Silent Storm II

I had been in bed a while but hadn’t fallen asleep. There was a flash of bright light in my peripheral vision. Then a flicker and another flash. I thought it might bright off-road lights. Or visitors from another planet (what with Devil’s Tower nearby).

But, no, it was lightning. Now overhead, all around me, nonstop. With no sound. How is that possible?

The silent lightning went on for about a half hour and then k-k-r-a-a-BAM!! Very close. What am I in for?

Hail. I was in for hail. First some pitter, then patter, then bapita-bonkita-donk-bonk-dak-donkita… Hey, don’t get too big up there! None of that baseball stuff!

But it lasted only a few seconds, then it rained. Not the biblical storm it could’ve been, but still a good I-mean-business rain for about twenty minutes.

And then… All over. No direct lightning strikes, no hail damage, no falling trees, no fires. This time.

Niceness worked

Between the time I posted that I was going to stay another day at the campground on Casper Mountain, and the time I woke up this morning, I realized that would have me looking for a new location along with all the weekenders. Or I could stay where I was through the weekend, but that would cost me forty bucks more. Hmmmmm…

So this morning I took off.

Rolling Steel Tent (circled on the right) and Devil’s Tower (circled on the left)

Two hundred miles later I was in the northeast corner of Wyoming, up in the Bear Lodge Mountains, overlooking Devil’s Tower. After exploring several well-maintained (and two unmaintained) Forest Service roads, I found a site that would work.

As you can see in the photos, it’s a large site. Several big RVs could fit. And I have it all to myself.

As I was cooking dinner, a pickup pulling a quad on a trailer slowed, stopped, and looked longingly at the campsite. He got out and approached. I spoke before he could say anything.

“I’m fine with sharing this spot.” I had to repeat myself because his mind was already set on pleading his case.

“Oh. Um, okay.”

He returned to his truck, had a short discussion with the passenger and… drove off. Huh?

Then I saw he was followed by a truck hauling a large travel trailer and another pickup with a quad. Ah. It would’ve been cozier than I had envisioned with all that tucked in here, but it would’ve worked out.

I had driven about six miles down that road during my explorations, so I knew there wasn’t a large enough campsite for them nearby. Good luck, guys.

They returned while I was doing dishes. (Where the hell had they found room to turn around?) But they kept going, leaving me in my solitude. Alright!

Maybe it wasn’t a matter of whether I wanted them. Maybe they didn’t want me. I’ll take it either way.

Trade-offs

Perfect camping spots are rare. Because, as Roseanne Rosannadanna used to say, “It’s always something.”

Right now I’m at a Natrona County campground up on Casper Mountain. It’s a pay site, so that’s one minus point. But it’s only $10 a night, which is a bargain compared to campgrounds in prime tourist spots. So that gives back about a half point.

It’s a campground rather than a secluded patch of public land (a minus) but it’s pretty, there’s water, the restroom is clean, the sites are well separated, it’s not full, and the neighbors have been quiet (all pluses). The weather (fingers crossed) has been great. And I can post this right now because the cell towers are just up the hill.

The one thing that has me giddy, though, is the total lack of buzzing and biting insects. Considering all the swatting and itching I did the past couple of weeks, buglessness more than compensates for any negatives. If my math is right, that means an approval rating greater than 100 percent. Better than perfect.

I paid for just one night, to see how things were. I’ll get a second night in the morning, then split before the weekend crowd arrives.

Just keep going

The trail beckoned. A short walk from the trailhead to a nice waterfall. Then, more trails leading up the side of the canyon and into mountains. Sure. That’ll be fun.

Well, the first hundred yards or so of steps and switchbacks were very steep. Hell, the first ten feet had me rethinking this whole mountain hiking thing. Whoa, (huff-puff) did I leave my strength (wheeze) and stamina (moan) back in the Rolling (gasp) Steel (stop, rest) Tent? Or is Post-Cancer Man just not ready yet? Give up or continue? 

Um……………. Continue. At least to the end of this switchback.

……………. Okay, I didn’t die. Do one more switchback.

……………. Oh, there’s an observation deck after the next section. I can make that. I think.

……………. Looks like it levels out—a little—after this.

……………. Ah, there’s a nice boulder to sit on.

A moment later, a family with small kids came down the trail from the opposite direction. Skipping and jumping, as happy kids do. Then a group of twenty-somethings. One of the fit, energetic guys asked, “Hi. Are you okay?”

“Just being an old man.”

“Need any help?” He seemed genuinely concerned.

“Just winded.”

Assured I was okay, he continued on. And, assured I was okay, I continued on.

The trail did flatten, mostly. Tricky footing here and there, a water crossing, a couple of moments where I wished I’d brought my pole. There were forks I had to figure out. Which one for the long loop and which for the shorter? When in doubt, take the lower one.

I took my bearings. “I should be near the top of the waterfall. This is the creek and… Yeah, over there.” I could see where others had scrambled off-trail, and where the forest opened into sky. “I’m going to try to get right to the edge.”

And I did.

As I watched the falls I realized I felt good—physically and mentally. I wasn’t the old man I had been a half hour before. Because the part of me that said to keep going won the argument with the part of me that whined it was too hard.

Greetings from the mud and snow belt

I’ve started noticing boot scrapers outside businesses. This one is in Casper WY.

Cul-de-sac life

For almost a century, new housing developments have been designed with a minimum of through streets and a maximum of cul-de-sacs. It’s what the market wants. A little quiet corner of the world. A retreat from the grind. A bit of Heaven—if your idea of Heaven is summed up in this Talking Heads lyric:

Heaven
Heaven is a place
where nothing
nothing ever happens

To me, cul-de-sacs are about reducing the size of your life by reducing your exposure to it. After all, cul-de-sac is French for dead end. Or, more literally, ass of the bag.

Even though my house was on a through street, I had unintentionally created my own ass of the bag by shrinking my life down to a world small enough to fit in my numb, barely functioning mind. My little routine, in my little world, with very little satisfaction. (I can’t get no… no no no.)

But as retirement and the end of my career loomed, I was forced to evaluate my life. Retirement meant change, right? So what did I want to change? How many things did I want to change? And change it how much?

“I… I… I don’t want to be here,” my inner soul said. “Here” being in a house, stuck in one place.

“And I want more than… than… this.” (Gesturing vaguely at myself and the pathetic energy field I emitted.) “I want to be more.”

So here I am, seven years on the road, running from the literal and metaphorical ass of the bag. My world and life are bigger, and I hope they keep growing until I reach that final dead end.

In a van, down by the river

The North Platte River again, this time near Casper WY

At least it’s not the transmission

If I were to try to make the most comprehensive list possible of things in the Rolling Steel Tent that could fall apart, I’m pretty sure I would never think of the brake pedal pad coming off. Yet there it was, on the floor, when I went to climb into the driver’s seat this morning. When and how did that happen? Nothing tragic. Some glue and wiggling will fix it. It’s just a very weird occurrence.

Seven years with my gear: Cobra DC to AC Inverter

The solar panels, charge controller, and batteries all deal with DC electricity. If we want to use anything that runs on AC, we need an inverter—a glorified transformer. Since I would just be charging my electronics, not trying to run power sucking things like microwaves, air conditioners or Bridgeport milling machines, I figured this 400 Watt Cobra inverter would be more than adequate. And it has been. Zero problems. There’s really nothing more to say.

Like clockwork

The past few days, strong winds have arrived as evening begins. It’s as if Mother Nature opens a valve and air rushes in to fill the void created by the retreating sunlight.

Do it yourself

The other day, I offered up photos of a beautiful sunset and sarcastically asked how I could tolerate living in such meager conditions. Then, by coincidence, a friend presented an essay that articulated part of the answer.

What if enjoyment is a skill that you can improve? 

Not a personality trait, but a skill. 

I don’t mean to confuse enjoyment with happiness — I think happiness is too big to be a skill — and something that is largely our of our control — but what about enjoyment — what if enjoyment is simply the skill of putting joy into an experience? 

That would be a skill worth learning, wouldn’t it?

The skill of putting joy into an experience. Not just finding joy, but actively creating it. Wow, we can do that? I can do that? Maybe I have been. Maybe it’s what keeps me sane.

The friend is Patrick E. McLean. That’s him over on my book list. We used to work together. He’s much more dedicated to his writing than I am to mine, and therefore much more successful. Here’s the link to his essay.

Animal, vegetable or mineral

The cottonwood trees around me are releasing their fluffy, cottony seeds. Sometimes in clumps, sometimes individually.

There are also tiny flying insects that look a lot like cottonwood fluff. I imagine it’s one of those evolutionary adaptations. The floating seeds give cover to the bugs, confusing their predators, enhancing their survival.

I suspect the little buggers are also of the biting variety. We juicy humans start thinking all the drifting white specks are harmless plant matter and stop swatting at them. That’s when the insects slip in.

How can I stand to live in a van?

Litter by little

To approximately the red arrow and back

I took a walk along the shore and then back via the road. Along the way I formulated a hypothesis: The crappier the beer, the more likely its drinkers are to toss the empties… wherever. I picked up a few cans of Keystone and Bud Lite and took them to the dumpster. Tomorrow I’ll take a trash bag on my walk. And I might wear gloves. 

There’s not a lot of litter here, just enough to get me muttering about how lazy and/or clueless some people are. I mean, how long do you have to stare at a plastic bag caught on a bush before finally thinking, “Should I throw that away? I mean, it’s not mine. It was there when I arrived. It’s not my job to clean up after people. Eh, I think I’ll just let it ugly up my view.”

So here’s the plan

It turned out it wasn’t just the vegetation at the campsite on the North Platte River that had me thinking of North Carolina. There were also mosquitoes. Big, aggressive ones. Is this going to be standard in Wyoming?

Ergh.

Bright and early (well, not so bright, because it was overcast, but it was still early), I headed off to my next location: Grayrocks Reservoir near Wheatland WY. There are free boondocking sites all along the south shore. I scored this sweet little spot, well separated from the neighbors by clumps of cottonwoods. It’s almost like being at the ocean. I’ve convince myself that’s a bay out there, not a lake. Fourth of July at the beach, how classically American.

I formulated a plan yesterday. Although I want to eventually make my way westward, I’m in no hurry. I also want to avoid the places that attract big crowds, like Yellowstone and the Tetons. So I’m going to continue northward, veering a little to the east, into the Dakotas.

There are only four US states I haven’t been in. North Dakota is one of them. I just never had a reason to go there. And when I first became a nomad I set up residency in South Dakota, did a whirlwind tour of the Black Hills, then split. I should do it again, taking my time—if Trump hasn’t set the place ablaze with his fireworks. Then I’ll go to Theodore Roosevelt National Park in North Dakota. The campgrounds and visitor centers are closed, but the roads and trails are open.

From there I’ll go into eastern Montana and back down into Wyoming. The Bighorns, Thermopolis, Wind River Range, into Idaho, back into western Montana, across the Idaho panhandle, into Washington and the northern Cascades, down to Oregon, through the costal ranges of California (instead of my usual coastline route), across to the eastern Sierras and western Nevada, then end up in southern Utah for the fall. Or something like that. As always, my plans are subject to change. Almost daily.