Weirdos on the road

Mike (not his real name) is a flabby grizzled aging man with no front teeth and a cute roly-poly dog named Roxie. I met Mike and Roxie this morning at Buffalo Park. He's parked his 26-foot Class C RV in the gravel strip outside the main parking lot for the past month or so. I don't know if he ever leaves, because I come and go. Everytime I've been to the park, he's been there. 

Today as I was changing out of my walking shoes into my sandals, I saw him pull out a doormat and a folding chair. He placed them outside the open side door, took off his shirt, displaying flab and a drooping chest, and sat in the chair, soaking up some nice healthy high-index UV rays. Rock music blasted from somewhere inside. A short-legged fat brown dog laid down on the rug beside him.

Pretty soon, his dog got a stick from inside the RV and begged him to throw it. Because I was parked just a few yards away, I went over to say hello to his dog. That's when he told me his dog's name was Roxie. 

Roxie brought the stick to me to throw. I did my best and ended up almost putting Mike's eye out. Good thing he caught it. I was never much good at softball, although we won City Champs when I was in seventh grade, no thanks to me.

Anyway, Mike obviously hadn't spoken to anyone in a while. I recognized the symptoms of social isolation, because I feel them myself. Even though it soon became obvious that Mike was a jerk and a crook, I still enjoyed the interchange. I kept listening, and he kept talking while we took turns throwing the stick for Roxie. 

Married with kids, divorced from his addict wife, who got cancer and died two months later, after he'd had to sell his house and all his toys. Camarillo, CA, I think he said, even though he has Georgia plates on his RV. 

"I used to be a landscaper and an electrician until 2008, when all the work dried up and I got behind in my bills."

I made some sympathetic noises. 

"I had the best front yard in the neighborhood. I designed and landscaped it all myself. I paid for it by padding my clients invoices. I had a smart taxman. You can get away with anything if you put your mind to it."

I felt compelled to respond with some inanity about living with myself at the end of the day. He displayed no chagrin.

"Where you going next?" I asked.

"Back to Georgia to help someone with some work, and then I think I'll head back to California. After that, Idaho. I want to do some fishing."

I thought to myself, wow, a true nomad. 

"I'd really like to meet a woman," he said, "but all the ones I meet just want to know how much you make, what you got. Nowadays, instead of asking what you like to do, you ask, how many prescriptions pills do you take, what ailments do you have. I met a couple cougars. They just wanted to know how much I was worth."

I clucked my tongue in sympathy. "Have you ever been to Quartzsite in the winter?"

"To the swap meet?"

"Yeah, and to the Rubber Tramp Rendezvous. You might meet a nice nomad woman there. Kindred spirits and all that."

He looked interested. 

After 15 minutes, I was feeling the heat. The clouds had moved aside, and relentless sun was blazing on my neck. I checked my watch. The mall opened at 11:00 a.m.  

Clouds have persisted the past couple days, which means solar has been iffy. I left the forest this morning to charge up the power station that runs my fridge. Now I'm at my favorite table in the mall, watching parents stroll past with their manic children and listening to old pop music echoing in the rafters. Not old by my standards. Depeche Mode seems like just yesterday.

I need some road friends. I'm sure there are some non-weirdo nomads out there on the road. Creative people who aren't jerks or crooks. I'm trying to be more outgoing. I'll sift big timber until I find them.

Sketchy isn't as fun as it sounds

This should be interesting. I didn't bring my keyboard into the mall with me today, so I'm typing on the virtual keyboard that comes built into the tablet. This will probably be a short post today. I'll be lucky to post something before I throw this oversized toy phone across the tile floor. I'm sure it will skid a long way, maybe all the way into the Artists Coalition of Flagstaff. Maybe it will wake up the dozing artist putting in his monthly hours on a quiet Sunday morning.

Rain is expected sometime this afternoon. Rather than run the risk of getting trapped by muddy roads, I'm staying at the few places I've identified in town that seem safe for nomads to park overnight. There are many of us, but we are barely tolerated by the locals. Walmart and Home Depot have been burned too many times, judging by the adamant no overnight parking signs on every pole. That leaves Cracker Barrel and a parking area by Buffalo Park.

I went exploring a possible camping road this morning. I'd seen many large motorhomes and trailers parked across a big dry lake from the road I take to get to a camping area I like. I figured if they could get over there, I could. I found the road, but as I drove slowly over washboard gravel, I saw no open spaces that were level enough for my car. The further I explored the road, the sketchier the area seemed. Some of the campers looked like they had been there a long time. You can tell by how many tents and canopies they've erected. Not to mention all the trash.

The volatile weather is wreaking havoc on my vestibular system. Sometimes I feel like my eyes are spinning in my eye sockets. That would be something to see, I guess. Maybe I could get up a webcam and start a YouTube channel. Maybe I could join a circus. Maybe I could say I've been touched by the holy spirit and join a convent. Next thing you know, I'll be writhing on the floor and speaking in tongues. I'm not sure what all that means, but it sounds entertaining.

Are you keeping count of my typos? Good. 

Dogs will be dogs

Monsoon in Arizona is late this year, but maybe it's finally starting. According to the weather app, it's supposed to rain every afternoon this week. That means the heat during the day creates massive thunderclouds that can produce wind, lightning, and torrential rain. It's pretty exciting if you have a nice covered porch from which to view the storms. I'm not afraid of getting hit by lightning or washed away in a flood, but I am afraid of getting stuck in slick red mud.

Thunder just rolled overhead, and now it's sprinkling. The rain wasn't supposed to start until tomorrow! What the heck? That's what happens when we fire our meteorologists. We get bad forecasts. 

There's no wind. The forest is still except for the occasional crack of a gunshot. The sky is mostly clouds. The lighting looks eerie, almost misty. Maybe that's because I don't wear glasses while I'm typing, so when I look out my side door, everything is soft and hazy. It's a bit muggy, but nothing like what my sister in Boston has experienced this summer. I'm not going to mention the sweat drenching my waistband of my pajama pants.

I stayed the past three nights in another Flagstaff location next to Lake Marshall, which is currently dry except for a small scummy pond inhabited by nesting ducks. When I saw the forecast for rain, I decided I'd better move camp. The road to the campsite area has been ravaged by previous rains and monster truck tires, leaving deep wallows in the dirt that remind me of the wavy roller skating rink at Oak's Park. That's in Portland, in case you are wondering.

I won't say I'm getting the hang of this camping thing, but I will say that I prefer camping in the forest to camping in the city. Knowing that I'm breaking the law by sleeping in my car overnight on public streets makes me uncomfortable. Knowing that I'm not welcome in any city that prohibits overnight sleeping in one's car on public property is disheartening. It's safer in the forest. The only downside, besides the gunshots and the grizzled weirdos, is the 14-day camping limit rule. After 14 days out of a 30-day period, you have to move to another camp at least 25 miles away. In other words, you can't stake out a homestead and build your own tiny fort in the forest.

With no solar today, after checking to be sure my shirt was not on backwards and that I was wearing pants, I took my fast-charging power box to the mall, where it charges up in about an hour. I found a small round table with a functional outlet on top. I plugged it in. It started slurping up power at a rate that far outstrips solar. While I waited, I did some work done on my dinky tablet with my giant Bluetooth keyboard and watched the mall-goers navigate the stores and kiosks. 

When I'm camping, I meet a lot of dogs. Two days ago, I met Bo and Little Man. I never asked the name of their dog walker. The dogs were chunky and energetic. The slender woman walking them took them out one at a time. I suspected those muscular dogs together could drag her into the next county. They were well-behaved dogs, though. She let them visit me one at a time when they seemed inclined to sniff me out. Then they peed all over the rocks in my campsite. 

"I can't stop them from doing that," the woman said, as if I was going to start yelling. 

"No worries," I replied. I didn't say I was actually more impressed by the fact that she wore the same loose white shirt and baggy green shorts every day I saw her. That made me feel better about my own overworked wardrobe.

Recently I was on the phone when a little white poodle-type mutt jumped into my van through my side door. It jumped around like it was on pogo sticks, sniffing and wriggling and generally wreaking havoc. I finally shooed it outside. I presume it found its way home. I never saw the owner. 

I haven't seen any lightning today, but the thunder is now rolling overhead. It just started pouring rain, just for a brief minute, followed by sprinkles, then a deluge, then a light shower. Typical monsoon behavior. Difficult to predict with accuracy, even with a full contingent of weather forecasters. I check the weather app multiple times a day. This morning it said rain was coming tomorrow. Ha.

I don't mind the rain. I'd rather be out here among the trees than parked at Cracker Barrel for fear of mud. 

Oh, by the way, not that you were wondering, but I'm off the Keppra and trying something else. Once again I'm a guinea pig, but more to the point, going off the Keppra means no more Keppra rage. Now I have no excuse if I have a conniption fit over spilling my coffee or running out of crackers. I'm back to plain old ordinary rage, if I choose to indulge. I don't often indulge in anger these days. I don't have the energy. It changes nothing, and it hurts no one but me. But it was nice to have the option and have something external to blame. 

The rain has stopped. The sun is trying to make an appearance. Soon, the dirt road will be powder again. Welcome to monsoon in Northern Arizona. 

Humans will be humans

Two days of hard rain in Flagstaff sent me running out of the forest back into town. No way am I getting stuck in this thick red mud. I drive a soccer mom minivan, not a 4-wheel drive monster truck. On the second night, I found a place to park with a dozen other nomadic vehicle dwellers. Better than Cracker Barrel. Although I'm grateful for Cracker Barrel, don't get me wrong. They welcome travelers. I parked there the first night. I don't mind the sounds of trains and traffic. I lived on a busy bus line in Portland for 18 years. Every fifteen minutes it sounded as if the bus was going to come right through my bedroom window. Eddie and I got used to it. Sometimes the silence in the forest is unsettling (see previous post).

I'm off the Keppra and onto an antidepressant. Now I can't blame Keppra rage when impatient drivers tailgate me. Sometimes I think they think I'm going the speed limit specifically to make their lives a living hell. One guy in a monster pickup passed me and then slammed on his brakes. Probably he's on Keppra, too.

So now I'm taking an SNRI to fix the chemicals in my brain. I'm not expecting much, but I won't know for six weeks or so whether it will calm the angry part of my brain that yells everytime the air pressure changes. I have to live through the side effects first. Like eating your meat before you get the pudding.

You may have received the impression that just because I'm currently a nomad I'm not working. I probably mentioned some time back that I was a contract editor for a for-profit college based in the Midwest. After two years, they eliminated the editor position, but offered the terminated editors the opportunity to apply to be  . . . I guess you would call us part-time contingent adjunct faculty. I'm not teaching courses, thank God. Don't want to do that again. Now I'm a Chair for two students and a Committee Member for four others. 

Everything happens remotely, just like the online university I attended. This college has distilled the dissertation production experience to a set of checklists, rubrics, templates, and approval hoops. It seems as if it should be well organized, and it could be, if humans didn't keep getting in the way. All the snafus I've seen have been because administrators and other part-time faculty don't follow rules, or there are no consistent rules to follow. 

What drives me nuts is the way the administrators express sanguine appreciation for faculty (and I use the term "faculty" very loosely). We are so grateful for all you do for our candidates, or variations on that theme, ad nauseum, until after a while, you get the feeling you aren't really appreciated at all. Of course, all you have to do is look at the pay structure to know the only way this college can keep its tuition so low is by paying its adjuncts a pittance. It's an old page out of an old playbook. 

I'm not mad. I like helping students work through the process of earning their degrees. I'm not mentoring for SCORE anymore, but this is not much different, just mentoring in a different arena. 

I'm not really an academic. I am reminded of that fact every time I see how other Chairs interact with their students. Where they are terse, formal, sometimes snippy, and authoritarian, I try to be collaborative, encouraging, and approachable. Maybe I'm too informal. I treat students like people who are just a few steps behind me on the academic path. 

I remember my experience with my Chair. She was smart, but impatient and condescending. I am guessing she was Chair to many students. No wonder she was cranky all the time. I had to post weekly updates. Usually it was all bull pucky. I know what students do. They muddle around for nine weeks and pull something out of their butts in week ten and expect their Chair to grade it and return it before the end of the term. 

No use being angry when humans reveal their humanness. 

I'm back in the forest, sitting in my car. The sun is hot, the air in here is too warm, and then a breeze blows through, and it feels great. 

Taking it all a day at a time.