It’s up

It turned out the three of us could raise several hundred pounds of wall without help. In a wind. Without injuries. Because we are studs. (That’s sort of a framing joke.) (One that’s not very good.)

Wall time

After much measuring and remeasuring, the framing for the first wall is done and it’s time to add the exterior sheathing. Everything was built on the floor and it might take something more than us three retirees to lift it into position. Are these Amish guys available this week?

Size matters

My spoon is barely small enough to fit into a Yoplait container. I knew there must have been a reason (other than taste) I usually bought other brands of yogurt.

What is this plumbing thing of which you speak?

Where is home?

When I was a kid my concept of home was as simple as the rest of my developing brain. It was where my family and my stuff was.

Then, when I was sixteen years old, the family moved 2,000 miles away. Even though I still had my family and my stuff, the new city didn’t feel like home. I didn’t fit in.

After college I moved to Southern California, and I felt much more at home. A decade later I moved to San Francisco. I lived there only four years, but thirty years and three other cities later, that’s the place I consider home, in the conventional sense.

But what about now that I’m living unconventionally? Well, you’ve probably seen the stickers: Home Is Where You Park It. That’s me. Except I’ll take that slogan a step farther. Home is even where I’m not parked. To me, home is not a building, not a spot on a map. This nomadic life is my home. I am my home. I’m always there.

Ghost town

Lake Valley, New Mexico, is another mining town that dried up when the ore did. However, a couple of people hung on there until the late 1990s.

Much happiness

A corner of the floor and insulation had been on hold until the bathroom plumbing could be hooked into the existing pipes and roughed in. John the plumber came today and got ‘er done. Now it’s time to wait for the inspector.

Meanwhile, I’m happy I don't own a house anymore. So much happiness in one place.

More wandering

About noon yesterday I told Lou, “I’m gonna go wander around for a couple of hours.” I had no plan other than to drive and explore. I headed to Silver City and… oh… kept going on US180, north, toward, oh, some of the stuff that’s up that way. Through rolling grasslands, past cottonwood-lined creeks, up into coniferous forests. The west side of the Gila Mountains.

I turned east on highway 12 to Reserve, got some gasoline. The free Apache Creek campground was twelve miles down the highway. I called Lou to tell him I was staying the night, that I’d be back the next day.

I was at Apache Creek in April of 2014, but I didn’t stay. Rain and fear of flooding chased me away. But this time the sky was clear and the forecast was good. No problem.

In the morning I contemplated my route options. I could go back the way I came, but that would be less interesting.

I could continue clockwise around the Gila Mountains, but that would be twice as far, and I had been that way before, too.

I could do the semi-crazy thing and go northwest to Alpine AZ, then south through the highest, twistiest, slowest section of US191, then connect back to US180. I’d get to mark off another section of 191—a part I missed when I abandoned my Border-to-Border-On-191 quest last summer in order to go to a friend’s retirement party in California. Hey, I’m semi-crazy, so…

The road gets serious

I don’t know about other times of the year, but on this particular early Sunday morning at the end of April the highway was practically deserted. And beautiful. I saw a herd of elk, a flock of turkeys, and about a dozen clusters of deer. Taking that route wasn’t the crazy thing after all. What’s crazy is not having gone that way several times before. And stayed a while. I’ll be back.

Something new

I’ve started a video series about my approach to van living. There are many ways to do it and I’m not saying my way is best. I’m just presenting what works for me. That’s why the videos aren’t titled  “How Everyone Should Do It.”

Onward

The construction holdups are over and now it’s floor insulation time.

Rainset

This part of New Mexico has a nice variety of cloud formations compared to the Sonoran and Mojave deserts where I spend the winter. Yesterday we had the setting sun lighting up the underside of some rainclouds.

Sit a spell

This answers a question I didn't have

Question: How grippy is the edge of half an old roll of Scotch painters’ tape?

Answer: Enough to stay on the roof of a van from Mimbres to Silver City and back.

Taking precautions

Lou was having a frustrating day on the phone with suppliers and the bank. He donned this helmet to protect the rest of us in case his head exploded. Luckily for everyone, it was unnecessary.

Up on the r-o-o-o-o-f

Back when I took the big leap and cut a 14-inch hole in the Rolling Steel Tent’s roof so I could install a vent fan, the conventional wisdom included sealing the screw holes and hood edges with the same stuff the RV industry used. Dicor self-leveling sealant. Or Dyco C-10 self-leveling sealant. I chose C-10 because someone on a forum said something bad about Dicor.

Before

A couple of years later the ravages of UV rays had cause the C-10 to dry and crack—which was what Dicor had been accused of doing. There had been no leaks, but better safe than sorry. So I applied another coat of C-10. And repeated the process the next year.

When it was time to refresh the sealant again, a friend gave me a tube of Dicor. Oh, a comparison test. Science! Eh, same results.

A few months ago, another forum guy highly recommended 3M 4200 Marine Adhesive/Sealant. Superior UV resistance, he said. Okay.

Unlike self-leveling sealant, 3M 4200 is thick and gummy, so it’s harder to apply elegantly—especially when you’re on a ladder, stretching to the middle of the roof. But I used an old business card to spread the adhesive/sealant around and cover all the critical points. We’ll see how things are next year.

After