FELLOW DIRTBAG REVIEWS HIS EUROVAN STAY

Dirtbag Profiles: Jackie and Kofi

The Cutest Pair on the Outdoor Education Circuit

ABOUT JACKIE

• Type of rig: A periwinkle Honda Fit.
• The name of her car: Kofi, after Kofi Annan, the former Secretary General of the United Nations. The name symbolizes peacekeeping, nonviolent activism, social and political progress, and environmental justice. But don’t be mistaken; Jackie’s periwinkle Kofi is a female.
• Number of years living out of her car: Since the spring of 2008.
• Her favorite thing about her car: The back, with the seat folded down. “It’s like a studio apartment,” Jackie says. “It’s my bedroom, kitchen, studio. I can be in the most remote area, freezing cold and lonely, and all I have to do is crawl back there. I can hangout, play the guitar, write in my journal, curl up and be cozy.”
• Occupations: Raft Guide, Outdoor Educator for the Boojum Institute, Instructor for Wilderness Ventures and Outward Bound, Ski Instructor for Mammoth Mountain
• In her words, what defines a dirtbag: “A free-spirited person, with the ability to go where the wind takes them, and to be self-contained. A car isn’t required, but it helps.”
• Why she has chosen this lifestyle: “…the discovery of new places, building friendships, the affirmation of independence, discovering what I’m capable of….”
•  A saying she lives by: She who is brave is free.
  
  
  

Dirtbag Party Theme: Prom

Dirtbag Beauty Secret: Laundry Day

Back when I lived in an apartment, my roommate and I took great pleasure in stringing our wet laundry up in our small kitchen and living room. Socks and underwear hung on the racks of the dishwasher we never used. Sweatshirts draped over the backs of chairs, and everything else hung from a maze of p-cord tied to one door hinge, clipped to a #4 Black Diamond Camelot stuck between the refrigerator and the wall, then tied again to our bookshelf.

The Eurovan: A Love Story (Part I)

THE FIRST YEAR OF MARRIAGE

A gust of wind catches the hem of my pink sundress, blowing it high enough to reveal my underwear to the empty street. With a payphone cradled in the crook of my neck I glance up, eyes swollen from holding back tears, at storm clouds growing in the sky. When I woke up this morning it was spring in California: sunshine, blue sky, and the smell of sagebrush. Now a massive, Eastern Sierra snowstorm is moments away from unleashing. For warmth, I have a pair of brown yoga pants and a powder blue sweatshirt in my backpack.

“Hey Dad,” I whimper into the phone. “For some reason they couldn’t finish the windows in the van today. It’s still at the shop. They took the cardboard out, so now I really can’t drive it.”