The Never-Ending Housekeeping of Life on the Road

Let’s talk about housekeeping. Because apparently, even when everything I own fits inside a 34”x45”x36” double jogging stroller, I still manage to live in complete and utter chaos.

Now, when I first started this journey, I thought, How messy could I possibly get? I mean, my entire life is neatly packed inside Gertrude, my trusty jogging stroller. It’s not like I have closets to organize or a junk drawer to avoid cleaning for three years. This should be simple, right? WRONG.

The Mess Expands to Fill the Space Available

There’s some sort of black hole effect happening inside Gertrude, because no matter how neatly I repack things in the morning, by midday it looks like a tiny, portable tornado swept through.

Where did this sock come from? Why are my snacks in my sleeping bag? How did my toothbrush migrate to the side pocket where the tent stakes live? I am one strong gust of wind away from turning the Arizona desert into a yard sale.

And don’t even get me started on my tent.

Each time I set it up (I haven’t named it yet… (suggestions welcome), I set it up with the best of intentions. I try to keep things organized. But by the time I wake up in the morning, it looks like a crime scene where the only suspect is exhaustion. My sleeping bag is twisted into a pretzel, my shoes have somehow moved across the tent on their own, and my jacket? Oh, that’s now a makeshift pillow.

Laundry: A Never-Ending Saga

I don’t know what’s worse—having dirty clothes or washing them in a gas station sink while making intense eye contact with a confused female trucker. Either way, laundry is a full-time job.

I try to keep a “clean” bag and a “dirty” bag, but let’s be honest—after a few days, everything is just varying levels of suspicious. Is this pair of socks clean, or did I just convince myself they could go one more day? These are the hard questions I ask myself now.

And then there’s the drying process. I’ve become an expert at improvising clotheslines. Road signs, tree branches, the side of Gertrude—anything is fair game. But sometimes I forget I’ve hung something up, and nothing shakes your soul like realizing your underwear is still flapping in the wind at a rest stop three miles back.

Gertrude’s Storage System (a.k.a. My Tetris Addiction)

Packing Gertrude every morning is like playing a high-stakes game of Tetris. There’s a precise order to where things go. If I mess up even one item, suddenly nothing fits, and I’m left repacking everything from scratch while questioning all my life choices.

And yet—no matter how carefully I arrange things—I always, always lose one essential item in the chaos. Where’s my headlamp? Oh, buried under three layers of gear. Where’s my spoon? Mysteriously vanished into the void. Where’s my patience? Completely gone.

The Never-Ending Battle Against Dirt, Sand, and Mystery Crumbs

I don’t know how, but everything I own is constantly covered in dirt, sand, or an unidentified crumb-like substance.

My sleeping bag? Full of gravel.

My socks? Dirt magnets.

My snacks? Somehow both crushed and sticky at the same time.

My entire body? Exfoliated against my will.

I have accepted that I will never be truly clean again. The desert and I are now one.

So, How Much Mess Can One Person Make?

Oh, you’d be surprised.

Despite having only the bare essentials, I somehow live in a constant state of disorder. I am both the housekeeper and the messy roommate. Every day, I tell myself I’ll be more organized tomorrow. And every day, I wake up to find that, no, in fact, I will not.

But hey—Gertrude and I keep rolling forward.

Messy, covered in dust, and probably missing a sock—but still moving.

PS. Thank God for solar chargers and ipads . There’s not much to do after dark