Story by Alex Embry |

April 7, 2021 |

This is a Wayfarer Wanderings with a twist – it’s from one of our own team members, Jordan. He builds our components, installs conversions and most importantly keeps us on track with all inventory at our Colorado Springs location. He also happens to be a talented writer, photographer and has the soul of a poet. He borrowed our Promaster 159” van and headed south for some much deserved time off, and shared his words and thoughts with us.


Using what we build is a perk of working for Wayfarer. It also ties everything together in a way that puts our mission into perspective. My best friend and I took Walt to New Mexico. Here’s my reflection of that trip:


Nearing Alamogordo, a pale haze lifts the horizon into the sky. Entering the sandy veil sounds like a million prickles. We’re cutting it close.


At the hem of the sheet lies a road that winds into still air. Serpentine, it traces a sea of white crests. The prickles subside. I think we’ll make it.


I turn off the van. We stash our shoes and leave our expectations with them. Wherever we’re headed, we’re better off without. Like children, we run and stumble and roll. As it should be, the pressure to “get there in time” is forgotten—carried away by the gales. And now we are here. As we should be. Not “there,” but “here.”


The great expanse returns our breath the longer we take it in.


We’re thankful for all that brought us to this moment—a happening, unfolding before us like a desert blossom.


The way the sand mirrors the sky is amazing—an emulation of divinity. One that, perhaps, I’ll be wise enough to practice someday. We sink with the sun, sitting and watching. Just being here now. Feeling the warmth of the light that’s left in a moment shared.


And in this fleeting stillness, I am weightless—suspended in the present, at long last. And I don’t know which burns brighter, the heavens, my heart, or our brotherhood.


And with the dark, we went.


We loaded into Walt, bound southwest, and tailed by a rising moon—full as the glass, that until tonight, felt somewhat empty.


A windy, vacant vineyard brings peace and well-earned rest.

Travel has a way of reminding me what matters.

I think it’s easy to lose hope in the blindness of a sandstorm. This past year certainly felt like one.

Turned out that what I needed was just beyond the veil.