I’m incrementally less ignorant today

I realized something today worthy of a self-administered head smack. Like most red-blooded ‘Mericans, I was raised without the metric system. I think it was because they wanted us to suffer more. Anyway, now and then I take a stab at using metric. The other day I flipped the switch on my digital thermometer so I could start making a connection between degrees Celsius and what it feels like. For example, when I started writing this it was 30°C and felt rather warm. It’s about 86°F. Okay, I’ll use that as a reference point.

Now, about that realization: As a metrically-impaired person I looked at the two scales and thought, “Fahrenheit has 180 increments between freezing and boiling but Celsius has only 100 increments, so Fahrenheit is more precise.”  

But then my thermometer changed to 28.7°C. Oh!!! (head smack) Decimals! Duh! Both the C and F scales can use them, so there’s an infinite number of increments. A little pothole of my ignorance has been filled.

Net access

A few weeks ago I wrote how delighted (and somewhat concerned) I was to not be bothered by bugs in the Pacific Northwest. But now I’m back in the high desert and so are the bugs. Flies during the day, moths and other flying annoyances at night. The most annoying insects are the tiny flies that never land anywhere for more than a sixteenth of a second. And some variety of small nocturnal pest that always wants to tickle the crook of my right arm. It’s too warm to seal up the Rolling Steel Tent, And even though I’ve had eleven years to figure out some type of convenient screen system, well, I haven’t. So the simplest thing I can do it toss netting over me.

I’m starting to yearn for the coast when I’m done here. Or is autumn high bug season there?

Rolling wood building

My friend, Tom, is an on-and-off nomad who seems to be settling into an extended off period. Maybe a permanent one. He bought a small bit of property in the high desert of Arizona and installed a prefabricated tiny house a while back. Then a couple of days ago he had a tiny barn delivered.

I had never witnessed the delivery of prefabricated buildings before. I had imagined it would be about the same as a shipping container brought to another friend’s place in Colorado: back the truck up to the designated spot, tilt the bed, slide structure off until one end hits the ground, then drive out from under it. Scrape thud scrape boom. But this was much fancier — and far more appropriate for stick-built structures rather than steel boxes.

The barn was slid off a low tilt-bed trailer by a small tractor/forklift. Then it was shoved down the driveway and nimbly maneuvered into place. Pretty slick.

Tom is pleased

As Tom explained his vision for the barn and the rest of the property I thought how different our needs, desires and goals were. He has grand plans while I was thinking if I got a piece of land (an idea that feels alien to me) the most I’d want is a sufficiently smooth access road, a patio/parking slab, and a pit toilet. A place to simply be — once in a while.

My ideals are different from Tom’s. They were different from Lou’s. And that’s okay. Universal agreement and conformity are not necessary. It’s only a problem if a person is unable to live the way that makes them happy. I’m lucky.

Mind-altering experience

Conventional vehicle-dwelling wisdom holds that it’s a lot easier staying in the boondocks than in cities. Civilization is filled with laws and folks hostile to those living in unconventional ways. Sooner or later law enforcement or irate neighbors will come a-knockin’.

Yet my friend, Scott, has spent almost a decade living in a van up and down the West Coast — all in cities. Without trying to be stealthy. And never with any encounters. I was skeptical. I thought he was just incredibly lucky.

But since I was committed to going to Vancouver Island to take Lou’s ashes out to sea, and since there was triple-digit heat inland, I decided to take the coastal route. 

I had concluded years ago there was no such thing as free camping anywhere near the ocean. Except for the driveways of good friends, it was all private property, military facilities, or paid campgrounds that required reservations months in advance. Scott and some online resources provided some location tips, and I headed out.

My first shock was Huntington Beach. I had lived there back in the 90s. How could I get away with overnighting on one of its streets? Perfectly well, it turns out. It was just a matter of finding the right type of place. In this case it was a divided boulevard between upscale residential developments. There were tennis courts on one side and a berm on the other that blocked the view of the homes and the homeowners’ view of the various live-aboard rigs parked on the street. Police and private security vehicles passed now and then, never stopping. Well I’ll be.

Encouraged by my experience in Huntington Beach, I continued northward. And everything was fine. I used what I had learned from the tips to scope out my own locations. Up through California, Oregon and Washington to British Columbia and back. The “worst” thing was that a couple of the spots had noisy traffic late into the night and/or early in the morning. Yeah, well, civilization.

These are the places I streetdocked. It doesn’t include places I boondocked, a hotel stay, a free campground, and friends’ places.

As I said earlier, I had assumed urban areas (especially the wealthy ones) were hostile to vehicle dwellers, while rural areas were more commodious. So when I left the Coast to go to Flagstaff I expected no trouble when I parked between a church and playing field in Tehachapi. But two hours later there was The Knock. The officer informed me sleeping in vehicles was prohibited. As he checked my ID another officer arrived. Then another. Were they expecting trouble? Were they going to start some? Did they simply have nothing else to do?

After determining I had no outstanding warrants and that I was just a harmless old man passing through, they told me it was okay to sleep at the truck stop just outside the city limits. 

So as I dozed off to the sounds of idling semis and passing trains I thought about the irony of it all. And I thought about returning to the coast after I finish helping my Flagstaff friend.

Drive on!

Eleven years ago, on the first day of van life, I drove from Lexington, South Carolina to a campground near Cincinnati. Six-hundred and something miles fueled by excitement and a deep desire to get back to my true home in the West. 

The next day I logged 730 miles, ending up in Minnesota at the junction of I-35 and I-90. Part of that was through fog so thick all I could do was follow the big rig lights ahead of me and pray they didn’t lead me into the ditch.

The third day was a “short” 500 miles to Rapid City, South Dakota. While waiting for my South Dakota residency stuff I wandered to Devil’s Tower, the Badlands, Wounded Knee, Mount Rushmore, and the Crazy Horse memorial. Drive drive drive drive… 

Then off to Boise to see friends. Then onward to the Oregon Coast.

I don’t drive like that anymore. I have no desire to. And I physically and mentally can’t. I’m an old man now.

But there I was a couple of days ago, wanting to get from the Coast to Flagstaff. That meant crossing the triple-digit heat of the Central Valley and the Mojave Desert, with long empty stretches that make the trip feel even longer.

I considered various routes, including one that followed the coastline all the way to San Diego. I finally settled on starting in the late afternoon, when things should begin cooling down a little, then taking 166 east from Santa Maria, over some low mountains to the bottom of the Central Valley, passing just south of Bakersfield, then up into the hills/mountains that separate the valley from the desert. I could stop in Tehachapi, at about 4,000 feet, where it wouldn’t be as hot. Then I’d leave as soon as the sky started to lighten and blast the 300 miles across the desert to Kingman before maximum heat of the day.

I do something that makes summer driving, oh, less pleasant. I avoid using air conditioning in order to save gas. Also, I just prefer driving with the windows open when the weather allows. The wind and the connection to the outside make me more alert and refreshed. But as I was approaching Needles it got to the point where being sealed in the cooler confines of the van would not only be nicer but also kind of necessary.

There are many of us who avoid driving on holiday weekends. Argh, vacationers clogging up the roads, many of them with large, slow rigs. However, there were far fewer of them than I had feared and for more big rigs than I think I’ve ever encountered. Half of them were driving at speeds that made the other half want to pass them. You know how that goes.

So when I got to Kingman I chose to get off I-40 and it’s long slow-truck-clogged climb up to Flagstaff and take Route 66 through Peach Springs. It’s longer, and the speed limit is lower, but it was a pleasant, stress-free drive. Too bad it only gets you halfway to Flagstaff before being swallowed by I-40. But I had gotten my second or third wind and made the final 50-mile push to Flagstaff.

The Coconino forest around Flagstaff was filled with weekenders and summer-ers, but I found a decent site and collapsed. I woke up after a couple of hours and took some nourishment before going back to sleep. A day behind the wheel had wiped me out.

This morning I contacted my friend and got directions to his homestead. Then I took another nap. But I won’t be doing much driving for a while. I’ll be wearing out my old man body in other ways.

Lost somewhere on the Lost Coast

How rough was the road out to the Lost Coast? Rough enough to shake a hubcap off. These decorative covers are held on by plastic caps that look like bolts, but unless they’re screwed on just right the threads get stripped and... bye-bye.

This is my second set of hubcaps. The first ones got so loose I resorted to gluing them on. But they had to be removed to rotate the tires. So I got a new set off eBay. I checked the listings last night and there’s a guy selling these individually instead of the usual set of four. I could get just one, or should I get all four while I'm at it? At any rate, I’ll need to wait until I’m somewhere I can receive a shipment. Or I could just remove all the hubcaps and go with the rugged utilitarian look.

Vanniversary! Time for a change of direction

Yesterday marked eleven years of radically changing my life by doing the van life thing. I still love it! And I’ve really enjoyed hanging out in the Pacific Northwest this summer. But the past week or so I’ve been thinking I need to do something besides walk in the forest and stare at the ocean. Something useful (not that bliss doesn’t have its purposes).

Then a friend in northern Arizona said he could use some help winterizing the pre-fab tiny home he has on his bit of land. So farewell for now to the land of redwoods and rocky beaches, hello junipers and sage, with Ponderosa pines on the side.

I hit the road yesterday and put in over 300 miles. I’m about to head out again this morning, sticking pretty much to the coast. I’ll pause before slogging through Southern California traffic and making the mad (as in I must be crazy) dash through the still-too-hot desert. 

I spent the past few vanniversaries at Grand Canyon. I’ll do the same a few days late, then it’s tool time. I wonder how quickly I’ll readjust to higher elevation after three months at sea level.

Meanwhile, here are my last beach photos for a while. These are at the Lost Coast, the least developed, least populated, and least accessible section of the California coastline.

The literal and metaphorical less beaten path

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by

A friend had been researching possible quiet and uncrowded woodland hikes in the general Eureka area. He shared one of his finds with me, a trail along the Elk River. Events were such that I was able to go there first.

Once there I discovered there were two established trails. One was paved, wide, and flat. The other was none of those and looked far more interesting. So that’s the one I chose, of course. And though there were a couple of hills that had me panting I was happy with my choice.

That’s essentially how my life has been the past eleven years. First there was the huge diversion from my life’s paved, wide, flat path. Goodbye boring existence in a house; hello road less traveled by. That put me on a path of mental, spiritual, and physical growth. It reignited my ambition and will to live. And though there have been a couple of metaphorical hills to climb, I’m very happy with my choice.

Cliche days

The past couple of days the Pacific Northwest has been very Pacific Northwestish. The weather has been alternating between drizzle, heavier rain, overcast, and more drizzle. And wind. The only time I ventured outside was to transfer my trash to a bin at a scenic overlook.

But I’m fine. That surprises me. I usually get antsy and cranky and depressed in wet weather. I guess I’ve adjusted — but not to the point of becoming one of the Mole People. I still prefer sunshine and open doors and windows.

Out on a limb

Eureka and Arcata California are situated along Humboldt Bay and Arcata Bay which are separated from the Pacific by narrow peninsulas. I drove out to the end of the northern peninsula yesterday and spent several hours just chilling and being free.

Access to the paved road from the picnic area where I had parked is rather lumpy, a combination of holes, humps, and ruts. As I was slowly making my across it at the end of the day I heard a loud thump against the bottom of the Rolling Steel Tent. I assumed I had kicked up a rock. But as I continued I thought I heard (along with the thumping of tires, the various noises of things shifting around in the van, and Roxanne on the radio) a scraping and vibrating sound. Had I broken something? I got out to look.

There was a seven-foot tree branch, about and inch in diameter, wedged between the front wheel and the inner fender. Well there’s my problem. I pulled it out and deposited it off the “road.” Little things sent my way to make my day interesting.

Grass attack

Spend a while in the desert and you realize nearly every plant wants to stab you. But, of course, that’s not the only home of vicious vegetation. Now I’ve been reminded the Pacific Northwest has lots of briars and brambles too. And there’s a grass that, despite its docile appearance, wants to poke its tiny spines in you, all in the name of spreading its seeds. Fortunately, the goal is to have the prickly seeds fall off somewhere, so the poky bits don’t have barbs. Nevertheless, you’d rather not remove them with your bare fingers. I got about half of them off my shoes with a whiskbroom then used tweezers to get the rest. Well, it’s one way to spend a lazy afternoon. I’m very glad none of them found their way to my rug where my bare feet would find them.

Some comic (A. Whitney Brown, maybe) said he’s a vegetarian not because he loves animals but because he hates plants. I think that’s fair, because there are so many plants that hate us. I haven’t even gotten into the toxic ones.

Timing

I had spent the day at Clam Beach and was returning to Arcata when a patch of heavy rain hit. Rain is good, but not the best thing when driving, when your wipers are barely keeping up, when the water on the windshield is backlit by the western sky, and when there is additional glare from various lights.

I knew which street I wanted to turn on, yet despite having been in Arcata for a couple of weeks I didn’t have landmarks memorized. Furthermore, the street signs are small and the names are smaller: F, G, H… And in the rain-blurred conditions H and K look the same. So do L and I. But I knew there was a traffic light at the street I wanted, and there was one that seemed to be in the right place, so I turned — the wrong way onto a one-way street. With a bus headed toward me.

I managed to swerve to the curb and the protection of a parked truck. I gave my best “I messed up, I’m stupid and sorry” look at the bus driver as he scowled back. There was no further traffic so I pulled into a parking lot and got properly oriented. 

Then the rain stopped. That got me thinking of movies like Sliding Doors and Run Lola Run about how a few seconds’ change in timing can alter what happens later, and how chance might play a large role in the direction of our life. 

There had been no reason to leave Clam Beach at the moment I did. It was just, “Okay, I guess I’ll go.” So I ended up in heavy rain that contributed to me making a wrong turn. But I’ll never know what much worse or much better things I missed by leaving at that instant.

Thermal fluctuations

Summer temperatures along the northern Pacific Coast have been fairly even. Upper 60s in the day, upper 40s at night. An easy, predictable, twenty-degree cycle (unlike the big daily temperature swings in the desert). My “down alternative” quilt has been perfect under these conditions, and by perfect I mean I haven’t needed to think about my sleeping temperature at all.

However, the other night I woke up after a couple of hours because I was too warm. Okay. I switched to my lightweight blanket. That was better.

 Then I woke up later feeling just a little too chilly. I thought, “I’ll simply adjust my perception. The chill is like having air conditioning, right?” 

But I knew the night would continue to cool down until sunrise. I had lazily dumped the quilt on the floor, so I pushed the blanket aside and pulled the quilt over me. Of course, without my body generating heat the quilt was now cool, but in a nice cool-side-of-the-pillow way. And it warmed up quickly.

My struggle with the right bedding (and clothing) is usually an early spring/late fall thing as the seasons try to make up their mind. But the middle of August is late summer, and even autumn isn’t that different from summer in these parts. It must be me; an old geezer thing. Oh yay.

The locals know the best fishing spots

Sometimes I get to the viewpoint at the right time

Greetings from Trinidad, California