The Spark

When I was 11 years old, I got on an airplane by myself. Not everyone knows this about me, but I was adopted. I am also the oldest in my family. One of the things my adopted mother knew about me was that my biological mother was a language major. So my mother sent me to Montessori School in San Antonio, Texas, where I learned to speak Spanish and French. Then we moved to Boulder, Colorado, and the Spanish lessons continued. Then my parents thought it was a good idea to put an 11-year-old on a plane and send her to Mexico to stay with a family they had never met. But these are the same parents who strapped me to a sled, tied the sled to the dog, and called the dog to them just to make me laugh. Or maybe to make themselves laugh. I’ll never know for sure. I am the same person my father nicknamed Moo Goo Gai Pan because it made me laugh. Was that entirely good parenting? Strapping me to a dog on a sled or sending me to Mexico by myself? Maybe! Maybe not! But it is where the very first spark of my wanderlust began.

What Happened Next Was Life

Wendy in San Clemente, California. Photo by Paul Lampe

I grew up, had two children, and raised them largely by myself. While it was a grind, it was still an adventure. My son Taylor tells me he loved his years growing up because it felt like one. My kids grew up skiing in the Colorado mountains, with ski areas like Arapaho Basin as their backyard. For two decades I worked a lot and traveled very little. Skiing was always an adventure, but in those days I rarely left Colorado. I am not complaining, Colorado is a pretty great place to be, but life was much different then, as were my priorities. I often felt like I was barely keeping the ship afloat, but we had new ski passes and fresh gear every year and skied a LOT.

Enter Paul

Yes, Paul skis in jeans, especially when he forgets his ski pants. Photo by Wendy Stieg

We met at Pug Ryan's, a local watering hole in Dillon, Colorado, which recently closed its doors. It's kind of sad and nostalgic to be remembering those days, but a recent Facebook post got me thinking about them. Our friend Kerry King introduced us. Kerry was also our tax accountant for many years. He and his lovely wife Terry lived in Summit County when we first met them; they have since moved back to Oxford, Mississippi. Kerry was one of Paul's buddies at the Dillon Dam Brewery, another local watering hole. Paul loves Kerry because they can yell about sports, heartily disagree with each other, and still be great friends. Kerry gave Paul one of his many nicknames: "Snowplow Paul." Paul also answers to "Loud Paul," and his longest nickname is "Ducky," bestowed by friends who saw fit to name him after Kevin Duckworth of the Portland Trail Blazers, the very tall basketball player who has only one thing in common with Paul, and that is their respective abilities to play basketball. Well, not really, but close enough. But I digress.

The First Key

We were living in Leadville when Paul found out I didn't have a passport. "WHAT?!?" was his reaction. "Why don't you have a passport? Doesn't everyone have a passport?" No, Paul, not everyone has a passport. Some people were busy raising children by themselves!

Paul has so many merits, though. Our first trip together was driving my old Subaru Forester out to Moab in the spring, an annual Summit County pilgrimage for those tired of snow and craving warmth. There we were: bikes on top of the Subaru, with our dogs Trailer and Cheyenne in the back, tent and coolers packed to the brim. Paul had to stop in Grand Junction. He pulled up to an REI store and returned with the first gift he ever gave me: a brand new sleeping bag. I didn't know it at the time, but that sleeping bag was the first key to freedom. We were now complete: the Subaru, the bikes, two dogs, no hotel, no itinerary, no worries. We were not lost.

Cheyenne and Gibby with Koda in the background. Two labs and a Shiba Inu are required for travel with Wendy and Paul. Photo by Wendy Stieg

Keep in mind this was my first adventure with Paul. This is the man who has no qualms about sleeping on a sidewalk next to his pricey mountain bike, dog in the car, sleeping bag pulled over his head. I would learn later that Paul is picky. Certain hotels just won't do. If we were broke, and that was frequent in those days, and found ourselves in a cheap hotel, it went something like this: go to the front desk and announce that you have a dog. We actually had two dogs, but you could truthfully answer the question: do you have a dog? Yes, we have a dog. I was firmly instructed not to elaborate further or indicate that we in fact had MORE dogs. Our grand total never exceeded three. The dog answer worked pretty well. You check in, get the key, go to your room, and Paul immediately pulls off all the blankets and puts our camping pads on top of the bed, because there could be stuff in the bedding, and you never, ever remove your flip flops on the carpet. Never. At that point we could go anywhere. Paul taught me that hotels were optional. The door to travel was opening a crack.

More Keys

Life with Paul continued to get more interesting, not always funny, either, because Paul. If you need further explanation, How to Travel Without Killing Your Partner: A Field Guide will illuminate you, as Paul is a Unique Soul. So did the gifts. My favorite is my Mariachi Salsa Bike, purchased on a whim at SubCulture Cyclery in Salida, Colorado. We were in SubCulture because Paul loves going in there. The store manager started talking to Paul, and the next thing I knew we were measuring me to see if the bike fit. It did. Perfectly. My first real mountain bike. Another key.

The Mariachi Salsa Bike. Photo by Wendy Stieg

The travel started to pick up speed. My first Dead show with Paul was Fare Thee Well in Santa Clara, California. April's Experience: Going Anywaydetails more of our road trips and travels to see Dead and Company, formed after the Fare Thee Well tour. Hotels are not always necessary. Sleeping bag, required. Dogs, also required. We perfected the art of slipping three dogs into hotels that were only aware of one. My favorite was pulling the truck around into the parking lot of a cheap hotel in Durango, all three dogs wagging their tails as the front desk clerk, who had just checked us in, patted each one on the head and smiled at me. Were we busted? Nope. Paul does not get caught. Don't ask me how. Maybe he has a magical invisibility shield I'm unaware of, but he pretty much gets away with everything. Not unlike Erik and his bag of tricks. Erik has mastered the Jedi Mind Trick. But more on that later.

Traveling to see various iterations of the Grateful Dead? Another key. The dogs? Also keys. Gibby, our infamous Chocolate Lab, was actually picked up on a road trip as we were traveling through Oregon. Dogs were a key to adventure in a way that only dog lovers can appreciate, especially those who love three dogs all at once. Road trips were becoming a way of life, and March's Experience: A Memoir captures exactly what that looked like.

Enter Kerry. Again.

Kerry was a tax accountant in addition to being Paul's sports-yelling buddy. Although he and Terry were now living in Oxford, Mississippi, they were still doing our taxes. I made a mistake on our taxes, thinking I would save us some money. Kerry fixed it. During that interaction he wondered, out loud: WHYYY aren't you married? It would be so much easier on your taxes. This was a lightbulb moment. I had never once questioned not being married. I loved my independence, my freedom, and my maiden name. I wanted to keep my identity and not have anyone telling me what to do. Paul once said to me, "Oh! So you're just going to do whatever you want then, right?" He was not happy when he said it. I am notorious for agreeing with you, perhaps a Wendy Rule, but I might not do what you want. Just an FYI. I laugh out loud at that realization now. It was also a turning point in our relationship. Neither one of us is very good at doing what we are told. The door was opening wider and wider.

The Door Gets Blown Off Its Hinges

So we got married at the Eagle County Courthouse. Then I tweaked our already-in-progress Portugal trip and turned it into an elopement. Mandy, a woman I worked with, told me about PicTours Lisbon, a travel photography company run by Maya Attinello Rodrigues and Miguel Rodrigues, who are based in Lisbon. We hired Maya and Miguel, and they did a beautiful job documenting our day, which culminated in us saying our vows on the beach in Portugal. Consider the door blown off its hinges.

Praia da Adraga. Photo by Miguel Rodrigues, PicTours Lisbon

Everything about this was always coming together. I have a huge world map on the wall of my office, flanked by a smaller map of the Iberian Peninsula. If you follow me, you know we are in the middle of a move, considering fall travel to Spain, and always looking for the next adventure. Right now the question is not why, but why not? With our rules and keys firmly in hand and our "why" finally answered, all bets are off. The world is begging us to come visit. Stay tuned, because the best is absolutely yet to come.

Where Does Wanderlust Even Come From?