It is quite strange living in a forest. There are tall pines as far as the eye can see. There is a feeling of there being nothing else—that the trees just go on forever because I couldn’t see anything beyond them. There was nothing except tall pines, some scrub brush, and the sky.
A man on a 4-wheeler (?) or modified golf cart, came by one day. He drove very slowly, and I waved and he stopped and turned his vehicle off. He said he was driving slowly as to not stir up too much dust in my campsite. He clearly was lonely and wanted to talk and he told me every place within 50 miles that I “must see” before leaving Oregon. Before he moved on, he pointed out a large hole in the ground and told me it was a badger hole. He said to make sure Cosmo didn’t stick his nose in any of these. His dog did and he said the badger “tore him up.” Well, we’d passed many such holes/badger dens on our walks and knowing they were potentially dangerous for Cosmo made me paranoid. We stayed a couple days more there, but I was overly cautious, and with some Google research, I discovered badgers are mainly nocturnal, so each night when we’d go out to pee before bedtime, I was worried about Cosmo encountering a badger. So on Sunday we moved down the road about 4 miles. It’s still in the forest, but it is a winter snow park. There is a huge asphalt parking lot surrounded by the forest and about 5 or 6 winter trails for snowmobiling, cross country skiing and hiking with snowshoes. In the summer people come to park in the lot and hike the trails. By sunset, nearly everyone was, and we were left there alone again in the forest. The parking lot was a big “U” and we stepped out on asphalt. The space between the two arms of the “U” was grass and shrubs. Lots of chipmunks, but no badger dens as far as I could tell. We could walk on the trails during the day and have the luxury of a much wider view of the sky at night, and it also allowed the solar generator to charge better. In the last spot, we only got direct sunlight between 11:00 a.m. and a out 2:00 p.m. due to the tall pine trees surrounding us.
The parking lot campsite was somewhat strange. In reality, it was absolutely perfect for us. It’s close to the road which means we didn’t have to travel for miles down bad, rutted dirt roads to get there. The road was blocked from the parking lot by tall pines and low shrubs which made us invisible unless people turned off into the lot (very few did in the entire time we stayed there) and it also muffled the traffic noise of people traveling up to the lakeside camping sites during the day. At night, we could walk in the parking lot or around the periphery without going waist-deep into the thickets, which felt so much safer on so many levels. I said “in reality” it was perfect for us. In “YouTube Van-Life World ” the prior spot was much better at promoting “van life” and the sense of being out in the middle of nowhere, having a whole forest to yourself, living the dream. I think I’m still a bit brainwashed by my early exposure to YouTube Van-Life, even before I had gotten my van. I thought my life would consist of living on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, with me and Cosmo being the only humans on earth, or living deep in the forest where no bears, snakes or badgers dared to roam. The reality has been much different, sometimes having to resort to truck stops, rest areas, and Walmart or Cracker Barrel parking lots at times. My YouTube videos look much more pristine when filmed in the depths of a National Forest, or parked along a river in BLM land, far from humans. But, as I said, “In Reality” being in a parking lot, by ourselves, adjacent to a HUGE National Forest and close to a road should an emergency arise is probably one of our best options. You can compare the “optics” for yourself.
The top photo is where we stayed for 3 days in Deschutes National Forest. The photo below it is where we stayed for 3 days in the Deschutes National Forest, 4 miles east of the first spot. In a photo contest, the top photo wins, hands down. In a real-life living situation, the bottom photo shows the easy place to live. The bottom place also offers many trails for hiking during the day and gives us much more sunlight for charging the solar system and for viewing the night sky.
And speaking of solar systems and night skies, I took Cosmo out last night before going to bed (as I always do) and could barely believe the view I had of the night sky. There was zero light pollution as there is nothing for many miles around us. It was so dark that the sky seemed filled with stars (the crescent moon had not yet risen) and I could clearly see the Milky Way. The tall pines surrounded me on every side, and their silhouettes, dark against the star-filled sky made me think of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. I stood for a long time and compared my view to his. I could clearly see how and why he interpreted the night sky the way he did. I could see his spires in my tall pines, and I understood why he made each star a swirl of yellow, like a sun. I was tempted to take my sleeping bag out and lay it on the parking lot and just spend some time looking up and appreciating where I was, but I feared it would be just my luck that a car full of kids would race through and run me over. So I just stood for a bit longer and appreciated my view, my luck in finding such a beautiful spot to stay and my life, out here in my own version of Nomadland.
I had a rough day on Monday. When I woke up, my lower back was sore. Perhaps I slept in a bad position for too long. We walked and it loosened up. When we came back, I got my chair out of “the garage” (the storage section under my rear seat, accessible through the rear door) and I sat and listened to an Audible Book for over an hour. When I tried to get up from the chair, a searing pain shot down my lower back. I couldn’t straighten up. I’ve had lower back issues on and off since college. Episodes were more frequent when I was younger. I’ve not had any issues for the past 3 or 4 years. I always had a good chiropractor, and usually one adjustment would resolve the issue for another year or two. There was no chiropractor in the forest. None that I could find within an hour’s drive. I twisted and stretched to loosen it up. Cosmo and I walked, but I was afraid to get too far from the van in case it got worse, and I had trouble walking back. Ibuprofen and stretches are gradually making it less of a problem, but it was a big issue for a few days.
On top of that, I went to wash dishes and the water pump ran and ran, but only a trickle of water came out. I’d had an issue with my water the last time I filled it. I’m not sure what, if anything happened, but after I filled my tank, the water kept leaking from the fitting where I connect the hose to fill it outside of the van. I found a cap and some Teflon tape and screwed it on tightly. Problem solved, at least temporarily. I wondered if a valve was leaking or if the pump had gone out completely. I had a gallon of water put aside for emergencies, and I wasn’t going to die from dehydration, but if couldn’t resolve the problem, it would mean finding another RV repair place. I was so depressed I almost cried. I got online to look for potable water nearby. I have several apps that listed places. I couldn’t find anything closer than 100 miles and with my ailing back, driving 100 miles didn’t feel like a good bet. I looked for campgrounds nearby on my apps. Nothing. I Googled “Campgrounds near me” and found one 4 miles up the mountain. I packed up and decided to head there. If I topped off my tank, maybe I could figure out what the problem was. Maybe the pump would work if the tank was full. I drove and as I tried to enter the campground (a paid one) there was a large sign blocking the entrance that said “Campground Full.” I drove through the day use area to see if I could find a potable water spigot. Nothing. I headed back down the road where I’d seen a group camp and a horse camp. I thought perhaps I could get water in one of those places. About half a mile down the road I saw an RV dump site. I slowed down and sure enough, I saw a water pump. I pulled in and it was labeled “Drinking Water—Do Not Use for Rinsing dump hoses.” I pulled up and filled my tank. It took a long time. I drove home, turned my pump on and I could hear it pumping air. I turned on the cold-water faucet on my sink and there were a few violent bursts and pops as the air cleared out of the pipes and the water started to flow. Apparently, the water didn’t work because I WAS OUT OF WATER! Once that problem was fixed, the knot in my back immediately released a bit. I paid close attention to how I sat throughout the day, using a pillow on the lumbar region of my spine to give me better posture, and by the end of the day, it was feeling much better.
I moved further south, into the Willamette National Forest. The road in was very rutted and very narrow. I hoped I didn’t encounter anyone coming the opposite direction because one of us would have had to back up down a narrow, rutted road. I made it to the pull-out I was looking for without incident. It took me quite a while to get the van close to level. The site was on a slant and had lots and lots of potholes, ruts, and humps. One wheel would go up and another would go down. I finally got all tires within an inch of level, which works just fine for my new fridge. I was once again surrounded by tall pines and even though it was 11:00 a.m., I was just barely getting full sun. My window for full sun was going to be quite restricted with the tall trees blocking out much of the sun for most of the day.
On the way to my new spot, I stopped for Chinese food. I’d been craving Chinese or Thai and found a Chinese place very close to me and right off the road I was traveling on. I got there just as they were opening. The chef took my order, and said if I wanted to wait in the van, he’d bring it out in 10 minutes. He did. I drove to my new site and dished up about half of the veggies and spicy tofu. It was delicious. I had another small portion for dinner and ate the rest for breakfast the next morning.
I had a virtual visit with my doctor the next morning. I’d not seen her for a two years. I had my blood work done a few weeks ago (the main reason for scheduling an annual checkup after two years) and it was not perfect, but it was better than the last lab work. A nurse called me before the visit to go through some Medicare Wellness Evaluation questions. It seemed fairly ridiculous to me. American medicine seems fairly ridiculous to me in general and gets even more so in its cookie-cutter approach. The questions they ask “normal old people” had zero relevance to my life. Of course, it doesn’t help that I crack jokes. They don’t go over well in a regular medical visit, and even less so over the phone. The nurse said, “Do you have or have you experienced any hearing problems?” Naturally, I had to be the smart ass and say “What?” She repeated the question and I laughed, tried to explain the joke, and only half succeeded. She asked if I felt safe and I said “Always.” And she asked if I felt like any family or friends would harm me. I caught myself before I said, “Only if they could find me.” I realized what a good mood I was in. I realized how happy and healthy I feel overall (in spite of an achy back). I also realized that the generic questions the nurse was asking me were probably OK for the general population of Medicare recipients, but I’m not part of the general population anymore. She also asked me to get a paper and pen and draw a clock with the numbers on it and draw the hands to indicate 8:20. I guess those of us over 65 know how to do that; I doubt many under 30 do. I was once again tempted to just draw a box with 8:20 in it, but figured I’d be committed for sure if I continued down this path.
Then my doctor came online. She said “Wow! You look different than the last time I saw you!” I laughed. She asked me about my traveling, how I cooked, where I was at the moment, what my short and long-term plans were. She asked what I did or electricity and how I cooked. I thought she was just being curious but later, when I read her notes on “My Chart” I realized she was seeing if I was mentally competent and covering her ass to assert that I seemed competent enough to cook for myself and that I wasn’t warming my hands next to a fire in a barrel under some bridge. Ah, if only she knew how often I lived under a bridge! She looked at my bloodwork and I thought she was going to offer me cholesterol meds again. The last time she started to and then looked at me, rolled her eyes, and said “Sorry. I forgot who I was talking to.” We both laughed. She is Indian. I’m sure she has at least some grasp of Ayurvedic medicine and Eastern Wellness principles, but she got her medical degree in the U.S. and she works for a Big Business Hospital System. The last time when I refused meds to get my triglycerides down, she told me what to stop eating and said I would have to be diligent to make it work. I was and it did and when I saw her she seemed surprised. She explained that if she did that with most patients, they’d end up hospitalized, and the peer review would wonder why she didn’t medicate them when they just had a visit where she saw they had extremely high triglycerides. She said “Everyone says ‘Oh, I’ll change my diet’ but they rarely do. Good for you that you took care of the problem through diet.” So this time she looked at my numbers and said “They are better than last time. Keep doing what you are doing, only maybe a little bit more.” I promised I’d do better.
The forest continues to fascinate me. It is nearly silent during the day. At night I can hear distant traffic. I drove a mile down a bad road to get here. I suspect I must have curved back toward the road I exited, or maybe that highway, curved back closer to where I camped. At any rate, I can hear cars, trucks and occasional trains in the distance at night. There is some sound that reminds me of the DC metro train pulling into the station (though not nearly as loud). And I guess because of the silence, I also hear many ticks, pops, and dings from inside my van. They startle me. I’ve decided that most of them are from metal contracting from the cold at night after baking in the sun all day. There are also sounds outside sometimes. The area is swarming with chipmunks and squirrels. I’m so far from the main road that I know nobody could get here at night without me seeing them coming from far off. It is extremely dark out and I’d surely be awakened by the lights of anyone traveling by car. I can’t imagine anyone getting here on foot on such a dark, moonless night.
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One night after I wrote that last entry, I went to bed about 10:00. I have gotten on a “sun schedule” waking up at dawn, right before sunrise, and winding down as it begins to get dark. The days are getting somewhat shorter, so I tend to get ready for sleep a little earlier each night. I fell asleep easily and was awakened by Cosmo’s warning growl, followed by some serious barking. I rolled over and told him it was OK and to go back to sleep, just before seeing the headlights coming down the dirt road, reflecting off all the trees. It appeared to be two pick-up trucks, and they passed slowly, and then stopped. Cosmo continued to bark, and I let him. Good boy. Do your job and alert me that someone is encroaching. I was sort of in a fog, and with only headlights and taillights, it was hard to tell what was going on. It appeared that the trucks were stopped on the narrow dirt road, driver’s window to driver’s window. Perhaps they were discussing a backup plan. I hadn’t traveled the entire dirt road, but the parts I had traveled revealed no other pull-off except the one I occupied. And it was a large one, perfect for a group camp of 4 or 5 rigs. I laid my head back down and Cosmo settled some, and then there were bright lights shining through my back window. I raised my head, and it appeared that one of the trucks had pulled right up to my van. I laid down trying to decide if I was in danger. The headlights backed off and I could see them illuminating trees around my site. I looked out again and realized it was not two trucks, but a pickup truck pulling a small camper. He was maneuvering back and forth and parked to the rear of my van, and quickly turned of his lights. I watched for a bit as he very quietly got in the back of his camper, using a flashlight, and got stuff out. He was in and out of the tiny camper a couple of times before I lost interest and went back to sleep. I looked out later and couldn’t see him. Had he gone? Or was it just too dark to see him? I got my answer at the first light of day; He was still here. I got up, made coffee, and took Cosmo out. I came back in and did my usual morning routine of checking e-mail and headlines from my bed, when I saw a man of about 40 or so exit the camper. He opened the back hatch where there was a tiny galley kitchen. He moved some totes, got out a propane burner and made coffee outside. A woman joined him. I let them get their coffee and then went out to say hello. She was already back in the truck, but he talked to me for a few minutes. He was very nice, apologizing for waking me so late at night, and I said I felt a little bad that I was smack in the middle of a campsite clearly meant for 4 or 5 rigs. He said, “No worries, we got it worked out.” I love encounters like this. We chatted and exchanged our basic stories for about 10 minutes. I don’t know his name. I’ll probably never see him again, and if I do, unless he is standing outside that tiny camper, I probably wouldn’t recognize him. But we were nice to each other and wished each other safe travels. I got back in the van, and in a few minutes, he pulled out, with a toot of his horn. Had we sat next to each other in a restaurant, would we have spoken? Probably not.
It’s hard for me to explain, but these sorts of encounters have become so meaningful in my life. The world I left seemed so full of strife and mistrust of others. I see news snippets on YouTube which remind me daily how deeply this county is divided, how much hatred there is for “the other side” and I really believe the media benefits in some way by keeping that shit stirred up. But out here in this other world, a complete stranger pulls in next to me at midnight, and I only briefly wonder “friend or foe” before deciding “Friend.” Of course. He’s a fellow wanderer. Part of my tribe.” And in the morning, our brief conversation made me wonder about ancient, more primitive times. Did wanderers pass one another and exchange greetings? Information? Did one tell the other that there is water just up the hill past the big tree? Did they ask each other where they were from, where they were going, where they had been? It always makes me feel that it is a basic human instinct to be friendly when possible, and we’ve been taught along the way to be wary, suspicious of others.
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I made breakfast and had another cup of coffee. It was moving day. Sometimes moving to a new spot brings uncertainty: Where exactly are we going? What will we find when we get there? Will there be the camping area as described in my online camping apps and will there be an open space for us, or will it be a dreadful disappointment? Or will there even be a place to camp? My apps have let me down in the past, leading me to a dirt road with a chain across it, or an overgrown field with a “No Trespassing” sign. But for whatever reason, I felt no anxiety, no trepidation. Google had found a laundromat and shower at an RV park just a few minutes away once we got out of the forest. I normally don’t look forward to laundry day, and put it off as long as possible, making the inevitable chore much worse due to volume. But I was looking forward to clean rugs, a clean sleeping bag, getting all my favorite t-shirts back in the closet, ready to wear again.
The RV park was run down. I guessed that most of the inhabitants were permanent residents, living in broken down RV’s, some in old vans with flat tires, and some with a makeshift “porch” added on. I parked and took a pillowcase full of dirty clothes inside. There was an older man moving white clothes from the washer to the dryer. I said, “good morning” and he beamed and replied “good morning” in response. I put my clothes in the washer and started it. I had to go back to the van to get my throw rugs and sleeping bag but wasn’t sure I had enough quarters to wash and dry two more loads and get a shower (the shower was coin operated as well–$3.00 in quarters for 5 minutes). I looked around and asked the guy if there was a change machine and he said “*I* am the change machine. What do you need?” I asked if I could get more quarters as I pulled crumpled bills out of my pocket. He said he had plenty in his trailer. I handed him a $10 bill and asked if I could get a whole roll and he said “sure.” He went for the quarters, and I got my rugs and sleeping bag out of the van. Once all the machines were going, I went around the back to the bathrooms and got a shower. It was steaming hot, and I washed and conditioned my hair and beard. That is such a luxury I used to take for granted when I lived in a building. By the time I finished showering, the washers had stopped and I put everything except the rugs in dryers. It was already hot out with low humidity, so I knew the rugs would dry on their own by the time I drove to my new destination. While the clothes were drying, I talked to Richard, the supplier of quarters and co-owner of the RV park. He was 75 years old, and we talked about tourist season there (spring, summer, and fall) and he said they get some snow in the winter still. “But not like the old days when we’d get 18 feet of snow in one month” he said. He seemed happy to have someone to talk with. He said he’d seen the map on my van, indicating all the places I’d been.
I explained that they were only the places I’d been in my van, and I “got a sticker” only if I actually spent the night there. I didn’t count the states I drove through without stopping for the night or the states I’ve visited before I started living in my van. He seemed impressed by how many states I’d visited and implied that he was born and raised there in eastern Oregon and hadn’t seen much else.
After the clothes were dry, I folded them and put them away and we headed south to Umpqua National Forest. It was only a little more than half an hour further than we’d already driven. The last couple miles were on back roads and the road we were staying off was dirt and washboarded so I drove about 5 m.p.h. It didn’t take long before my GPS said, “In a quarter mile, your destination will be on the left.” Indeed it was—a huge clearing with arms coming off making so many opportunities for places to back in. I stayed in the main clearing, close to the road. Having stayed in the forest for well over a week now, my solar batteries were gradually being depleted because, due to the tall trees, my solar panels only got direct sunlight for a few hours a day. I parked in the full sun and Cosmo and I went outside and found a shady spot. I set up my chair and got out Cosmo’s dog bed and I sat and read and Cosmo watched for squirrels and chipmunks. There was a woman in a car camped at the opposite end of the clearing. She seemed to be packing up and she left about an hour after our arrival, leaving the entire site to us. I expected to have others join us since it was a Friday night, but only a few vehicles drove past us. There must be other spots down the dirt road. By nightfall, we were still alone and before bed, we went out and I stood in the middle of the clearing and looked up. The night sky never disappoints.
This has been one of the best weeks I’ve had in a long time. I love living in the forest. I don’t think I’ve ever really been in a forest before this. As a kid, there were woods around us, but a forest is quite different. There are pines so old and thick that I can’t wrap my arms around them (yes, I tried). They seem to go on forever. I can stand in the middle of the clearing where I’m staying and do a 360⁰ scan. At no point can I see beyond the trees. Even when I look up the dirt road we came in on, it eventually curves, and again, nothing but trees beyond that. I’ve heard of “Forest Bathing.” I think it became popular in Japan in the 80’s. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me until I actually did it. There is an incredible energy in the forest. I know it sounds hokey, but it makes sense; how could one be surrounded by so much beauty, so much LIFE without absorbing some of it? It’s especially nice that I so often get to be alone in the forest. Growing up on the east coast and having lived in or near cities most of my life, I have seldom really gotten to be outside and alone. In the forest, I sometimes go days without seeing another human being, and even then, they are often just driving by, heading down the road to wherever they are going. It is an indescribable feeling to have such a huge plot of a National Forest all to myself.
Lessons from the Road: The forest is pretty silent most of the time, but once your ears adjust, there are certain noises that become surprising. Each night shortly after sunset, my van makes noises. They seem (mostly) to come from under the hood. If you’ve ever listened after a long drive, as your engine cools you may hear some sounds of expansion or contraction. I hear similar sounds. The forest is over-run with chipmunks and I’ve heard horror stories about squirrels moving into engine compartments to make nests, so of course I considered this as a possibility. The engine hadn’t been turned on for a couple days, so why would it be “cooling down?” Maybe it was hot from the sun during the day and cooled at sunset? I’d also hear clicks from the batteries. I’ve come to recognize the sound of a solenoid opening or closing (not sure what exactly a solenoid is or does, but I know its sound) and I hear that throughout the day, sometimes under the hood, sometimes from my coach battery which keeps the solenoid open to power my propane fridge.
Coyotes serenade us every night as Cosmo and I take our good night walk. Last night I am sure I heard a dog barking in the distance (though I can’t imagine where it could be as I’ve not seen anyone else camping in this forest) and then the coyotes started howling. Cosmo and I joined in. It’s eerie in the vastness of this forest.
There is a road, about half a mile away. Not a main road but paved and used to get to other forest entrances. At night, only one or two cars go by in an hour. I can’t see the road, but I can see the cars and trucks and campers traveling on it and their headlights illuminating the trees nearby. The sound they make as they pass in the distance is nearly identical to the sound of wind rushing through the tall pines. There must be other, subliminal sounds that I cannot hear, because every once in a while, Cosmo jumps up in full alert mode and looks out the window, obviously startled by something I couldn’t hear.
I was reminded this week of my fear of being sick or injured out in the middle of nowhere. My back problems made me more aware that I have to take care of myself, and I should always have a plan to get to some medical care wherever I am. I often take note when I pass a veterinarian on my way to BLM land. I mark the coordinates in case I should have to take Cosmo in for some sort of emergency. I never do the same for me. I think perhaps I’ll start.