Hide and seek

I always toss my wallet, key and pocket change on the counter after I’ve parked the Rolling Steel Tent at a camping spot. Almost always. Not yesterday.

I had changed out of jeans and into shorts when the day warmed up. I folded the jeans and put them back in the cupboard with the rest of yesterday’s laundry. So when the key wasn’t on the counter this morning I immediately thought, “Ah, it’s still in the jeans pocket.”

But it turned out yesterday’s jeans weren’t, as I presumed, on the top of the stack. Or the second pair down. Or the third. That’s when I remembered I had put away the laundry after changing into shorts. The correct jeans were next to the bottom.

“Normal” people often wonder how we nomads spend our time. Seems like a lot of mine goes toward trying to find things I’ve misplaced. And shuffling stacks of pants.

A short winter weather report

It’s 6:30, the sun is about to drop below the horizon, and it’s still shorts temperature. This is why being able to follow the weather is a good thing.

Three-day hold

Maidenhair Falls

Anza-Borrego Desert State Park was calling from the other side of the Imperial Valley. “Psst, Al. Al. Come on over. Take a hike to Maidenhair Falls. Visit the Slot. See the Galleta Meadows sculptures again. Free camping, friend.”

Yeah. Good idea.

The Slot

But first I’d need to get my knives back from AZ Sharpening. They’d be done Friday afternoon.

Oh. Friday. The beginning of the weekend. Weekends aren’t the best time to go to Anza-Borrego. All those folks from the San Diego area coming to the desert for R&R. All those ATV people. I’ll wait until Monday.

A typical off-roader invasion

Then, sometime during my pre-relocation errand running I realized it was Presidents Day weekend. Long weekend. Monday would not be good either.

So I wait. And adjust plans. A luxury of retirement.

We discuss the state of the world

Cowboy week is time for a new hat

I went to Los Algodones, Baja California, for shrimp tacos and meds. Decided I needed to add another hat to my collection.

It’s not an eating disorder

Through most of my middle-aged years my waist size fluctuated between 36 and 40 inches. With my gut hanging over my belt. If I had worn my pants at the proper height, at my navel, I would’ve needed 44-inch pants. Maybe 46. I was not healthy.

But, as I’ve mentioned before, the throat cancer has caused me to shed a lot of weight. Now that I can eat normally again (hallelujah) I no longer look gaunt and I’m gaining back muscle. Nonetheless, my waist keeps shrinking. And shrinking.

Today I tried on some jeans with a 30-inch waist. Perfect. I can not remember the last time I wore that size. Maybe in boys “husky” apparel? Amazing.

Feelin’ sort of cowboy this week

Lost in a small space

I have a headlamp. In fact, I briefly had two of them. I didn’t like the first one so much and gave it away shortly after getting one I liked.

I hadn’t used that headlamp in a while. (While meaning years.) So, naturally, when I did want to use it the other night, I couldn’t remember where I’d put it.

This is an all-too-familiar story with me and the Rolling Steel Tent. I put something where it makes perfect sense (at the time), or put it someplace temporary that unintentionally ends up being long-term, and then I can’t find it. I mean, there are only so many places to lose something in a vehicle. Right? Sigh.

I had a couple of vague mental images of the headlamp. It was in a thing with some other things. That made me certain the light was in one of two places.

It was in neither. And it wasn’t in several other places. Okay, systematic search time. Front to back, top to bottom.

The headlamp wasn’t (as the old wisecrack goes) in the last place I looked, it was in the last place it was possible to look. If it hadn’t been there I would have declared it lost and then bought a new one, setting me up to validate another old wisecrack: the surest way to find a lost item is to replace it. Sigh.

And you worry about mice in your engine compartment?

(it’s plastic)

Lost and found

Sometimes you find trash at a campsite. Sometimes you find treasure. This 4-way screwdriver was just sitting there, wondering when its owner would be back. I gave it a new home, even though I already had one.

Space race

Having scored an inexpensive stockpile of canned and packaged food, I had to make room for it somewhere in the Rolling Steel Tent. My storage system had become jumbled and inconvenient the past few months. Tools, food, clothing, hardware and what-the-hell-is-this-and-why-do-I-have-it just stuffed wherever they fit. It was reorganization time.

I found a lot of badly used space. Hey, how about combining these two half-full boxes into one? How about putting all the pans in one place? Oh look, this fits here much better than there. And so on.

As I worked I remembered some old advice I was given, had passed on to others, then pretty much forgotten: bags pack more efficiently than boxes. Because not only do boxes hold whatever you put in them, they hold unused empty space. Empty space that mocks your desire for compactness. Meanwhile, bags are happy to compress into whatever form you need.

So I transferred things like ibuprofen, gauze pads and nitrile gloves from their partially empty bottles and boxes and into zip lock bags. All those rechargeable AA batteries? Off their blister packs and into zip lock bags. Those three remaining pencils from a box of eight? Bag ‘em. You get the idea.

Not only did I find room for the new supplies, I was able to rid myself of a shoebox-sized container and three foil pans that had held small odds and ends. Anyone want them? Right now they’re just taking up space.

Fly, mi amigos, fly!

Eatin’ cheap

There are a couple of vendors during Quartzsite's high season that sell deeply discounted grocery items. Canned and packaged foods, toiletries and cleaning products, pet foods and such. They buy up excess stock and pass the savings onto you and me.

The catch is that most items aren’t the big brands. And there isn’t any fresh produce or meats. But I stocked up on canned fruit and veggies, soups, condiments and protein bars (six for a dollar). And imitation Oreos.

In a far corner of one vendor’s tent they have big number 10 cans of vegetables and sauces for your next community soiree. Or kinky erotic adventure. Mmmmmm, pudding. Only three bucks a can.

My favorite British Columbian

I met Atli six years ago. Each winter she takes a break from the dismal weather in Vancouver and hangs out with us dismal nomads in Arizona. Well, except for that winter she went to Hawaii instead. We’ve almost forgiven her for that.

This year she invited select friends to camp with her. I was proud and flattered to be included.

I had my aversions backwards

The forecast was for overnight lows near freezing, and it was certainly feeling like that shortly after sundown. Grumble moan whine. I could use the stove to heat the Rolling Steel Tent while I was awake, turning it on for short periods, but I couldn’t do that while sleeping. Groan mumble whine.

I got under the covers: a medium down quilt with a lightweight blanket on top. Layering, man. I pulled on my ratty old knit cap. Keep the head warm, amigo. And I thought about how miserable I was going to be. Groan mumble whine.

The temperature continued to drop and my bedding was barely adequate. I reached into the cabinet (which is easy when you’re in a tight space like a van) and grabbed my sleeping bag. I added it to the bottom of the pile. That helped. Oh, the joys of retained body heat. The groaning mumbling and whining died down and I slept well, in a semi-conscious, semi-cryogenic state.

It was 34°F/1°C inside the van when I woke in the middle of the night to pee. That’s when I had a mini epiphany: It’s not sleeping in the cold that I hate. It’s being awake in the cold.

Come sit a spell

An ancient spirit came to visit but couldn’t sit still.