Countrymen Driving Some Countryman

Like any good idea – our Wanderlust adventure changed, oh, let’s say, a couple of dozen times – from wandering around Brooklyn on foot – to setting up shop at a friend’s artist retreat in the Catskills – all our ideas falling to pieces before we settled on the heart and soul of the Wanderlust movement – to just get out on the open road with no plan – and to just let the Countryman take us to our next destination. From four friends down to two (two could either not get off of work, or could not afford to take off of work for the weekend) thus – my friend, James and I set off upstate with the only plan – head north! And north we headed. All the way to Indian Lake, New York, where a co-worker of mine hinted at for me the day of, two hours before departure, to use her Mother’s cabin and kayak the great Indian Lake. So off we went with just the idea of “Indian Lake” – “Kayak” and no other plans ‘til Monday at 11am, when we would have to return back to Brooklyn with our Countryman.

After it poured on us the whole way up to Indian Lake – we took the kayaks out, just far enough to the lake to realize, “it’s going to pour…” and it did. It poured. So we stayed inside the cabin that was still decorated as if it were Christmas morning – complete with fake tree, decorations, candy canes and cozy little handmade trinkets crafted in that very cabin. With no cell phone service to speak of for miles – we were cabin-bound for the night – where in the AM, we would take the kayaks out as the sun would rise over the great lake. And we did. And it was amazing.

After kayaking, we packed the Countryman up with firewood and headed east – the only plan to find a mountain in Vermont to climb up with our four-wheeled friend. After winding around back-country roads, swerving past horses and slipping through heavy rain (again), we found ourselves at the base of the Green Mountain National Forest, Vermont – where the Countryman took on dirt roads – faux rally racing through the tight muddy roads of the mountainside, etched between rivers and lakes – shear 20–30 foot drops on either side. But the tight handling and precision of our Countryman drove with ease through the thick of the forest, in and out of mud and torrential downpours. We drove the Countryman good – good and hard – and found sunlight at the peaks of the mountains, but only to fall back into rainy valleys. But we were able to find a break in the rain just long enough to set up camp by our lonesome up in the National Forest – pitched our tent and started a fire for cooking some hotdogs over – and then to bed we went – with the Countryman right outside our tent.

The next morning , we woke up semi-cramped – the rain over night setting deep into our bones – but the warmth of our Countryman woke us right up – and down and out of the mountain we drove – etching the mountains dirt roadways all the way down into Massachusetts – then cutting west, back into New York. We camped in the Catskills our final night – just a hop, skip, and a jump away from Brooklyn, where we would depart the next morning – where we would say goodbye to our fellow Countryman – but not yet. By now, James, the Countryman, and I were covered with dirt and soot – and we radiated an array of smells – something like campfire, sweat, and the great outdoors – but we were with nature. There was no other place I’d want to be than right here. And it was all with the great assistance of our Countryman paving the way through roads that mostly only saw trucks and pickups – but not on this trek. On this adventure – these roads were graced with the great presence of the Mini Cooper Countryman S – tackling roads that took James and I into the heart of this great country of ours. Where, at each night, we were alone with the world – alone to our thoughts – and one with our Country. Thanks Mini Countryman, for digging deep into the American soil – showing us the true soul of America, and what it is to be American – living out of a car for the weekend – eating over an open fire, and sleeping under the bright shining stars above our head. And it is with great sorrow to see you go. But I know one day, I will see you again.