The Journey Part 37

A WEIRD FEELING

I feel completely detached and removed from the Pacific Crest Trail and the events of the previous three months, and that is both weird and sad.

It’s not unusual at all.

For three solid months, day in, day out, the PCT was really all-consuming, not only all I thought about but also all I really did.  It was exhilarating. It was intoxicating.  It was ambrosia I needed but was unaware of needing it.

And, then, decisions were made, adjustments undertaken, and the Trail was gone.

I’ve heard of people who have had an arm or leg amputated, how they will wake up on the middle of the night, their missing appendage itching, and they reach to scratch it, only to rediscover that the arm or leg is gone.  That’s how I feel about the PCT, a part of me is missing, and I find myself, at times, scratching an itch which only exists in my mind.

I need to get back out there, obviously, before I scratch myself raw and cause an infection.

HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE, I WAS ASKED,  A SHORT Q & A

A question from my buddy in Arizona, how long did it take before we became accustomed to living away from home, or having home redefined.

I can only answer for myself, not Bev, but I am pretty sure her answer is similar.

We had been on the road for about three weeks before we actually started to feel “at home” in the bus, and it took us some thought and conversation to realize why that was . . . we had moved to a different “camping” spot almost daily those first three weeks, and we both found that a bit unsettling.  To be sure, seeing new things and meeting new people was fun, and exciting, but still, at the end of three weeks, we were tired of constantly looking for a place to park and sleep safely.

That all changed once we began staying in one place for several days. It was at that point that we began to feel very comfortable on the road, and the bus began to feel more like a home.

Another question: what do you do during the day to pass the time?

This is something I hadn’t thought about until the question was raised. I have not been bored, or lacking for things to do, since this all began over three months ago. There is always something to do, something to see, people to speak to, plans to consider, fine-tuning to do, and simply existing in a peaceful manner, and I’m serious about that last one, I am at peace, and I can simply sit in a chair and watch clouds float by and be perfectly content.

A favorite passage of mine, from the novel “Siddhartha,” has the title character telling someone that his talents consisted of thinking, waiting, and fasting. I can relate to the first two; the third there is very little chance of me ever relating to.

I think about life, as silly as that may sound, and I love those periods of contemplation.

I wait patiently for life to approach me, and I act accordingly.

I do not have a schedule. For far too long I followed a schedule, had to be doing important things, had to plot out the next chapter of my life. That is no longer the case, and I’m thriving in this new lifestyle.

There is a phenomenon in sports, for the young guys in any league, when they first start playing with “the big guys,” the ones who are experienced and have had success. For the young kids, the game in the higher levels of sports, at first, seems too fast for them.  All of the experienced players seem to be playing at a higher speed than the young ones, even though they really are not.

Then, as time goes on, and the younger players grow accustomed to the speed of the game at that higher level of play, the game slows down for them, and is no longer overwhelming for them.

That’s how it is for me, now, on the road.  The act of living in a bus, constantly in new places, without the safety net, or comfort of, a permanent address, now feels comfortable to me. The game has slowed down, and I am now playing at the same speed as all the rest of the nomads, and that has made all the difference with regards to enjoying this journey.

And yet another question: are you having trouble squeezing all of your possessions into such a small space? How do you manage to store all of the necessities?

This is a fascinating question, and my answer comes a day after I discarded more things I originally thought I would need.

I actually have extra storage room in the bus now that Bev’s hiking equipment and supplies are gone. I lack for nothing. I need no more than I already have.

How many clothes do I really need? How many cooking utensils? How many changes of linen? How much food?  How much do any of us really need?  Mind you, I have nothing against the stockpiling of possessions.  If that floats your boat, I make no judgement about it. This is about me and my needs and what I consider important. I am not trying to win over converts to this lifestyle. I am simply living my best life, and relating what is working for me.

I have a toilet. I have a one-burner butane stove. I have heat if I need it, I have a solar generator for power. I have several changes of clothing, toiletries, a change of linens, probably more electronics than I really need, a few books, which can be swapped for different books, a fridge to keep food fresh, a pantry of sorts for dry foods, a bed, a couch, a dog, and dog supplies. I have everything I need for survival, plus some creature comforts, and again, I am thriving.

The key, of course, is finding joy in a spartan existence. The key, of course, is finding joy in the simpler life.  Fewer possessions mean less space needed for storage. Fewer possessions mean less upkeep and cleaning. Fewer possessions mean less money spent on those possessions not needed. Fewer possessions mean less clutter, both physical and emotional.

And, finally, the question people keep tiptoeing around.

What about you and Bev? Are you breaking up?

Bev is thrilled with her new lifestyle. She is excited to return to the trail, and she is excited about the upcoming winter of visiting her adult children and grandchildren she barely knows.  For the first time, quite literally, since she graduated from high school, she has almost no responsibilities, and she can do whatever it is she wants to do, without asking anyone else, and I am thrilled for her.

And me? I am finally chasing a dream I have suppressed for decades and following a voice I have heard calling me for a very long time. I love this lifestyle. I am at peace, I am happy, and I will continue doing this as long as I am happy doing it.

What does that mean for Bev and I? She is my best friend, and I am hers. We enjoy being in each other’s company, and there has been no discussion about a divorce. There has been no argument or heated discussion, no weeping or grinding of teeth.  We are two good friends who want the best for each other, who want each other to follow paths which make us happy, and that is what we intend to do.  It is quite possible, after the winter of 2023/2024, we will do some traveling together, spend quality time together, enjoy the company of each other. I cannot predict the future, nor do I want to. All I want is happiness for both of us, and right now that equates to the paths we are both following.

If others don’t understand that, or approve of that, I can’t do anything about that. I wish you all well in your lives, and I would hope you do the same for us.

HITTING THE ROAD, SORT OF, FOR SEVEN DAYS

We leave today, we being Maggie and me, for the resort town of Ocean Shores on the Washington coast.  It’s as close to a resort town on the coast as you can find in Washington State, although it really doesn’t compare well with, say, Santa Cruz or Cannon Beach or, most certainly, Malibu.

Me and the dogs will be property-sitting while Bev goes hiking with the property owner.  It will be nice to get out of Olympia before I become too accustomed to city life, and too accustomed to being pampered by my buddy, whose property I have squatted on for the last week.  There are beaches to walk, and canals to sit by; there are people to meet, people to watch, and wildlife to enjoy. There are crashing waves to witness, drifting clouds to paint mental pictures with, and trees, bent by the wind, to marvel at.

Driving with Bev this morning to get coffee at our favorite coffee stand, taking a backroad we rarely take, I was struck, as I often am, by the roads I have never seen in Olympia, and down each road there are people living their lives, all with agendas, all conducting a human symphony, a symphony which blends with millions of other symphonies. Sometimes there is an ill-struck chord, clashing with the harmonious ones; sometimes all notes blend, and the sound is soothing.  Each one trying their best to play their instruments in a manner which pleases them, but oftentimes failing miserably.

It’s the human condition, and it simply fascinates me to no end.

So, seven days in Ocean Shores, then back to Olympia for a couple, then off to the Oregon Coast and new adventures.

Ocean Shores, by the way, has a fairly interesting history.  As a city, it did not exist prior to 1960.  It was just a settlement, of sorts, with a long, wide beach, a bit out of the way for anyone to take seriously for a permanent address.

However, in 1960, the state legislature was entertaining thoughts of allowing state-wide gambling, and most definitely the idea of casinos.  A few rich folks organized the Ocean Shores Development Council, or Corporation, one of the two, and bought up all the land on the peninsula, started selling them to the public for $595 per lot.  Much of that early money came from Hollywood, and one of the more prominent investors was Pat Boone; anyone my age will recognize that name.

Anyway, when I was old enough to drive, my friends and I drove to that new city on the ocean, and I remember being unimpressed. There was a large convention center, two motels, a restaurant, and big dreams, that being 1965.

Well, the plans worked out. Today there is an airport, golf course, citizens numbering 7,000, a business section, man-made canals . . .

My two cents: I’ve never been terribly fond of Ocean Shores, and I would have a hard time articulating why.  I guess I would say it has no personality.  It’s a town that was thrown together without any real vision, if that makes sense.  There is nothing unique about it and, quite frankly, it bugs me that tourists are allowed to drive their cars on the beach, thus killing any ambiance which might have been achieved.

And then there’s the whole forty-five degree ocean water thing, which basically rules out actually going out into the water on the rare warm day they have.

Having said all that, I’m going to have a lovely time during my stay here. I’ll probably even make a video of it all for our 500+ YouTube followers.

An addendum follows shortly where I change my mind and opinion.  Hey, I’m entitled to change my mind, and at least I admit when I’m wrong, which is huge growth.