Luck is not a plan

Saturday I posted how lucky I am. Today I added a donation button. (See it over there on the right?) Is that hypocrisy, or simply not pushing my luck?

I'm not a Blanche DuBois, always depending upon the kindness of strangers, but I'll accept help when offered and needed.

I've supported myself my entire adult life. That's a point of pride. But the fact is, Social Security and occasional video editing jobs don't leave me with the level of discretionary income I used to have. These days my safety net is about the size of a doily. Meanwhile, the van keeps getting older and things wear out. It'll need tires in a couple of years. Probably a starter battery. And right now I'm fairly certain it needs new motor mounts. And so on into the future, including replacing the Rolling Steel Tent some day.

I'm totally aware some of my readers need financial help, too. I'm not asking for their money. But if you're feeling a little flush, a little generous, and if you've already helped those who need it more than I do, I would be grateful.

I'm not broken down in the middle of nowhere. This isn't a big GoFundMe thing. It's a few bucks here, a few bucks there, just trying not to be hit as hard on that eventual rainy day.

The PayPal account this goes to is inconvenient for me to access, so that money will stay separate from my regular funds. The donations won't be spent on daily needs.

How can you trust me? Don't. Ask around, see if I'm sufficiently honest and trustworthy. See if I'm worth it.

A fine place for morning coffee

Marina State Beach, Marina CA

Cowgirls (and boys) in the sand

I did a little exploring this morning, driving north from Monterey. Salinas River State Beach had been recommended to me, and it wasn't until I was there I remembered it allowed horses. Naturally, the situation reminded me of the Neil Young song.

Night light

A streetlight, a full-ish moon and the Point Penos lighthouse keep the monsters away while I sleep. Or while I go out in the night to take photos.

Hammocks by the sea

As luck would have it

I was born a white male middle-class American. That’s a great head start* for which I can take no credit. It was luck. However, I do get minimal kudos for not messing that up. I could’ve done more with it, but at least I didn’t end up in prison or prematurely dead.

So here I am, sixty-five and a half years down the road, thinking, “Man, I really am lucky. I discovered a way to live simply. I have shelter. I have a source of sufficient income. I have health. I have a lot of freedom. My time is my own. Too many people have none of that.”

Right now I’m sitting in my home, overlooking a dramatic section of the Pacific Coast, hypnotized by the waves, entertained by sea birds. For free. I’ve been doing it for days. And there’s nothing I need to do, no responsibilities nagging at me. I could keep on doing this. Or I could go to the mountains, the desert, the forest, the grasslands… all the beautiful places.

Because I’m lucky. So lucky. The kind of luck everyone should have. Luckier than I deserve.

*I think it's wrong that American society is that way, with white males getting the golden pass and everyone else getting points deducted.

Good morning

The gull refused to align itself with the moon and pointy rock. It knew being slightly off center would create more design tension.

Finders keepers

I found a single-battery charger at one of the scenic overlooks along Monterey Bay. There's no way of knowing which of the day's many tourists lost it, so I'm giving it a new home.

Pebble Beach without golf

This is my first video since getting Adobe Premiere Elements to work again. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed making it.

Probably not good

Trust the locals

From my past limited experiences with the Monterey Peninsula, I had looked at the map when planning my journeys and thought, "That's all wealthy people. There's no place there a van dweller would be tolerated." But then Charlene said, "I was born and raised around here. I know the right places." And she was right.

She directed me to Point Pinos, in Pacific Grove, where there are day use parking areas all along the bay. It's beautiful. You can't park there after midnight (compared to sunset at most coastal spots) but there are places to park for the night just a couple of blocks away.

Last night I settled into a row of perpendicular parking spaces on the street next to the lighthouse. Across the street was a cemetery. No houses where people would peek out their windows and fret about a suspicious van. The residents of the cemetery would probably not be calling the cops.

Despite Charlene's assurances, I was unsure of the legality of being there. I sat in the driver seat for about an hour, watching traffic, trying to ascertain the vibe.

At about 9:00 a police cruiser drove past me, pulled into the lighthouse compound and lit the place up with his spotlights, checking to see if things were in order. I started rehearsing my possible probable conversation with the officer.

He drove right by me again as he crossed the street and made a circuit of the cemetery, chasing out someone who had pulled in there earlier. (Full moon... cemetery... Halloween in the air... kinky car sex...) "He'll deal with me when he's done there," I thought. But he just drove away. Well, okay then. I could relax. And I slept the sleep of the dead. (Small joke.)

So I'm back at the bay, watching the pelicans and the tide, being thankful for Charlene's local knowledge and grateful I can live free and travel to beautiful places like this.

Mini convention

I joined fellow vandwellers LaVonne and Charlene in Pacific Grove, California. Not only do we each drive white Chevrolets, we are mentioned in Jessica Bruder's book Nomadland. One reason I'm here (other than it just being a great area) (and besides Lavonne and Charlene being great people) is that I'm on my way to see Jess at a reading in San Francisco on the 15th.

Reverse angle

I've posted many photos looking out at the ocean, so I figured it was past time to go out in the water and take a picture looking back, even if it meant risking getting my camera wet.

Whadda ya call that place with the sand and water and stuff?

Oh yeah, "beautiful."

Downtown on a Saturday night

The semi-secret spot where I semi-stealth camped on Friday night was full. Hmmm, where to go? On the way to various beaches and parks I had noticed downtown Ventura has a lot of street parking and a surprising lack parking restriction signs. There are occasional signs, in sensible places, declaring No Parking At Any Time, but otherwise... nothing. Going by the philosophy that everything which is not forbidden is allowed, I concluded the lack of signs meant I could park anywhere, at any time, for however long I liked.

And from the previous night's experience camped in a city cul-de-sac, it seemed like Ventura law enforcement chose not to worry about people sleeping in vehicles—if there were ordinances against it.

So, I found a short block downtown, with not much traffic, next to a vacant lot and office buildings, and settled in. A small RV arrived later. Then a pickup with a shell.

There was only a little traffic noise. Couples walked by. There were occasional cyclists and skateboarders. People out for the evening. Very low key. No feeling of danger. No visit from the police. I slept well—and didn't commit any criminal acts.