The Cost of the Road

The first farm stay is officially under Clearview Works’ belt. I learned a lot in my short stay, but I am not here to talk so much about what I learned on the farm itself.

I’m sure a lot of you know by now that I am the Founder of Clearview Works. The team has had to pivot as I go on ventures that contribute to our future. Meaning the team fills in the gaps — blogs when I don’t have time to write, helping hold pieces together behind the scenes, and countless other things. This is just one example.

It’s a constant collection of data. Kevin, the Co-Founder & Vice President, is head of the greenhouse project, so I gather information for him while out on the road and on farms. At the same time, I am also Caretaker & Death Doula for Chick, who is an active volunteer for Clearview Works.

Working on farms across the nation is a huge part of what we are building. At the same time, I get to do what I love — volunteering, giving back to communities, assisting where I can, and helping build something I deeply believe in while gaining massive amounts of knowledge along the way.

Chick and Alice are the road team. We are the servants, the grunts, the hands-on workers, the front line, and the faces of Clearview Works. Not saying the other team members don’t get their hands dirty, because they absolutely do. I’m just saying Chick & Alice are the grunts.

The leadership side of me — and the multi-faceted web we’ve built at Clearview Works — means I have a lot of things to consider.

My role with Chick as her caretaker. Going to these first local farms before we leave to assess what work and environments she is best suited for before throwing her out onto farms across the nation. Supplies we will need for the road — not just motorcycle gear, but farm gear too. What we need to pack and what we need to leave behind. How much space something takes. How to downsize the load on our bikes while learning from Chick, who has been actively riding longer than I’ve been alive.

Then there’s the emotional toll this takes not only on myself, but also on Chick, how it affects the team, and how the team handles things from afar. I could keep going further and further down the rabbit hole trying to make something this massive work.

One of the biggest things I learned from this first farm stay was what the ride itself will realistically require.

We will need work boots and work gloves in addition to motorcycle gear. That alone changes what we pack. Maybe even what kind of riding boots we wear. Shampoo, conditioner, and body bars have proven far more effective than bottles — they save space, last longer, and cost less. Fuel is priority, not my favorite scents.

Even little things like eyeliner and mascara have to go. I didn’t use them the entire time I was there. Hell, I didn’t have time to.

Being picky about food is no longer really an option — it becomes a luxury. I’m grateful for any meal put in front of me regardless of whether it matches my normal day-to-day palate. Not saying I was served anything bad. Just different.

Then there’s the emotional toll.

The first day I got there, after a four-hour drive, within the first hour I got a call that our dog was nearing the end of his life. He had a heart attack in the backyard, and I had to guide my family through the process while making sure they had support where I physically could not be.

I felt immense gratitude for Chick stepping in to be there for my family while I was stuck on FaceTime trying to hold everything together from a distance.

That was the moment I realized this is what our life will be for the 2.25 years we are on the road.

Being there through a screen.

Wanting to mourn, but having work to do. Bending over with my hands on my knees, dropping a few tears, taking deep breaths so I could get back to work on the farm. Knowing my family was mourning back home while I had to push through it.

This will not only be my reality on the road. It will be Chick’s too.

I’m not worried about whether we can make it through. I just understand what we will have to move through in order to do it. We are going to miss things we never dreamed we would miss, and probably cry in our helmets while still moving down the highway.

So until then, Chick and I enjoy the moments we do get. We try to remain present in the lives of our families and friends before the day comes for us to leave.

We are not ignorant to heartache, trials, and tribulations. We just won’t be able to sit and mourn in bathrobes anymore. Hell, we’ve even joked about mourning the fact that we won’t have room for bathrobes on the bikes because they’ve somehow become a luxury too. Some nights we say fuck it and wear them in public anyway.

It’s the simple little things people take for granted.

Yet regardless of everything we know we will face out there — the sacrifices, the losses, the discomfort — I still ask Chick to this day:

“You wanna quit yet?”

And without missing a beat she always replies:

“Fuck NO.”

Neither one of us can turn back now. We cannot see ourselves dropping this just to return to living day-to-day life stuck in the rat race.

We just can’t.

This is it.

No matter the heartache or sacrifices, because to us… quitting is death.