Not many women boondock? Why?
I love to go off the beaten path (as a photographer and just an adventurous soul). I am a female but don't see too many women on this forum or any others actually. Men are always talking about the DW ...
Forum Discussion
I used to be attached with a woman who was insufficiently adventurous. After 10 years, I showed her the door and replaced her with a much better partner. Looking back, I can't believe how badly the ex was holding me down.
13 years later, we have a perfect household and boondock all over the country. It's a sensible, joy-filled union totally devoid of all the intolerable mind games and passive aggression that so many people, even very nice ones, find necessary to inflict upon one another.
This gal wouldn't be caught dead watching crud like Real Housewives of Whatnot or Oprah and absolutely hates the mall and clothes shopping. I've never seen her hold a sissy drink - good beer is preferred.
The notion of making a big deal out of stuff like Valentine's Day is a laughable joke - we wait until the next day and have fun buying candy that's miraculously lost 90% of its value overnight. Every day is Valentine's Day around here, and we simply don't waste our time on silly calendar scams. I've not even gone Xmas shopping in many years, which turned to be a downright glorious unburdening. We fish instead.
All those appalling "he went to Jarrod" and "every kiss begins with Kay" (WTH???) have zero effect on her other than annoyance at the constant interruptions of the football game. Never bought no absurd jewelry and never will. She's commissioner of both her fantasy football league and NFL pick-em, and has won both several times. Marriage? Pfffft. Not interested, nor am I.
I've been bass fishing with artificial lures ONLY for over 30 years. She never had until we met, and now she outfishes me about half of the time. She loves it more than I do, and I've always been the last trailer to leave the boat ramp. When I buy gear, she gets excited, not angry, and is the first to rush to the door upon hearing the UPS truck.
When she divorced her husband, she didn't ask for a penny - she got out there and supported herself. None of her friends or family have ever bothered me in any significant way. I don't think she's ever been late to anything or let anyone down once. And, thank goodness, she's a good driver....of a lifted Land Cruiser on big, waffle-stompin' mudders.
She's not capable of lying to a loved one, but can work with the skill of a lifelong grifter when we need to tilt the field our way. We work together like Joe Montana and Jerry Rice. Or, Gleason and Carney. When I start working on something, tool in hand, she generally is firing a flashlight over my shoulder before it occurs to me to ask. Once, I had to wake her up to help me install a transmission and next thing ya know she was on a creeper, clad in a garter belt and stockings, threading flywheel bolts.
The more I get to thinkin' about it, she reminds me of a Michigan version of Daisy Duke. She's probably considerably more open-minded than I'd guess Daisy to be. How about Daisy Duke From HELL! Only, the good side of hell.
Recently, while on a mission to seek out the few remaining important things she wasn't wasn't executing at guru levels, she advanced from being a proficient cook to a genius chef in about a year.
And, she's one hell of a camper. All she wants to do is travel, camp, get deep in the sticks, fish, rock, and party. She agrees that it's not really a vacation until you've feared for your life.
And...mercy...she massages my feets! Expertly, with all kinds of pressure points and toe knuckle jazz. Nobody exceptin' for an orthopedic surgeon ever touched my feets before.
The boost injected into me by all that reliably stellar treatment enabled me to bring my plans to fruition and we were able to largely retire, debt-free and well-equipped, while I was still young enough to sometimes get carded at the liquor store. Had I stayed with my ex, somehow I would have ended up in deep debt and working at Captain D's at age 70.
Ya know those "where I've been" maps so popular with us pavement pounders? I've had one since I was 10. Sadly, it only had 4 states on it, but I kept my hopes up....
Over 20 years later I found the map as my discontent with my ex grew. It seemed like a fun idea to strive to not just visit all the states, but engage in various activities in each one. Things that any reasonable person would, you know, uh, enhance a healthy gentleman's visit to any given state. One obvious idea popped into my head.
I ran it by my ex, and she, clearly looking quite discouraged, responded "uhhhh, oh kayyyyy" and kinda stared at the floor. All I could say was "uh, I was just playin' with ya."
After trading up, I gave that idea a run by my new mate and she grinned, glowed, and almost drooled. Now most of the nation and much of Canada is filled in. And, thanks to our other normal activities, we realized there could be more things on the list.
So now we're up to eight. Yes, eight. It's a rampage of debauchery. One is, of course, the original - set foot on the territory. We can't agree on whether airports count, though. Another is catch a fish. Three involve my lovely companion. A couple involve partying. One is to see a concert.
We try to accomplish certain of these goals in significant and sometimes notorious places. Looking at my spreadsheet, I see Crater Lake, Cape Flattery, Lake Mead, Shired Island, Banff NP, Beartooth Highway, Patterson-Gimlin film site, Vancouver Island, Green River Killer dumping spot (yes, she's really open-minded) among the dozens of places we've planted our flag.
8 accomplishments x 50 states + 10 provinces (doubt we'll make Yukon, etc.). That's 480 conquests. Will we run the table? Certainly not. That's crazy talk - I barely survived the whirlwind shot through New England.
I'd briefly met her long before. She was at work, wearing very little. I was at play, wishing the evening draft special wasn't such lousy beer. I encouraged her to go whoop it up with me once 2AM hit, for she was the hottest, most natural gal in the high-end 'stablishment, but, alas, she was a nice girl and didn't run around. Oh well.
A few minutes into our first date, 15 years later, I realized who she was...that fair-skinned blonde firecracker in the cowboy boots and hat...ZZ Top's Jesus Just Left Chicago. Wow! Hundreds of campfires and thousands of fish later, it's turned out rather swimmingly. It's one of those things one has a hard time believing actually happened.
All this yee-haw would have been a surreal fantasy 14 years ago. Even going camping at all was not gonna happen, much less a goal-driven, decades-long, fish, fun, and lewdness-filled romp through 60 jurisdictions. It took a lot of guts, and way too long, to undertake the upheaval of ending a situation that wasn't ringing my bell right, but by doing so, and then without compromise using technology to painstakingly seek out a perfect match, I escalated my quality of life far beyond my wildest dreams.
Luck was not a factor in this. Relying on luck only led to many years of ups and downs and an unimpressive result. This was a very deliberate hunt followed by a mindful, ongoing fine-tuning.
Most of the guys I grew up with really got shafted. They got ensnared with a variety of dreadful, selfish, dysfunctional women who harvested their seed, then worked 'em to death while largely ignoring any part of them that was not a stepping stone (and, often, eating everything in sight).
Hate to see that happen to quite a few pretty good ol' boys, but that's what happens when you hitch up to someone who doesn't share your values and passions.
I did some writing a while back about the biggest regrets of people who knew they would soon die. Sticking with an unsuitable partner and failing to get out there and to the things they really wanted to do were the primary regrets. I'm determined to ensure nobody in my camp suffers those woes so everyone can eventually die in peace, dang it.
I figured it was high time I took a minute and wrote a tribute to my, uh, camping buddy. I couldn't have designed a better mate at the Nice Boondocking Lady Fabrication Labs, or, as they like to be called, the NBLFL.
If it ain't clicking, either figure out how to make it click, or get a new, uh....clickee. Life is too short.
13 years later, we have a perfect household and boondock all over the country. It's a sensible, joy-filled union totally devoid of all the intolerable mind games and passive aggression that so many people, even very nice ones, find necessary to inflict upon one another.
This gal wouldn't be caught dead watching crud like Real Housewives of Whatnot or Oprah and absolutely hates the mall and clothes shopping. I've never seen her hold a sissy drink - good beer is preferred.
The notion of making a big deal out of stuff like Valentine's Day is a laughable joke - we wait until the next day and have fun buying candy that's miraculously lost 90% of its value overnight. Every day is Valentine's Day around here, and we simply don't waste our time on silly calendar scams. I've not even gone Xmas shopping in many years, which turned to be a downright glorious unburdening. We fish instead.
All those appalling "he went to Jarrod" and "every kiss begins with Kay" (WTH???) have zero effect on her other than annoyance at the constant interruptions of the football game. Never bought no absurd jewelry and never will. She's commissioner of both her fantasy football league and NFL pick-em, and has won both several times. Marriage? Pfffft. Not interested, nor am I.
I've been bass fishing with artificial lures ONLY for over 30 years. She never had until we met, and now she outfishes me about half of the time. She loves it more than I do, and I've always been the last trailer to leave the boat ramp. When I buy gear, she gets excited, not angry, and is the first to rush to the door upon hearing the UPS truck.
When she divorced her husband, she didn't ask for a penny - she got out there and supported herself. None of her friends or family have ever bothered me in any significant way. I don't think she's ever been late to anything or let anyone down once. And, thank goodness, she's a good driver....of a lifted Land Cruiser on big, waffle-stompin' mudders.
She's not capable of lying to a loved one, but can work with the skill of a lifelong grifter when we need to tilt the field our way. We work together like Joe Montana and Jerry Rice. Or, Gleason and Carney. When I start working on something, tool in hand, she generally is firing a flashlight over my shoulder before it occurs to me to ask. Once, I had to wake her up to help me install a transmission and next thing ya know she was on a creeper, clad in a garter belt and stockings, threading flywheel bolts.
The more I get to thinkin' about it, she reminds me of a Michigan version of Daisy Duke. She's probably considerably more open-minded than I'd guess Daisy to be. How about Daisy Duke From HELL! Only, the good side of hell.
Recently, while on a mission to seek out the few remaining important things she wasn't wasn't executing at guru levels, she advanced from being a proficient cook to a genius chef in about a year.
And, she's one hell of a camper. All she wants to do is travel, camp, get deep in the sticks, fish, rock, and party. She agrees that it's not really a vacation until you've feared for your life.
And...mercy...she massages my feets! Expertly, with all kinds of pressure points and toe knuckle jazz. Nobody exceptin' for an orthopedic surgeon ever touched my feets before.
The boost injected into me by all that reliably stellar treatment enabled me to bring my plans to fruition and we were able to largely retire, debt-free and well-equipped, while I was still young enough to sometimes get carded at the liquor store. Had I stayed with my ex, somehow I would have ended up in deep debt and working at Captain D's at age 70.
Ya know those "where I've been" maps so popular with us pavement pounders? I've had one since I was 10. Sadly, it only had 4 states on it, but I kept my hopes up....
Over 20 years later I found the map as my discontent with my ex grew. It seemed like a fun idea to strive to not just visit all the states, but engage in various activities in each one. Things that any reasonable person would, you know, uh, enhance a healthy gentleman's visit to any given state. One obvious idea popped into my head.
I ran it by my ex, and she, clearly looking quite discouraged, responded "uhhhh, oh kayyyyy" and kinda stared at the floor. All I could say was "uh, I was just playin' with ya."
After trading up, I gave that idea a run by my new mate and she grinned, glowed, and almost drooled. Now most of the nation and much of Canada is filled in. And, thanks to our other normal activities, we realized there could be more things on the list.
So now we're up to eight. Yes, eight. It's a rampage of debauchery. One is, of course, the original - set foot on the territory. We can't agree on whether airports count, though. Another is catch a fish. Three involve my lovely companion. A couple involve partying. One is to see a concert.
We try to accomplish certain of these goals in significant and sometimes notorious places. Looking at my spreadsheet, I see Crater Lake, Cape Flattery, Lake Mead, Shired Island, Banff NP, Beartooth Highway, Patterson-Gimlin film site, Vancouver Island, Green River Killer dumping spot (yes, she's really open-minded) among the dozens of places we've planted our flag.
8 accomplishments x 50 states + 10 provinces (doubt we'll make Yukon, etc.). That's 480 conquests. Will we run the table? Certainly not. That's crazy talk - I barely survived the whirlwind shot through New England.
I'd briefly met her long before. She was at work, wearing very little. I was at play, wishing the evening draft special wasn't such lousy beer. I encouraged her to go whoop it up with me once 2AM hit, for she was the hottest, most natural gal in the high-end 'stablishment, but, alas, she was a nice girl and didn't run around. Oh well.
A few minutes into our first date, 15 years later, I realized who she was...that fair-skinned blonde firecracker in the cowboy boots and hat...ZZ Top's Jesus Just Left Chicago. Wow! Hundreds of campfires and thousands of fish later, it's turned out rather swimmingly. It's one of those things one has a hard time believing actually happened.
All this yee-haw would have been a surreal fantasy 14 years ago. Even going camping at all was not gonna happen, much less a goal-driven, decades-long, fish, fun, and lewdness-filled romp through 60 jurisdictions. It took a lot of guts, and way too long, to undertake the upheaval of ending a situation that wasn't ringing my bell right, but by doing so, and then without compromise using technology to painstakingly seek out a perfect match, I escalated my quality of life far beyond my wildest dreams.
Luck was not a factor in this. Relying on luck only led to many years of ups and downs and an unimpressive result. This was a very deliberate hunt followed by a mindful, ongoing fine-tuning.
Most of the guys I grew up with really got shafted. They got ensnared with a variety of dreadful, selfish, dysfunctional women who harvested their seed, then worked 'em to death while largely ignoring any part of them that was not a stepping stone (and, often, eating everything in sight).
Hate to see that happen to quite a few pretty good ol' boys, but that's what happens when you hitch up to someone who doesn't share your values and passions.
I did some writing a while back about the biggest regrets of people who knew they would soon die. Sticking with an unsuitable partner and failing to get out there and to the things they really wanted to do were the primary regrets. I'm determined to ensure nobody in my camp suffers those woes so everyone can eventually die in peace, dang it.
I figured it was high time I took a minute and wrote a tribute to my, uh, camping buddy. I couldn't have designed a better mate at the Nice Boondocking Lady Fabrication Labs, or, as they like to be called, the NBLFL.
If it ain't clicking, either figure out how to make it click, or get a new, uh....clickee. Life is too short.
