Desert life

Today's van living challenge

This screw fell out of something. I don't know what. I need to figure that out.

Gettin' all Ansel Adams on ya

My home for now

Near Cottonwood, Arizona

I am so slow

There are times when I driving down long, straight, featureless highways that I feel like a slow bug crawling on a gigantic ball. The miles I’m racking up seem to count for nothing. Sixty, seventy miles an hour? A snail’s pace.

I am so cool

The nights are getting cooler. I have various ways of measuring how chilly it is as I prepare for bed.

Do I need to roll up the windows?

Do I need to close the roof vent?

Do I need covers?

Do I need to keep my socks on?

Do I need to keep my pants on?

Do I need to wear my knit cap?

Do I need the sleeping bag in addition to the duvet?

Do I need to fire up the heater?

So far, I’ve needed to go with the heater only when we were camped near Flagstaff and at Mule Canyon. October at higher altitudes. 

When I was in California, at sea level, it was mostly window and vent open, covers just for snuggle purposes.

Now, early November, I’m at 3,500 feet. Last night was closed windows, socks on (my feet are usually cold), pants off, covers and knit cap. I could be happy if I slept like that through the winter. But maybe without the cap.

In a week or so, we’ll be going to about 850 feet elevation and 150 miles farther south. And in January I might be in Mexico. We’ll see.

Boo!

The beaches were fun, but a bit tame compared to Dias de los Muertos night at Hollywood Forever Cemetery. It's too bad nighttime made it hard to get many good shots.

En garde

It takes confidence to wear a hat while surfing

“Time keeps on tickin’, tickin’ into the future.”

This unposed photo is almost a cliché by now. A young person absorbed in the trivialities of the virtual world while something beautiful happens in the real world. We old farts either chuckle at their foolishness or bewail the impending collapse of civilization.

But we all do this in some way. Maybe not glued to a smartphone or computer. Usually just caught up in the mundane demands of everyday life. 

When did you last pause to watch the sun set? Or spent unstructured, agenda-free time with people you love?

A friend says, “He who dies with the most memories wins.” What will your deathbed memories be?

While I’m on my current physical and mental journey, I’m making an effort to load in as many fine memories as I can. Among other things, I’ve pledged to myself to watch the sun set, to take notice of the planet spinning on its axis, of time passing. Because Time, that uncaring jerk, doesn’t stop for us. Tomorrow, and the next day and the next day arrive whether we’re ready or not. And they leave whether we’re done with them or not. Whether we’ve had any memorable experiences or not.

That young guy walking the beach (give him credit for being there instead of cooped up somewhere) probably thinks, like most young people, that there are decades ahead to notice the golden glow of sunsets over the Pacific. (Whoa! Where did my life go?) Maybe he has taken note of thousands already. Maybe he was on his smartphone setting up something exceptionally memorable. I hope so. What about you?

Aaargh, I'm a he-man!

This morning I stepped out of my van wearing lightweight nylon pants and a t-shirt, mesh sneakers with no socks. I was comfortable. Sure it was a little on the cool side—according to my thermometer it was 53 degrees. I’ve become acclimated. 

It helps that there’s no wind in the campground. I imagine if I climbed over the dunes to the beach I’d have a different story.

I feel a little smug, though, when I see fellow campers wearing their fleece jackets and warm hats. Wimps.

Then I think back to when I lived in a house. I would have been grumbling about the cold. Brrrr, don’t want to go out in that!

Beach-front room, $45.00

I lived in California for nineteen years, about two thirds of it in So Cal. I lived walking distance from a nice beach for five years. Yet I didn’t go that often.

“Eh, no need to go today. There will be plenty of other chances.”

Then those chances were gone. I moved east to where it was a real burden to get to the ocean. (And, I’m sorry, the Atlantic doesn’t qualify as an ocean. Well, except maybe the parts that abut the Caribbean.) Nearly all my vacations involved getting on a plane to a place with salt water and sunshine. “Bargain fares to Europe in winter? No thanks. I’d rather pay through the nose to go to the Caribbean or Mexico in high season.”

So, when I was in the California desert the other day, I thought, “What am I doing out here when the ocean is just down the highway a bit? Go west, old man, until you get wet.”

Today I’m at Carpinteria Beach. One of many that I’d never been to. It’s a classic Southern California beach. And the weather was actually rather nice this afternoon.

As far as campground prices go, the California State Beaches aren’t cheap. But they’re a steal compared to beachfront hotels. Purist van dwellers will refuse to stay anywhere that charges. Free camping only. I’m obviously not a purist. I’m an ex-Californian.

Refugio State Beach

Wheelchair-accessible picnic table

Uh-oh

Gas mileage has dropped suddenly and dramatically. Something's not right.