Evicted

What a ride… what a freaking ride this year has been.

Mechanical failure is my deepest fear of life on the road. Out here, we’re entirely at the mercy of mechanics—handing over our home, everything we own, and trusting that someone else will care for the one thing that keeps our life moving.

Trust has become harder for me. And today, it feels like my soul is getting shaped more by circumstance than by love.

Months after Georgia blew her engine (last December)—and months after the June 15 rebuild date—we’re still in San Diego. Parts delays, labor delays… one setback after another.

A little backstory for those new here: I arrived at the shop on June 15, just as planned. But the van wasn’t ready. The engine was in pieces. The van up on jack stands. It wasn’t until late July that the rebuilt engine finally went in, and weeks more of tuning before it even ran. Then the original emissions issues returned, still unsolved. I trusted the mechanic to lead the way for a proper fix. He didn’t.

By then, weeks had slipped into months. I continued working remotely for my Rogue Branding clients—clients who understood the travel lifestyle as long as I could show up in person every six weeks. But being stuck in San Diego made visits impossible. One by one, they cancelled contracts. Suddenly, I had no income. But at least I could live in the van on the shops property.

While dealing with my own issues, I could see that the shop was struggling with traffic flow, I offered a solution: I’d create a full marketing plan, manage their social media, and build a new mobile-first website to help get new customers in the door. The owner agreed. It seemed like a lifeline—finally, a way to keep myself afloat. But I was paid only a fraction of the contract. I kept working anyway, hoping things would turn around.

Spoiler: they didn’t.

Soon after, the owner of the mechanic shop (who leases his space) was served an eviction notice by Sheriff’s deputies. It was early, the he wasn’t here yet, just me.

Frustrated in the situation, the building owner started yelling at me, demanding I leave immediately. I explained I had nowhere to go—and no way to get there. He didn’t care. He told the deputies that he wanted me trespassed. Deputies warned me: if I didn’t leave immediately, I’d be cited and the van would be impounded.

So, Ruby and I gathered ourselves, turned the key, fired up Georgia, and limped out at 5 mph.

Because yes—Georgia is still in limp mode. Flashers on, hazards blinking, we traveled at the speed of idle around the block to a nearby cul-de-sac. Here we sit, trying to figure out the next step.

In our adventures, I try to look for takeaways and life lessons. Whether it’s during a slow sunset on the beach or a slow escape after an eviction. As for this situation, I don’t know the full lesson in this moment yet. Maybe that I trust too easily. Maybe that I give people the benefit of the doubt more times than I should. Or maybe, I just need to get my shit together (what my boys would say).

Right now, I’m working on getting the van to a new shop, likely a dealer that specializes in diesel emissions work (as these repairs are likely a dealer only solution). I have a lead at a facility about an hour north. Still sorting it out.

What do you think?

Did I make the right choices?

Did I mess something up?

What would you have done differently?

What lesson do you see in all of this?

Ruby and I would truly love to hear your thoughts.

PS: The website is still down as I navigate all of this. Thank you for hanging in there with us.

The building owner walking with Sheriff's Deputies, pointing out another immobile client, after they served the papers and told me I had to go.

Venmo: venmo.com/u/briang97603