day 50—everything is dead

We’re alive, but the beeping is back with a vengeance.

As we settled in for the night in the overnight lot at the Taos Ski Valley, bracing for a significant snowstorm and dreaming of a powdery day, everything went black.

At first, we thought it was nothing. A fluke. Maybe we imagined it. But then, that familiar, grating beep-beep-beep filled the air.

If you’re unfamiliar with the beeping saga, here’s a quick recap:

On day 5, we were preparing dinner when our stove lights flickered and then died. We grumbled about our barely seared steak and raw broccoli, promising to deal with the situation in the morning. However, just as we settled into bed, everything went dark. A relentless chorus of beeps filled the van, far from lulling us to sleep.

The next day, we searched for a mechanic in Moab, but New Year’s Day had everything closed. So, we limped our way to Salt Lake City, where we awaited our $2,000 fate nearly a week later.

So, as you can imagine, we now have beeping PTSD.

When it started again, we froze. Locked eyes. No. No. No way.

The sequence was all too familiar: a flicker, then darkness, followed by the beeping. A cruel déjà vu.

At least this time, we’d had a fully cooked meal. We weren’t completely dead. Yet.

“I swear this happens every time we make broccoli. Maybe we shouldn’t eat broccoli!” I groaned, arms crossed. “I mean, does anyone actually like broccoli? Or do they just like the butter, salt, cheese, or whatever else makes it less broccoli?”

Trent smirked as he climbed onto the floor between the bench seats, contorting himself into some kind of Cirque du Soleil pose to get a better look at the control box.

Trent chuckled but stayed focused, shining his flashlight over the battery keeping our lights, stove, heater, and Wi-Fi alive. Or barely breathing, as it seemed.

“What’s it say?” I asked, leaning over the counter.

“Under-voltage and over-discharge. Same as last time.”

I sighed dramatically and put on my best British accent. “Ah yes, just your typical under-over,” I mused, as if I’d been secretly pursuing an electrical engineering degree at Cambridge and could now pinpoint exactly what had gone wrong.

Trent exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “I don’t get it. The battery was at 80% after we finished cooking. Now it’s at 2% and dropping fast.”

It was nearly 11 PM.

“This feels like a crusade for another day,” I suggested, yawning.

“You’re right,” Trent admitted. “But this may mean we’re not skiing in the morning. We can’t risk getting stuck here.”

I sighed again, this time for real. I had been looking forward to this storm, imagining us gliding through untouched snow. Instead, we were troubleshooting battery failures in the dark.

But that’s van life, isn’t it? The highest highs, the lowest lows, and the in-between moments where you just have to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

So, we climbed into bed, relying on each other for heat, and did our best to get some sleep.

The next day: Valentine’s Day

Everything was still completely off, and we slept terribly at best.

It ended up being just a few inches of wet snow anyway, which made leaving a little easier.

So, we packed our bags and headed south towards Santa Fe, our destination being Bualtawn’s Bagelry. If we couldn’t fix the battery, at least we could get bagels.

The bagels were worthy

As we drove, the battery charge crept up, but painstakingly so. Every small increase felt like a victory. Every unexpected dip, a personal attack.

Somewhere outside of Santa Fe, we stopped for gas, hoping that by the time we crossed into Texas, we’d have enough juice to camp off-grid again.

We didn’t.

By the time we reached Lubbock, the battery was still struggling, refusing to climb past 15%. It was late afternoon, we were exhausted, and the last thing we wanted was another night of mystery beeping and dwindling power. So, we surrendered, pulled into the nearby KOA campground, paid for a hookup, and let the van drink in a full charge.

Now, as I write this, we’re still waiting to hit 100%. Trent is fast asleep, and I’m watching the battery monitor like it’s a high-stakes stock market ticker.

This wasn’t the Valentine’s Day we had planned. Not that we’re big on its frills, but still.

Romantic powder days are nice. So is waking up in a warm bed, knowing you won’t freeze overnight.

Perhaps, in its own peculiar way, this is the essence of it all. The kind of love that persists even when the world around us ceases to function. The kind that finds amusement in the unexpected twists and turns. The kind that replenishes your energy and vitality.

I’d choose this kind of love every time.

Next stop: Austin.