The Journey Part 7

I AM CONTINUALLY PROVEN WRONG

We took an extended hike up into the hills today, from our RV park, a chapparal sort of hike, scrub brush and cacti, large boulders and flowering whatevers, and I came to a new appreciation for this section of the country. The hills above Southern California, this section just north of San Diego, is reasonably close to being desert, and yet the “hills are alive” with the sound of natural beauty, a natural beauty I might have scoffed at when younger.  People from Western Washington, where I am from, are spoiled by greenery.  It is the Evergreen State, after all, which means no matter the season, we have towering firs to refresh our need for color, even in winter, and I think we are a bit snobbish when it comes to our regional pride. We don’t really think other parts of the country can match ours for stunning vistas.

That was me then; I don’t think it applies now. Today was yet another eye-opener. The high desert is alive, is overflowing with beauty and wonder. I just had to be ready to accept that a different type of beauty is still beauty.

Having said all that, and I am being completely honest in the aforementioned opinion, signs warning me of rattlesnakes are unnerving, something I doubt I will ever grow accustomed to while down in this part of the U.S.

THE BUS IS DRIVING US CRAZY

Call it a design flaw if you will, and you should because it was my design flaw for sure. I had the big idea to have the bed going north to south instead of in the rear going east to west, which is the preferred design of practically everyone who lives out of a van or bus. I thought different would be cool.

It turns out different is a pain in the ass.

We have no room to move around because of my design, we are constantly running into each other, I have hit my head on shelves and the top level of the bunkbed more times than I care to mention, and once we get to Campo, with time on our hands before Bev takes off on her hike, this brilliant design of mine will be torn apart and made into a workable design. I have a saw and I know how to use it.

I am waving the white flag. I admit defeat.  My design will eventually kill me if we don’t get the saw out and change it.

P.S. two weeks later, the bus has been reconfigured, and peace has been restored.

RIDING OUT A WINTER STORM

Bev has her favorite childhood friend living in Laguna Beach, California, about forty miles inland, so that is/was our next stop. We are spending two days here, at Crystal Cove State Park, while the heavens unleash their full February fury, giving Bev some much-needed visiting time with her friend.  Me, I’ll hang with the dogs, in the state park, and work on vides and content creation for my long-serving customers.

It’s important that she spend time with Brenda. Friendships like that one, which last a lifetime, are priceless. I lost my best friend, Frank, four years ago, and I regret almost daily that I didn’t spend more time with him before cancer rang the final bell. I want Bev to have as many of those moments as possible.

This storm is going to dump another six-to-eight feet of snow on the Sierra Mountains, certainly more than enough to postpone any move inland we were contemplating, and I have no desire whatsoever to put Puddle Walker smack dab in the middle of a winter’s storm. So here we will sit.

Puddle Walker, by the way, is performing beautifully.  Hasn’t used a drop of oil, no leaks, temp gauge remains steady, tires holding air . . . it is for sure due for a service visit, and an oil change, which we will take care of once this storm passes and we are inland a bit where prices are a bit lower.  And one thing I am very appreciative of, because it is only eighteen feet long on a van chassis, it is very easy to drive in the city traffic, unlike many other larger RV’s or towing a trailer.

She stands out a bit among the money of Laguna Beach, probably would be considered an eyesore by many here, but I like her spirit and I applaud her responsiveness to everything I ask of her. Not bad at all for a twenty-four-year-old vehicle.

The dogs are doing okay. Maggie the Resilient is fine anywhere her humans are, and she has always loved traveling. Toby is tolerating the drives as best he can. Loud noises startle him, and Puddle Walker can get a bit creaky on rough roads, so Toby is hanging in there as well as we can hope.  He is such a good dog, I hate putting him through anything that makes him uncomfortable, and I know their worlds have been turned upside down, but they are champs and yes, I’m proud of them.

YESTERDAY, BEFORE THE STORM

Well, we walked around the beachfront of Laguna Beach, sun peaking between clouds, slight breeze at that time, mid-fifties, perfect walking weather in February . . . and I was observing, as I am prone to do these days.  We met a man from Philly, pushing a baby stroller, talked to him about his son Robert Joseph, the father so proud, bubbling over with love and pride.  We spoke to probably five people about our dogs, the breed, hearing the compliments, shared stories about pets at home. I saw four friends, women, middle-aged, laughing and walking, arm in arm, three teens on skateboards, weaving in and out of foot traffic, one girl, maybe pre-teen, hugging her father in public, no shame at all, restaurants with patrons laughing, conducting business, going about the business of interacting with fellow humans, flags on storefronts, young couples holding hands, joggers, an older woman, older than me, with her daughter and granddaughter, you can just tell, you know, three generations on a shopping trip . . . and it all filled me with joy, and that very present realization, with me often now, that we are all 99% the same, you and I, our neighbors, our distant relatives, people we have never met, people we will never meet, we are all so damned similar, and will we ever embrace THAT fact rather than shout from soap boxes about our differences?

Condensation forms on the windows of Puddle Walker as I write.

I read a post written by an online friend living in South Africa. We share many beliefs about living an intentional life, living an honorable life, and living a life which emphasizes quality over quantity. Her writings always fill me with hope and renew me with vigor for future endeavors.

Lately, an online friend, one who would stop by sporadically to read my writings or watch my videos, has been present at everything I post.  The change coincides, I think, with the beginning of this road trip, and I believe it has something to do with a desire she expressed, maybe a year ago, to sell everything, buy an RV, and hit the road. As of now she has not done that, but I think she is finding inspiration in our travels, and I think our odyssey is fueling her courage to finally turn the key and start her engine.

I hope so.  I really do. I hope more people find the courage to make necessary changes in lifestyle, to finally enjoy life on their terms rather than some preconceived notion of an American Dream and Protestant work ethic.

Puddle Walker is rocking back and forth in the wind, like some child being rocked to sleep.  The darkness around us is almost absolute. The wind has not abated. The dogs are gently snoring.

All is right in my world.