Smooth

The Rolling Steel Tent has no windows in the sliding side door, just recesses where windows would go on other models. When I prepared the van for habitation I glued insulation board into the recesses and then, because I was running out of time, resources and patience, I duct taped Reflectix over the foam board, and painted it. Not elegant, but functional.

I got tired of looking at the door and one day I ripped off the tape and Reflectix. I had a plan to cover the exposed insulation with something else. That plan didn't work out. Over the ensuing months I got even more tired of looking at the new mess. And at the Pink Panther mocking me.

But since I've been at Forrest's shop I've had more than enough time to form an alternate plan. And I've had the resources and assistance to get 'er done.

Much better

While I was at it, I made some strips to cover the holes along the joint of the wall and roof. I had covered them before with aluminum tape. Shiny, but not that attractive.

The white door reminds me of a gallery wall. I guess I need some art now. Something without a pink cartoon pitchman.

Note to self

I feel a little empty

I dropped my passport renewal forms in the mail today. Of course, that means sending off my passport as well. Even though I won't be needing it for a while, it feels very weird not having it around. My previous passport is somewhere in the Rolling Steel Tent. I should get it out. Maybe I'll sleep with it, like a wanderer's teddy bear.

Keeping a cool head

My sympathies go out to those who have been suffering through triple-digit heat this summer. Even though it's cooler up here at 7,000+ feet, it's still warmer than I like. But, as they say, it's a dry heat. That means various forms of evaporative cooling can work. Sometimes it doesn't take much.

During my post-lunch siesta (hurray for retirement) I did the old Damp Wash Cloth On the Face Trick. It was assisted by the shade inside the Rolling Steel Tent, a bit of natural breeze through the open doors, and my O2 Cool fan. The fan was about eight feet away.

It's surprising how just having a cool forehead makes the rest of me feel sufficiently comfortable. Hey, the brain is the most important part, right?

One particularly hot day when I had to work in the sun I soaked my ball cap. That was great, except for the occasional drip onto my work. If it had been seriously hot I could have soaked my shirt as well.

When we're not living in buildings, when we don't have easy access to climate control and the gobs of power it takes to run it, the key is to heat/cool the body rather than the space. And sometimes it only needs to be part of the body.

Away from the shop

Knock knock

The door is temporarily clamped in place for the purposes of contemplation, discussion and measurements. Oh, and that's a flooring sample on the left.

Today

The back interior wall, complete with window openings, is in place. The remaining wall will go up once some questions about the door are resolved.

In stitches

I sleep under my summer-weight down quilt nearly every night. It's a king size even though by bed is a twin. I like to have its bulk around me. As I posted last month, feathers occasionally escape. More so lately. Thirty-five years of use has caused some holes along the edges.

I finally remembered to get some white thread. And I found my needles. So it was repair day. There were thee holes/tears about a quarter inch long and dozens of tiny ones feathers could still slip through.

My late mother would shake her head at my crude sewing technique, but my concern is function far more than appearance. After all, it's dark and my eyes are closed when I use the quilt. And there's no one to award points for neatness.

Open wide

“What interesting places should I see?”

Usually the people asking that question have innocent intentions, but it gets my cranky old man hackles up. To me it’s part of the spoon-fed culture. To me it means those people don’t have opinions of their own, that they lack curiosity and ambition and a willingness to go find out. To me it means they don’t want to put in the time and the effort and the miles and the money to learn for themselves, to create their own experiences and library of knowledge. They seem (dare I say it?) lazy.

On the other hand, I totally respect people who say, “Okay, I’ve heard about and read about all the usual must-see places, but I’m looking for tips on less well known—even obscure—places, especially those that fit with (insert personal interests here).” These folks have done some research. They know what their preferences are. They listen to the stories, ask about details, take notes, then go find out more. Yes. Good.

Maybe the first type of people have always been told by authority figures what to do and what to think. Maybe now they’re trying to escape all that but haven't developed the mental tools and habits of mind to do it on their own, because it was discouraged. Sometimes strongly. Okay. I can empathize if that’s the case. Though it’s probably rare.

When I answer the question at the top of this post with, “Go everywhere, see everything, find out for yourself,” it’s only a little bit out of disgust and resentment. Mostly it’s about me wanting the questioner to becoming a better, bolder, fuller, more knowledgeable and more independent person. I’m doing it for their own good, because that’s what we cranky old men do. Whether you asked for it or not.

The Jung and the restless

A Jungian archetypes quiz showed up on a friend’s Facebook feed. Here’s a heavy duty explanation of Jungian archetypes, and here’s a lightweight one.

I’m no disciple of Carl Jung (Freud neither, for that matter) but psychology and culture are interesting. So, what the hell, I took the quiz.

I wasn’t surprised it concluded I have a lot in common with the Explorer archetype. I was only surprised the quiz wasn’t totally wrong, like most other online quizzes I’ve done. (No, I’m not 23 years old. My true passion is not economics. I don’t binge watch Star Trek: The Next Generation. My power color isn’t maroon. And so on.)

This is supposedly the Jungian Explorer:

Motto: Don't fence me in
Core desire: the freedom to find out who you are through exploring the world
Goal: to experience a better, more authentic, more fulfilling life
Biggest fear: getting trapped, conformity, and inner emptiness
Strategy: journey, seeking out and experiencing new things, escape from boredom
Weakness: aimless wandering, becoming a misfit
Talent: autonomy, ambition, being true to one's soul

Yeah. I'll buy that, if only because it’s telling me what I want to hear. However, I don't consider aimless wandering a weakness.

Burn it down

I’m still reading about the Anasazi. Even though they built cities, they were primarily wanderers. “Tethered wanderers” as some archeologists say. When it was time to move on, to go where water and game were, they would burn their homes in sort of rituals of leaving. They would lay out certain items, like a basket of corn meal nested in a basket of corn, covered by an overturned decorative bowl. Or an urn of turquoise nuggets. Or a headless rattlesnake straight as an arrow. We can only speculate why, but these offerings or symbols or charms tell us they destroyed their homes with a purpose. Maybe the burnings were to say, “We’re done here. This part of our lives is over. Don’t look back.”

If so, I can totally relate. I got to the point I was so done with home ownership and everything that goes with it that I could've burned it all down. (Except I needed the money from the sale of the house.) That part of my life was over. I wasn’t looking back. Would the new owner mind if I left a snake on the living room floor?

Downsizing, getting rid of a household of stuff, giving up cherished items—it’s a common theme on van dweller forums. It can be overwhelming. And, with some people, you can sense the ambivalence. They want to go, but is there some way to hold onto the old life, too?

Maybe modern Western culture needs rituals of leaving. Maybe we need intentional fires—actual or metaphorical—in our lives, burning it all down and starting fresh.

A day of stuff

It was a busy day at the shop. Forrest got an auxiliary gas tank installed on his project truck. More gasoline = more adventuring.

Lou and I (mostly Lou) made progress on the cabinetry. The stove/oven goes in the large opening. The The fridge will be on top of the counter, on the far left.

Counter top and doors not shown

But best of all, as far as I'm concerned, my new windshield was installed.

Forrest lends Pat the glass guy a hand

However, I'm having trouble dealing with the fact Forrest paid for the windshield. It was a surprise. A very very nice one, since I like not needing to spend money. But, I don't know, it just didn't seem right. True, I've been donating my time on his project, so it's fair for him to donate in return. He has already been feeding us and letting us use his bathroom and shower, and that seemed like enough. (Wow! Free showers! A boondocker's dream come true.) Maybe I don't value my time that much. Or maybe I underestimate what my help means to him.

I'm not racing up Pikes Peak, but...

The Rolling Steel Tent has modest power for its size and weight, so it needs to be in lower gears, revving like a maniac, to climb steep grades. That generates extra heat—sometimes faster than the cooling system can deal with it. In the previous blog entry I mentioned pausing from my climb out of Black Canyon of the Gunnison to let the engine cool down. The temperature hadn't reached the dangerous range (which I knew because I watch my gauges, unlike some people), but there was an opportunity to pull off the road, so I did. Take care of the engine and the engine will take care of you.

Last week, elsewhere in Colorado, race drives not in cargo vans containing all their earthy possessions were screaming up the steep grades of Pikes Peak. They had engine cooling issues of their own—because of the elevation. As driver/car owner Rob Holland explained in Jalopnik:

First and foremost is that all cars struggle with overheating to varying degrees at Pikes Peak.  The air above 10,000 feet, and while cooler, it is also very thin and very dry. That combination is the worst-case scenario for cooling, as air at that altitude has very little convective capability and overall heat capacity.

Ah, thin air. I hadn't ever thought of that. I'll have to keep it in mind.

More wandering

I woke up alone at the compound. Lou was off fishing and Forrest was somewhere else. So I took off, too, with no actual plan. That lack of intent found me driving up Owl Creek Pass in the Cimarron Mountains west of town.

Chimney Rock

I chilled a little then continued on to Silver Jack Reservoir. The last time I was up here, last year, the place was crowded with RVs and anglers. This time it was deserted. I guess the crowds are holding off until Independence Day weekend. And, well, it was the middle of the week. I chilled some more.

The road eventually connects with US 50. I figured I'd just take 50 to Montrose then back to Ridgway. But the sign for Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park caught my eye. Hey, why not. I'd been to the north rim but not the south. And I had my Interagency Senior Pass.

At the south rim park entrance there's a paved road down to the river, at East Portal. It's narrow and steep—a 16% grade. Yes, sixteen, not six. I put the Rolling Steel Tent in first gear to save my brakes on the way down. There's fishing access and a campground. I chilled some more. Although the park's unofficial slogan is Deep, Steep and Narrow, East Portal isn't as dramatic. So I chugged back up to the rim in first gear, stopping a few minutes at a large pullout to let the engine cool.

Looking east from near the visitor center

The trouble with being at Black Canyon at midday, just after the summer solstice, is that the sun is almost directly overhead. That doesn't make for very interesting lighting. As photographers say, it's flat. I went from overlook to overlook seeking lighting that best fit the drama of the place. This is the best I could do. A different time of day in a different season would've been better, but still...

It's over 2,000 feet down to the river

Lou was back by the time I returned. He'd had a good day of fishing. It turned out I had driven past him near Silver Jack Reservoir. I didn't know that was where he'd gone. Or maybe he had mentioned it beforehand and I didn't consciously take note of it. Maybe my subconscious did, which is the reason I went that direction. Strange world. And beautiful.

Rectangular holes

What looks like plywood Swiss cheese is actually the front panel of the Baultmobile kitchen cabinets.