Well, it’s been quite a winter in Vermont. I realized that I’ve not been keeping this website up to date. I’d like to change that. Life carries on and so does the need and desire to travel with the dogs, camping, exploring new areas. With this in mind, and the lingering ideas thrown at me by a good friend, I’ll be posting on here again as well as working on a print and ebook compilation of back roads camping with the dogs in the Southwest.

Cape Cod:

Thanks to Airbnb, I had a chance to get out of town. Five hours drive to Cape Cod but it was so worth it. My happy place is either on the empty coast or in the desert mountains. Both give that sense of space, openess, I’m a speck of sand and the world carries on without me: perfect.

We stopped at a beach. Doors open. Dogs run. Rosie hides in the sand dunes. Harold flies full speed along the beach, chasing birds with tail and tongue flapping. Full pelt. Unlike anything in Vermont, we’re free. No leash required, at least not right now in April. The beach is empty, they are all were. We went to so many, I can’t remember the names, and we were only there for a few days. The coast nearest Boston had the most signs saying, NO DOGS but Rosie peed on the posts and carried on. I took photos.

Harold tired out earlier than he used to, I’m putting it down to age not the c-word. We’ve not been staying fit in Montpelier, we can’t. Too contained. I can’t bitch about it there as my friends get defensive, protective of their chosen homes, and so I shut up.

This though, a beach, small villages, friendly people, open skies, running free, sun and rain, this is home to me. I could live here. Probably not in July and August but if I could be there during the off-season, I’d love it. The solitude. Space. My eyes relax. Body energised. Dogs happy. I’m happy.

We took all back roads once on the Cape. Where Route 6 heads through the middle, a straight and fast road, take the side roads, find the dead end, park, release the hounds, explore, eat a cheese sandwich, relax, doze, take photos, get back in the truck and repeat.
I don’t know how many beaches we walked in three days but by Saturday, Harold walked next to me, and Rosie no longer disappeared into the dunes. I’d call that a success. Dogs tired. I’m tired.
I’ll be back– somehow.