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.