakfast. I decided to branch out and see where I could find some locally crafted beans for lunch, my search tumbling upon a vegan food truck at the hipster-community-center and doomed-to-become-a-parking-lot coffee shop, Spoken Moto . It's rare to find a place that lists beans on the menu beyond a footnote of "beans" under sides. Neat. Smoked? Intriguing. Turtle? Quaint semantics. I was looking forward to it. The woman who popped up in the small trailer window was a surprise to see. I knew her. Six years ago I had been floating home down the river from work, just a normal Tuesday, alone in an innertube with my work clothes floating alongside in a waterproof briefcase. A couple, about my same age,

Abbey Roast (Coffee) Beans - Our Lady of Guadalupe Monastery, New Mexico

Hiking up Gomez Peak above Silver City, NM, a middle-aged gentlemen with a golden retriever puppy and Austrian accent started up a lengthy conversation. In there, he told me about a a Benedictine monastery deeper up in the mountains, full of monks in robes roasting incredible coffee and making cheese and beer. I put it on the list of things to do that day. The monastery is not too far north of Silver City, into the Gila Mountains, but the increasing twists and turns, steepening mountainsides, and continually narrowing dirt road gives the impression that you're out there. Really leaning into that monk thing, like trekking into a Nepal with more juniper trees. I didn't really (and still don't) have any clue what a Benedictine is, but I was assured they were friendly by my Austrian-sounding friend and I was further comforted by the Google Maps listing stating they were "open at 10am." Monks that keep hours on Google Maps must be approachable. Pulling through the g

Monahans Sandhills State Park - Monahans, TX

The drive from Oregon right up to the border of Texas is a sea of public land. Boundless space to stop, explore, camp, and exist without constraint. But once you're in Texas, space is privatized and stopping is always part of some transaction, some purpose. The extent of free camping is a truck-stop parking lot. It's a petroleum driven state of air conditioned boxes, no concept of getting out and walking around. Normally I cross the remaining 10+ hours of travel across Texas in one go: camping someplace in New Mexico, waking up before dawn, and making a mad dash to Austin in a final sprint. In an effort to split that final leg I caved and paid for a camping spot in one of the few and tiny state parks across Texas. This style of Texas camping was my entire impression of "camping" until leaving the state during college. You arrive at the state park, pay $20, pull into your allotted parking spot between other cars, and prop up your tent next to a picnic table. Tailgate

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