The epic road trip continues

The epic road trip continues. Lucky me, no car camping for me this week. I spent every night indoors, hosted by friends and family. This morning, I headed north toward Oregon, ready for some solitude, which I have found at a lovely rest stop overlooking a green valley outside of Ashland, Oregon. Brisk wind buffets my car. I’m in the back, sitting crisscross applesauce, window covers in place, with a USB light that will go dead soon. I must type quickly.

Monday and Tuesday I spent with old friends in the Sherman Oaks area. on Wednesday night I slept on the couch of a best friend in Silver Lake, and on Thursday, I found my way to La Canada Flintridge to stay with a high school chum. On Friday, I headed north to San Francisco to stay with another friend in an amazing vintage apartment near the Golden Gate Bridge. Saturday found me with family in a suburb of Sacramento, discovering the joys of having a great-niece and nephew.

My friends are all best in class. You couldn’t ask for more loving and gracious friends. Most of them I’ve known for at least thirty years. Fun fact: My fiftieth high school reunion is next year. I love all my friends. However, I’ve never seen all my friends in one week. I am overwhelmed.

It’s been a lot of driving, talking, driving, talking. By the time I got to Sacramento to see family I rarely see, I was content to listen to the kids chatter and eat the food their parents fed me, and then play a card game as if I were one of the family. Which I guess I was. They treated me like family, which is to say, they incorporated me into their world without fanfare. They had a cozy couch, and the dog didn’t bark once during the night.

I love them all. However, being the introvert that I am, my people alert got tripped on Monday and hasn’t stopped clanging since. For the first week of my epic road trip, I had six nights to myself, only one night in other people’s spaces. This week my dance card was full. It has been rough.

Why so hard, you ask? Thanks for asking. I ask myself that as well. It’s great to have shelter, right? I should be grateful. I am grateful! My friends are so generous. Still, do you find it hard to be a guest? I’d much rather be the host. But there I was, using other people’s soap and towels, enjoying their bathtubs (if they had one), and sleeping on various surfaces, from cushy memory foam to a well-loved couch fighting for space among a plethora of throw pillows. I’ve seen bathrooms in every condition, from a tiny cubicle with a sink and toilet to a posh rival to the Ritz Carlton. I’ve seen how many ways there are to make coffee, including not making it at all.

Disappointment: My vertigo problem has not resolved itself as I’d hoped it magically would. Elevation does seem to make it somewhat worse. I think maybe it’s the air pressure, combined with stress and fatigue. Possibly a pinch of insanity. Who knows. Anyway, my head is still reeling, and my ear is still crackling, but my ankles are no longer swollen, so there’s that.

Right now, even though my head is jammed into the headliner, and my toenails need trimming, and traffic is roaring by on I-5 about one hundred yards away, I’m feeling content. Truth: I’m really glad to be alone. I love you all, but now I must go away, so I can have the bittersweet joy of missing you.

PS: Sorry for typos and boring description. I'm beyond tired, and it's really hard to write a blogpost from the back of a minivan. My legs have gone to sleep. Be well, see you all next week.

Free falling in the California desert

Greetings, Blogbots. I hope you are well. I am blogging to you from the lovely town of Rancho Cucamonga. At least, I think that is where I am. Can I really be sure? The map says this is where I am, but I’m feeling a little out of body, which I think is normal for a person on a road trip with many detours, wrong turns, and back tracks. All I can say is, thank you for a patient GPS lady who never yells at me even when I fail to follow her directions.

I’ve been on the road for seven days. It sounds kind of romantic when I say it like that. “On the road.” There is nothing romantic about being homeless, and that is what this resembles. Unfortunately, unlike a true homeless person, I tried to bring everything with me, which means I’m spending a lot of time rearranging boxes. It’s been a learning experience.

So far, I’ve spent a night parked at a casino, a street in Venice, a residential neighborhood, a grocery store parking lot, and a rest stop on I-15. The only location that gave me pause was the street in Venice, parked between two campervans that had clearly not moved in some time. I’m guessing only street cleaning day forces them to vacate their prime location just blocks from the beach. Does parking near the beach make up for living in a car? Maybe when you are young. If you are under 40, it’s a bohemian lifestyle. If you are over 60, it’s down and out in Venice, California.

The weather in Tucson was just getting hot when I left. I drove west in lovely sunshine and hit a wall of gray clouds about 30 miles east of San Diego. The clouds followed me north. Venice was cold and gray. I drove up the PCH to Oxnard and Ventura, dodging rain drops. On Day4 I walked out on the Huntington Beach pier, huddled in my jacket and warm hat, hoping it the clouds would blow out to sea with the oil tankers. On Day 5, I headed northeast, desperate for heat and light. On Day 6, I spent about five minutes in Las Vegas, long enough to know I hope I never have to go there again. Today is Day 7.

What have I learned? First, I learned it’s okay to drive in circles, to get lost, to take an exit to avoid traffic jams or just to see where it goes. It doesn’t matter where I go when I have no firm destination and loose timetables. Second, wild camping in the city means I can’t heat water on a butane stove to make my coffee. Starbucks coffee is not great, hot or cold, but you do what you have to do. Third, meeting friends for food will eventually make me sick, fat, and poor. Finally, I learned that going up in elevation is not good for my head.

I learned other stuff, too, but I’ll save those tidbits for next week. This is just to let you know, I am alive, somewhere in the low desert suburbs of southern California. I hope you all have a good week.

Driving into the wild blue yonder

The day has arrived. The leap into the unknown is about to begin. Do we ever know what awaits us, though? Isn't every day we choose to get out of bed a leap into the unknown? All kinds of events, both good and bad, could happen. For instance, a meteor could hit your neighborhood two doors down from you. Didn't see that coming, did you? Or you could win the lottery! Hey, it could happen. On one hand, you could get shot at the mall food court. Or maybe you'll meet the love of your life at Panda Express. It could happen! Although the odds of the latter happening are probably much less than the former. 

So, here I am beginning my pilgrimage, my journey, my adventure, my leap of faith, and it could be a total catastrophe or it could be sublime. Probably somewhere in between, as life usually is. In my typical fashion, I have prepared for the worst, because I'm a Debbie Downer, but remember that people like me who stomp around with their head down are the ones who find the stray twenty on the sidewalk. Just saying. 

I've packed way too much stuff. Some I will jettison along the way, delivering things to friends and family. I should be traveling lighter on the way back. Still, I'm sure I have packed too much, because I don't yet know what I won't need. 

Along those lines, this might be my last blogpost. Not because I think I'm going to die, although that could happen, but because I don't know what my internet access is going to look like for the next month. That means if you don't hear from me, please don't worry. I will stay in touch by other means, assuming I'm alive and I am not stranded on BLM land with no cell service.

Speaking of BLM land, I don't expect to be doing much dispersed camping. When I'm not staying at a friend's house, I'm mostly going city stealth, or as stealthy as a novice car camper can be. I've seen all the YouTube videos, but that doesn't mean I know what I'm doing. Truck stop? Walmart? Cracker Barrel? What accommodations will I find in the wild blue yonder?

On my move to Tucson from Portland two years ago I slept in parking lots. The first night was at a casino in Winnemuca, Nevada, and the second, at a hospital in Las Vegas. I moved during Covid, one of the many rounds of Covid that made us all wary of being around other people. I was almost denied entry to use the restroom in the hospital. (That was before I learned how to poop in a bucket.) Now we don't care much about Covid, do we, even though people are still dying from it. People my age, I might add. I'm bringing my mask, and I will wear it into public places, but I don't know what I will do about going into friends' homes. If they want me to mask up, I will. But how do I know where they have been? This might be the time I finally get Covid. Hopefully it won't kill me, and hopefully I won't infect any of my friends or family. More of those dang hopefullies.

My route is basically west, then north. I generally know which way is west, and once I get to the ocean, I know which way to turn. I have some interim destinations tentatively planned along the way, but it's quite possible I will get lost and not find them. This is how I roll. So, if I tell you I planned to visit Temecula to eyeball the Winco store there, but I ended up in Podunk, Idaho, well, don't be surprised. Although I would be too embarrassed to admit I committed such an egregious failure to comprehend a map. I can't blame Google Maps for everything.

Think of me occasionally over the next month or so, will you? I will think of you. I will imagine your lives continuing apace, as if you knew for sure what tomorrow would bring. I will picture you rolling out of your comfy bed, brewing your beverage of choice, check your emailing, and yelling at politicians, if you are so inclined. I hope you will not take your modern conveniences and comfortable routines for granted, because tomorrow they could be removed. Nothing is guaranteed, except death and the tax returns I hope you have already submitted. 

Meanwhile, I will be driving and pooping in a bucket, hopefully not at the same time. 

Happy trails to me. 

Dreaming of hopefullies

I had a topic in mind for today's blogpost, and then I took a nap and had a dream that I lost my cellphone. I woke up in tears, blaming myself for my carelessness, and when I looked inside my brain, all remnants of my previous topic idea had vanished. I hate it when that happens. I know better than to shut my eyes without writing the thing down, but there it goes, off into the ether to find a writer who is less careless with her ideas. It was such a great idea, too, one of my best. Really pithy and poignant. You would have been impressed. To tears. 

Meanwhile, in other news, the planning for the epic car camping journey of a lifetime continues. I guess I'm ready to drive off the cliff. Or wherever the road takes me. Hopefully not off a cliff. There are a lot of hopefullies associated with this trip, I'm noticing. Hopefully it will have stopped raining (and snowing) by the time I drive through California. Hopefully floodwaters and landslides will have receded. Hopefully I won't be dumb enough to rely on Google Maps this time. On my last trip I almost ended up in Salt Lake City.

Let me tell you about that dream. I was at somebody's big fancy house. There were movie stars! And an indoor pool! Somebody said, Carol, why don't you go for a swim? I peeled off most of my clothes and laid them by the poolside. Then I got distracted by something else in the dream. Next thing you know, I go back, all my stuff is gone. Stupid! I berated myself into wakefulness, and woke with great relief at finding I hadn't actually been that stupid. My cellphone sat silent nearby. I don't think I would have been so trusting in real life. But you never know. Movie stars! Indoor pools!

I'm not starstruck. In my former days as a custom clothing designer, I had occasion to meet a few movie stars. A few people whose names you would probably recognize. With one minor exception of somebody who held my hand just a wee tiny bit too long, they were all polite and professional. 

Hopefully I will find safe places to sleep along the route. Hopefully there will be cell service in all places so I can text my sister before she calls the local sheriff to send a search posse. Hopefully my car holds out. A lot of hopefullies.

I feel like I'm going off to summer camp or something.

Is it normal to feel trepidation? Hm. I was going to write that I am not used to undertaking big adventures on my own, but then I realized, hey, how do I think I got to Tucson in the first place? Epic car adventure! Three days of driving through Oregon, Nevada, and Arizona on tiny roads both gorgeous and godforsaken (because I missed my turn and ended up almost in Salt Lake City). Getting lost is how you see cool things. Hopefully I can seek out cool things to look at intentionally and get to actually appreciate their coolness, instead of berating myself for not being able to read road signs in the dark. I mean, I need to cut myself some slack: good eyesight is nice but perhaps slightly overrated when there's no one else on the road.

Hopefully somewhere along the journey, my head will settle enough to hear myself think. Hopefully I'll find a place that feels like home. Hopefully I won't lay my cell phone down somewhere and drive off without it. 

Home. That was the topic that floated off into the ether. Something to do with home. Home. Ho um. Ho hum. 

You wouldn't believe how many people would be happy to take my money in exchange for telling me what losing my cellphone means. Apparently, I am feeling disconnected and out of touch. My communications with others are broken, at risk, not going through. Hm. A good day for me is when the phone doesn't ring. 

I remember days before cellphones, do you? Color TV, cordless phones! IBM PCs, Macintoshes, and floppy disks! I remember life before the internet. It's hard to imagine life without it now, although I get to experience the tiny but excruciating loss frequently. The blazing fast internet here at the trailer is a bit temperamental. It goes out once in a while, usually for about three minutes. During those three minutes, do I sweat? Am I anxious? Do I watch the little circle representing the entirety of my existence and pray for the moment the happy broadcast waves return? No, because I know I cannot petition for restored internet with prayer. Duh.

I wonder how I will feel when I'm parked at some rest area or truck stop or Walmart in podunk California, debating how much data my hotspot would chew through because I felt compelled to check for nonexistent email from friends and scour my inbox of all the political entreaties, Pinterest clickbait, and Duolingo reminders. I guess I'll find out (assuming I'm not parked in a dead zone). 

Speaking of dead zones, I sent away for a USB tuner stick that will hopefully let me get broadcast channels on my laptop while I'm on the road. I tried it here at the trailer, and it worked. Unfortunately, it didn't get me any more channels than the bigger antenna does on my Mom's television. I guess broadcast airwaves is a physical thing. There's no magical USB device that will magically attract all those shy waves that are blocked by mountains, buildings, and stupid metal trailer awnings. If I could petition the broadcast airwave gods, I'd ask for a giant roof antenna. Some days, you need more than just ABC, PBS, and Univision.

There are so many criteria for a new home. What criteria do you consider important? Proximity to good schools? Safety? Green spaces? I'd already considered proximity to Winco as a dealbreaker, but now I think I should consider airwave reception. You might say, well, Carol, there's this thing called cable . . . I hear you, but I'm ignoring you. Meanwhile, I have one more blogging Sunday before go-live, go-big-or-go-home, drive-off-the-cliff time. See you then.