When the Road Stops Moving: A Call for Help
A personal update from Brian
There’s no easy way to write this, friends — I’ve hit a wall. The kind I always feared might come one day out here on the road.
For months, I’ve been fighting to keep this dream alive. The van — my home, my workspace, and the heart of Open Road Nomad — has been broken down for almost a year. Each time, I’ve held onto hope that this fix would finally be the one. That soon Ruby and I would be rolling again, chasing sunsets instead of shop hours.
TL;DR: It started last December with an emissions issue on our way south. That turned into a blown engine. The engine was eventually replaced under my extended warranty — but the DEF (emissions) issue remains, locking the van into limp mode (5 mph max). It now requires a Ram-certified dealer to repair.
The shop that handled the rebuild has tried to help arrange transport to a Ram Diesel Service Center about 30 miles north in Oceanside, but neither of us has the cash to get the van there — or to pay for the repairs once we do.
Being stuck here has taken its toll. I’ve lost every marketing client. I’ve tried to find new ones, but struck out. I’ve looked for local work, but there’s been nothing. I’ve even tried to resurrect older brands, but that kind of rebuild takes time — and time is running short.
Now things have turned dire. The shop itself has been struggling for months. I took them on as a marketing client, hoping to help them stay afloat, but their situation has left me with over $5,000 in unpaid services and no way to advertise properly for new work.
We’ve fixed what we could, with what we had. But some problems need more than a wrench — they need a little grace. Here the mechanics crew reinstalling the diesel engine back into the van in July.
Every project, every post, every story — created right here in this little space on wheels. Ruby watches patiently as I work on my computer from here in the van.
So here we are — the 11th hour. Roy, the mechanic I’ve trusted through all of this, is still trying some last-minute magic to keep things moving. But deep down, I know I can’t keep depending on promises.
Right now, I have no place to go and no way to get there. The next step is reaching that specialized Ram repair shop in Oceanside — the only place equipped to finish what’s left. It’s not far, but when your home doesn’t move, every mile feels impossible.
I’ve tried to stay positive. I’ve worked hard to keep this brand, this life, and this dream alive. But today, I need to admit something I’ve avoided for too long — I need help.
Not just mechanical help. Human help.
I’m not asking for a handout. I’m asking for a lifeline — for assistance, for encouragement, for a little kindness from those who believe in what Open Road Nomad stands for: honest travel, real stories, and the courage to keep going even when the road falls apart.
To get back to Southern Oregon, I’m prepared to sell my camera gear — the same tools I’ve used for years to tell our story. That sale might cover enough fuel to get us home. Beyond that, the cost of repairs remains uncertain.
If you’ve ever found meaning, joy, or hope in the stories Ruby and I share, I ask — humbly — for your help today. Whether it’s a few words of encouragement, a donation toward repairs, or simply sharing our story, it all matters more than you can imagine.
This life on the road was never about escape. It’s about endurance — finding light even when the map fades and the wheels stop turning.
We’ve always believed the road provides — but sometimes, it’s the people along the way who do.
The road hasn’t ended — it’s just asking for a little help to begin again after an unexpected stop.
Thank you for being part of our story — through the highs, the heartbreaks, and the hope that somehow, we’ll find our way back to the open road.
~ Brian & Ruby
www.venmo.com/u/briang97603
Cover Photo:
The van that carried a thousand stories now sits silent — Ruby watches the world go by as we sit here at the shop, waiting for one more chance to move.
