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

Here I am, listening intently, 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

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?

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.

Back to Texas: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 888: A Wee Walk

 

Pineywoods Boardwalk Trail, Lake Livingston State Park, Texas. October 2020.

On my Voting Pilgrimage to Deep East Texas, I camped at Lake Livingston State Park for several nights. 

On Sunday, I took a wee walk on the park's Pineywoods Boardwalk trail. 

A bit drizzly, but I'd brought my umbrella with me in the event of an actual rain.

A lizard on a trash receptacle cheered me, as the sight of lizards always does. 

Lizard, Pineywoods Boardwalk Trail, Lake Livingston State Park, Texas. October 2020.

 

Ooooh, and a mushroom that looks like a golf ball on a tee! 

Mushroom, Pineywoods Boardwalk Trail, Lake Livingston State Park, Texas. October 2020.

My online research does not culminate in an ID consensus, but the closest description seems to belong to amanita subcokeri. 

  

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.

Livingston, TX: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 888: Voting

Propped-up building across from courthouse. Livingston, Texas. June 2020.

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

Typically, a Texan run-off election that follows a spring primary occurs in May. My Plan A had been to be in Livingston, Texas, to vote in person for the run-off. (I'd voted absentee in the spring primary.)

But!
Because of COVID-19, I'd stayed in Tucson a month longer than planned, and I didn't apply timely for an absentee ballot.

But!
Because of COVID-19, Texas postponed this year's run-off until July, and the early-voting period began on June 29.

Huzzah!
I was in my new hometown of Livingston, Texas, at just the right historic moment to vote in person!

I arrived mid-morning. A clutch of candidates waved and greeted me from a corner, mindful of legal campaign distancing limits for election-day protocols.

Inside the courthouse, COVID protocols were evident, with proper spacing for voter queuing taped on the floor, and masked election workers.

Two COVID-related practices caught my attention:

1. The first with trepidation, and then delight; and
2. The second with rueful acceptance. 

The first: The woman at the final voter-processing station sat before a large, white, fold-up case. In front of the case, laid onto the table, were cotton swabs atop l-o-n-g, thin, wooden sticks. As I proceeded along the line, I eyed these swab sticks with a bit of decision anxiety. COVID testing at the polls? Kind of like being able to register to vote when you get a driver's license or library card? Those long swabs - they hurt, right? Knock up against your brain pan to pull out sinus cells? Should I get tested? Yes? No? I mean, I'm right here, right? But this doesn't make sense, does it? COVID testing right here? I don't know ..... Cognitive dissonance.

Upon arrival before the woman and the long, skinny swabs atop those wooden sticks, I learned: Oh! Each voter gets one to use on the touchscreen of the voting machine.

Super clever! I loved it! And myself and I had a big laugh together.

The second: If only two, maybe three, are in the voter-processing area, the set-up was OK for distancing. Alas, the two processing tables were too close together + the two people at each table were too close together, and therefore, voters had to be too close together if each table handled two voters. The problem, in my mind, lay not in the intentions, but the small size and layout of the voting space, including the queue line area.

A better plan, if the weather permitted it (and it did when I was there), might have been to have the first table outside on the sidewalk. Or beginning in the building foyer. Or set up one of those big tents (like for a wedding or beer garden) in the short street to handle the whole thing. Or find a larger space in the building. Or in a different building.

But overall, I was delighted to be able to vote in person!      

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. 

Back to Texas: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 888: A Toast to Dan

 

 

Yesterday afternoon, when I neared Livingston, Texas, I pulled into a Walmart to select a sparking white wine. 

I prefer reds such as a pinot noir or cabernet sauvignon, but the wine wasn't for me. 

It was for my best Tucson buddy, Dan. He liked good sparkling whites. I bought a prosecco that he would have likely sniffed his nose at (both literally and figuratively), good-naturedly, but, well, he wasn't there, so ...

Dan wasn't there because two weeks ago, he died. 

Last night, in the dark, beneath the lacy lingerie of treetops and a deep blue sky, I lifted a toast to Dan, and thanked him for enriching my Tucson year. 

 

We met in 2019 at the weekly blues fusion dance event, held at CeeCee's Jamaican restaurant on Speedway. Dan was a superb dance partner! He liked a little drama in his dance step, as do I. He was all about both of us enjoying the dance, and he forgave all of my missteps. Dan made me look good and we synced well. He made it easy to be a follow.

Dan took me to my very first hockey game. He took me to my first football game since I was a high schooler. As an alum, he proudly showed me around the UA campus before the football game. 

We took a day trip together so that Dan could introduce me to various Arizona points of interest. A man who liked organized planning, I drove, but he carefully plotted all of our stopping points for the day, including a lunch break in Sierra Vista. Dan showed me Tombstone, Bisbee, Naco, Miller Peak, and even Miracle Valley. 

Dan loved good wine, especially white sparkling wines. I'd call him a sensualist, with his love for blues fusion and tango dancing, for the flavors of cheeses and meats and olives and sweets, an ear for the instrumentals in music of all genres, for the visual and perhaps tactile adventure of his cactus collection. 

I know this sounds like I'm stating the obvious, but: death wasn't in Dan's plan for this year. 

However, even before COVID's heavy blanket descended, 2019-2020 was different for Dan. 

There were unsettling, seemingly discrete, medical things that cropped up. Not trivial, but not un-fixable. A treatable this. A treatable that. An elevated this. An ophthalmological issue that popped up, and which required prompt treatment and slow recovery. Then a scarier thing presented itself, for which he underwent a course of treatment of some months, which resulted, he was told (at least at first?) in a clear report.

There were disconcerting and unexpected changes, too, in some social and cultural activities that he'd lovingly participated in for decades, which became suddenly, somehow elusive, for a variety of reasons.

The cloud of COVID settled in, and Dan sometimes struggled with the isolation. 

Dan suffered a grief, as well, for someone close to him, who was gravely ill. 

Twelve months, being worn down, bit by bit.  

There is a gap in the universe where he once stood. Where he danced.

Goodbye, Dan.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

Lamp glow in Missouri. December 2006.

• 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

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.

On the Road Again: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 28: Flags and Traps

 

Fire and brimstone in an Arkansas tract. January 2012.

 

From Salado Rest Area on Highway 167, on the way to Livingston, Texas, my route included spans on:

1. Highway 167
2. Highway 67
3. Highway 57
4. Highway 595
5. Highway 59
   

My take-away sights

Highway 67 and 57 (Arkansas): Dotted by many flapping Confederate flags that proclaim quasi-American citizens' fealty to a dystopian ghost nation that lurks in the United States like plaque on a heart's arteries

Highway 595: Speed traps! 

Atlanta, Texas: The town of Atlanta, Texas, has a big ol' billboard close to its entrance that announces to all comers: "One City Under God." .... Not to be disrespectful, but by the looks of things there, God don't like Atlanta too much. Depressing.

Between Atlanta and Livingston: More speed traps!

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.