Monday, September 24, 2012

The Process of Moving (Part 3)

We lived for four years in the same apartment, and I swear to god we weren't hoarders. But there is something magical that happened with our things while living in NYC. I think because we didn't have much space, that we unconsciously figured out a way to compress all of our items into denser and denser compartments, such that it looked like we didn't own very much at all. However, when we stared moving everything out to put into boxes, it seems like all of our stuff expanded like beer snakes exploding out of a can. To be fair, we didn't own very much in the grand scheme of things. But if I tried to carry all of my possessions with me on the trail, I would have to be able to lift a free weight that weighs somewhere around 3,000 pounds. Which is more or less exactly impossible. I know. I'm a total pansy.

We are currently living in a four bedroom apartment in Manhattan with three beautiful women. There's a bar and a coffee shop directly around the corner from our apartment. All we need is a laugh track and we'd be on NBC in a second. I would call it "One Dude and Four Chicks" because, let's be honest here, NBC doesn't trouble itself much with nuance in the naming of their sitcoms. When we were moving in we had to put a lot of our stuff into storage because we couldn't bring it all to the new apartment. We figured the best solution would be to put most of it into storage up in Maine, as we will be moving to Maine at the end of the trail, and it would be in our best interest to keep our stuff near-ish to our final destination. My dad kindly offered to bring a cargo van down to NYC and help us load up. 

Due to the shape of the inside of the cargo van, we had to put our mattress and box spring in first (as they had to go in at an angle) and then hold them up in the air while we loaded in all the boxes underneath the mattresses. One of our friends, Max, is a teacher who has the summers off, who fears some karmic retribution for having the luxury of 2 months off where he can go to the beach and sleep until 2pm. So we were able to guilt him into helping us move the boxes by the simple expedient of making eye contact with him. More to the point, he's a very kind human. It was very hot that day in early July, and it took about 10 minutes before he tore his shirt off. All of our cardboard boxes he carried have a perfect torso-shaped permanent sweat stain. We can't say he never gave us anything. 

Here is what the inside of the van looked like after it was filled:

My dad: the master of packing Tetris

That van was so densely packed that we could have rolled it down the side of a hill and nothing would have moved. 

For the 8 hour trip up to Maine, I had to sit on a couple of pillows in between the two seats in the front. This was mostly due to the fact that I am the smallest person who was going on the trip. If Mike had been forced to sit in the "jump" seat, his legs would have broken the windshield. I positioned the pillows on a small stool, which was relatively comfortable, if utterly unsafe. I thought about wearing a bike helmet for the trip, but then came to the conclusion that a helmet probably wouldn't make much of a difference. Every hour or so I would realize that the pillows and stool had oozed forward, and I was sitting cramped down into a small cavity of space between the stool and the back of our dresser. Witness!

Once in Maine, we put all of our stuff into my parents' storage unit. We thought that was the most practical, as then we could be informed if all of our stuff went up in a crazy fire or got totally flooded. Not that we would be able to do anything about it from the trail, but at least we'd have the knowledge.

Back in New York, we were able to move the remainder of our things to our new apartment in a small UHaul. We're sleeping on an IKEA futon, which had previously been our couch, which is startlingly comfortable. Everything we own fits into one small room. In 5 months, everything I own will fit into a 70 liter backpack.

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