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.

Space invaders

I’ve been camped in a nearly perfect spot in far southeastern California. A wide area between two converging washes. Only one way in. Sort of a cul-de-sac, even though I have ranted against them in the past. The closest neighbors are about two football fields away. My reclusive self was happy.

Until yesterday.

A little before sunset a truck pulling a toy hauler drove within feet of the Rolling Steel Tent. Then there was another. And another. And another. Then a truck with a flatbed trailer carrying two ATVs/OHVs/side-by-sides or whatever they call them these days. And an SUV. I thought they would discover the dead end and turn around. No, they were setting up camp, about 20 yards away, with a certainty of movement that conveyed it had been their plan from the beginning.

Dudes?!?!?

So, as they unloaded their ATVs/OHVs/side-by-sides or whatever they call them these days and started revving the engines, I secured a few onboard items and climbed into the driver seat. (My habit of not setting up outdoor living space allows for quick getaways.) There was plenty of other space I could move to. Plenty of other space the group could’ve moved to when (if) they saw I was already occupying the area. (Heck, I had even peed a few times around my territory. I guess that only works with critters.)

A group showing up on a Friday evening is probably weekenders. It has been my experience weekenders — particularly those with ATVs/OHVs/side-by-sides or whatever they call them these days — operate with different rules of camping etiquette. Or with none at all. C’est la vie nomade. Let it go, and go elsewhere. While giving them the stink eye.

UPDATE: Yup, weekenders. They left Sunday morning. Maybe they had planned on staying through the afternoon but my stink eye chased them off.

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.