Pain in the neck

You may recall I went to an urgent care facility in February to see about an infection raging in my throat, sinuses and ears. I took the prescribed antibiotics and waited for an improvement. It never really came.

So I returned today to see if there was something else that could be done. A different nurse practitioner checked me over this time. She thought the problem might be my thyroid. Specifically, a goiter. Hmmm, okay, that area of my neck is tender. So she set me up for lab work and an ultrasound on Wednesday. I went to the Mayo Clinic website to read up on thyroid problems.

At one end of the spectrum is a minor issue that can be corrected with medication. At the other is cancer, with surgery, maybe chemotherapy, maybe radiation. I, of course, am hoping it’s something on the easy side of the scale.

So, instead of just a quick stop in Yuma before heading elsewhere, I’m stuck here until Wednesday afternoon.

It’s 88°F/31°C in the van right now. The doors and windows are open. It’s tolerable, but it’ll make the wait less pleasant.

And thank you, Medicare. Everyone should have it.

Un-drowned

In geologic time, much of the western United States has been covered by water. This area was under water a lot more recently than that. This is part of the land that was flooded by Hoover Dam, then re-exposed by chronic drought and overdevelopment in the Colorado River Basin. Lake Mead being low is bad, unless you’re in favor of it returning to a more natural state.

That’s how it’s done

About a hundred yards away two campers are packing gear into their SUV. Unlike too many people, they’re leaving the doors and hatch open until everything is in place. None of the damned door slamming... slamming… slamming………… slamming…. slamming slamming…………. slamming…

I know, I know, in normal non-camping situations, it’s probably a good habit to keep your vehicle closed up. Just, you know, develop a different habit when you’re out where people have come to get away from the noises of civilization.

I drove on an Interstate I didn’t know existed

I’ve been to Las Vegas/Henderson/Boulder City/Lake Mead more times than I can remember. I’ve arrived and departed via just about every possible route. I knew there was some construction near the junction of US 95 and US 93, but I thought it was just to smooth out the interchange. But surprise!

Brand spankin’ new Interstate 11, running from Boulder Dam to Henderson (or Henderson to Boulder Dam), bypasses Boulder City. Man, that was really needed. I don’t know what effect it’ll have on businesses (being bypassed is seldom good) but it’ll be great for actually getting somewhere.

Remembrance of things past

Sometimes when I’m hanging around the Rolling Steel Tent, doing chores, reading, researching, whatever, I’m overwhelmed by a feeling of blissful contentment. Or rather, memories of blissful contentment. Those are the best kind of memories.

What triggered those memories this afternoon? Washing the windows? Reading about crows?

No. This time it was the wind.

You know how sometimes the weather is so perfect you cease to be aware of it? This wasn’t one of those times. The subtile breeze had turned into an insistent wind, just a few degrees lower than ideal but not so chilly that I’d want to shut myself inside. It was Be Aware of Me wind. It was I’m Taking the Edge Off the Heat wind. It was Smell the Spring Vegetation and Clean Air from the Lake wind. It was Be Glad You’re Alive wind.

I remembered all the other times like this and they added to the sublimeness of the current moment. Multiplied it.

Hallelujah for van living.

A cove, Lake Mead

National Dog Day Afternoon

Zorro — 1989 to 2005

It was clear and warm when I woke up this morning near Blythe, California. A few days into spring and it’s already acting like summer.

As I headed north along the Colorado River it got hazier. And hotter. A fuel stop and email check in Parker, Arizona, had me wishing for shade.

By the time I got to Lake Havasu City the haze had formed into thin strips of cloud cover. If that was all the shade I’d get, I’d take it.

It seemed cooler when I came out of Smith’s Food. There was no blue showing through the thin clouds. And is that a breeze? Yes.

I found a suitable boondocking spot on BLM land south of town. A new spot for me, even though I’ve been in the area several times before. I opened up the Rolling Steel Tent. Windows, roof vent, doors. The breeze came in the back door, said hello, and exited out the front. Very nice. It was cooling off a little. Perfect napping conditions.

Now the sky is standard-issue overcast and the temperature has dropped from 86° to 77° and the humidity is up about 8 percent. It’s supposed to be like this the next couple of days. But I’m headed to Lake Mead, about 1,300 feet higher and several degrees cooler. Although I’ve spent the winter wishing for warmer weather, I’m not ready for it to be July.

A driving tip I keep forgetting

If you drive a van with no side windows in the back, and you’re driving along a parking lot row where you have the choice of spots on either the right or left, choose left.

It runs counter to our keep right training, but there’s a good reason for it. When it’s time to back out you’ll be able to see more of what’s behind you in the row. You can see only so much in your mirrors.

Anyway, it works for me. When I remember to do it.

Of course, better still, is parking so you can drive forward out of your parking space—even if it’s the wrong direction for that row.

It’s bigger out here

The other day I shared the opinion of a woman who went from the desert to Los Angeles to feel invigorated. Today I’m sharing the thoughts of a city dweller traveling across the country by train.

Scale on a rail trip is what’s most arresting. We live so much of our lives close-up — scrolling through phones, watching our type appear on computer screens, scrutinizing papers, preparing meals, cleaning our homes room by room. Very few elements of our day-to-day tasks remain out of arms’ reach. An extended train ride affords a chance not just to see a horizon but also to soak it up. To luxuriate in the far-off for uninterrupted hours. To exist, briefly, in the uncharted sections of the cellphone-coverage map. 

And it feels as if you’re getting away with something — seeing more than you deserve. The best part of the trip wasn’t spying on the backyards of houses; it was out here, in the open. The bright hues of the nation’s choropleth population-density maps fade to white in these areas, yet many of the most beautiful habitable parts of the United States, no offense to Boston, are contained within those colorless expanses. Amtrak takes advantage of this circumstance. It is fortunate that its routes were laid during a period of industrious optimism, when everyone assumed the West would soon be made as unbearable as the East; if they had known it would remain beautiful, it would have been difficult to justify the financial investment. 

Caity Weaver
The New York Times

The Great Wide Open. The complete opposite of Manhattan. An expanded perspective. Actually seeing the sky and the land and realizing you’re part of it. These are some of the reasons I love the West. And it’s why I return to the open spaces after I recharge in the cities.

Amtrak used to have a slogan that encouraged us to travel at “see level.” As a full time van dweller, I try to travel at “be level.”

Putting the ghost in ghost town

Into the dustbin of history

Almost exactly four years ago an imaging satellite snapped Jo, Lou and I camped in Joshua Tree National Park.

But sometime since then (fairly recently, I think) Google updated the imaging of that area and, poof, my friends and I are gone. I guess that’s appropriate since we haven’t traveled together in a while.

Dog on a rock

Desert art day

Gloomy mornings that threaten rain are good to spend in museums. Even if the museum is outside.

My GPS zigged and zagged me out north of Joshua Tree to the ten-acre piece of land where Noah Purifoy worked during his final years.

A lot of large scale desert art is created by inspired amateurs. Purifoy, however, was a noted artist.

The white structure in the background is entitled Ode to Frank Gehry

Drinking fountains for whites and coloreds

The blue walls are made of stacks of still-folded Sunday newspapers

Running free by the sea

Recharging

YouTube recommended a video by Kelly Doyle, a full time van dweller with Traumatic Brain Injury. She had been staying in Los Angeles for a couple of weeks when she made the video. The nomadic TBI sufferers I’ve known seek a haven in places like the desert, where they don’t need to deal with the noise and chaos. But Kelly reacts differently.

There’s an energy here that lifts me up…  

There’s like this low energy I feel out in the desert, like everyone’s just sittin’ around, sittin’ around, gonna have a kumbaya campfire tonight.  

In the city, around Santa Monica, people are rollerblading, biking, surfing… it’s alive. There is a positive energy in LA. It’s alive! 

I totally relate. I can take only so much peace and quiet and natural beauty before I need to go get some of that big city energy.

Nomad-to-be

I was in a parking lot in Newport Beach, side door open, enjoying the weather, checking email and stuff, when a guy rode up on a bicycle. “Hey, I’m curious about your van. Can I ask some questions?”

“Sure.”

His name is Bob and he’s almost counting the days until he can be a nomad too. He has spent a lot of time reading blogs and forums, watching videos. We talked for more than an hour.

Now I think he’s counting the seconds.