Showing posts with label road trip. Show all posts
Showing posts with label road trip. Show all posts

Saturday, May 2, 2026

5 Years Ago: A Thought Experiment: Full-Time Tenting

Five years ago, I contemplated a life as a full-time tenter. 

There's no downside to envisioning different futures in one's head. 

I decided not to hike down that particular trail, and in fact, I don't even have a tent at the moment, and I have a different car. My new-to-me-car is a Prius, and there are plenty of folks who trick theirs out for camping, but a Prius isn't as camper-friendly to me as my 2012 Prius V was. I'm currently playing around in my head with what kind of camping I want to do in future. 

I spent the major part of the previous two years on a Pan-American road trip, either by car or by bus. 

The most tedious part of long-term travel is the route-planning. Living as a full-time tenter means constant route-planning: Where am I going? How am I going to get there? Where will I stay on the way? How long will it take me (in actual time, not Google directions time) to get from each day's start time to my desired arrival time? Where will I stay when I get there? What necessary services are along the way, such as groceries and gas? Are there vacancies at my desired destinations or waystations? Are there floods or fires that have closed roads or that might close roads (both were a factor in fall 2024 as I headed to the west coast and northward)? Bus trips through Latin America are no different: Which bus goes to my desired destination? None? Ok, so let's figure out which zigzagging bus trips I need to take to eventually get to my desired destination. 

Yes. The thought experiment on being a full-time tenter was a good one. It helped me make a decision: That will be a road not taken. 


Monday, May 3, 2021

Rootless and Portable: A Thought Experiment: Fulltimer Tenting

 

My Oliver Lee State Park campsite, outside Alamogordo, New Mexico. September 2012.
My Oliver Lee State Park campsite, outside Alamogordo, New Mexico. September 2012.

I've flirted with the idea of becoming a full-timer for more than 10 years, always in a modest arrangement. A smallish camper or, more recently, ChezP.

In the past five years, I've gone on innumerable video tours of folks living out of their cars. I've imagined how I might make it work for me at some future point. Over time, I concluded that full-timing out of my car was not a good fit for me. Too cramped.

But in the past year, I toyed with the possibility of full-timing in a tent (with ChezP as my back-up when inclement weather dictates). 

A tent is roomier. Living in a tent also frees up one's vehicle for transportation.  

What's out there to inform full-time tentfolk on the practicalities?

The resources I seek address my specific vision of tenting full time for up to a year: 

  • Relocation every three to four weeks for new scenery, geographic interests, special events, or proximity to an expensive tourist destination
  • Although wifi welcome, I don't envision tenting full time as a digital nomad who requires daily, robust internet access, as this would seriously restrict my freedom of movement
  • Mild climate is a requisite
  • I don't want to tent for three or more weeks in places where fear of bears (or mountain lions!) are going to keep me awake, like here (oh my!)

Below are some sources that give me actionable intel on:

  • Practical realities of living full-time in a tent (power, water, location, weather, food, etc.)
  • Gear (tents, kitchens, power, furniture)
  • How to stay warm or cool; how to stay dry
  • How to mitigate invasions from water, insects and other small critters, and wind

 Living in a Tent Full Time? - TMWE S4E22

 

On Wikihow: How to Live in a Tent (With Pictures). There are useful relevant how-to articles on the page, as well, along with references. Simple, clear, very practical. 

From One Crazy House: 15 Tent Hacks to Make Your Tent the Comfiest Place on Earth. (Note: Manage your expectations, of course, but there are some good hacks here that were new to me.)

From Mossy Oak: Camping in the Rain: 7 Tips for Keeping Your Tent Dry

 

Source: ScoutmasterCG

 

 

Monday, May 19, 2025

Pan-American Road Trip: The End of the Road For Two Old Friends

We met in 2010, and bonded quickly. Together, we traveled to: 

 

I had to let them go this month. One, hopefully, to a new home by way of a thrift store donation. The other, regrettably, to its grave, as its body finally succumbed to years of hard labor as my portable office. 

My green, wheeled bag. Re-homed in Fairbanks, Alaska. May 2025. Credit: Mzuriana.


My portable office, expired after years of service, in Whitehorse, Yukon Territory. May 2025. Credit: Mzuriana.


In the years since I bought the two bags, my green bag had outgrown airlines' current size restrictions for carry-on bags, and the backpack's weight and mass, empty, exceeded that of more modern backpacks. So their loss, while sad, opens the door to lighter, smaller bags.

For the southern portion of my Pan-American Road Trip, I will join the legions of travelers who seek The Perfect Backpack to carry most of my stuff. 

Maggi Fuchs is one such seeker. 


 

Saturday, May 3, 2025

Pan-American Road Trip: Introduction

 

Roots in jar, Mobile, Alabama, 2021. Credit: Mzuriana.

When I began my rootless life more than a decade ago, I decided that when I turned a certain age, I'd re-plant my roots. 

That age comes this year. I've decided where I will put down my roots. 

But I have a couple of loose ends I want to tie up, one being a visit to the Arctic Circle that my daughter and I forewent back when she was 16 and the two of us took a road trip from Missouri to Alaska. The other was the romantic idea, that when I turned another (earlier than now) milestone age, I would quit my job and walk from the Arctic Circle to Tierra del Fuego. Am I grandiose? 

I kiboshed the walking plan IMMEDIATELY after I read this account in one of those online long-walk journals that prevailed before the advent of youtubity ubiquity: 

[Paraphrased by me] "I was driving north along the Alaska Highway and I spied a young man, wearing a backpack and carrying a hiking stick, walking south. I slowed so that I could speak to him. I said, 'Have you looked behind you recently?' The man said, 'No.' I said, 'There is a mountain lion following behind you.'"

Or maybe it was a bear, but I'm pretty certain it was a mountain lion. Either way. That one story did it for me. And, hell, even if the story were apocryphal, it could be true despite my not wanting it to be true. (And today's post offers a fabulous excuse to link again to this hilarious story of a woman taking a solo hike in the Tetons.)

Thus the plan for this capstone road trip: The Arctic Circle to Tierra del Fuego. 

My journey to the Arctic Circle commenced on November 16, 2024. I traveled from Missouri, through Oklahoma, Texas, California, Washington, Oregon, British Columbia, Yukon, and Alaska. 

As I write this, I'm in North Pole, Alaska.  

So I've got blanks to fill in, eh? 

I'll move hither and thither in the chronology of telling the tale, as per my whim.

 

Tuesday, August 8, 2023

2023 Summer Road Trip: Oliver Lee Memorial State Park: A Morning Visitor

 

2023.0805 Lizard visitor at my Oliver Lee Memorial State Park campsite. Alamogordo, New Mexico. Credit: Mzuriana.
2023.0805 Lizard visitor at my Oliver Lee Memorial State Park campsite. Alamogordo, New Mexico. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

I surely do love lizards. 

They are always welcome at my campsite.

The book, by the way, sucked. My God, 'twas a murderous bore. I cannot fathom why I read it to the end. I warned the campground host, to whom I offered it, that he cannot give it back to me no matter what. I warned him: It's no good. I made an ethical disclosure, in other words, respecting his right to self-determination in making a decision he might regret.

Other lizards I have loved: 

 

Lizards

 

#30

 

Sunday, October 30, 2022

Livingston Road Trip 2022: Second Leg Back to Missouri: The Bad, the Good, and the Grind

 

Rain and slow gas at the Flying J in Texarkana, off I-30. Arkansas. October 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.
Rain and slow gas at the Flying J in Texarkana, off I-30. Arkansas. October 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

The Bad

It appears that it was my destiny to suffer a miserable rainy return to my temporary Missouri base. 

I thought I'd avoided that on the way to Livingston by postponing my westbound trip by one day. But no. The universe just tacked it on to my eastbound return from Livingston.

Furthermore, my departure time was delayed by a crazy wrinkle on Saturday morning: The Flying J gas pumps. 

My original plan: Gas up my car before wheeling out of the travel center. But.

The pumps inexplicably were on a slow machine protest strike, where each of us pumpers thought, "Is it me?" only to realize, just as slowly as the gas ticked into our tanks, "No, it's not me, it's the pumps," as each pumper individually experienced the same phenomenon, but which the staff inside did not yet know.

I didn't see this next thing happen, but one man was so frustrated, apparently he tore away from the pumps without having taken the handle out of his tank. 

This was relayed to me by a woman who pulled up after I had tried at two different pumps to get gas and she said to me: "Is it me? Am I doing something wrong? - or is there something wrong with the pumps?" I had just returned to the pumps after an unsatisfying conversation with one of the cashiers inside, during which I'd tried to explain that it took five minutes to put less than one gallon of gas in my tank, and the cashier just wasn't getting it. I was simply the first of what was to become many with the same complaint.

To the woman who asked me, "Is it me? Am I doing something wrong?" I replied with reassurance: "No, it's not you; it's the pumps. And now you can switch to being disgruntled."

Fortunately, there was a gas station across the road - the DK - where I did finally fill my tank successfully with gas. 

The DK in Texarkana, off Exit 2, I-30. Arkansas. October 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.
The DK in Texarkana, off Exit 2, I-30. Arkansas. October 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

Afterward, I sat in my car, gazing contemplatively through the windshield at the rain. It was so gloomy outside and I dreaded getting back on the interstate, knowing that although the rain was relatively light where I sat, it would be amplified on the spray-spewing, semi-truck-laden highway, making for a miserably tense drive at a high speed. The weather forecast told me that I wouldn't be driving out of the rain any time soon.

 

Rain at the DK in Texarkana, off I-30. Arkansas. October 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.
Rain at the DK in Texarkana, off Exit 2, I-30. Arkansas. October 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

We make small and large decisions all the time on a road trip. We plug in all sorts of algebraic variables into the decision equation, depending on our individual tastes, fears, time frames, and "shoulds." 

Like this "should": "You should buck up and drive on the interstate. Don't be a wuss. Be a warrior. A chingona."

 

The Good

And then I thought: "No. I'm on a road trip. A road trip is a pleasure trip, not a test. Take the blue roads. Relax. Be serene.

So I poked a no-highway re-route into Google Maps, decided I could live with the extra time slapped on to the trip duration, and hoped I'd eventually get out of the rain, at which point I could switch over to a faster track. 

I immediately relaxed. I felt good.

A bonus good:  Gorgeous fall color in the forest of the Oachita Mountains.

The Bad

Mountains + valleys + rain = mist. Mist is the romantic word, except for those of us who've read Stephen King's The Mist. (Trivia: And in the movie, seeing The Walking Dead's Carol there.)

Fog is the more pragmatic word. The Oachita fog was almost impenetrable. Around blind curves. Down steep inclines. Occasionally coming out of the fog for a brief respite and the visceral release of a held-in breath, then a plunge back into the white-out. The occasional oncoming idiot without their headlights on. The stoopids.

The Grind

Despite the beauty of the mountains and the forests, despite the relatively relaxed drive through the rain (once the fog was behind me), the distance still to go became a grind. 

I was prepared to spend another night on the road, but in one of those algorithmic equations that go into decision-making, I was not enthusiastic about pulling into a minimal-standards motel at a Saturday-night rate. My Google map told me that if I deadheaded it to my Missouri base, I'd definitely be rolling in after dark fell. 

The Bad

To my great consternation, a fairly recent development for me is difficulty driving at night, so it's a tense enterprise under the best of circumstances. The best of circumstance = clear weather, well-marked road lanes (i.e. fresh white reflective paint lines), not too many deep curves, and speed limits at 65 or less.

Another night in a truck stop would be fine, although the blacktops aren't known for many truck stops. It was a gamble. I started looking for a truck stop at 5:00 p.m.

The Good

Eventually, the rain seemed to have dissipated enough that an interstate - both for its faster track and more plentiful opportunities for a truck stop to overnight in - had me reroute my way back home. In theory, the new route sliced an hour off my time. 

The Bad

It looked like I'd still be driving at night, after all, unless I found that elusive truck stop or rest area.

Fortunately, as night fell, I was on a highway with the desired well-marked white lane lines and plentiful pilot cars that I could follow at a helpful, yet not too close, distance. (Don't want to scare my unwitting road guides by tailgating.)

The Good

In the end, I brought myself all the way back to my Missouri base, thanks to the unknowing kindness of my pilot cars.

 

Some other rainy times and places

 

Tuesday, August 30, 2022

The Lost Summer of 2021: August 30: The Penultimate Day

A receipt stuck into a bag stuck into a backpack told me part of the story of the lost summer's penultimate day.

Time

17:23. Also known as 5:23 p.m.

Monday, August 30, 2021.

Location

A grocery store in Monroe, Louisiana. Well north of the Boudin Curtain, sha. More like Mississippi than Louisiana.

What I bought

  • Cream cheese spread
  • Something "fresh, no sugar"
  • Some watermelon. Probably a quarter of a whole or a container of chunks.

I stayed the night at the Budget Inn in Monroe, which was my go-to lodging in the Lost Summer of 2021. I paid $70. 

I have no photographic evidence of this day, so I will insert a photo from a past life, rooted, which I'd titled: "Lost my head and it's all a blur," which seems apropos. 

Lost my head and it's all a blur. Missouri. Christmas 2007. Credit: Mzuriana.
Lost my head and it's all a blur. Missouri. Christmas 2007. Credit: Mzuriana.


I might'nt have devoted a whole post to this day, but for the damn receipt. Faded, worn, the paper softened, after sitting in that backpack for so long, my hand rubbing past it untold number of times when I rummaged through the bag for something. 


Related posts to Lost Summer of 2021 here.


Friday, July 15, 2022

The Lost Summer of 2021, Part 1: An Introduction

 

Highway 1, somewhere between Galliano and Grand Isle, Louisiana. July 2021. Credit: Mzuriana.
Highway 1, somewhere between Galliano and Grand Isle, Louisiana. July 2021. Credit: Mzuriana.

The summer of 2021 is a blur to me. So much had happened earlier in the year, and during the summer, both to me and to people in my circles. Deaths. Disappointments. Uncertainties. Travel feats. Travel fails. So many places seen, so many places slept in. Relocation searches and decisions. Moving out of one temporary home. Moving into a new temporary home. 

COVID, of course. The bad roommate that won't pay their share of the rent, clean up their mess, and refuses to leave.

  • June 30: Left Birmingham, Alabama
  • July 1: Tennessee, Missouri
  • July 11: Missouri, Tennessee, Mississippi
  • July 12-15: Mississippi, Alabama
  • July 15-28: Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Alabama again
  • July 29-August 13: Mississippi, Missouri
  • August 14-29: Missouri, Kansas, New Mexico, Texas
  • August 30: Louisiana, Alabama

 Let's see if I can reclaim that summer via photos, scribbled notes, receipts, emails, and texts.

Monday, July 5, 2021

Tennessee: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 8888: Not All Motels Can Be Two-Star

En route from Birmingham to Missouri, I stopped at a motel near Bells, Tennessee, for the night. Highway 20.  

 

No-star motel, Highway 20, near Bells, Tennessee. July 2021.
No-star motel, Highway 20, near Bells, Tennessee. July 2021.

No-star motel, Highway 20, near Bells, Tennessee. July 2021.
No-star motel, Highway 20, near Bells, Tennessee. July 2021.


Sunday, October 18, 2020

Back to Texas: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 888: The Caesar's Pilgrimage

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

 

On Saturday morning, I set off for my legal home: Livingston, Texas

 

This trip to Livingston – the planning, the doing, the arriving, the voting – I am one of a million or more on a pilgrimage to cast out the current, corrupt president who has subjected all of us to his verbal, emotional, physical-by-proxy, financial, and sexual abuse for the last four years.


But why not a mail-in vote, like I did for the primaries? 


I dare say that the majority of my fellow pilgrims, like me, lost trust in the integrity of the mail-in voting process, thanks to the imperial ravings of Caesar Trumperius. 

 

It was worth the 1000+ miles round trip for me to personally push some buttons on a machine. 

 

At a rest stop along the way, I saw evidence that suggested a Caucasus Georgian family had also stopped there

 


I consumed a picnic lunch at a Love's at that high-priced gas junction that is bookended by exits with more reasonable gas. 

 


 

 

To slice my roast chicken breast and sweet potato, I employed the brand-new folding knife that my New Mexico friend sent me: 

 


 

On Saturday night, I passed the night at a Flying J / Pilot truck stop near Shreveport, Louisiana. As with my maiden overnight earlier this year at another truck stop, it went seamlessly! To remind me that I was in Louisiana, there was this welcome sign: 

 


On Sunday morning, a Louisiana friend visited me at the Flying J, and we gabbed for more than two hours on a grassy space at the truck stop, exchanging a careful but heartful masked hug at our parting. Gosh, it was good to see her! I think it had been five years since we saw each other in person, as we typically communicate via text.  


Note: Speaking of Livingstons, let's take a commemorative visit to Livingston, Louisiana

 

Thursday, December 19, 2019

Road Trip: Dash to Las Vegas, Nevada: Part 3: Hoover Dam

Hoover Dam, Nevada and Arizona. December 2019.



Thus far

Part 1: On the Way There is here.
Part 2: There is here.

I struggled between exploring Las Vegas a bit on Monday morning or stopping in Hoover Dam on the way back to Tucson. I didn't have time to do both.

I chose Hoover Dam.


Hoover Dam, Nevada and Arizona. December 2019.



Leaving Las Vegas

However, I also made the decision to move out of Las Vegas via its city streets instead of jumping on the highway. The idea was that I'd get a passing view of the city as I departed.

Although it exacted a time toll that I paid for on the last leg of my trip, I'm glad for this choice. As I left the strip and its environs, the streetscape of Las-Vegas-the-Star! transformed into the near-city and suburban streetscape of just about any desert city in the Southwest. The view right-sized Las Vegas for me, letting me see, in a sense, what a showgirl looks like when she's got a day off, sans costume and make-up, buying Q-tips and frozen chicken breasts at Walmart.


Boulder City

Charming. I want to return, twirl around in its cubbyholes for a few hours, while basing myself for a weekend at one of the Lake Mead Recreation Area campgrounds.

Entrance to Lake Mead Recreation Area from Boulder City, Nevada. December 2019.

I lost my way to Hoover Dam while in Boulder City, which one would think is almost impossible to do, but the sort of thing that happens to me regularly. Fortunately, a visitor center was at the precise intersection in the historic center of town where I paused, unsure about which way to turn. So I turned into that, and the docent inside helpfully pointed toward the very same intersection, at a smallish sign on one corner, that said "Hoover Dam." OK, then. So, while I'm here, "where is your restroom"? (Across the street, by the way, in a different building.)



Hoover Dam

On one end of the dam is Nevada and on the other end is Arizona. The Arizona side terminates in a dead end, but it offers tiers of parking lots, which overlook the dam and the river, which are all free.

Hoover Dam, Nevada and Arizona. December 2019.


There's a tour (or more) on and in and around the dam, but I didn't have time to do any of those.

Hoover Dam, Nevada and Arizona. December 2019.


But below is a driving tour over the dam, with impressive power concrete structures and towering power tower skeletons, and people, lots of people:




The loveliest view is the lapiz lazuli river that swings slowly between cinnamon-toast outcrops.


Hoover Dam, Nevada and Arizona. December 2019.



Tuesday, December 17, 2019

Road Trip: Dash to Las Vegas, Nevada: Part 1: On the Way There


Before landing in Tucson, I never had the desire to visit Las Vegas (Nevada, not New Mexico.)  But shortly after I arrived here, I kinda got hit in the head with the gobsmacking news that Las Vegas is not a far drive away. It got suddenly put on my list of places called "It'd-be-a-shame-not-to-check-out-if-I'm-so-close."


Then not long ago, it got pushed to the list called "I will go next month."

This is because one of my students, who lives in Vietnam, was coming to the US for a business trip, and then visiting a friend outside of LA, who had promised my student a look-see over in Vegas, and I allowed as how Las Vegas wasn't all that far from Tucson, and we sealed the deal: He and his friend would come to Vegas from LA, and I'd come to Vegas from Tucson.

I'll call my student "Sinh," which really is a Vietnamese name, because it seems fitting for the Las Vegas milieu.

 On my way to Las Vegas, I saw some stuff.


Sacaton Rest Area, I-10, Arizona. December 2019.


Sacaton Rest Area on I-10, between Tucson and Phoenix

I am fond of trees with smooth, muscular trunks, so I felt immediately attracted to a particularly handsome palo verde tree standing along the entry path to the restrooms.

Sacaton Rest Area, I-10, Arizona. December 2019.



I am not alone in my admiration, as evidenced by this blogger's 2015 post on the trees at the rest area.

Arizona remodeled the Sacaton Rest Area in 2018 and proudly released this grand re-opening video re: same:




The refurbished restrooms are nice, but I feel disappointed when accessible stalls fall short of the spirit of the Americans with Disabilities Act, and perhaps even the letter of the law.

In the case of the Sacaton rest area, there seemed to be ample room within the stall for a person to enter and maneuver in a wheelchair. Unfortunately, the door latch on the inside was difficult for me to turn to lock or unlock, so anyone with mobility issues in their hands, wrists, or arms might have a hell of a time getting out of the stall. This may appear trivial to those without a disability, but if you can't lock or unlock your own toilet stall, then you are denied independence that other users take for granted.

As I wonder when on tiptoes for restroom mirrors hung inexplicably high, why don't installers (or Arizona Department of Transportation, who paid for and had administrative oversight of the completed work) think to invite someone with a wheelchair (and those with arthritic hands) to test out these spaces?


But moving on!

Hassayampa Rest Area, on Highways 60/93, between Surprise and Wickenburg, Arizona

My bladder and I next stopped at Arizona's Hassayampa Rest Area.

Hassayampa Rest Area, Hwy 60/93, Arizona. December 2019.


Since my return home, I've learned that the rest area is a sweet spot for birders. From this article's author:
There are many riparian corridors in Arizona, and many roadside rest areas, but this is the only roadside rest area in a riparian corridor where I would stop and expect to see Vermilion Flycatchers in the parking lot. The Hassayampa River riparian corridor is a migration route for birds crossing the desert that can be a good place for a quick stop along the highway. Some 230 species of birds have been recorded in the area.

What enchanted me was the idea of an "upside down river," in which much of stream's water flow is under the sand. This blog offers a still-photo tour along much of the Hassayampa River's length.

The lush ground cover at one side of the rest area's parking lot reminded me of Louisiana's lushness.

Hassayampa Rest Area, Hwy 60/93, Arizona. December 2019.


All so quickly, I was off again for Las Vegas.

Along Highway 93, I saw this:






And this:



Driving through a moonscape, it was, above.




Sunday, December 8, 2019

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.

Saturday, December 7, 2019

Road Trip: Livingston, Texas: Part 5: Reconnecting With Fellow Travelers

Lamp glow in Missouri. December 2006.



False sun in Jefferson City, Missouri. December 2006.



Before going any further in today's article, I invite you to read On the Way to El Paso: A Remarkable Thing, as it introduces you to "Travis" (and indirectly, "Lark"), who I met at a Motel 6 in Junction, Texas, one sunny morning back in 2016.

After I published my post about that day, I sent a link to Travis, and ever since then, we have remained in touch, mostly by email and the occasional phone call.

But all three of us were able to meet up at a Burger King in Houston when I passed through there on my way to Tucson in early 2019. Again, all of my belongings filled my car. A newer car

And now, almost a year later, we could meet again on my road trip to Livingston.  Grand!

Lark and Travis drove up to Livingston from Houston on a crisp Sunday morning to see what was what at Escapees RV campground and CARE Center

The two pulled into my dry-camp site and peered into Chez Prius while I led a rig tour of my bed, kitchen, toilet, and dining room.

The three of us sank into big, soft furniture in the CARE Center's living room. Lark and Travis listened, without the diversion of snacks or commercial interruptions, while I regaled them with telenovela plot lines from real life.

Eventually, we drove into town for lunch, settling in at Joe's Italian Grill after a bit of a look-around at the options. Savored the best garlic rolls I've had in years. Warm, buttery, garlicky, yeasty. Decent fettucine alfredo.

Lamplighter on Baratashvili Street, Tbilisi, Caucasus Georgia. May 2012.


On travel styles and the freedom of Motels 6

Like me, Travis and Lark are travelers. Not nomadic, as they maintain a home base in Houston, but frequent road trippers.

Watch a handful of or a hundred youtubes about #vanlife or #rvlife, you notice that "freedom" is a common theme.

Yeahhhhhhhh, well, "freedom" is a relative term.


Downtown El Paso, Texas. September 2016.


Van dwellers and RVers are most free if they possess all of these:
  1. A rig that is short enough to negotiate most roads into and out of desirable camping destinations; 
  2. A rig that performs well in most weather conditions, i.e. hot, cold, snow, rain, wind, and typical thunderstorms; 
  3. A rig that that can be self-contained for food storage, food prep, and toileting if one is stuck inside due to a day or more of inclement weather;
  4. Sufficient financial resources to support both boondocking and hook-up fees, at will;
  5. Sufficient financial resources to move from one location to the next, at will, irrespective of fuel cost to travel from one spot to the next; and
  6. Sufficient financial resources to execute Plans B and C when their rig is admitted to the hospital.

A lot of van- and RV-dwellers must rely on boondocking to make the lifestyle economically feasible, because campground fees (private or public) - and fuel, for the most frequent movers -  ratchet the cost of living to unsustainable levels. With boondocking, one's direct, overnight costs are "free," but there is a cost exacted in time taken to find new sites. There are limits to how long one can stay in a place; the durations are a function of how long the land manager allows boondockers to stay (generally up to two weeks only) and how long one's supplies and power last without having to drive from what may be a remote spot to a distant town.

So the "freedom" of boondockers is circumscribed.

When one considers the direct and indirect, and tangible and intangible costs of RV living, being a "moto6er" vies, in my opinion, for equal "freedom" status.

Delta Queen Hotel, Chattanooga, Tennessee. October 2013.


As moto6ers, Lark and Travis enjoy a similar level of freedom, albeit in different formats, as most RVers and van dwellers:
  1. While driving a fuel-economy car, Lark and Travis can road trip almost everywhere (or close to everywhere) in the country; 
  2. Private toilet and shower (with no worries about black water tanks or water storage or power for hot water);
  3. Electrical outlets to recharge one's devices;
  4. Most of the time: small fridge, microwave, access to coffee
  5. When they're ready to leave, they pack up their car and go - no battening down the hatches of a rig, hooking up a tow car, or even making the bed or cleaning the bathroom
  6. They can bring in their own food if they want, with various options for cooking same, either in or outside their room
  7. On-demand climate control
  8. They can leave stuff safely in the room while visiting more remote locations in their car for sightseeing, hiking, etc. 

Da Gabi Hotel, Playa del Carmen, Quintana Roo, Mexico. November 2010.



If a moto6er desires an economy of scale by moving from nightly rates, they can go to weekly or monthly rates - or opt for short-term rentals in an apartment or house as sole or co-housing inhabitants.

Bottom line: All "freedom" has limits; we can find freedom in a style that works for us.  Some find it in RVs, some in vans, some in cars, some in tents. Lark and Travis enjoy freedom as moto6ers.


Goha Hotel, Gonder, Ethiopia. January 2011.


Friday, December 6, 2019

Road Trip: Livingston, Texas: Part 4: A Christmas-y Evening in Livingston



Here I am, listening intently, in Livingston, Texas. November 2019.


I learned from Gina and Mandy, my new friends at Escapees RV Club's campground, that there was an excursion to town for Saturday night to visit two annual Christmas events in Livingston:
  1. Christmas Train Village
  2. Christmas lights at the park

Two Escapees volunteers would chauffeur a group of us in two Escapees Care Center vans. Free, y'all.

Christmas Train Village, Livingston, Texas. November 2019.


Christmas Train Village

I've seen a model train display or ten (here are here are two examples), and I didn't expect to witness anything extraordinary, but .. ... hoo wee .... this was one of the best - maybe the best - I've ever seen!

Below is a video of some of the little town's goings-on:



Sledders, gondoliers, skaters, carousels, several trains - so many moving parts. The time it must take to set this up - and to dismantle, pack, and store all of it - it's hard to fathom. The Polk County Heritage Society sponsors the village.  This is the 17th year of its annual appearance.

Christmas Train Village, Livingston, Texas. November 2019.


To really appreciate all of the miniature life activities going on, I'd estimate one would need a good hour to properly take it in.
 
Christmas Train Village, Livingston, Texas. November 2019.

Christmas Train Village, Livingston, Texas. November 2019.

Good Golly Miss Molly's is the shop that hosts the village. The downtown store is a mashup of antiques, vintage stuff, good smells, jewelry, teas, spices, accessories, etc. It is fun to poke through. I bought an inexpensive snap coin purse.

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


As riveting as the train village was, I eventually found a nice spot to sit, push off my shoes, and give my senses a rest:

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



Presently, our group decamped for the Christmas lights in the city park.

Join us while we go through the tunnel of lights:




Pretty, wasn't it?

Thursday, December 5, 2019

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


Escapees RV headquarters, Livingston, Texas. November 2019.



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.