TECH & TRAVEL TIP: Don't Forget the Road Trip
We talk a lot about air travel—and for good reason. SCOTTeVEST was built to solve the chaos of airports, security lines, and overhead bins.
But here’s the reminder I want to make as we load up the car for a 1,000-mile drive home from Palm Springs: SCOTTeVEST is just as powerful on the road.
But here’s the reminder I want to make as we load up the car for a 1,000-mile drive home from Palm Springs: SCOTTeVEST is just as powerful on the road.
Long drives are their own kind of endurance event. Hours behind the wheel. Frequent stops. Weather changes. Phones, chargers, glasses, snacks, dog gear, keys, paperwork—all the stuff you don’t want buried in a duffel behind three poodles and a suitcase.
That’s where SCOTTeVEST quietly shines.
When everything you actually need is on your body, you’re not rummaging. You’re not twisting around in the seat. You’re not pulling over because your phone cord, sunglasses, or AirPods disappeared into the abyss of the back seat.
On this trip I’m wearing the Tropiformer 3D, which is ideal for road travel: Lightweight. Comfortable. Slightly water-resistant. Sleeves that come off and stow instantly. Magnetic closures that snap back into place without thinking about it. Hood when you need it, gone when you don’t.
Pair that with our Elevated Everyday Joggers (elastic waistband matters more than you think after hour six), and suddenly you’ve got a setup designed for actual movement, not just sitting pretty.
Road trips demand readiness: Backup phones. Charging batteries. Glasses. Cleaning cloths. Tire pressure monitor. ChapStick (apparently a lot of it). Dog essentials. Wallet stored deep enough that you’re not sitting on it for 14 hours.
The philosophy is the same as flying:
Everything you need, instantly accessible, without stopping your flow.
We may have built SCOTTeVEST in airports. But it earns its keep mile after mile on the open road.
Everything you need, instantly accessible, without stopping your flow.
We may have built SCOTTeVEST in airports. But it earns its keep mile after mile on the open road.
Watch the video here, where I empty all my pockets before the big trip.
BEHIND THE SEAMS: Amazon Shipping
If you’ve ever wondered why Amazon seems to offer free shipping, free returns, instant refunds, and near-telepathic delivery speeds, while small brands like ours don’t, it’s a fair question. We hear it all the time.
So let’s talk about it openly.
Amazon didn’t invent free shipping. They just hid the cost better than anyone else in history.
Amazon owns its own delivery trucks. Its own planes. Its own warehouses. Its own logistics software. It operates at a scale where shaving pennies off millions of shipments adds up to billions. And even then, “free” shipping isn’t actually free. It’s subsidized by Prime memberships, marketplace fees, seller fees, storage fees, advertising fees, and margins that only exist at massive scale.
Small businesses don’t have that luxury.
When SCOTTeVEST ships a product, we pay real, unavoidable costs: inbound freight, warehouse storage, pick-and-pack labor, packaging, outbound shipping, credit card processing, and a team of customer service pocket experts. We don’t own trucks. We don’t own planes. We don’t get sweetheart carrier rates that only kick in at mind-bending volume.
Could we offer “free shipping both ways on everything”? Absolutely. But here’s the part most brands won’t say out loud: The only way to do that is to raise the price of every single product to cover those costs.
That means customers who know their size, study the size chart, and get it right the first time would be subsidizing customers who order three sizes with the intent of returning two. We don’t think that’s fair.
Instead, we made a conscious choice. We offer free shipping on orders over $200, because at that point the economics make sense for both of us.
And we keep our product pricing honest, without baking hidden logistics costs into every jacket, vest, or hoodie.
We also do something else most brands don’t: We openly link to our Amazon listings on our own site.
And we keep our product pricing honest, without baking hidden logistics costs into every jacket, vest, or hoodie.
We also do something else most brands don’t: We openly link to our Amazon listings on our own site.
Why? Because we know some people prefer Amazon. Maybe it’s convenience. Maybe it’s familiarity. Maybe it’s a first-time purchase where they just want the lowest friction possible. That’s okay.
What we’ve found time and time again, is that many of those customers come back to us directly later. And when they do, they unlock things Amazon simply can’t offer:
- Coupon codes and exclusive promotions
- Our loyalty rewards program
- Live phone, email, and chat support from real humans
- Styles, colors, and sizes Amazon doesn’t carry
- Pickpocket guarantees on many products
- And the assurance that every item is authentic, unworn, and handled by us—not a third-party reseller with lesser quality standards
Amazon is an incredible logistics company. But it’s a tough place for small brands. Between referral fees, fulfillment fees, storage fees, advertising costs, and compliance requirements, Amazon often takes a significant percentage of every sale, sometimes shockingly so.
We’re not anti-Amazon. We use it ourselves. But we are pro-transparency.
We’d rather explain the math than quietly raise prices and pretend shipping is “free.” We believe most customers would rather understand what they’re paying for, and why, than be fooled by accounting gymnastics.
We’re not anti-Amazon. We use it ourselves. But we are pro-transparency.
We’d rather explain the math than quietly raise prices and pretend shipping is “free.” We believe most customers would rather understand what they’re paying for, and why, than be fooled by accounting gymnastics.
So if you choose to shop with us directly, thank you. You’re supporting a small independent business that still answers the phone, still obsesses over product details, and still believes trust matters.
And if you start on Amazon and come back later?
We’ll be here, pockets and all.
We’ll be here, pockets and all.
MY TRAVELS WITH STRANGE MEN - Part II: Africa, Friction, and the Discipline of Paying Attention
I had just come off a trip that reminded me why I travel at all.
A few months earlier, I’d taken an impulsive journey with Scott Eddy, aka a strange man I barely knew, and it turned out to be unexpectedly meaningful. I came home lighter, not because of what I carried, but because of what I shed along the way. The trip with Scott Eddy, my first strange man trip, inspired me to go on another trip with another strange man.
We were at a dinner party, Glenn and his wife, Vicki, at our house, talking about the world reopening after COVID. He explained that he had a fishing trip planned and several unfilled days beforehand. Safari came up. Africa came up. That sense of now or never hung in the air.
We were at a dinner party, Glenn and his wife, Vicki, at our house, talking about the world reopening after COVID. He explained that he had a fishing trip planned and several unfilled days beforehand. Safari came up. Africa came up. That sense of now or never hung in the air.
So when Glenn mentioned Africa and the Seychelles, I didn’t hesitate.
“That sounds like fun,” I said.
And I meant it.
“That sounds like fun,” I said.
And I meant it.
Why Africa Was Different
Africa had always been unfinished business for me.
Years earlier, I had planned to go with my father. I believed, and still do, that certain places are so humbling, so overwhelming, that they make old arguments feel small. That trip never happened. My father and I never fully reconciled.
Africa felt like a chance to sit with that reality rather than fix it.
Flying into Johannesburg felt like crossing a threshold. Within a day, I was on a small plane headed toward safari, the kind of travel where every pound matters. Strict baggage limits. No excess. No “just in case.”
This is where I’ll say something practical: traveling in Africa teaches discipline. And having clothing that lets you carry function instead of bulk matters. Pockets replace bags. Weight disappears. Movement becomes easier. That freedom, especially on small aircraft, changes how you experience the trip.
Less stuff. More presence.
Safari: Awe Without Illusion
There are moments on safari that permanently reset your internal scale.
One afternoon, we sat in an open Land Rover, no doors, no barriers, watching a pride of lions feed on the remains of a fresh elephant kill. We were close enough to hear bone crack. Close enough to feel exposed.
No glass. No soundtrack. No illusion of control.
You don’t move suddenly. You don’t speak loudly. You don’t pretend you’re dominant.
You just watch. And you understand your place.
That moment alone would have justified the entire journey.
Traveling With Glenn
Traveling with another man, especially one different from you, accelerates self-awareness.
Glenn is smart, confident, assertive, and unfiltered. Being around him continuously forced me to notice my own reactions. What irritated me. What I tolerated. What I quietly absorbed.
I found myself accommodating more than usual. Yielding space. Letting things slide. At times, I recognized patterns I’d seen growing up, roles I hadn’t realized I still slipped into.
That wasn’t comfortable. But it was instructive.
The differences between us weren’t the story. What those differences revealed about me was.
Seychelles: Beauty and the Discipline of Watching
The Seychelles could not have been more visually perfect.
Turquoise water. Granite boulders. Small boats hopping between islands, including Curieuse Island: raw, undeveloped, and breathtaking. Days stretched long. Conversations stretched thin.
One habit of Glenn’s stayed with me.
No matter what else was happening, he insisted on seeing the sunrise and the sunset. Properly. Not casually. Intentionally. Crossing the island if necessary. Timing the day around those fleeting moments.
At first, I thought it was ridiculous. The sun rises and sets every day.
Then I started watching. Really watching.
That brief pause, when strangers fall silent together as the sun touches the water, was something I’d been missing. Presence, practiced deliberately.
That ritual followed me home.
Alone Again: Integration
After the Seychelles, we went our separate ways. I returned to South Africa, then on to Cape Town.
In Johannesburg, I stayed at The Residence, where dinner felt like stepping into another century. A live pianist. Impeccable service. A multi-course meal with wine that was extraordinary in quality and shockingly accessible in price.
It wasn’t indulgent. It was civilizing.
In Cape Town, I walked for hours. I took the cable car up Table Mountain and stood there looking out over the city, the ocean, and the edge of a continent.
I discovered something else that trip, something I’ve carried forward ever since.
I started offering to take photos for strangers. Couples struggling with selfies. Families trying to capture a moment. I’d take the shot on my phone, send it to them, and move on.
It cost me nothing. It gave them something.
And it reminded me that travel isn’t just about what you see — it’s about how you show up for others while you’re seeing it.
What Changed When I Came Home
This trip changed me. Explicitly.
Traveling with Glenn forced me to see how certain behaviors land when magnified. It made me more aware of when I interrupt. When I correct. When I assert unnecessarily.
I listened more. I softened my edges. I paid attention to how my presence affects the person across from me, especially my wife.
I came home a better husband.
Not because Glenn intended to teach me anything, but because contrast is a powerful instructor.
Why I’ll Keep Saying Yes
Travel isn’t always easy. It shouldn’t be.
It challenges you. It exposes blind spots. It demands attention. And sometimes, it asks you to sit with discomfort long enough to learn from it.
Despite the risks, and maybe because of them, I’m already looking forward to the next one.
Another place. Another companion. Another lesson I didn’t know I needed. Here is the last photo I took from the trip. It is safe to say sunsets mean a bit more to me now.