For the 4th of July weekend, we usually go camping. It’s a time of taking an extra day off work, to turn a three day weekend into a four day weekend, and driving out into one of the national forests we love to visit with friends and family. We swim. Drink. Cook delicious food. And enjoy being outdoors. For the last few years, we’ve been driving up into either the verdant forests of the north or the banks of the cool sandy Sacramento River to camp.

This year is different. Like everything else in our world, the things we’ve grown to love are no longer available or have been so vastly altered that they no longer resemble what they once were. Most everything was closed or booked out. And with the COVID cases spiking feverishly in California, it didn’t feel right trying to find a place in a packed campground. We thought about doing some rough camping without running water or bathrooms, but with our two young daughters, we decided that might have been a bit too hard on us. And I didn’t want to spend all weekend on the road driving to one of these remote places.

Camping is Canceled

The conclusion was sad, yet clear. No camping this July 4th.

We still had the extra day off on Friday, July 3rd, so I asked Mrs. Disengaged if she wanted to go on a “date” golfing with me. We’ve been itching for some alone time together and part of our FI plan is to “forget” about saving one day out of the month and go on a date night out. It’d been months since we’d had some time alone together to do anything.

I’m not a big golfer. I have a set of clubs my father in law gave me, and I’ve only played five, six times in my life. But with the weather being great and the urge to get outdoors and do something with just the wife, I thought golf might be a fun date. Being outside. Active. Doing something we normally don’t do. I convinced Mrs. Disengaged to go, even though golf isn’t what her first choice would be. We asked my parents to watch the kids and I called in a tee time for Friday morning at 6:40 am.

A Misunderstanding

I don’t golf much, so my memory of how expensive it actually is to golf is foggy. When I spoke to the gentleman on the phone to reserve he quoted me a holiday price of $66. This didn’t include the cart. Still, I didn’t think it was too bad considering this was a one-time thing…and we aren’t supposed to be super tight on our “dates”. But after getting home from work I saw I’d been charged $132.

Did I miss understand the price that guy in the golf club shop told me on the phone? Yes, I must have.

$66 each, not combined, and this didn’t even include the cart rental. This golf date of mine was going to be much more expensive than I’d thought. It could easily turn into $200 for this round of golf. But if I canceled she’d think I was going cheap on our “date”. Our one day to splurge and spend time with one another. She’d heard me cuss out loud when I’d saw the charge.

“What are you cussing about over there? Work?”

I told her how much it was and how we could have gone out to a fancy restaurant or a night in the city for the same amount…or less. I saw her eyes narrow as I said this. What was she thinking? Cheapskate?

“That is a lot. Cancel it if you want to. We don’t have to do anything. Let’s just stay home with the kids.”

Danger. Danger. Abort. Abort.

“What about a hike?”

Armstrong Redwoods

Two weeks prior we’d gone with our kids on a short 1.5-mile jaunt through the redwoods at Samuel P. Taylor State Park. It’d been a magical experience for us. Being able to enjoy nature as a family. The girls were bouncing with excitement at the prospect of having a picnic in the woods. I was surprised by both of my daughter’s enthusiasm for getting onto the trail. Though I did have to carry my 3-year-old the last third of the way. Luckily, at that point, we were headed down in elevation.

Mrs. Disengaged and I hadn’t gone hiking, just the two of us since our oldest daughter was born. Suddenly, we both became excited by the prospect. So we began to eagerly search for a beautiful place to enjoy a walk in the woods. Our first few searches for a place looked promising. My wife wanted to see a specific waterfall in Point Reyes, but Point Reyes National Seashore was closed due to COVID-19. So our search took us to Armstrong Woods in Sonoma County. No waterfall, but there were redwoods.

We left early. The kids were dropped off by 8 am in Novato at my parents’ house. Then we continued our drive into the north. We went against the Friday commute on the 101 heading towards the Russian River. We listened to a Millionaires Unveiled podcast and talking about our future real estate prospects. In our day pack, Mrs. Disengaged packed us some lunch and snacks. I brought along my Nikon camera and she had her Mary Jane.

A Challenge

We wanted a challenge. So we chose a 10-mile loop with a 1,100′ elevation gain which started on the East Ridge Trail. We’re both in fairly good shape. My wife works out every other day and participates in races. I spent the last year climbing up and down forty floors of stairs at my highrise job site.

Once we turned off the bustling 101 and onto River Road, we passed miles of Sonoma county vineyards and farmers markets and small fruit stands. Soon the windy two-lane road took us into the shadows of the forest. A swell of greenery overtook the outside of our car windows and the air became cooler and fresh. The Russian River appeared beside us and its gentle brown movement let us know we were in a better place. We passed small but well-known breweries. Dispensaries. Bicyclists. And tall trees.

No Croissant and the Consumerist Instinct

We decided to stop at a small coffee shop in the quaint yet hip town of Guerneville. My wife ran out of coffee on the drive and casually mentioned she wanted more. So when we passed a cool looking coffee shop we stopped. We were here to have a “date” and any spending of money was part of the program. Not that I was going to get anything. I’d chugged down three cups by that time and was good.

This was one of those cool coffee shops that roast their own coffee and bake their own goods. The people going into the shop sported dreadlocks and flip flops and every so often the wonderfully deep smell of potent marijuana blanketed my sinuses. As soon as we got in line I wanted to buy something. Even though I just told myself before stepping in that I was content.

Inside, I saw fresh juices carefully lined up so as not to be missed. Juice would be healthy…and a nice way to start the hike. I reasoned. Then I saw kombucha. That would be good too. I saw behind the glass counter the croissants laid comfortably out on their wax paper bedding. How long had it been since I’ve had a croissant? Croissants and I go way back. And it felt as if ages had passed since I’d laid my paws on one of these rolls.

We had more than enough snacks in the car, and sandwiches if I really wanted, but my heart craved this buttery dough. It wanted to spend money at this mom and pop shop and support the local business. How much was the Kombucha? Oh yeah, just $6 dollars. The 10 oz. of fresh medium roasted whole beans that would definitely taste better than the Walmart brand currently in my cupboard? $15 dollars. That’s….expensive.

I was able to stop and break my train of thought and think about what was going on with me. A few moments ago outside of this hipster shop I was perfectly content. And now? Now I wanted a drink and food. And maybe some of that single-origin coffee from Ethiopia. It all smelled so good and I imagined myself enjoying a souvenir from our hike date.

What was going on with me? As soon as I’m let out of the house my FI dreams go to the wayside? On our refrigerator, we have a 72-hour rule “Impulse Purchase” list ala The Frugalwoods. It has done wonders for curbing our purchases. On this list, I have in quotes in the header:

“Do you need it…or want it? Buy freedom not stuff.”

My deeply embedded consumer instinct flashed. The difference now from times past was that I identified the thoughts rather than acting on instinct. Was a $6 dollar croissant going to destroy our savings rate? Would it in any way impact my 7-year deal to retire early? No, it wouldn’t. And maybe I should have treated myself to something. After all, I was out with Mrs. Disengaged and the place was a mom and pop shop…my favorite kind of business.

But deep down, I knew that this was just an impulse. My demon. If I gave in this time I would only be feeding a bear, that would one day return knowing where to find me and knowing it would be fed.

I walked out of there $10 to $6 dollars richer.

The Hike

When we got to the park it was early enough that we could park on the side of the road and not have to pay to get in. I changed into my trusty hiking boots a pair of Columbia’s I’d purchased a while back for rainy days at work. Mrs. Disengaged took a trip to the sky. And we headed in.

Right away the elevation changed startled us. This must be the steepest part. We started sweating. I needed to take off my flannel. Why did I bring a flannel? My wife was carrying the backpack and when I offered to put it in she shook her head.

“No stopping.” She said. “Or you carry it.”

I agreed. But there were strings attached. I had to carry her coffee thermos which was tied to the side and swung heavily with each strenuous stride uphill. This led to a little disagreement. She ended up with the back pack and I had a flannel and vest around my waist.

But after that burst of exertion related frustration between us, it was a magnificent hike and time. Quality time. Just the two of us. After a mile everyone on the trail peeled off and it was just her and I for the next 3.5 hours. The uphill climb lasted nearly 2 hours. We saw wildlife. Hiked through giant ancient redwoods. One of them was 1,400 years old. We went through burning hot bee filled meadows. Shady oak groves. Our lunch was spent on a crooked old picnic bench randomly placed in a turnout off a paved road at the top of the mountain.

When we got back down to the “common” trails where the biggest redwoods were, the park was packed. We strolled amid the crowds, missing our little ones again after seeing other kids. But the time away was worth it and needed. Redwood forests feel different than other types of forests I’ve ever been in. The shadowy clean floors spotted with ferns and carpeted by clovers. The primordial atmosphere around these towering trees permeates the soul. You are just a passing cloud to these ancient redwoods. Some of these trees have been alive since the Fall of Rome. They’ve lived through the crusades, the colonization of America, and survived the mass unregulated logging of the industrial revolution.

In the midst of these old and wise trees, you sense the shortness of your life span, the insignificance of it compared to the age of the world. And yet there is a feeling of well being too, knowing that you are somehow connected to this place. Knowing that this ancient place you’ve experienced will live on through the centuries, and future generations will experience exactly the same place; see the same things, possibly feel the same sense of mortality and immortality, somehow makes you feel high.

All in all the date cost $6, for her cappuccino at the coffee shop. Next time I know to bring my own back pack. And croissant.