On the Road: From Missouri to Colorado: A Night at Love's

I've left Missouri for a two-month sojourn in Colorado. 

I passed the night in Chez Prius at a Love's in Ellis, Kansas. 

A very cozy bed chamber. 

 

Cozy bed in Chez Prius. Ellis, Kansas. Credit: Mzuriana.

I awakened to a glorious dawn, co-starring a slice of Americana. 

 

Dawn in Ellis, Kansas, at Love's Truck Stop. Co-starring an A&W. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

Dawn in Ellis, Kansas, at Love's Truck Stop. Credit: Mzuriana.

Alabama: Meaher State Park: Breaking Camp

 

Meaher State Park Campground, Alabama. View from site 7. July 2021.

 July 2021

A pink rosé sunrise clung to the cottony clouds when I arose. The temp this morning chilled my skin, almost, in contrast to the hot hot temps earlier this week.

Yesterday, when gassing up for today's departure, I had the foresight to buy an x-large cup of Texas Pecan coffee at the CEFCO, as it was only 89 cents for any size after 3 p.m. and I knew it would be great for my camp coffee this morning! As it was. 

I did not have the foresight last night to undress the picnic table before I retired to ensure that this morning, I would already have a dry tarp neatly packed in its bin. I have to wipe it down of dew before I can put it away.

The traffic I hear from I-10 across the water is never-ending. Reminds me of the I-65 traffic behind and above my Birmingham apartment. If I work very, very hard, the sound of running tires on pavement can sound like ocean waves breaking against big shore rocks, but really, the sound is just a relentless backdrop of noise. 

Last night it rained and the temp dropped. I was completely cozy in my Prius. What a game changer this is from needing a tent.

Today marks the first leg of my loop back to Missouri for a second summer visit before a turn in New Mexico. 

 

Stuff: Trials and Errors in Alabama

Before I left Tucson at the end of May 2020, I edited my stuff to the barest of bare minimums so I could car camp in ChezP while en route to wherever my new digs would be for the year. This approach contrasted with past years, in which my criterion for how much stuff I schlepped from one tourist-in-residence to the next was that it fit into my car. 

 

Car packed for move to El Paso. August 2016.

 

Below are minimizing actions I took before my Tucson exit:

• Reduced flatware and tableware to four or fewer pieces in each category
  
• Cookware released: Cooking pots and pans, plastic spatulas/spoons, silicone oven mitt, cutting board
  
• Kept only one bath towel
• Bedding released: Airbed and its accompanying electric pump, fitted sheets, all pillows except one, pretty comforter, a knitted throw
  
• Travel items released: Two coffee thermoses, smallish Coleman water jug
  
• Also released: Smallish fan

 

Now that I've been in Birmingham for awhile, I can assess my mistakes and wins.  My first assessment on same is here.

Mistakes

1. Keeping only one bath towel

One bath towel was fine right up until the day I went on my road trip in October. Wanted to take a shower the morning I left Birmingham for Texas, only to realize, oh, right, my sole bath towel will be damp, so instead of packing it up, I'd have to drape it over stuff in the car while I drove.

On the other hand .... On a road trip, I can lay bath towels atop my coolers to protect my cooler(s) from the heat and sun pushing through the windows or just to cover up items that opportunistic thieves might think appear interesting enough to break a window for. 

I should have kept two bath towels.

 

2.   Keeping only one pillow

In theory, my decision to insert blankets and linens into pillowcases and use these as pillows was a solid one. But they aren't comfortable and they're also kind of floppy. 

I should have kept two pillows. 

 

3.   Bed

I don't regret giving away my airbed and pump. It would have taken up too much ChezP real estate for this year's interregnum between Tucson and Birmingham. Just as importantly, I learned how much I valued a comfortable bed! My experiment with a stretched-fabric cot, topped by my ChezP's foam cushion, has been a comfort failure, and not one I want to suffer through for a year. I hereby reject the punitive adage: You made your bed and now you gotta lie in it.

 

                                                        Bed fail in Birmingham. October 2020.

 

I ordered a new airbed and electric pump after I returned from my Texas road trip. Same brand for the third time: an Intex Twin with Raised Pillow. I like that it's almost the height of a real bed. 

I again sleep like a queen! 

3. Cookware

I grow weary of thrift-store cookware that doesn't sit evenly on stove burners, oven mitts that don't quite do the job, and no-scratch spatulas with dubious chemical integrity.

It is time to invest a little dough into decent kitchen tools I can use in a bricks-and-mortar or on the road. 

So the mistake in this case wasn't that I released my Tucson cookware and bought "new" in Birmingham; it's more a mistake in lost time and unreliable results from thrift store hunting and buying each time I move. It's the latter I intend to rectify. 

4.   Tableware

I made no mistake in reducing my number of dinner plates to two from four. My mistake was the size of the dinner plates I was using. They were too big. They were too big to fit into my decades-old, Girl Scout ditty bag to dry after I washed them. They were too big to fit easily into my camp kitchen box. 

 

Vintage Girl Scout ditty bag at campsite, Lake Livingston State Park, Texas. October 2020.

 

Notwithstanding the pretty, pastel turquoise color and the pleasing curvature of their lip, I left them in Livingston.

I could do so because I'd already found their replacement:

When I landed in Birmingham, I undertook my annual search for a replacement broiler pan with which to roast my boneless, skinless chicken breasts or thighs, my zucchinis, my squashes, my potatoes, and my yams. I found a taped-together assortment of metal ware that included not only the PERFECT size broiler pan (fits well into a kitchen sink for washing!), but two sets of toaster-oven pans, which I didn't think I needed (and I don't have a toaster oven).

But the petite, rectangular toaster-oven pans are cute as kittens, in their way, and I'm using them as my new plates. I can't use them in a microwave, but no matter. I don't have a microwave. (Hahaha! This reminds me of how, in Ferguson, I didn't have a stove!)

My wins

I should have dispensed with fitted sheets long ago! They are a pain in the ass to fold after laundering, they are a pain in the ass to put on an airbed, and they're too big for my ChezP "bed."

Although I had some sentimental attachment to the flatware, one of the two thermoses, and the Coleman jug that I released, the storage space they didn't consume in my car and kitchen cabinets dried my nostalgic tears. 

My decision to furnish my Tucson (and future) apartment with camp gear that I can also use for road trips and camping was a good one! My bedside table is a collapsible camp table. My bedside lamp is a camp lantern (powered by rechargeable batteries). My comfortable living room chair is a backpacking chair. My ottoman is the medium-large plastic bin that houses my camp kitchen, topped by a pillow. 

 

Living room ensemble. Birmingham, Alabama. October 2020.

                               

Related stuff on stuff

"Office" chair

Every year, I buy a new-to-me chair for my "office." Usually, I do find a chair that is the right height for my loyal folding table, and is comfortable. But not always. This year in Birmingham, I bought a very solid, pretty, wooden dining chair. But the seat is just a little too high for my folding table, which means that every day, I'm slightly uncomfortable when I work on my laptop. 

I'd like to find a sturdy, folding camp chair with the correct seat height, provides good support for my lower back while sitting for long periods, hold up to daily use, and which will not take up too much space in my car when I use it for camping and moving. 

 

                        My office 'desk' and chair in Opelousas. Louisiana, March 2015.

 

 

Cardboard boxes

I'm experimenting with the use of cardboard boxes for shelving and side tables. This practice holds promise for future living set-ups.

 

 

Eutaw, AL: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 888: My First Love, No Fireworks

The view from Chez P, Love's Truck Stop. Eutaw, Alabama. July 2020.

NOTE: My COVID-19 posts are all over the chronological map for now; I'll number them down the road. 


I slept at a truck stop for the first time.
It was Love's.
It was the 4th of July (aka Independence Day, All Countries Matter Day, and All July Matters Day.) There was a full moon.
The earth did not move under my feet.
I neither saw nor felt fireworks.

But I slept well, comfortably, and safely.

I did buy almost a tank of gas for a higher price than I could have found elsewhere, and I did spend about $7 for chunked cantaloupe, several peeled tangerines, and hard-boiled eggs.

Love's staff were friendly and masked. There was a plastic shield between staff and customers at the registers.

The restroom was very clean.

If I'd wanted to shower, I could have, for $12. This doesn't seem all that unreasonable, as apparently, once I'm in there showering, I can take as long as I want, and apparently, have plenty of room, and very clean surroundings.

There was a massive parking lot for trucks behind Love's. This lot allegedly included an area designated for RVs, but I couldn't find it. I was glad I could overnight in a space that I'd describe as in the store's front campus, but on the side border of the front.

The view from Chez P, Love's Truck Stop. Eutaw, Alabama. July 2020.

Notes on my Chez P amenities: Air conditioning

At an Arkansas rest area several weeks back (en route from Missouri to Texas), I thought, ooh! I'll run my a/c all night for lovely, safe, interior comfort!

But ohhhhh. I couldn't lock the doors with my key fob while I was inside AND the car power was on. And being the only overnight occupant at this rest area, I sure didn't feel comfortable sleeping alone with my doors unlocked.

I did some research on how to lock the doors when the power was on, and I learned:

1. No, you can't do that. 
2. Yes, you can, but [mumble, mumble, some technical explanation that sounded hard]. 

So, while at Love's, I gave this situation Much Deep Thought because it was hot and muggy outside, and although I like my two window screen stockings, they are great for keeping out insects, but terrible at letting in a breeze.

The Deep Thought made me wonder if I could reach over to the driver's seat from my back-seat bed and manually push down the lock button. I executed on same. And it worked! Well, to tell you the truth, I don't know 100% that it worked, but I heard the sound of all doors locking. And I found that I could not open my back door.

Do I know for a fact that someone on the outside of my car cannot open any of the doors? No, I do not. Because I was not about to ask a Love's stranger to help me test this.

Nevertheless, because I was in a very public place with lots of light, I decided to take a risk. I let the a/c run ALL NIGHT. And I was comfortable! In fact, it was grand!

I consumed 50 "miles" of gas to run the a/c, which translated to less than $3 in gas for the night.

Notes on my Chez P amenities: Toilet

When I first installed (heh) my toilet in the well behind the driver's seat, I set it up so I faced the window behind the driver's seat.

The night before my Love's tryst, at the Arkansas Rest Area near Greenville, Mississippi, I had changed the toilet orientation so that my rear (heh) faced the window behind the driver's seat. Such a simple change, but it made the approach logistics from my bed so much easier, and I seemed to have more foot space. A second night in this new arrangement confirmed its superiority over the original set-up.

However ......... I need a better solution (get it?) to rinse out the toilet's urinal and funnel to eliminate lingering urine odors after I've disposed of the liquid. Neither vinegar nor bleach alone do the trick. I suspect I need a good water shower via a large-ish spray bottle, then a funnel wipe-down with a disinfectant wipe, and then finish with a vinegar or bleach splash.

Notes on my Chez P amenities: Curtains

The curtains I finally figured out and installed just before the Arizona shutdown (before it re-opened prematurely) - working as designed.

On the Road Again: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 27: Overnighting in an Arkansas Rest Area

 

Salado Rest Area camping area, Highway 167, Arkansas. June 2020.

After a week in Missouri, it was time to strike out again toward the southwest ..... to Livingston, Texas. My goals to achieve there: 

1. Vote in the spring 2020 runoff election, which had been postponed, because of COVID-19, from its usual May time to July
2. Simply spend time (and some money) in Livingston to cement my relationship with Texas as my official home state
3. Meet up (safely) with my Houston and Livingston friends

 

When I left Missouri, I knew I'd overnight in Chez P at Arkansas' Salado Rest Area on Highway 167, a bit south of Batesville. 

I have a history with this pretty rest area. Every time I swang by here on my way up or down to South Louisiana, I stopped at Salado Rest Area. Because it's pretty and because I so love that it is a rest area with actual campsites. 

It was with some excitement that this time, I would actually use one of the campsites! 

I arrived before dinner, and chose my site for:

• Attractiveness
• Proximity to restroom 
• Relatively short distance for a rapid exit, if needed
  
• Proximity to night time light source for a feeling of security (not actual security, mind, but the feeling of security)
  

 I backed Chez P into the campsite driveway so I could shoot straight out if necessary.

View from my campsite, Salado Rest Area, Highway 167, Arkansas. June 2020.

 For dinner, I pulled out a can of Chunky soup, a bag of carrots, some crackers, and an apple. An unexpected visitor arrived and I shared some soup with her.

Dinner guest at my Salado Rest Area campsite, Highway 167, Arkansas. June 2020.

After dinner, I anticipated that other overnighters would begin to roll in on this Friday night. I welcomed the additions, as I feel safer in the middle of a herd of other overnighters in a rest area.

But no one came. No. one.

Anxiety about being the lone camper in a rest area that attracted stoppers-by throughout the night punctured my buoyant camping spirit a bit. I reminded myself of this: The vast majority of humans simply want to go about their business, neither wanting to be molested nor wanting to molest others, so get a grip on reality, girl. 

When I arose the next morning, I saw that a couple of other travelers had, after all, stopped for the night, including one in a tent. 

Every time I pass a night like this, it makes the next time easier. Which is good because I aim to camp in the future in a dispersed camping area on public lands, where I'd be far from a main road and facilities. 

When I say "easier," I refer to a process that moves me toward right-sizing safety fears. It is out-sized fear that keeps us from doing so many things.  

 

A campsite at Salado Rest Area camping area, Highway 167, Arkansas. June 2020.

 

Road Trip: Livingston, Texas: Part 6: Second Night Boondocking

Being reborn as a Texan, feeling a new-home-base glow, I headed westward again. Knowing I will come back east only a few months from now.

I spent my second night at an I-10 rest area, again in Texas, this time at the one that lies between Comfort and Kerrville.

It confounds me that evidently I took nary a photo of the place.


I learned some new things about rest-area boondocking with this second go.

Yes, try to arrive earlier in the evening than I did, particularly on a Monday following Thanksgiving.

I rolled into the rest area around 5:30, I believe. Already there were RVs and vans in occupation for the night. Some trucks, too. I had very limited parking choices.

At this rest area, it is parallel parking only. When I first docked, I chose a spot that was parallel to the women's side of the restrooms. My slot was just behind a red zone, so there would be no vehicles directly in front of me, but there were slots in the spaces behind me. I quickly discovered that this meant I had regular and frequent headlights shining directly into the back of my vehicle.

I looked for a less-trafficked spot. In front of the accessible parking, there was a van, and immediately in front of that, a camper. And then that was the end of free spaces at the front of the car-parking line. I walked over to see how much space existed between the van and the accessible spot. .... Just enough. Just enough for me to scooch my Prius in there. Which I did.

Having learned my lesson from the first rest area car-sleeping, I pulled out my clothes for the next day and placed them in a red bag with my toiletry bag.

Although the temps dipped into the 30s that night, I felt cozy. I slept very well. If there were 18-wheeler truck sounds in the night, I must have quickly become inured to them.

Based on my two experiences sleeping at a rest area, I feel good about doing it in the future.

Road Trip: Livingston, Texas: Part 3: Escapees RV Club

Escapees RV headquarters, Livingston, Texas. November 2019.

• Destination: Livingston, Texas
• Mission A: Become a Texan
• Mission B: More field testing of Chez Prius (and me), which will prepare me for a hoped-for road trip to Alaska in summer 2020

I'm too new to comprehend all of the moving parts of Escapees RV Club (and its ancillary connections), so what I share below is merely a reflection of my first impressions and limited personal experiences thus far. 


What is the Escapees RV Club? 

The mission of the Escapees RV Club is to support an RV lifestyle "with everything you need to make it easier, more affordable, safer, and .... fun!"

Services that flow from the mission include:

• "Largest private mail forwarding service in the country"
• Job exchange
• Discounts at selected campgrounds or services (think similarly to AAA or AARP)
• Education, e.g. RV Boot Camps, webinars, and an "online RV university."
• Multi-day "convergences" at campgrounds around the country, which include both educational workshops and social events
• Special-interest groups within the larger club membership
• Member-driven online forums 
• Webinars

If I'm not an RVer, why am I a member of Escapees RV Club?

Although I'm not the traditional RVer, I am still a member of the tribe:

1. I have a rig in which I sleep on a part-time basis - my car. My carV, so to speak. In fact, my car is always set up for sleeping and camping.
2. I am nomadic. We nomads are diverse in how frequently and how far we migrate. Some of us move every few days, some every few weeks, some every few months. Some of us stick to a certain geographical region, some of us crawl all over the continent. Some of us boondock and some of us move from one full hook-up situation to the next. Some of us do both. On a migration continuum that runs from moving every couple of days to moving every year, I fall at the far right end of the spectrum.
3. Like a full-time RVer, I practice minimalism in the quantity of stuff I own because of limited space and frequent moves, using only my car to carry all of my possessions from one temporary abode to the next.

I share some of the special administrative concerns that RV-based nomads do, such as permanent mailing addresses, mail forwarding services, portable health care, tax homes, voting, etc.

Mail goes on, even during a festival. Columbia, Missouri. September 2007.

Rainbow Campground in Livingston, Texas

The campground property is immense. There are three large gathering places on the grounds:

• CARE Center, which has a dining room and a vast living room, with the latter including a number of cozy couches, large upholstered chairs, a library, a TV viewing area, a "church" area, and an arts-and-crafts section.  
• Activity Building with adjacent swimming pool. The activity building has one large room and a stage, restrooms, and several small rooms for small-group activities.
• Club House, which includes a kitchen, a game room, and a library. 

Every day offered me opportunities to socialize with fellow campground visitors by way of regular social hours, exercise "classes," card games, etc. Said socializing also happens organically by just walking around the campgrounds. I'd say that rig-peeking is a universal form of recreation for campers. At least that's been my experience in any campgrounds I've visited.

I took a pleasant walk up and down the campground lanes, which included a couple of wooded areas near a ravine.

Another thing I liked about the campground (in addition to its affordability), was that at no time did I feel "less than" for being a car camper amongst a flock of RVs. In fact, I felt completely at home and welcomed by everyone.  Of course, I also feel no reason to be bashful about my lil' rig, so if there had been any icky vibe in that regard, I would have put that squarely on the other person's shoulders and not let it sit on mine.

Teeny RV at Good Golly Miss Molly's, Livingston, Texas. November 2019.

Escapees Care Center

The C.A.R.E. Center is a separate legal entity from the Escapees RV Club, but its physical property abuts the Escapees Rainbow Park campground. If you didn't know any differently, you'd assume the CARE Center was part of the Escapees RV campground.

C.A.R.E. is an acronym for Continuing Assistance for Retired Escapees.

It is flipping cool.  So many reasons:

1. It's a place for full-timers to live  - in their own rigs - after they must get off the road either permanently or temporarily. ... And they get to stay among their own tribe - fellow full-timers! 
2. The CARE Center is not an isolated community where the only residents are assisted-living residents and their sometimes visitors - heck, no, CARE Center residents enjoy a daily influx of active full-timers coming and going in the dining room, volunteering at the CARE Center, and participating in activities that are at or near the CARE Center. 
3. The monthly fee is affordable for many, many folks, and it not only offers the site space, but three meals a day, plus regular housekeeping-type assistance in their rigs.  
4. Transportation to medical appointments + local recreational field trips.

One of my new friends, "Gina," is a CARE Center resident. A solo full-timer for decades, Gina's most recent rig is a Lazy Daze. Before she became a resident, she thoughtfully donated money at times and also volunteered at the CARE Center when she stayed at the campground.

Volunteering at the CARE Center is a win-win for everyone. Volunteers drive, clean off dining room tables, do some light bookkeeping, and I don't know what else. In exchange, the CARE Center residents, of course, reap the injection of new conversations from folks still on the road, and the volunteers get free rent AND meals at the CARE Center dining room.

One evening, Gina and I, and another new friend, "Mandy," (an active solo full-timer who also owns a Lazy Daze, and who was my next door neighbor at the campground) went on a group outing to town. A husband-and-wife duo of volunteers did the driving of the two vans; there were perhaps 15 of us who went. The couple had been staying (and volunteering) at the Livingston grounds for a month; they would leave Monday for another Escapees RV site in Alabama.

In addition to interactions with active full-timers, CARE Center residents also chat with townies and weekenders who come for the all-you-can-eat pancake breakfasts on Saturday mornings (for only 5 bucks) or the Big Breakfasts on Friday mornings, which include eggs and two meats and other stuff (for only 6 bucks).

I was mighty impressed with the CARE Center operations.


Diversity

Age

At some point, Escapees RV Club recognized that the membership skewed hard toward the silverhairs. This makes sense, of course, because you've got to have some bucks to be able to buy most RVs, plus the financial security to travel in them. And folks who've passed through various life milestones - advanced in their careers, paid off their college debts, raised the kids, set aside long-term savings, have more disposable income to play with - they're generally going to be older.

But Escapees RV Club wisely looked to its future by creating space for what they call Xscapers - a cohort they define as "working-age RVers."

This is a clever, clever definition because it skirts what might be an off-putting arbitrary age envelope, allowing generous overlap between Middle Youngs with children in the nest, Old Youngs, and Young Olds whose kids might be out of the nest, but the parents are still very much working.

Xscapers also plant the words "active" and "adventure" in its message, which perk the ears of the younger demographics.


Complexion

Yeah, almost exclusively white. This lack of diversity needs just as much attention as the age homogeneity did before Escapees launched Xscapers.

I wonder if Escapees RV Club has ever reached out to clubs for strategic partnerships such as NAARVA  (National African American RVers Association).

As a nation, we've got to be energetic in our efforts to send inclusive messages to all Americans.

An organization's marketing materials - such as photos that include groups or individuals having fun - should reflect heterogeneity (actual or aspirational) in its membership.

And how about an organization avoid naming locations with such monikers as "plantation," as Escapees RV Club does for its Alabama campground? Isn't it time we put to rest kill the idea of plantations as a romantic representation of a bygone era of Southern charm and hospitality, and instead, consider how some current and prospective members see plantations as what they were: open-air prisons for enslaved women, men, and children?


Volunteer ethic

There is an ethos of volunteerism at the campground (and CARE Center) that surprised and pleased me.

Yes, there's a quid pro quo for folks who sign up for specific volunteer duties and tenures of same - in the form of free or discounted campground fees - but overall, there's a community vibe in the expectation that we all clean up after ourselves and help keep things nice for our neighbors and those who arrive after we leave, rather than a resort model, where there is an expectation of "somebody" who is going to take care of us and our environs.



I am tickled to be a member of the Escapees RV Club. 

Road Trip: Livingston, Texas: Part 2: Becoming a Texan

Teeny RV at Good Golly Miss Molly's in Livingston, Texas. November 2019.

• Destination: Livingston, Texas
• Mission A: Become a Texan
• Mission B: More field testing of Chez Prius (and me), which will prepare me for a hoped-for road trip to Alaska in summer 2020

On home bases

A nomad needs a home base.

The usual custom, I think, is for a nomad to maintain their home base in the state where they lived when they began their new, portable life. This makes sense. There's already a history there for mail, banking, taxes, vehicle registration, driver's licenses, health insurance, vehicle insurance, etc.

Over time, though, as one's spiderweb gets stretched ever so more thinly from its center, there comes a point when a nomad stops spinning for a bit and contemplates where home base should be.

I arrived at that point this year.

My old home base was no longer tenable, for a variety of logistical reasons. Furthermore, it was no longer home even on a sentimental basis. I have beloveds there, but I can maintain those ties without being a member of that state.

So where to make my new home base?

This is where Escapees RV Club comes in.

Escapees RV Club

My home-base move actually began with a more modest need: A reliable, stable mailing address (and forwarding service) that I could use now and for years hence, as my old system was no longer viable.

Since I bought my Prius, I'd begun viewing many videos that offered tips for tricking one out for camping, which led to binging on car and van "tours," which led to general #vanlife sorts of video channels.

Most of these youtubers are full-timers in that they live out of their rigs. I am also a full-timer, but in a different, slower way.

 I encountered some videos on mailing address and forwarding services for full-timers.

Hands down, the mailing service most cited for nomads was Escapees RV Mail Service.

While checking out its mailing service, I saw other videos that talked about changing one's domicile, and I saw that Escapees RV was a good launchpad for that, too. And I had come to realize that, in addition to finding a new, permanent mailing address (and forwarding service), it was time for me to divorce my old home base and marry a new one.

Full-timers seem to gravitate to one of these three states as a domicile: Florida, Texas, and South Dakota. There are a number of reasons for narrowing their options to these three, but one of the common denominators is that Escapees RV has a presence in all three, specifically its mail forwarding service.

Once my head moved from simply finding a mail forwarding service to establishing a new domicile, it took very little time for me to execute on same.

I chose Texas as my new home because:

1. Escapees RV Club is based in Texas, and Polk County (in which Livingston sits) is accustomed to working with Escapees RV Club members who make Texas their domicile
2. I loved my time in El Paso (and also Big Bend National Park), so I have a good vibe with Texas, generally
3. South Dakota - shudder! - too cold! 
4. Florida - too far away from the places I lean toward
5. Texas is so immense, there are ample numbers of communities for me to consider if I choose to put down sticks-and-bricks roots there when I'm finished nomadding
6. Establishing a domicile in a new state is not just about some paperwork - it's also about establishing ties to communities in the new state - and I'm willing and able to do that with Texas.

I'll talk more about Escapees RV Club in Part 3.

Sutton County Rest Area design, 1-10 Exit 394, near Sonora, Texas. November 2019. Not my favorite design.

Becoming a Texan

I arrived in Livingston on Friday afternoon.

On Saturday morning, I had my car inspected at the Grease Monkey in Livingston. I was dazzled by the friendly staff, homemade muffins, and coffee that you could make to order, with flavored syrups! I arrived before it opened so I could learn as quickly as possible if there would be any issues that I needed to address if my car didn't pass.

My car passed!

On Monday morning, I arrived at the vehicle registration office before it opened, with requisite paperwork in hand, and ..... I left with two spankin' Texas plates and windshield sticker! In addition to registering my car with Texas, I also had my vehicle title transferred to Texas.

Gosh, I really smiled looking at the Texas plates in my hand. I never would have thought I'd become a Texan. This new rite of passage felt good. It felt right.

From the registration office, I drove to the driver's license office. There are some puzzling logistical issues with that office that are not very customer-friendly, but rather than dwell on that, I'll focus on the positives:

1. The staff were amiable; 
2. My paperwork was in order; 
3. I surrendered my old state's driver's license; and
4. I emerged with a new, Texas driver's license! 

Again, smiles. One in relief that I had all of the appropriate documentation. Two, my divorce from the other home base felt complete; there was closure. Finally, with this second ceremonial rite, I felt that my new status as a Texan had been sealed.

I may have skipped to my car.


Three nights in Chez Prius

I stayed at the Escapees RV Club campground for three nights.

I had a 'dry' site, meaning I had no electricity or water hookups. A restroom (with showers) was conveniently close by.

As with my rest area night in Part 1, I felt supremely cozy each night in my vehicular space.

Road Trip: Livingston, Texas: Part 1: First Night Boondocking

Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

• Destination: Livingston, Texas
• Mission A: Become a Texan
• Mission B: More field testing of Chez Prius (and me), which will prepare me for a hoped-for road trip to Alaska in summer 2020

I left Tucson early Thanksgiving morning, amidst dire weather warnings swirling about the nation. I'd kept my thumb on the forecasts for my route, and for the most part, it looked cloudy, yet dryish.

Although my drive began dry as I left Tucson, much of the first day was a tense slog through light and middlin' rain.

No matter. Such things are like painful labor and delivery - a bitch during the process, but the moment one arrives at one's destination, all is forgotten in the delight of a journey safely made.

The rest area

I stopped for the night at the Eastbound Pecos West Rest Area that is on I-10 between Balmorhea and Fort Stockton. The rest area opened in 2018. It is a serene space, well-lit at night, and - at least on Thanksgiving - with a caretaker-staff person on the premises all night.

Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

After a rainy, chilly day of driving, the warmth inside the rest area facility soothed my body and spirit.

Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

I saw a coyote walk leisurely across the parking lot!

My preliminary research on rest area boondocking had noted the value of stopping fairly early for the day, so as to ensure a good spot - or, indeed, any spot - for overnighting. Having learned this lesson on a road trip to Alaska many years ago, it made sense to me now. Also, I wanted plenty of light to arrange my en suite bedroom before it got dark.

In addition, an early stop rewarded me with time to walk the rest area's two short nature paths and witness a stunning sunset.

Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

A metal artwork sculpture inside the building translated light from the setting sun in a fetching way.

Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

A muzak soundtrack in the building flowed through the internal space. If I remember correctly, I heard mostly Top 40 country songs, with maybe one Spanish-language song. Texans with Spanish-speaking heritages comprise almost 40% of the state's population. About a third of Texans speak Spanish at home. I'd like to see the state's music choices in rest areas reflect its residents more fully.

Chez Prius' first time at a rest area

Traditionally I have stayed at budget motels on road trips in which my goal is to get from Point A to Point B as quickly and efficiently as possible. For this trip, I decided in advance to overnight in Chez Prius at an interstate rest area for both of the two-day driving legs of my trip.

Because I'd be, essentially, in a parking lot, I had to go stealthier than I would at a campground. Also, because I had my en suite toilet with me, I wanted to be absolutely certain of my privacy when I used the toilet at night, in an environment with lots of tall lights and semi-regular foot traffic near my car throughout the night.

The day before I left, I visited a local thrift shop and bought three dark-colored pillow shams. I also bought two more adjustable-length bungee cords. (I already had two in use.)

With the four bungee cords, clothes pins, and fabric, I created a "room" with 3.5 soft walls. Two side walls, suspended from bungee cords with clothespins, completely obscured the two rear side windows. The front wall spanned the width of the car, hung from a bungee cord, just in front of the front driver and passenger seats. The half-wall hung from a bungee that stretched the width of the car, but at a diagonal - meaning that it was level, but one end was affixed to the left side door's ceiling-edge hand grip and the other end was affixed to the opposite side's seat belt crescent slot. The half wall protected the privacy of my bathroom and also of my upper body. Reflectix on the hatchback window and triangular far-rear windows provided sufficient protection for the rest of my reclining form.

Chez Prius at Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

My walls were comprised of:

• Three pillow shams (for one side + part of front + half wall in back)
• A length of black-cream fabric I'd bought in Antigua, Guatemala (for one side)
• Bath towel (front)

The car's front cabin had no cover other than the sunshades for the windshield.

There are things I'll change to make the set-up more efficient in future, but I'm completely satisfied with the privacy my soft walls provided. Because I didn't have to pretend I wasn't sleeping there - it is perfectly legal to do so - I didn't have to be stealthy to the extent one must be to overnight in places where such activities are frowned upon.

But.

My major lesson learned from this first night was: Pull out the clothes I'll wear the next day and place them in a convenient spot for when I arise in the morning. I wasted rather a lot of time in the pre-dawn darkness rifling through my packing cubes for fresh underwear, trousers, and a shirt.

Also, I like very much the two screen 'socks' I bought for side windows. Unless there's interior light, it's hard to see into the vehicle from the outside, and they let me roll down my windows as much as I want without letting any creepy crawlies in. I will buy two more of these screen socks so that I can put them on all four windows if I want.

Chez Prius at Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

A side note: As a small security maneuver, I backed my car into the parking space so I could wheel out of there a few moments faster than if I'd parked with my nose to the curb. I also chose to park closer to the rest area exit than to the building, not so much due to security but to reduce the amount of foot traffic by in-and-out travelers as they stopped for a toilet break.

Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

Overall experience: I was super comfortable in my movable motel, and I felt safe.

Texas-I-10 EB Pecos West Rest Area near Ft Stockton. November 2019.

Rootless: A New Vehicular Mate, Part 6: Toilet

The Toilet Paper Incident, circa 1981.

I created a bedroom in my Prius.


But I didn't want just any old bedroom. I wanted an en suite bedroom.

Toilet instructions in Thai restaurant in Tbilisi, Caucasus Georgia. August 2011.

Enter the Luggable Loo.

The Luggable Loo is a toilet seat and lid that you snap onto a five-gallon bucket. You can buy the items separately or you can buy the seat/lid/bucket package. It is less expensive to buy the items separately.

Luggable Loo. Photo source: Disaster Supply Center

Except for extraordinary circumstances, I plan to use my car loo only for urination. And furthermore, in most cases, only at night.

Toilet in Vakhtangisi, on Georgian-Ajerbaijan border. March 2012.

Obviously, I don't need a five-gallon container to collect my urine for an overnight. I am not a horse.

Typical toilet in Dubai, UAE. January 2012.

To manage the urine collection more elegantly than a splash waterfall into a cavernous bucket, I inserted a funnel-and-laundry detergent bottle catchment system into the bucket, an idea I learned from a vandweller named Crysal Vanner, as you can see in the video below:

I tested it in my bathroom at home, numerous times. Perfect!

• Both the bucket and the catchment system are stable, i.e. no dangers of tipping over or sliding out of place
• The catchment system is easy to pull out and it's easy to pour the contents into a real toilet
• The laundry bottle is large enough to accommodate even the most prolific nights, unlike that coffee can I used in the tent that one time in Cave Springs Campground in Arizona a long time ago, about which I had felt darn smug before I realized just how much liquid one can produce in one night, not to mention what happens when the can tips over

I placed my toilet on the floor behind the driver's seat. When just driving around, it fits just fine there. However, to use the toilet en suite, I need to pull the driver's seat forward quite a bit, then tilt the seat forward, as well. These actions give me the space I need to actually sit on the toilet.

I'm not enthusiastic about having to move the driver's seat forward so much at night. Although I can - barely - get into the front seat at that position, I don't think it's possible to drive in that position, which means that if I need to make a fast exit, I lose time in repositioning the driver's seat. (Of course, that is probably a moot point, as it takes rather more time to extricate myself from my bed and then make my way to the driver's seat. By the time I get to the point of having to adjust my seat position, any bears or zombies will have likely already delivered a mortal swipe.)

I'm on the look out for a 3.5-gallon bucket that I hear is also workable with the Luggable Loo seat, but I've not yet found one. In theory, this will give me more wiggle room in the "bathroom," which will reduce the front seat adjustment and will also free up some valuable real estate in the floor space behind the front seat.

But other than that - Chez Prius is almost ready for an inaugural road trip!

"Almost" because I've still got some window curtaining details to iron out.


Related posts: 

A New Vehicular Mate, Part 1
A New Vehicular Mate, Part 2
A New Vehicular Mate, Part 3
A New Vehicular Mate, Part 4
A New Vehicular Mate, Part 5: Bed


And following this Part 6 of the New Vehicular Mate series, I'll rename the series Chez Prius.

Rootless: A New Vehicular Mate, Part 5: Bed

Prius car camping. October 2019.

After months of youtube watching to see how car-campers did the:

• Bed
• Window covering

....  I was ready for and executed my maiden camp voyage.


It was only for one night, and there were a couple of minor glitches (as was to be expected), but overall, it was a successful mission.
 

Bed

I bought a 3-inch foam pad for about $25 at Home Depot. Measurements = 72" x 24." This was a perfect fit both length- and width-wise for my 2012 Prius V. 

I wrapped the pad in a twin-size mattress cover, using three sheet-grippers on the flip side to keep it tidily in place.

Atop the  mattress cover, I placed an old sleeping bag, in which I cocooned a twin-size flat sheet, folded lengthwise, meaning that my body lay between the two folded halves of the sheet. I only zipped the foot of the sleeping bag, leaving the rest unzipped. In this way, I could easily fold both top layers off of me to get in and out of bed or to regulate my comfort level if things got too warm or too chilly.

Prius car camping. October 2019.

The head of my bed sat atop a folded blanket + two plastic storage bins, as you can see below:

Prius car camping. October 2019.

You'll notice that the bins and blanket support the head of the 'bed.' To get the bins and the full length of the foam pad into its slot, I had to pull the front passenger seat all the way forward.

The Sterilite bin dimensions are:

Because I'm relatively short, I may be able to fit comfortably below the top of the folded-down back seat. (Note that I removed the head-rests.) I'll check this out in the future.

So how comfortable was the bed on my first night?

I'd give it a 90% thumbs-up. I felt the glimmerings of a dull backache in the early hours of the pre-dawn, but that's not enough to go on yet.


Window covering

I don't plan to stealth camp, so I'm not concerned about making it appear that my car is unoccupied while I'm inside sleeping.

After a lot of over-thinking, a little experimenting, and many hours of watching youtubers share their schemes, I'm pretty happy with using a mix of strategies.

In the photo below, you can see examples of four methods I used:

Prius car camping. October 2019.

1. I cut out a panel from a roll of Reflectix that I bought at a Lowe's or Home Depot
2. I bought a pair of window "socks" via Amazon (more on these later in this post)
3. I bought some magnets - small round disks + some smallish rectangles - and draped a shawl over the front driver side window. The window frame on the inside is metal, and I placed several magnets under the top edge and one or two on the side edges. 
4. On my car, the passenger side design is such that I could loop one end of a bungee cord to the front windowshade, run it through the front-seat and back-seat ceiling-edge hand grips, and hook the other end to the infant-seat buckle ledge that is along the ceiling edge behind the rear passenger seat. Using clothespins, I hung another shawl so that it ran from the front window to the end of the back window. Or, I should say, I could have done that, but I chose to leave the back passenger window with just the window screen sock so I could have a cross breeze between the two back passenger windows. 

Prius car camping. October 2019.

Above you can see I used the Reflectix for the rear window, as I did the triangular windows in the back bay area of the car.

Prius car camping. October 2019.

And although the photo immediately above is a repeat of the long-view bed shot I posted earlier, now that we're talking window coverings, take note of the bungee cord and clothespin set-up on the right.

Also note that I stretched a bungee cord in the front seat area across the width of the car. It was as good a place as any to experiment with an internal clothesline, and in this case, a towel holder. It had the additional benefit of offering a second line of privacy behind the windshield AND obscuring the blinking security dash light. In the windshield, I had placed my usual sun shade disks.

None of the window coverings required permanent changes to the Prius. Nor did they require any handywoman skills, other than the cutting out of the Reflectix. 

The window screen socks were fine for me camping, however, if I'd had a light on inside the Prius, they would have offered no privacy. Which is why I wanted the second-line option of the shawl clothespinned from the bungee cord on one side of the car.

I liked that I could see out of the car through the window screen socks much better than someone could see in. In fact, without lights on inside, someone would have had to press up hard against the window to see much of anything through the window screen sock.

On the other hand, the screen sock not only keeps out flying little biters and ear buzzers, it stops some of the breeze, too. I didn't have my windows rolled down all the way with the screens on, so I'll try that out next time. Also, I'll likely invest in a small usb fan to push some air flow across my head.


Glitches

Ceiling lights. The default setting for my ceiling lights is to go on when I open my doors. Not good in a campsite scenario, at least not for me. My fix: Slide the ceiling light buttons over to the "off" position so they don't power on when I open the doors.

Beeping. Because I had my key with me and because I was in a car, I defaulted to locking the car while I was inside and ready to sleep. But the Prius door (at least not the back door) doesn't automatically release when you pull the inside door handle. This means you have to press the unlock button on the keyfob, which means, yes, there's the double beeping sound when you unlock it. Which is not being a good neighbor to folks in nearby campsites.

It's not like I was ever able to lock my tent, so I will just not lock my car when I bed down for the night in the future.

Heating/air conditioning. One of the Prius superpowers is to be able to manage one's little habitat climate so it's cozy inside when outside it is too hot or too cold. Although the car powers on silently when engaging only the battery, it does emit some sound when it periodically switches on the engine to recharge the battery. A number of parks, like Organ Pipe National Monument, where I tried out my camp bed the first time, are very very very quiet parks. And if one is in a generator-ok site, the generator use is restricted to two hours in the late afternoon-early evening and two hours in fairly early morning. So ..... what does that mean for running my Prius when it's too hot or too cold? I don't know yet.

Conclusions

• It was a wonder to be able to break camp so quickly the next morning!
• Looking forward to my next outing.

Related posts: 

My New Vehicular Mate, Part 1
My New Vehicular Mate, Part 2
My New Vehicular Mate, Part 3
My New Vehicular Mate, Part 4