The past several years we spent the summer jetting around the globe for grand adventures… Costa Brava, Provence, Hoi An, Bali, rural Minnesota…
… but Winnie’s pregnancy is now in the 3rd trimester so travel isn’t really something we aspire to. And there is that global pandemic thing still raging… so this year we are mostly nesting, but also slipping in a few mini-adventures in Taiwan (aka a COVID-free island sanctuary.)
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Last Thursday was Jr’s last day of school. In each of the 3 prior years, at this time of year we were on a plane to Europe. Paris, Barcelona, Florence…. ahh, the good life. After a few months, we would hop across the pond to the good ole U S of A to visit friends and family before returning to Asia.
But when it came time to plan this year’s epic adventures, none of us were feeling very… epic. Or adventurous.
Hi Jeremy, thanks for all you do. I really appreciate everything you share on GCC. You guys are really living the dream. The thing is, we really love our life here in the US. Traveling the world and having grand adventures might be fun for a year or so, but we ultimately want to just enjoy a simple life in a (TBD) nice place in the US. I know this is different than what you guys are doing. What do you think?
A hero ventures forth… (photo courtesy of Early Retirement Dude)
[GCC: Travel has a way of opening us up to the world around us and the people in it. The connections and friendships found on the road are some of the most longstanding and powerful we have. Early Retirement Dude abides.]
Early retirees like Jeremy and Winnie and I get to travel a lot. And as you know, we like to talk about it. So hear me, O My People.
Once upon a time there was a bicycle tourist—I, your humble narrator—who was riding section four of the TransAmerica Bicycle Route from West Yellowstone, Montana to the Adventure Cyclist Association headquarters in Missoula. I’d climbed all 7,241 friggedy feet of Chief Joseph Pass in a hellacious headwind on a fully-loaded bike, and I was now laboring down the steep slopes of the Bitterroot Mountains. Yes, laboring down, because that’s how bad the headwind was. Thirty MPH? At any rate, it was impossible to coast.
It was a low, low, moment in my life. I was sweat-crusted, jelly-legged, cursing plate tectonics IN A THUNDEROUS VOICE, and as physically exhausted as I’ve ever been. (more…)