Back in The USA!

The Big 3

My father died in 1998. My brother, our mother & myself have referred to our little tripod as the Big 3 ever since. Todd and I never had kids so the circle never grew, nor was it diluted. My immediate family core is quite small. Therefore, when we are together, it’s focused and precious. It’s not like most Christmas’ where the boys fly in from different coasts of the same country and stay for a week with their spouses and children.  Our reunion dynamic is a bit off the norm I would imagine. Todd lives in Tokyo and has for 23 years. We bunk at The Momma’s – Good Ol’ Birdy Mae, for a full month. The first couple days revolve around storytelling and jet lag punctuated by the treasures we bring home as we unpack. On day 3 the repair list is produced. That sweet handwriting is a little looser than it was when she wrote notes and hid them in my sack lunch as a kid, but I know it by heart. The list is scant and thin. She’s too proud to ask for any real help. We scour the house and add as we see an opportunity for improvement. Then the plans for tackling the list are drawn up.

My kid brother has the best hair. No gray and thick as can be. 

The Cocoa Bear makes it to America !!

Ryan and Giselle. That stud sailed out of San Diego with me 20 years ago on the big adventure

My buddy Colin (the other stud who sailed off with us 20 years ago) drafted these

My brother and I built them

By day 4 we’ve eaten her cupboards bare. Finally, we get to go to Costco. I think every American who lives abroad delights in the Costco trip. Hers is next to an In-N-Out hamburger joint. Another American homesick soft spot. From the mega store I buy a full filet mignon and what doesn’t get cut into 2-inch steaks and perfectly cooked by me, gets diced into tiny little pieces and cooked in a giant crockpot of homemade chili (me again). This is ritual as we eat it on the couch while sucking down west coast IPAs and watching real American grid iron football. If I didn’t spend so many years out of the USA, I wouldn’t cherish these simplistic comforts so intensely. 

The yearnings are finally satiated by the end of the first week when I have gorged myself on hot buffalo wings from Long Wongs and the Italian sando from Jersey Mike’s, as well as every Reuben sando I can unhinge my jaw for and shove in my mouth. As for my Mexican food cravings – they start immediately and never end and nothing ever diminishes them. I’m writing this at 9 am in Italy which arguably has the world’s most popular food and I’m still craving chilaquiles for breakfast. 

Went down to Mexico to get an MRI 

We also drank Bohemia and ate pollo con mole. I no longer order tostadas because it’s obvious they went straight to the contractor and skipped the architect. There is very little structural integrity and it’s a certain mess waiting to happen. I love the ingredients but much prefer them in an enchilada. “I want my delicious wrapped up senor!”

I thought I had torn a rotator cuff in my shoulder and was probably facing a miserable surgery. Nope – just some odd impingement and 2 weeks of NSAID did the trick. 

That’s as high as I could comfortably lift my arm. All better now.

Lake Havasu

I’ve got a friend named Mark Sessions who I credit for kickstarting my wanderlust. We were 19 and drove a motorcycle around the western states one summer. He’s now retired and travels around with his wife Pan and we stayed with them for a week in a big house he rented. Fun stuff and I always enjoy his company. We’ve been friends since we were 12.

They are exactly the same height. These girls could be sisters from behind

Quartzsite

Linda and Stephen are friends that coached us through the “buying a moho in Europe” strategy. They now live in a moho in the USA after 5 years driving around Europe. We stopped to see them in Quartzsite. After having shared campsites in Edinburgh and Lisbon this was a bit rustic but the lunch and company were grand. 

S’Mish

This is my loving nickname for South Mission Beach AKA: The Beat Down Beach Town - The Billion Dollar Ghetto - San Diego’s Biggest Cul de Sac. My buddy Todd married Elyce Reck. Her family is as close as S’Mish gets to royalty. Her grandparents were one of the original inhabitants and she’s had uncles and cousins living here ever since. Her uncle Bob owns a building on the beach side and he keeps one of the furnished apartments open for friends and family. I was deeply grateful to barely qualify. We moved in for almost a month since I sold my own house down the street in Nov 2019. 

Back To My Beach Life

The daily boardwalk bike rides cleared my head and that clean sea air revitalized my lungs. It took about 1 day and I was ready to move back. It took about 20 days to remember why I left: It is so expensive and crowded. Even though we had a blast and it’s one of the most wonderful places, even paradise can become a rut.  Plus, that third stool from the door at the Beachcomber will still be there in 20 years when I can no longer adventure. I think S’Mish can wait.

We pretty much did everything with these 2. They were so generous with their time.
Thanks again Todd & Elyce!

Todd is a working man but made time to join for fun whenever he could. It’s pretty hard to beat San Diego when combining ebikes with craft breweries. We buzzed around and sampled all the wonderful ales we could onboard. And of course, there were also the regular drinks at the Combover, The Pennant & Luigi’s with the usual suspects. Mondays were spent with DJ Birney at World Famous. In the 10 years I’ve been gone it’s nice that there are a few places and friends that still remain. 

My friend, the famous DJ 

Jon Von Rodley took us out for a fun day on the water

Got Engaged

It simply was no longer enough to introduce Alejandra as my girlfriend. It just didn’t convey the depth of feeling I have for her. That’s it in a nutshell. Since I don’t want kids, I could never find a reason to get married. I finally found one. Maybe love can be that simple.

Matthew

This big hairy American has been a pal for almost 25 years. We stayed a week at his house in Rancho Bernardo, ate delicious food, tackled a yard project and gave Aleja an American gun experience. He recently retired. I think he’ll be very successful in his new phase. 

You must remember - Guitar riffs are not native to Latin music but in spite of that I think she has the heavy metal overbite perfected along with those grimaces.

First version of the backyard bad idea. 

The finished version

My Rock Star Cousin

Brina is married to Gus and together they make up half of the Exploits. I was lucky enough to catch them in Encinitas. Look at them - They rock! I’m so proud! I told anyone who accidentally made eye contact with me: 

“That’s my cousin! She’s my cousin, and that’s her husband Gus!” 

“Yeah dude, I heard you when you told my girlfriend a minute ago.”

“Un huh – first cousins. Our dads are brothers.”

My North County SD Family

Phoenix Again

We rented a car and drove back to Phoenix to see The Momma and my brother again for a final week. Last chance for American delicacies, bro hugs, and kissing on those sweet momma cheeks. 

Checking Every Box

The year has started out with a series of huge wins. Aleja got her USA visa and came for 2 months. She finally met my mom in person and everyone else. When asked if she would hitch her wagon to my donkey - she said yes! I didn’t need shoulder surgery and I can still barely afford America. I count these 90 days in the USA as a total victory. 

My dear friend Eric Farber

Aleja even got to experience an American garage sale

My cousin David and Aunt Maryann

A wonderful homecoming

Then we flew back to Paris and drove into Italy. But you’ll have to read that in the next dispatch.

Your man on point,

Captain Bobby

Great Britain - Again!

Ahh... The UK

Britain's pub culture is alive and well and I came to help keep it that way. I wanted to offer support in the form of economic patronage. Bending the elbow and then slapping the King's shrapnel unto the bar mat made me one with the Everyman - The backbone of British culture.

The Driving

I begin every day by reciting my mantra: “Drive on the left! Drive on the left! Drive on the left!” I can now admit that on the third day, I forgot. I must have driven about five blocks on the wrong side of the road before oncoming traffic scared the bejesus out of me. Can you imagine what the other guy thought in his little car? My motorhome barely fits on these little country lanes. Here's the funniest part, I honked. Can you believe that? I thought it was their fault. 

A Very Soft Landing

Our very first night we had supper together with some friends we’d met in Morocco. Mike, Nat, Alejandra and I have a 4 way chat group we call “Mind the Age Gap”. I think it’s quite clever you see, because they have 27 years between themselves as do Aleja and I. They are the ancient versions of us. Now you are going to think that was a mean statement but I can assure you that our whole mutually loving relationship is built around serving up insults. Nat is going to adore that one!

Pub Stops

The app is actually called Brit Stops but Pub Stops is far more accurate. We signed up for it 2 years ago when we drove our first lap around the British Isles. Back then it was a cumbersome book that they had to mail to us at a campground we knew we’d be at in Edinburgh.  That was 2022. Can you imagine? The app is a vast improvement and I wholeheartedly endorse their endeavor (I’m trying to “British up” my writing on this dispatch but I am dropping the “u”s since I yield to the American improvements regarding the language. My island friends are grinding their teeth a bit but hold tight…It’s gonna get a little worse)

The whole point of Brit Stops is that once you pay for the app you can avail yourself at any of the hundreds of locals that they have listed. You have a drink or 3, and/or a meal, and you are welcome to park in a designated spot that the pub has made available. We love it. More accurately – I love it. Aleja is not much of a drinker and this gives me a mandatory drink edict. Occasionally you can plug in for power for a nominal fee. 

Sometimes it’s much more than a nominal fee. Sometimes they are quite proud of their electrical outlet, know that the evenings have a bite to them, and that filling your French propane tank in Britain is not easy. We pay. When it’s November and the sun never really burned through the cloud cover for the 3rd day running and then it’s completely black at 4:30 pm - you need to pay for power since the solar panel can’t keep up. Still – Brit Stops is a much better value than every campground in Britain: The most expensive under serviced campgrounds in all of Europe. Want to use the shower? – extra. Wifi? – they usually don’t even have it and when they do – extra. Electric? – always extra. What would cost 20 Euros in France costs 40 Pounds in Britain. Look up the exchange rate. A Pound is 17% more expensive than a Euro. Britain is great but it’s no bargain.

More Arms Than An Octopus

Carpenter Arms, Arkwright Arms, Butcher’s Arms, Beaufort Arms… These are just some of the names of the pubs we stayed at. 

The word “Arms” comes from the “coat of arms” that the local guild had. 

One cannot do better than a succulent Hunter's Chicken and a pint of Guinness

Whitby

Capt James Cook lived here as an apprentice and slept in the rafters as a young adult. This is the man who essentially discovered EVERYTHING. Gene Roddenberry named James Kirk from Star Trek after him. This man was.... bigger than life! He inspired me decades ago and I finally made it here. 

I sailed half way around the world in 2007 (and it damn near killed me multiple times). This stud sailed 2.5 times around the world in the 1700's (And yes it killed him), but look what he brought to the knowledge base for all humanity. Epic Hero of the age of exploration.

Whitby

Whitby

James and Louise

These are our friends that we first met in Albania and then a year later in Greece and now at their place in Scotland. We just click. Silly fun boozy times. 

Ingleton

It happens occasionally where a single town seems to become the model for a whole genre. Ingleton was that for me. Look how adorable this little village is.

Burnley

If Ingleton is the perfect picture of a quaint Northern English village than Burnley is the role model for true North England comradery. It’s said that the Southerners are refined softies and the Northerners are friendly brutes. I can see why the stereotypes persist and I like them for exactly what they are. We came here 2 years ago and watched USA tie England in the World Cup while (whilst) drinking in the men’s club. Everyone was as friendly as can be and it was the same on this trip. We feel adopted by Burnley. Up The Claret!

Our Wonderful Burnley Hosts: Max and Jolene

Wales

Oddly – we spent an unusually large amount of time in Wales. I suppose there is no better bellwether for magnetism, then counting nights spent within its border. Yes, the accent is ridiculous but the people and scenery were superb. Though the driving was a little nervy – Check out the following video

The language is impossible

Ahh – the driving…

I think that most Britons have been to Europe, and I think that most Britons who go to Europe, fly. Because they drive on the opposite side of the road they choose the plane, the taxi and the train over the car. So, for Britons, it's very easy to have never driven on the continent. It's because of this Britons don't know how truly bad their roads are. Until you've driven the roads of Europe you don't have a comparison. Brit roads are shockingly bad. Damage to the vehicle bad. Albanian bad. Third world bad. If you need more vibrato in your singing vocals – drive the M-25 while doing your best Pavarotti rendition.

My Friend Nigel

Allow me to describe Britain as one of my college buddies. Let’s call him Nigel. He’s got a divorce and three kids under his belt. He's in middle management, with a promotion 10 years ago, but none since. Likes to drink, and has a great attitude. He's stuck in revolving credit card debt at 22%. Kind to animals. Completely dysfunctional at dating. Will call in sick to help a friend (that's why he hasn't had a promotion in ten years). He's close with his aging parents (bless them). Says he doesn't want their life even though he's matching it exactly. Has zero strategy for his own retirement and that’s very problematic. Nigel is an absolute sweetheart but I'm concerned for his future.

We Loved York!

York!

The Shambles - York!

York York York! Henry the VIII was a church killer

WX

Wet windy and cold. Everything is less fun with an earache. The typical British weather lived up to its stereotype and I complained to anyone in ear shot. There is a great word that the Americans should use: “Whinging”. I came to hate my own voice with all the moaning I did. 

The Economics

Sorry – I call em like I see em. Britain is expensive. I don’t mean London, which is outrageous – I mean the whole of Britain. I understand expensive, as I’ve traveled a bit, but Britain is expensive without value. Tahiti is expensive, SoCal is expensive, Luxembourg is expensive – but they deliver. The price / performance value … its just not there. 

The People 

This brings me to the other side of the coin, which is Britain’s greatest asset: Their People, I find them: friendly, helpful, honest, full of integrity, engaging, fun and funny. I like the stiff upper lip, and the “can do” mentality. Its people are Britain's greatest asset. 

Let me tell you about our very last night in England before catching the ferry back to France at an obscenely early hour. 

We had drinks in the pub we were parked behind and met a couple blokes who worked construction. We swapped buying rounds and phone numbers and a friendship was hatched. The next morning the knock on the door came before the sunrise, and there was Wayne with his team’s jersey and a couple beers. Now that’s what I’m talking about!

We also loved the Cotswalds

So… in Conclusion

I love Brits. I want to meet Brits. I am always happy to see a UK license plate in the campground – there’s my new friends! I want to meet Brits as I travel all around the world…  Brits – come find me abroad. You know you are looking for a reason to travel. Death to the Schengen Zone (the reason I keep going back) and long live Great Britain!

Burford in the Cotswalds

Your Seppo on Point,

Blacktop Bobby