The Truck Was Supposed to Be Back By Now

Somewhere Between Moving and Waiting

I got rear-ended back in November.

Nothing major. At least that’s what it looked like. A new bumper, clean it up, move on.

That was the expectation.

It didn’t go that way.

What should’ve been simple turned into weeks, then months. Insurance dragged, back and forth, no clear answers. And before I really processed it, the truck was just in limbo.

How We Got Here (And Why It Changed)

This Way Wild is built around that truck. Not just for getting from place to place, but for how I live, shoot, and work out here. Take that away, and everything shifts.

But we still went on the trip.

Christmas into New Year’s, Danielle and I drove across the country to see family. At the time, I thought the damage was minor—nothing that would keep us from going—so we loaded up and left.

From the outside, it probably looked the same. A road trip. Miles. Movement. And in a lot of ways, it was.

But it didn’t feel the same.

I was on the road, but I wasn’t really in it.

Even though we had the truck, it wasn’t fully dialed. The systems weren’t there the way I’m used to. It changed how we moved, how we stopped, how we lived out of it. It wasn’t the version of this life I’ve been building toward—it was just a trip. And I could feel that difference the entire time.

We still had moments.

Driving the Million Dollar Highway—Danielle’s first time seeing it—cutting through those passes with snow everywhere. Pulling over, getting out, letting Duke run around while we messed around in it for a bit.

We stayed a night at Orvis Hot Springs outside of Ouray. Not exactly how I would’ve planned it—they had us camped in a parking lot next to a dumpster, no real campsite. I would’ve rather just been out in the wild somewhere.

The next day we made our way toward Salida, cutting through Gunnison, then eventually across Kansas. Somewhere out there we stopped at Fort Wallace. Small museum, nothing flashy, but inside they’ve got a full-size plesiosaurus hanging from the ceiling. Completely unexpected.

On the way back, we spent New Year’s at Ojo Caliente Hot Springs. And coming out of Texas into Taos, driving over that pass—one of those moments where you’re reminded why you’re out there in the first place.

And all of it was good.

That’s what made it a little strange.

Because nothing about the trip itself was bad—it just wasn’t the thing I’ve been building toward.

Once we got back, there wasn’t really a way around it anymore.

The truck was still damaged—and somewhere on the drive home it became clear it wasn’t minor. What I thought was a simple fix turned out to be something more serious.

The mount where the bed meets the frame was torn.

Back Home, Still Waiting

I got back thinking things would finally move.

The collision center took the truck.

That was two months ago.

So now it looks like this:

Rear-ended in November.
Wait.
Trip.
Come back.
Truck goes into the shop.
More waiting.

Nothing dramatic. Just stretched out.

What This One Taught Me

I didn’t expect this part to matter.

It’s not a big landscape. Not a big moment. Not something you’d normally build an episode around.

But it changed how I see this whole thing.

I’ve tied a lot of progress to movement. Being out there, building something, forward motion.

And this has been the opposite.

But nothing is actually wrong.

Life is still happening.

I just don’t have the piece I built everything around.

Why This Stays In

It would be easy to skip this.

Wait until the truck’s back. Wait until everything’s moving again. Then tell the story.

But this is part of it.

Just like the storms. Just like the missed turns. Just like everything that doesn’t go to plan.

What’s Next

The truck will get fixed.

We’ll get back to it.

But for now, this is where things are.

This Way Wild continues.