The Journey Part 40

“I’M NOT A MAN WHO LIKES TO SWEAR”

That is a line from a Neil Diamond song; the line right after it is “but I never cared for the sound of being alone.”

It’s a great line, one of those lines which will stay with you a lifetime, if it strikes the right chord, pun intended.

The sound of being alone . . . if you are lonely, and I’m talking ache to the marrow of your bones lonely, it is almost as if the loneliness is a physical presence, as though the lack of something can actually take up space and dimensions, a defiance of physics, for sure. And the state of loneliness is a fascinating one in itself, more psychological than having to do with the filling of space, for one can be, and I have been, lonely in a crowd.

And yet today, not that many decades removed from the earlier description, I can be alone and not feel lonely at all.

So, what changed?

The answer to that question is much more complicated, and multi-faceted, than space allows in this missive, but the abridged response is I am comfortable in my own skin, comfortable with who I am, in 2023, and that has allowed me to spend days on the road, with no human traveling companion, and be fine with it.  Oh, I still want to meet people, and learn about them, but I don’t need to be with them constantly. I am not frantically looking for human contact to stave off the frightening House of Horrors which introspection tended to be not that long ago.

I thought about these things as I drove away from my friend Jim’s house in Olympia this morning and began this extended journey. A fleeting thought, what if I don’t like being on the road alone, what if I can’t handle the solitude, what the living hell would I do with the bus and having no home, and isn’t it amazing how fast the negative thoughts can creep in and overtake the La-La Land of Positive Vibes?

And yet here I am, one day in the books, and it was a really fine day, Maggie and me doing Maggie and me things, taking long walks, marveling at the world all around us, sharing that deep connection a man and dog have, and now, listening to the ocean serenade us at Grayland Beach State Park, spent, in a good way, from a day of aloneness.

It’s a state of mind, and a condition of the heart, being alone and comfortable with it, just as loneliness is a state of mind and condition of the heart. One is peaceful; the other terribly painful.

Today, I choose peace.

I WISH I COULD DO THAT

Getting coffee the other morning, one of our favorite baristas asked me what I was going to do this upcoming weekend, and I told her I was leaving for a three-week leisurely drive down the Oregon Coast, and those were her words, “I wish I could do that.”

The barista is twenty-five, single, no children, lives with her parents, not going to college, no major debt incurred, no real plans for the future . . .

I wish I could do that!

What in the name of all that is holy is stopping her from doing that?

It’s not the first time I have heard those words, or words like them, spoken after someone hears what I am doing, or what Bev is doing on the PCT, like they can’t believe what they heard, or they can’t believe it is possible for “normal people” to just take off.

If not now, when?

Listen, I understand there are valid reasons why some people cannot just pick up and take off on an extended venture, but I also know there are many people who simply cannot pick themselves up off the couch, walk out the front door, and just do it, and the reason goes much deeper than just saying they are lazy or they lack the courage or . . . or . . . or . . .

At some point during the historical journey of mankind, we shifted from hunter-gatherers, nomads by necessity, to suburbanites, a slow journey for sure, slow as in glacier slow, and I suspect the main reason for this mammoth change boils down to conveniences.  As a civilization, we have become comfortable. We do not need to search for food. We do not need to search for new lodgings when bad weather approaches, or a flood forces us from the valley. Everything we need is a simple jaunt in the car away, and I suspect a certain amount of complacency accompanies that comfortable state of mind.

I also suspect there are expectations at play in this discussion, the young expected to be educated and then join the work force and raise families, the middle-aged expected to sustain the economy and be good worker bees, and the old expected to go quietly into that good night.  And that is all well and good, if that is what you desire in life, and you find peace of mind in doing it.

I am mainly speaking to that young barista, and anyone else who longs to break the mold, but assumes it is just too difficult to do so, and to those people I say nonsense!

It is not that difficult to do. You really just have to convince yourself to take that first step.

If not now, when?

There was a song back in the 70’, by Supertramp, and I believe the name of that song was “The Logical Song,” or something close to that.  It speaks to the carefree, wondrous, curious nature of children, and how that curiosity and carefreeness and feelings of wonder are taught out of us, grilled out of us, slowly exorcized out of us, so that we can become productive members of society; and instead of curious we become rigid and unpliable, and instead of carefree we become mired in problems of our own making, and instead of seeing the wonder, we become skeptical, sarcastic, logical, and incapable, or unwilling, to see any colors other than black and white.

How much truth is in that song? I’ll let you be the judge, but it hits pretty close to home for this writer.

I wish I could do that!

And the months become years become decades become . . . another funeral to attend.

A DAY WITH MY DOG

Really got into the swing of things today, earned my traveling stripes, as it were.  Up at six, as is my norm, walked dog, fed both of us, did some computer work, walked dog, emptied black muck from toilet into waste tank provided by the State of Washington, did dishes, filled water tank, left for Chinook, WA, at nine-thirty, bought a mocha, headed for Cape Disappointment State Park, hung out, saw the sites, back to Chinook, walked around town filmed video, talked to locals, bought some foodstuffs, drove to Fort Columbia State Park, walked around, filmed some more, finally arrived at rest area at four-thirty, did some computer work, made dinner for doggie and me, walked doggie, chilled, and it is now seven p.m. and we are watching the light fade over the Columbia River, getting ready to watch a couple videos on Netflix.

I think I drove, maybe, a total of thirty miles. Never did make it across the river to Oregon. Far too busy on the Washington side.

Having fun!

That is all!

THE DAILY RESPONSIBILITIES OF LIVING ON THE ROAD

Let’s preface this section by making it abundantly clear that I do not have a modern RV. I do not have running water, nor a water pump. I do not have a shower, I don’t have an electrical outlet in the wall, and I only have a three-gallon black water reservoir.  I do not have the money to stay at RV parks nightly, and I don’t have the money to afford to drive copious miles each day.  Heck, I only have a 40L refrigerator, and my stove is a one-burner butane camping stove.

All of that means I need to take care of business, daily, if I want power, water, hot food, fresh food, and heat.  And finding a place to park for the night is another conversation . . . unless I feel like covering it in this section, which I might, I’m flighty that way.

My power source, as in AC/DC, no, not the band, is a 1000W solar generator. Since I don’t do blenders or microwaves or electric blankets or any other power-draining appliance/convenience, the generator does a fine job of meeting my needs . . . but . . . it only has 1000 watt hours and then it needs to be supplied with more power. That means I either have to charge it from a wall outlet, charge it with the sun, or charge it from the car battery/alternator when driving.  None of that is difficult, and it is reasonably efficient, as long as I remember to do it.

Fresh water, same situation. I have fifteen gallons on the bus; more than enough for my needs, but I’m always on the lookout for an outside water spigot so I can refill. The motto when doing the dispersed camping thing is to always refill when you have the chance, whether you only need one gallon or ten, don’t pass up the opportunity.

A shower? Oh my goodness!  Let’s just say I’m learning. There are creative ways to solve the battle of stink. YMCAs usually offer a shower for a buck. Truck stops have showers. Aquatic centers. Some state and county parks. I have an app called iOverlander which is worth its weight in gold. It literally shows, on a map, where things are that RVers need, like showers, like convenience stores, like water sources.  Don’t leave home without it!

Dump stations, to get rid of the human waste in my cassette toilet? iOverlander tells me where, plus some secret places one learns about by simply traveling around.

All of that, however, pales in comparison to finding a place to park for free each night.  What I am finding, logically, is the longer a person is on the road, the more tricks they learn. I am a big fan of rest stops. They usually have an eight, ten, or twelve hour parking limit, but no one polices it, and some of them are gems. I have found two on this trip alone which offer brilliant views, hardly any passing traffic, and hardly any semis to compete with.  But it can be a grind finding a good spot, a spot that feels safe, so the planning of a nighttime parking spot begins early in the day to avoid the dreaded search after the sun goes down.

Having said all that, I love it. Each day is an adventure, a challenge at times, and a journey I absolutely love.