Review of "Those Darn Stripes" by Tyrel Nelson

​Score: 92/100 (9.2 out of 10)

We LOVE Tyrel Nelson's travel books!

Nelson truly brings these international adventures to life in a warm, heartfelt, and fascinating way! Well, Those Darn Stripes is quite a bit different. Yes, this book still follows Nelson's travels with habitat for humanity (like Travels and Tribulations, the author's previous book); however, they seem much more concerned with his personal life and relationships with people. And that's not a con, it's actually good thing.

So, this isn't just a travel memoir. It's actually a bit more like a mosaic memoir: 25 short autobiographical pieces, framed by photographs (which really liven things), that capture roughly thirty-one months in the author’s life as he processes grief, memory, family, friendship, love, depression, and self-understanding.

At the heart of the book is his father, Jay. The opening piece, “Not a Plain Jay,” is basically the emotional key that unlocks everything else. Jay is introduced as a rough-edged, blue-collar ironworker: tough, stubborn, heavily scarred, routine-driven, profane, and fiercely independent. But Nelson keeps peeling him back until the image becomes much richer. Beneath the gruffness is a deeply loving father who checks on people, supports his ex-wife, encourages his sons, and quietly lives by loyalty rather than performance. The father’s quote near the front of the book about accepting “those darn stripes” also gives the memoir its philosophical center: be what you are, honestly, empathetically, and without pretending to be something else.

We learn that Nelson's father is also his "best friend." And some of the most powerful parts of this book are Nelson trying to do right by his father as he battles and slowly succumbs to pancreatic cancer. The post powerful part of this entire book—which spans continents and times—is simply Nelson and his father exchanging "I love you."

There's a photograph that the author presents of his "father's favorite tree." With that context, this simple photograph just hits so much harder.

His father's words echo throughout this book, especially "Appreciate those who love you."

At the same time, the memoir is not only about loss. It is also about the people who keep the narrator afloat. The later section on Megan and Andra makes that plain. Nelson frames their friendship not as a side note, but as something he is profoundly grateful for, almost beyond what the book can hold. That matters because it keeps the memoir from collapsing into darkness. Even while grieving, he is still noticing kindness, companionship, and the people who helped him endure.

Some of our favorite parts of the book involve Nelson's relationships with women. It's very... cute and endearing.

Of all of Nelson's books, this is probably the most romantic.

Amanda was the author’s girlfriend, introduced in the chapter “Amanda and the Arboretum.” Their chemistry is playful and lived-in. She is introduced as a “blonde spitfire” who teases him for the missed exit and imitates his complaining, and he plainly loves that she can put him in his place. That dynamic is a big part of their spark. She is energetic, sharp, and fun, while he seems amused and steadied by her.

Some of their best moments are at the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum. They roam the gardens together, admire flowers and trails, tackle the giant mazes, and she repeatedly races ahead calling him “slowpoke.” What stands out is how much her personality animates the whole afternoon. Even when the drive there was tense and the traffic home was awful, she refuses to let the day sour. She sings along to her CD in the car, and he ends the chapter by saying that was “classic Amanda,” always enjoying the ride and always by his side. That is really sweet chemistry. It feels like the chemistry of a couple who know each other’s flaws and still genuinely enjoy being together.

Alyssa is the book’s biggest female presence and most likely the relationship you were especially remembering. She is the author’s girlfriend later in the memoir, and she shows up across multiple chapters. Even the front matter notes the author photo is by Alyssa, which is a nice little sign of her importance.

Their chemistry feels very immediate, affectionate, and natural. In “A New Dawn,” they bond during the miserable twenty-six-hour airport/travel ordeal on the way to Guatemala. Instead of the delay ruining things, it becomes a kind of accidental romantic origin story. They joke, take silly pictures, talk easily, and she playfully comments that his veins would be good for starting IVs. That little moment is oddly specific and charming, the kind of thing that makes real chemistry feel real. He leaves that chapter thinking the chaos was memorable because he experienced it with someone who made it memorable.

In “Lucky Man,” their chemistry becomes even more obvious. They spend the day at Minnehaha Falls, making a game out of muddy trails and puddles, holding hands, teasing each other, singing, ruining each other’s tunes, and taking goofy selfies with the camera held over their heads. That is one of the book’s best relationship snapshots because it shows them not in some grand cinematic romance, but in something better: two people who genuinely have fun together. He ends by reflecting on how incredible it is that they met in those airports and saying he cannot imagine being without her.

In “On Call,” the chemistry deepens because it shows how he learns to love not just Alyssa the person, but Alyssa’s demanding life. She is a cardiovascular technologist who can be paged away at any hour, and the chapter shows him trying to understand her work, her schedule, and her stress. He admits it was hard at first to adjust to her disappearing suddenly, but he chooses empathy. That gives the relationship weight. It is not just flirting and dates. It is adaptation, respect, and love.

Then there is “Rose Garden,” which may be the most emotionally revealing Alyssa chapter. She is away in Europe, and he is absolutely miserable without her. He notices tiny details about her, like how she reaches for forks from the bottom of the drawer so they all get used. That is such a good intimacy detail. It tells you he is paying attention to her habits because he loves her. He wanders around feeling hollow, visits the rose garden for comfort, and finally gets a call from Austria. That ending says a lot. Their chemistry is not just banter anymore. It has become longing.

Megan and Andra are also in here. These two are not romantic interests, but they are absolutely among the most important women in the book. They are close female friends, and their chemistry with the author is strong in a different way: witty, loyal, emotionally safe, and grounded in real support. He meets them through VISTA, the first conversation is awkward, but the friendship quickly clicks during training in Indianapolis when they bond over burnout, sarcasm, travel, and shared values.

Their highlight moments are less flirty and more meaningful. He says they were among the few people who truly showed up for him after his father’s diagnosis. They reached out, emailed encouragement, got him out for coffee, listened to him, talked to him directly when others avoided him, hugged him at his father’s funeral, and remained supportive afterward. That is powerful chemistry too, just in friendship form rather than romance. He is very clear that they mattered enormously and that he owes them a lot.

Oh, and all the mushy stuff should not completely overshadow Nelson's adventures. We still get plenty of the travel writing and lived experience that made us enjoy his work in the first place. There are memorable snapshots involving Habitat for Humanity, international travel, illness on the road, near-misses, nature, and those little unpredictable moments that make real life feel fuller than fiction. One minute, Nelson is reflecting on grief or romance, and the next, he is dealing with food poisoning in Antigua, dangerous driving conditions, or the kinds of small travel mishaps that become legendary stories later. That balance helps the book a lot.

We also like that Nelson is willing to show unflattering emotions. He does not try to present himself as endlessly wise, noble, or emotionally composed. He shows frustration, loneliness, depression, awkwardness, and vulnerability. That honesty gives the memoir credibility. It feels like a real person trying to make sense of real pain, not someone polishing their life into a fake inspirational product.

The fragmented structure may not be for everyone. Readers looking for one long, tightly-plotted story may find this more scattered than Nelson's more straightforward travel-focused books. But we actually think that structure works for the subject matter. Grief, memory, friendship, and love often do come back in flashes, places, photographs, and moments. This book understands that.

At its best, Those Darn Stripes is about learning to appreciate the people who love you before it is too late. That idea echoes through the entire book, especially in the sections involving Jay. There is something deeply affecting about how much this memoir values ordinary human connection: a father checking in, a girlfriend singing in the car, friends showing up for coffee, a phone call from Austria, a simple "I love you." Those moments are not treated as small. They are the book.

Check it out on Amazon!