I’m a cowboy, and on a steel horse I ride. That horses name is Senor Squeek and she is a Transgender Nissan Pathfinder. My cowboy credentials although limited, are I believe enough to warrant my making up the completely original first line of this post.
Just what are those credentials you ask? Keep reading and you’ll find out, or if you don’t want to know, do not keep reading, because spoiler alert, you will find out if you do.
It all started thirty three years ago when a bouncing baby boy was born in a dusty barn in Mexico, that boys name was Carlos, and about fourteen thousand miles away in a hospital bed in South Africa, I, Tyrhone, was also born.
Cut forward thirty three years and four months and we find our hero Tyrhone (not Carlos, I don’t know where Carlos is) driving his transgender Nissan Pathfinder with all his worldly possessions and his girlfriend, who has made it very clear she is not one of his “possessions”, into a little Californian town called Nevada City. Which is in California, not Nevada. Which is even more confusing than the first part of this story.
Nevada City, in California…
How did we end up in this little town? Well that is not a long story. We got on to glampinghub.com and looked for something on our route North, and when something like a Tipi pops up and you don’t feel like laying your hat in another motel, you jump at the opportunity. Not too high though because Tipi’s are not very wide, and unless you are in the middle you will hit your head, and without a hat on, it’s gonna hurt.
The town of Nevada City has a history, and it is a good one. Something to do with Chinese people and miners. It was explained to me and I was listening, but my brain already has too much knowledge, and any more just tends to slip away. What currently lies there though is a historic little town, with delicious coffee and some delightfully friendly people, I am not sure about the rest of the people, only the delightful ones I met, but I assume the others are pretty good to.
The delightful people I refer to are the couple in who’s Tipi and Cowboy cabin we stayed for three nights. Aside from being incredibly nice and showing us around the property, they also shared an incredible home cooked meal with us, which when you live on the road is something you seldom see. Well we see a lot of home cooked meals when staring through the windows of strangers, but we don’t get to partake in many. I am just so grateful that we could join Chris and Vic in the dining room rather than having to hide outside their window while munching down on another burger (although I do love burgers…mmmmmm…burgers…)
And yes! When I said Tipi earlier, I fully meant Tipi! Like the ones the Indians lived in back in the day. I am not going to explain the Tipi to you as that was definitely more Sarah’s jam and so she will undoubtedly write about it, even if I did put a feather in my hair and pose at said Tipi’s entrance.
I want to tell you about the Cowboy cabin we stayed in the following two nights, when the cold made it apparent that we were no longer in Mexico at the height of summer. What is there to tell? Well, I loved the cowboy cabin!
I loved it because I have a beard now, and men who have beards should do things like stay in a wood cabin and make fires. We should be whittling wood and skinning rabbits while spitting in a spatoon “’cause I dun chewed my chewin tobaccer”, but I also loved it because it was comfy, it was warm, and it was different!
While in the cabin I got to make a fire from the already chopped wood, so my lack of skills with an ax were never once disclosed, and I got to use a blowtorch to light that sucker, so my inability to start a fire with already chopped wood also never saw the light of day.
So as I lay there in my jim jams, laptop buzzing away at the foot of the bed. A fork full of Pe nang Thai curry and some ice cold Diet Coke from the refrigerator sparkling on the night stand. I realized something, I was now a cowboy, and it was really easy.
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