I went down to the crossroad

When you drive way out into the desert (King Valley in the Kofa National Wildlife Refuge, in this case) you can start to wonder what you're doing out there and whether the road leads to anything other than more of the same. The map of the NWR says it does. So you continue on the rattly dirt road, wondering if you missed the turn.

Then, finally, a sign. A sign that seems out of place here in the middle of nowhere. Not just the expected beat up, bullet dinged little sign on a stake a Jeep had run over. A nice new sign. A sign that says, "No, you're not lost, not out of touch with civilization. The US Fish & Wildlife Service is watching over you. Proceed with confidence, citizen."

As for the name. Is it pronounced Double Ought Junction? Or is it Oh-Oh, as in "Oh-oh, the wheel just came off?" Or, maybe Zero Zero, as in not just nothing—twice as much nothing. Or simply Oo. Unfortunately, there was no local person—or person of any sort—to provide the answer. Whatever the proper pronunciation, it was where I needed to turn. Left.

Ghost hunting

About ten miles up a fairly decent dirt road from US95, surrounded by the Kofa National Wildlife Refuge and the Yuma Proving Grounds, is the Castle Dome Mine Museum and ghost town. Some of it was brought in from old mines in the region, some of it is a recreation. All of it got me wondering about the type of people who would dig holes here looking for wealth. Or even just a subsistence living. Hard people. Driven people. Not people who blogged.

One of the early van dwellers

The Rolling Steel Tent's grandfather, Castle Dome, Arizona

Probably very tasty, whatever it is

Yuma, Arizona

Really big van

Friends Donna and Mark had been full-timing in a Ford van with a utility trailer in tow. You know a marriage is strong when it can survive quarters that close. But they knew they'd be happier with more room. They got this ultra cool, cruisetastic, vintage, GMC motor coach.

After making sure all the mechanical systems were in top condition, they've turned to reworking the interior to fit their needs.

Too bad they don't make these anymore. They're the one RV I truly like. Compact, efficient, well designed. And yellow! Take that, all you boxy clone RVs.

Can I be a peninsula?

No man is an island… 

—John Donne

I want to be left alone.

—Greta Garbo

The salad and spaghetti had been delicious. Now a few fellow vagabonds and I were sitting around, full, contented, getting philosophical. 

The topic: What’s the most important thing you’ve learned since starting to live on the road?

My response: I learned I’m not as much of a recluse as I’d imagined.

I’ve self-identified as an introvert ever since I learned there was such a thing. (It sounded much better, more scientifically validating, than “shy.”) Being around people was exhausting, not energizing. I could happily spend hours or days alone. This book became my bible.

The full-time mobile life was a natural fit for me. The solo wanderer living apart from mainstream society. The totally independent man. A hermit on wheels. No roots, no anchors. Woot!

You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone

—Joni Mitchell

But being utterly, totally alone in the wilderness changes one’s perspective. “Normal” life is filled with intrusions and demands that make us introverts crave solitude. Take all that unwanted human interaction away, though, and one starts thinking it might be nice to have people to talk with, joke with, eat with. Not all the time, of course. That would be enervating. That would be something extroverts (ick) would do. But sometimes. Every few weeks. For a day or two. Maybe. Depending on my mood. And the weather. After all, I wouldn’t want the solitude enforcement squad to come take away my recluse credentials.

So, I guess my island would need occasional ferry service. Or a bridge. With guards.

By the gas station

Yuma, Arizona

Photos can lie

With the right composition, lighting and filters, the dreary laundromat in Niland, California, can almost look chic. If you don't look too closely. Yay, clean clothes and bedding.

I guess I got the wrong hiking shoes

I should've waited for these beauties. All natural, too!

RVs are bad at hide & seek

Even less

Something about the Slabs (probably some full time residents' collection of junk and trash) got me in the mood to edit my stuff again. I didn't get rid of a lot, but I reorganized things well enough to allow me to part with another container. Where will this end?

Seen

Stepping twice

You cannot step twice into the same river.  —Heraclitus

While Slab City isn't a river, it is different from the last time I was here. The pavement is lumpier than I remember. Messes have been cleaned up in one spot while garbage piles up somewhere else. There's new art at East Jesus and a new crew maintains Leonard Knight's Salvation Mountain. But mostly it's the seasonal migration of residents and visitors. It changes the tone of things.

Snowbird season was winding down when I arrived at the end of February, and pretty much over when I left a month later. The triple-digit heat was on its way. It was no problem finding a place to set up camp then.

But now it's the beginning of high season. I had to cruise around a while searching for a spot. My neighbors are closer than I was used to before. They probably aren't too pleased to see me occupy one of the remaining patches of open ground. It will get worse. Someone might show up and want to chase me from "their spot."

The economic and generational divide is also more obvious than before. The haves and have-nots. Those on a lark, those in desperation. The retirees and the young adults—some with kids. I'm more conscious of what parts of "town" I don't really fit into. So I ended up in sort of a voluntary segregation. I don't mind poor people. I mind people throwing trash all over the place. Sadly, the two go hand-in-hand rather often. I'm in a middle class area. True to my roots, I guess. In a vagabond way.

How long I stay this time will be influenced, in part, by how crowded it gets. I'll flee if it becomes like an RV park. Sorry, there's too much room in this country to be crammed together like that—even if it is rent-free.

Local flora

Self-assigned theme

1. Walk around the Slabs and see what sort of pairings I can photograph.

Actually, there was no assignment when I set off with my camera this morning. I was just looking for new things to shoot. I had documented a lot of the interesting stuff when I was here last. Time to get arty.