“Now the years are rolling by me
They are rockin’ evenly
I am older than I once was
And younger than I’ll be, that’s not unusual
Nor is it strange
After changes upon changes
We are more or less the same
After changes we are more or less the same.”
~Paul Simon
Well, as of today, I’ve completed 72 full orbits around the sun and am grateful for every minute.
And for the record, I’m not the oldest one here at Skoolie. I’m looking forward to my 73rd orbit and the adventures it will bring.
I left Skoolie last Sunday before sunrise. On Saturday afternoon a man in a car pulled up about 10 feet from me and parked. I thought perhaps he was just going to get out to take pictures or maybe walk down into the wash to pee. But he circled his car, aimlessly opening and closing doors, looking lost. He got a chair out of the back seat and put it at the rear of the vehicle. He opened the trunk and took out a water jug. He sat in the driver’s seat for an hour looking at his phone.
Soon after that, a caravan of young lesbians came flying into my campsite and formed a circle way too close to me. They got out and walked through my site (between my tent and my van) gathering rocks for a firepit. To fully understand why this annoys me, imagine going to an outdoor concert in the park to see your favorite band. You arrive an hour early to get a good seat. You spread your blanket out right in front of the stage, feeling good about your decision to arrive early. The concert starts and a gang of hooligans come and set up folding chairs right in front of you, not only blocking your view of the concert, but then walking across your blanket as they wander back and forth from their chairs to visit people sitting behind you. This is an extremely apt analogy of what it is like to have a caravan invade my space. So by Sunday morning, I packed up and pulled out with the rising sun and stayed up the hill at my old spot adjacent to the asphalt factory’s pit. I exhaled a sigh, letting go of my anger at such rude intruders having hijacked my excellent spot.
It turned out fine, because I had planned on leaving Monday morning anyway, to drive to KOFA (halfway between Quartzsite and Yuma) to meet my friend Jonah who was returning to the U.S. from Tijuana where he received treatment for his bladder cancer. I stayed one night in Q, and Tuesday morning, I drove the 40 minutes down to KOFA and got us a good spot. Jonah arrived shortly afterwards, and we spent two days together.
It was colder than it had been (Jonah always seems to bring winter with him) but we still had a nice visit and drove up to Palm Canyon where I’d never been before. I will definitely be staying up there next winter.
Thursday morning Jonah headed on his way and I went back to Q for a night before driving back to Skoolie for the final weekend. The wind was still howling and there were often white out conditions from the blowing dust in the desert.
I got to skoolie, and it was more crowded than when I left last week. BUT…I drove down to the end of the road where I’d been and found a spot on a narrow road that went even farther beyond my old spot. I pulled in at the extreme west end of the event. There is only one bus farther west than I am, and he’s on a different road. Bliss (for now).
If I walk up the “main road” of the event, I am in the thick of it, but when I go to my van, I’m far enough from the hubbub that I can sleep at night.
I walked around, visited David briefly and then over to see Tie-Dye Bob who was working on my new shirt. Leo was here and I found him Friday evening. A man I know only as “Earthling” (can’t remember his real name) texted that he was in Blythe and on his way. This is the last weekend of skoolie, and I was expecting it to be loud and wild. It was, as skoolie goes, quite sedate. I walked to the far east end to see Leo’s new van (well, new to him). He and his father built the inside and it’s pretty nice. I was walking at dusk, but by the time I was ready to head home, it was pitch dark. I got very disoriented and lost for awhile, but eventually recognized a bus that I knew was on my road, so kept walking until I saw the blue solar lights on my van. I got home and slept soundly.
Lessons From The Road: A friend of mine asked me last week what my assessment was after nearly 4 years on the road. He wanted to know if it was what I thought it would be or if there were any surprises. I didn’t know where to start. No. It is not what I thought it would be at all, and there are still many surprises each week.
I watched too many YouTube videos about “van life” before I left. They were nearly all about young couples. Every morning one would serve the other coffee in bed with the back door of the van open to a beach and a sunrise. The sunrise part is very true for me. I take that in and appreciate it every day. But alas, Cosmo has not yet mastered the art of bringing me coffee in bed, and it is rare that I can park near any body of water, let alone on a beach that is ocean adjacent.
I had no idea how dirty things get when you live in nature. I sweep every morning and wipe down the floor with a wet rag a few times a week. In the desert with the wind blowing, everything gets dusty, no matter how much one cleans. I washed my throw rugs less than 10 days ago. They are once again quite dirty.
The world has changed drastically in the 4 years I’ve been on my adventure, and the U.S. doubly so. We were still at the tail end of the pandemic when I started out. People were skeptical of being too close to someone else for fear of catching a deadly disease, but there was also a sense of “we’re all in this together.” Well, mostly. Now, thinking back, there were the anti-mask, anti-vax crowd. But among the nomadic crowd, we all seemed to make allowances for other’s choices during that time.
On YouTube videos about van life, they never showed a million-dollar, class A, big-as-a-fucking-greyhound-bus rig flying a Trump flag. Everyone who lived on the road was congenial in videos. Not so in real life. Somehow over the past 4 years we’ve not only become divided as residents of the U.S., but on the road there seems to be many sub cultures as well. I find it interesting that some of the same people who got me interested in this lifestyle are now a thorn in my side. YouTube, Facebook, Instagram and Tik Tok have made too many Americans, especially the young, contract “Main Character Syndrome.” They are not living their lives but rather acting a part each day so that they can post it on social media. They are not so much living a lifestyle as they are pretending to be something they are not, hoping to get enough followers so they can monetize their channel. It is not only bizarre to me, it is also extremely annoying.
Climate change has affected my life as a nomad. I have had serious trouble finding comfortable places to stay in the summer due to excessive heat. It seems to get worse with each passing summer. Throw in some hurricanes and fires and that makes a big difference in planning where to head next.
I am SHOCKED at the number of people who leave behind trash, broken glass, and even human shit when they leave a pristine place. And because of that, I’ve seen places shut down in my short stint on the road because of people just making too big of a mess.
All that being said, there are so many positives that I didn’t anticipate when I set out. When I spend too long with too many people, I lose my connection. Hard to put into words, but when I am alone in the desert, I feel very connected to Mother Earth, Father Sky and All That Is. When I pull off into a remote spot, the world is beautiful and I feel that I’m part of it. I rarely had that experience when I lived in “The Empire.”
I have met some amazing souls on my journey. I’ve met many people who have very little. I’ve met people who life has thrown a curve ball and they adjust and remain positive and those who have very little will almost always share what they have. People with next to nothing often appreciate just how much they have.
I cry, probably at least once a week. Never over something sad, but rather over something beautiful. I see someone coming out of a fast-food restaurant and give a burger to a young man on the corner with a dog and a sign that says “Homeless. Please Help.” And the thought of someone feeding that man and his dogs gets me choked up. Human kindness can really move me.
I think the biggest thing I didn’t anticipate is learning that less is more. I have an extremely simple life. I have no mortgage, no rent, no electric bill. I rarely pay for water, and I stay in places even millionaires would envy. I am constantly becoming more present. I used to (and still do to some extent—old habits die hard) plan and worry about days and weeks to come. I often obsess over “what ifs.” I do that less and less. Having run several businesses, I’ve always been a type A person, never resting and always feeling I would never catch up on what needs to be done. Now, more often than not, I am content to just be.
I am happier than I’ve ever been in my life. I’m richer than I’ve ever been even though I’ve never made less money except when I was in High School working at Woolworth’s part time. Even on my limited Social Security check, I am able to save some because my expenses are so low.
I am blessed beyond words, and the best part is that I recognize that nearly every day.