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Category Archives: Vanlife

Exploring North Carolina

18 Friday Oct 2019

Posted by wyndes in Adventures, Travel, Vanlife

≈ 4 Comments

My Tuesday did not get less exciting. Or less frustrating, actually. 

Or less fortunate, for that matter. 

I drove away from Pisgah, heading toward Asheville. It wouldn’t be my day to write, but that was okay, it would be my day to explore. I stopped along the way to eat breakfast, pulling into a random empty parking lot. Breakfast was fine, just my usual yogurt and granola, but the parking lot had an unexpected dip to the exit. When I pulled out, I heard the kind of crunch that you get if you go over a speed bump too fast. 

Oops. 

Sorry, Serenity.

It wasn’t more than ten miles down the road before I started to hear a noise. It wasn’t a big noise. I tried to convince myself for the space of one traffic light that I was hearing my dirty dishes rattle in the sink. And then I pulled over into another empty parking lot, and got out and walked around the van. 

Damn it. 

The brackets that had fallen off in Yellowstone were hanging loose again. And this time, one of the weird metal pieces that ought to be holding the bracket in place was gone. 

Plans derailed. 

But! I was in a town! Which meant I had cell service, yay. I googled RV service and called a place in Asheville, 15 miles away. They recommended a truck service place only two miles away. So I zip-tied the brackets in place (sorta) and drove to the truck repair shop. 

The woman behind the counter said that someone might be able to take a look around 3PM. I said that was fine, I’d hang out in the parking lot, since I couldn’t really drive with parts hanging loose. She asked what I thought the problem was. 

I said, “I think it’s probably trivial, except not trivial for me, because I can’t fix it myself.” 

She said, “Let me come take a look.” 

About half an hour later, as she was lying under the van in the parking lot with a lug wrench and a part that one of the guys in the shop had cut down to size for her, I asked her, “How often are you the person who ends up lying on the ground in the parking lot?” 

She replied, “Very, very, very, very, very, very, very seldom.” 

That was what I thought. 

She wouldn’t let me pay her anything, not even for the parts, so I hugged her and told her she was my goddess. And if you are ever in Black Mountain, North Carolina:  Valley Truck Service, absolutely fantastic service. I wish I’d thought to ask her name, but I will be eternally grateful for her efforts. 

(The brackets actually run under the black tank, not the generator, and I think they’re probably just holding the heated drainage system in place. Or rather, were holding the heated drainage system in place. I suspect I also lost a piece of the insulation yesterday, but driving slowly along the highway looking for it felt like it would be a stupid idea.) 

My next decision also turned out to be a stupid idea. So it goes. But I’d been thinking I’d explore Asheville for a while, then drive up to Great Smoky Mountains National Park, then look for a campground. But it’s been getting dark really early, and I didn’t want to wind up in the park when it was too late to actually see or do anything. So I decided to first go to the park, then to come back and explore Asheville. 

It was a beautiful drive — no regrets on the drive. I wound up back on the Blue Ridge Parkway, which is just gorgeous. 

Gorgeous scenic view
The Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina.
More gorgeous scenic view
More of the Blue Ridge Parkway

But Great Smoky Mountains reminded me of why I avoid the national parks. It was ridiculously crowded. On a Tuesday! There was no room in the parking lot at the visitor center at all. I drove through, then drove through again, then looked for nearby overflow parking, then said “the hell with it.” 

At that point, I felt like I’d been on the road forever and I was exhausted. And traffic was stop-and-go, roads packed with people, just miserable. 

So I headed to Asheville, but by the time I got there, it was rush hour. And Asheville really is a city. A lovely city, it looks very fun, and I understand why people always say it’s great. But cities at rush hour are not terribly convenient places for camper vans with tired drivers. I’d decided that my first stop would be a fancy grocery store, “better than Whole Foods” according to an online review, to buy myself a well-deserved gluten-free treat, but there was absolutely no chance of parking anywhere nearby. And so I wound up back on the highway, headed south. 

After a stop at a non-fancy grocery store, where I picked up a rotisserie chicken, some potato chips, and a gluten-free pumpkin chocolate chip muffin — (Total win for the healthy dinner, yeah? I think those are my worst food choices for a “meal” in months) — I made my way to North Mills River Campground, still in the Pisgah National Forest, but a real campground. 

I hate my site, which is totally on me. Why did I pick it? I actually think I picked it because it was close to the dumpster, which reminded me that I really needed to get rid of a full garbage bag, but it’s also fairly private, no other campsites in immediate view. But it’s sloped, and the van door opens onto the road, so Z can’t be outside on her tie-out without actually being in traffic. Not that there’s been much traffic, but it’s the principle of the thing. 

Site #6 at North Mills River Campground
My sloped site. It’s actually really pretty, with a little brook trickling by and a path into the woods. It would be great for a tent camper.

On the other hand, it is a nice quiet national forest, and it was very reasonably priced ($11 with an America the Beautiful pass), and rumor has it that there are showers. I paid for two nights when I arrived, then when I realized how stupid my site pick was, I thought I might leave after one anyway. But instead I’ve been writing blog posts and taking nice walks and puttering around the van. 

And being grateful. 

Tuesday was not a fun day. It was definitely not the excellent day that I was looking forward to when I was writing my morning words. But I didn’t get shot, I didn’t spend the day in a truck service shop parking lot, I wasn’t in the accident that totally snarled traffic in Cherokee. It could have been so much worse. 

And, on the positive side, the woman at Valley Truck Service was fantastic. The scenery was beautiful. A helpful store clerk found me my gluten-free treat at my non-fancy grocery store, and Zelda loved the rotisserie chicken, gobbling it down with enormous enthusiasm after a few days of being picky about her food. So all is well. 

I suspect that I am not going to finish writing APM while on the road, but I’ll have plenty of time once I get to Florida to focus. It’ll be a lot easier when I’m not thinking about things like where I’m going to spend the night and when I might shower again and whether I should try to find a laundromat. (Yes, I should. I’m probably not going to, though. But my first order of business on my Saturday arrival is definitely going to be a load of laundry and a real shower!)

The Pisgah National Forest, North Carolina

17 Thursday Oct 2019

Posted by wyndes in Adventures, Travel, Vanlife

≈ 4 Comments

In my opinion, the problem with first person point-of-view is that it inherently lacks suspense. If I’m telling the story, obviously I survived the story. That’s always the good news, though, when you’re writing a blog post!

So, I had a rather lovely Monday. I took my time leaving Bandit’s Roost, appreciating my electricity and the availability of water and having another nice walk with Zelda where we went nowhere, but she enjoyed the smells. It was a beautiful day.

autumn trees and water at Bandits Roost campground in North Carolina

It was even a nice day for a drive. We wandered around back roads in North Carolina, staying off the highways, but heading toward Asheville. I did a little shopping at a Salvation Army store and managed to replace the jeans that developed holes in the knees a few weeks ago, plus picked up a cotton sweater to add to my warm weather layer collection. I also had a pleasant chat with a woman in the parking lot, who was impressed that I was traveling by myself. 

She wanted to know if I carried a weapon with me. 

I do not. 

She shook her head and eyed the van, and told me that I was very brave. 

Eh, I don’t usually think so. Bad things can happen anywhere, but they’re random, IMO, no more likely to happen on the road then when you’re at home. I told her that my weapon was my car keys: if I ever felt unsafe, I just drove away. 

Isn’t it strange how life provides its own foreshadowing sometimes? 

Eventually, in the early afternoon, I headed up into the hills of Pisgah National Forest to check out the Curtis Creek National Forest campground. The drive was up a winding narrow dirt road with multiple one-lane bridges — not scary, particularly, but definitely the kind of road where I had moments of wondering what I was getting myself into. The campground itself was unusual for a national forest campground in that most of the sites seemed to be clustered together in a small meadow. I kept driving, hoping to find a site that was a little more private and suddenly I was out of the campground, still climbing up into the mountains. But the road was narrow and there wasn’t any easy place to turn around. As I kept going, I passed a couple parked vehicles with tents set up in the woods. It wasn’t the campground. They were “dispersed” camping, aka free camping in the national forests, at spots just off the road. 

After several minutes of driving, I found a spot in the road wide enough that I thought I could turn Serenity around. But instead of turning, I parked and ate a late lunch and considered the idea of dispersed camping. I hadn’t really done it before and maybe it was the conversation I’d had with the woman at the Salvation Army store, but it felt sort of spooky. It was so very isolated. Seriously, I was alone in the forest. No neighbors, no one around at all. And I had no cell service, of course, nor internet. 

It was a beautiful forest, though. Lots of green and a little bit of autumn color, and I could hear running water from a nearby brook and birds chirping. Z and I went for a cautious walk in the woods while I thought about bears and broken ankles and the amazing beauty of real nature. 

The running brook in the Pisgah National Forest
The babbling brook in the forest near my parking spot.

And then we came back to Serenity and settled in. I opened the windows, and started reading my book, and Z snuggled up and went to sleep. As it got dark, I listened to the sound of the brook and appreciated the chilly fresh air while a full moon started to rise. Then, of course, I thought about werewolves, and wished I hadn’t read so many shifter romances that start with a woman being attacked in a remote forest. The light from the moon was so bright that twice I checked to be sure I hadn’t left the outside light on, but I hadn’t. 

In the morning, I was feeling ever so cheerful and optimistic. I’d had a restless night, but had two good ideas about the ending of APM, and my free campsite in the woods felt like a fine place to spend the day. Totally isolated. I’d get out the computer and do nothing but think about Fen until I was finished. 

And then I heard a car pull up and stop right next to me.  

Huh. 

That was odd. 

A ranger? I didn’t think I needed a permit for dispersed camping, but maybe I did. The car was behind the van, so I opened the bathroom door to look out the back window. 

It was not a car, it was a pickup truck. 

And it was not a ranger. 

The guy who’d gotten out of the truck was scruffy, pudgy, dressed in camouflage. He was behind the hood of the truck and he was doing something that I couldn’t quite see. 

But… and this was clearly paranoia on my part… it looked like he was loading a gun. 

I watched him for several seconds that felt like several long minutes. 

Okay, yep, he was loading a gun. 

That was not paranoia. That was what he was doing.

That… didn’t feel like a good thing. 

I glanced back into the van. I had a bunch of kitchen stuff out. Olive oil, dishes, hot water on the stove for making coffee. How fast could I safely put things away? 

Then I heard a car door slam. I looked at the pickup truck again, and nothing had changed. No one else was there, just the guy with his gun. So I scooted over to the front of the van and yanked open the curtain that separates the seats from the kitchen. 

Another pickup truck was parked in front of me. Two men had gotten out. Both of them were carrying guns, too. 

And neither of them was remotely scary, because they were both wearing bright orange baseball caps on top of their camouflage. 

Hunters. 

Guess what October 15th probably is in North Carolina? I say probably because I don’t know for sure, not having had internet access, but I’m going to guess that it is the opening day of deer-hunting season. Because for the next twenty minutes, while I packed up the van and got ready to go, truck after truck after truck drove up my remote forest road, carrying guys, guns, and dogs. Lots of dogs. Also more men with guns than I have ever seen in my life. Like, by a lot. Like, by an enormous amount. 

It was a party. A gun-toting, deer-hunting,* celebration of fall, party. 

By 9AM, I was on the road, driving cautiously to avoid hitting pickup trucks on the one-lane bridges. So many trucks, so many people. So not the glorious day of isolated writing in a beautiful spot that I was anticipating. 

But one of my travel games — a thing I think about to entertain myself when driving — is to try to remember an experience I’ve had in every state. And I am fairly sure that the moment of watching a guy load his gun while contemplating how fast I would be able to get the van moving will get to be North Carolina’s memory for a good long time. Maybe forever. 

*They could have been hunting something else. Do you need dogs to hunt deers? I am no expert, so I would google, but I have no internet, so can’t. Whatever they were hunting, it was not random women camping alone or small white dogs, so it was fine by me. 

Little Fort Campground, George Washington National Forest

11 Friday Oct 2019

Posted by wyndes in A Precarious Magic, Campground, Vanlife, Writing

≈ 6 Comments

When I set off from Allentown on Monday, my plan was to take a slow drive south, seeing the scenery along the way. I had my sights on a small National Forest campground for my first night, to be followed by a drive through Shenandoah, then more driving along the Blue Ridge Parkway. With overnight stops along the way, of course. By the weekend, I’d be in North Carolina. I’d explore Asheville and the Great Smoky Mountains, maybe check out the ruby mine in Cherokee, just because I liked the sapphire mine in Montana so much. 

In other words, I’d be a tourist. 

The only problem with this plan is that the book isn’t finished, and I really truly want to get it done. 

I made it to my first destination: Little Fort Campground in the George Washington National Forest. It’s a tiny campground, only nine sites, and it has no amenities. No water, no hook-ups, no showers, no dump station, no garbage service. Also no internet access and no cell service. It’s also free, so you know, you get what you pay for. 

Except not really, because it is beautiful and treed and peaceful. Not a view, exactly — it’s just a spot in the middle of a forest — but out of every window I see trees, just starting to pick up their autumn color. The campground seems to be a base point for people with ATVs, so occasionally the noise of humankind is pretty loud. But mostly it’s crickets. Literal crickets, lots and lots of them. At night, the only lights I can see are the ones created by the van and by nature. Well, and once a campfire from people across the way. 

When I got here on Monday, I had my choice of three sites: one right next to the check-in board that was so tiny the van would barely squeeze in; one relatively sloped site; and one that was the nicest spot in the campground — a pull-through spot, with steps up to a level square with a picnic table, fire ring, and paved tent spot. 

I feel like it would be good to explore my reservations about taking the nicest spot with a therapist sometime — really, why did I hesitate? Why did I feel like I should leave that spot to some person with a bigger camper who would need a pull-through? Why did I feel guilty, in a first-come, first-served campground, about choosing the best option of the available options? I don’t know, but I did. However, I overcame the guilt and took the good spot. 

And then I stayed. Because honestly, I feel like I should see the National Parks, since I’m so close. And I feel like I should take the long scenic drives, and admire the beauty of our autumn countryside. And I feel like I should explore Asheville, a town that I’ve been told I’d love so many times. 

But what I want to do is finish writing APM. So for the past two days, I’ve played with words and stared into space and eaten nice food and taken occasional brief walks with Z and enjoyed my life. Ever so much, enjoyed my life. 

I’m writing this on Thursday, but you’re not going to read it on Thursday, because I have no internet access. When I went to sleep last night, I was thinking today was the day I’d drive on. Shenandoah, Blue Ridge Parkway, etc. Also internet access for checking email and messages, posting blog posts. But I’m not going to. Maybe tomorrow if I run out of water or propane or finish writing the book. (The first is possible but unlikely; the second is possible and somewhat likely; the third is highly unlikely.) Instead, I’m going to keep playing with words and appreciate the sounds of crickets. 

Spot #1 at Little Fort Campground.

Updated to add: propane was the deciding factor. But before I left, I had such a nice experience. I realized I was going to have to go late Thursday afternoon, while heating up some soup for dinner. I was a little bummed, but accepting. Obviously, it was still a choice: I could have stayed without propane. But I would have had to run the generator to make coffee in the morning and I am not capable of being that rude to my neighbors. No one likes being woken up by a growling gas generator when camping.  

So I packed up the van so I could be ready to go first thing in the morning. Everything was stowed, I was mostly all set to go… and a late arrival drove into the campground. A truck, pulling a trailer. Not huge, but the only site in the campground that he might possibly fit into was mine. He drove in, took the loop, was making his way out, and I hopped out of the van and flagged him down. Ten minutes later, I was moved into the tiny site across the way, the one next to the check-in board, and a very happy camper — who’d been on the road for eleven hours — was settling into my site. He was grateful and the serendipity felt like the universe telling me it was time to move on. It was such nice timing. 

And no, the book isn’t done. It took another unexpected turn, which… well, it’s an unexpected book, I guess. But I spent quite a bit of time wavering about this unexpected turn. A paragraph that sums up the dilemma: 

“Fen fumbled for the crystal in her pocket, unable to tear her eyes away from Ghost. Clearly, she had fallen asleep and woken up in some bad B movie from the 1950s. This couldn’t possibly be real.” 

Fortunately, I eventually decided that bad B movies can be highly entertaining and I might as well stick with enjoying the ride. “Still giggling” remains among my favorite reader feedback ever, after all!

Gratitudes

07 Monday Oct 2019

Posted by wyndes in Personal, Vanlife

≈ 8 Comments

On this relatively bleak Monday morning — gray and gloomy, and the kind of day where putting the spoons away includes bumping my head on the counter, and reaching for the coffee means spilling tea everywhere — I am reminding myself to breathe and be grateful.

Breathe and be grateful. Pretty much the two best pieces of advice ever.

So what am I grateful for? Well, I am grateful that there are no signs of a leak to go with the continuously running water pump. That’s a good thing. I am grateful that even though my battery seems to have mysteriously depleted its charge in the night well past recommended levels (8.5 for those who know what I’m talking about! 8.5!!!), it still seems to work (witness the continuously running water pump.) I am grateful that even though the tank level monitor appears to be completely screwed up, I never really used it much anyway.

I am grateful that the stomach flu that had me miserable throughout Saturday night and most of Sunday was short-lived and probably a food reaction. Yay to eating solid food again. I am also so, so grateful that my tanks were empty enough that they didn’t come anywhere close to overflowing and I didn’t have to dump them while sick.

I am grateful that my roof isn’t leaking in the rain, I am grateful that it’s warm enough that even though I’ve run out of propane, I’m not uncomfortable. Oh, and it occurs to me that maybe I haven’t run out of propane, maybe I’m just relying on a tank level monitor that’s screwed up at the moment, ha.

I am grateful that Zelda is snoring at my feet and ate breakfast this morning and that we went for a good walk in the dark before 6AM, because I was feeling better and she was lively.

I am grateful that even though I haven’t finished writing A Precarious Magic (and that seriously bums me out), I like what I’ve written and I think it’s fun, so I’m not intending to start revising from scratch just because I’m still struggling with the ending.

I am grateful that even though I didn’t make it to the Shenandoah National Park on schedule, I have a perfectly comfortable street to be parked in for the moment. And that even though the weather is not lovely for driving today, it’s not lousy either, just somewhere in between.

So much to be grateful for! And yet, somehow, it’s still a struggle… 😉

Killing Time

04 Friday Oct 2019

Posted by wyndes in Travel, Vanlife

≈ 4 Comments

Last night, I was sitting in a Walmart parking lot while the rain beat down on the van roof, snuggled under my blankets with the dog on my feet, and I was killing time. I was annoyed with myself for killing time, because there really wasn’t any need for it. I had everything I needed to use my time productively — to work on my book, to answer emails, to write a blog post, even to cook a healthy dinner.

But I just didn’t want to.

I was on my way from Boston to Allentown, my second day of several hours of driving in a row, and the rain was so oppressive that I’d pulled over to wait it out. That turned into spending the afternoon in a parking lot, which then stretched into an evening in a parking lot and a night in a parking lot.

And for whatever reason, I just couldn’t bring myself to do anything other than… wait. Kill time. I opened comfort rereads and closed them again. I played iPad games and quit out of them. I snacked on things that didn’t require dishes or cooking. I felt like was sitting in a doctor’s office, waiting for my name to be called, and I just couldn’t focus on anything. Or maybe in an airport, waiting to board the plane. I was too busy waiting to get anything done.

I was annoyed with myself. It’s not like I think every minute of my life has to be packed with productivity, but I’ve got plenty to do, including finishing a book. I think I can probably blame it on the driving — even though I’d only been on the road for three hours or so, driving tires me out. But I am on the road again and I do want to be productive while I’m on the road, so I’m just going to have to do better. No more killing time! (She types, having just spent at least two hours watching shapes drop from the sky in an iPad game. But at least I opened the computer up eventually!)

At any rate, today I left my parking lot, had a very pretty drive through a scenic area of the Catskills, and made my way to Allentown. The big event of the afternoon was that I convinced my niece (who just started high school) to cut my hair. As I said to her, it’s just hair. I envisioned her taking off an inch or two in about two minutes, snip, snip, snip. Instead, she was painstaking and careful, but I failed to warn her that wet hair gets shorter when it dries. I now have a very cute A-line bob and my hair is the shortest it’s been in many years. Ha. I can’t even put it into a ponytail. She did a great job, though. I might try to convince her to help me dye the tips turquoise tomorrow, if we have time.

fog on water
One last Maine picture, before I leave it behind. The fog on the water in the morning.

On Sunday, I’ll head south. I’m going to go slowly — no miserably long driving days, just a few hours and then a rest day — in the hope that I can finish the book while I’m on the road. I’m so close. Another week would have done it, but traveling is such a distraction. It’s hard to write and drive at the same time. Oh, well, I’ll get there eventually — I always do!

Home sweet home

16 Monday Sep 2019

Posted by wyndes in Food, Randomness, Vanlife

≈ 8 Comments

My driveway view

I’ve been house-sitting/driveway-camping for about two weeks now. For the first week, I barely went into the house: I did my laundry one day, I used the kitchen a couple times, I showered. I let Z wander around in the backyard and I sat in the backyard chairs and wrote, but I mostly felt like I was camping in a place with a house nearby.

But after going in and out enough times — putting the mail away, watering the plants, washing my dishes — I started to get comfortable. There’s an area off the kitchen that’s basically a fully enclosed porch with two chairs and a lovely view. I sat there and wrote a few days last week, when the temperatures outside made the van less comfortable, while Zelda napped next to me on the fantastic dog bed.

What makes it fantastic? Honestly, I have no idea. I should probably take a picture or at least find out the brand name because Zelda likes this bed so much that she has started telling me she needs to go into the house, for apparently no other reason than that she wants to nap in that dog bed instead of her own (two!) dog beds or the beds in the van. Literally, she will stand at the front door of the house, waiting patiently, until I open it so she can go inside and flop down on the bed.

But as Zelda has gotten more comfortable, so have I. Gradually last week, my whole van kitchen started moving inside. First the instant-pot, then the sous vide cooker, then my varieties of rice, then most of my fridge food. When I went grocery shopping on Friday, I acknowledged that I was cooking in a real kitchen and so I ate incredibly well this weekend. Friday, sockeye salmon with a garlic-dijon-lemon marinade over a bed of quinoa with a side of roasted asparagus. Saturday, baked cod topped with goat cheese, oregano from the garden, and lemon zest, with an asparagus risotto. Yesterday, spicy roasted chicken with mixed green salad. I eat well in the van, but it is so, so nice to have a real kitchen with running water and a vent fan. This kitchen, in particular, has an island that is the best working space I’ve ever had to play with in a kitchen. It makes me want to bake pies and cookies, because it would be so easy to roll out dough on it.

Unfortunately, I had one little disaster, yesterday. Well, or maybe two. The sink started first spraying water from the base of the faucet and then spewing water from the base of the faucet. Now when I turn it on, the water pours out from the base without going up into the spigot at all. Ack! I promptly texted my hosts’ son, asking for guidance, so am waiting to hear from him. Meanwhile, I can’t, of course, use the sink. That would be fine — is fine — except that the water situation was so distracting that I forgot about the chicken liver I was in the midst of sautéing until the smoke detector two rooms away started blaring at me. Double ack! Talk about oblivious — the whole kitchen was smoky and I was so focused on the water I hadn’t even noticed. So I currently have no water from the sink and a pan in serious need of some intensive scrubbing. As my mom would say, if that’s the worst that happens…

Good intentions

13 Friday Sep 2019

Posted by wyndes in Books, Personal, Vanlife

≈ 4 Comments

On Monday, I meant to write a blog post. But I decided it needed a picture to go with it, so I got my camera out. Playing with my camera was so fully distracting that I never got around to the writing.

On Tuesday, I meant to write a blog post. But I’m using Freedom, an app to block my internet access, and I forgot to enable web exceptions, which meant I didn’t have access to my own website. Oops.

On Wednesday, I meant to write a blog post. But I started reading Debra Dunbar’s Imp series, quite casually — you know, just a quick hour of reading before I started my day — and I … just didn’t stop. Ten books in the series, and I kept going until I was finished.

On Thursday, I meant to write a blog post, but I was still busy reading books with demons and angels in them.

Today is Friday. I cleaned the van, washed and refilled my water jugs, dumped the tanks, refilled the propane, did my grocery shopping for the week, picked up the mail, and now I am finally writing a blog post. Mostly just so I can resist the temptation to keep binge-reading, though. My two days of reading have put me well behind on what I am supposed to be doing, aka writing a book. Speaking of which… I believe it’s time to get back to that. I’m still hoping to finish writing by the end of the month, but my daily word count goal is growing by the day. Despite all that I have already achieved today, I’d really like today to be a day that makes my word count lower instead of higher, which means it’s time to focus on Fen.

Maine & my first Travato meet-up

15 Thursday Aug 2019

Posted by wyndes in Adventures, Anxiety, Travel, Vanlife, Zelda

≈ 8 Comments

From New Hampshire, I headed into Maine, to my first big meet-up of fellow Travato owners from the Travato Owners & Wannabes Facebook group. (Serenity, the camper van I live in, is a Winnebago Travato, for any new readers out there.) 

I arrived on Thursday, a day earlier than most of the others, because Gary, an online friend from the group, had offered to teach me how to change the oil in my generator. It was the first order of business when I arrived and involved raising the van on ramps, crawling under, draining the old oil, and pumping in the new oil. Gary did all the hard work, I mostly watched and chatted.

Conclusion – yay, I don’t need to change the generator oil for another 150 hours of generator time and yay, now I know I will probably not be doing that by myself. Ever. I paid $125 to have it done the first time it needed doing, which seemed expensive for an oil change, but now I’m thinking was a good deal. Of course, not nearly as good a deal as watching Gary do it, but I definitely owe him a bottle of wine. (Thank you, Gary!)

The rest of the attendees started arriving Friday morning and continued coming and going all weekend long. The spot was beautiful – a house on a hill owned by Trish, a stained glass artist, with incredible art inside, wide porches outside, surrounded by fields of wildflowers, and enough parking room for 20 or so vans to line the driveway. And the company was delightful — interesting people, doing interesting things, all of us ready to talk about our travels, the places we’ve enjoyed, adventures on the road, ways of living in our vans and mods. Many, many mods. (Aka modifications to the vans.)

scenic view with blue sky and wildflowers
The view from Trish’s hill.

Also, of course, our own lives. On the first day, I wound up sitting with two fellow dog owners, Deb & Ken, talking about journalism, editing, the dot.com years, raising kids with learning disabilities, writing books… and after a couple hours of conversation, Deb said, “Hey, we’re going to be on the road for the month of September, if you want our driveway, it’s all yours.” I think I probably blinked a few times. Seriously? They live in Maine, across from a river, with bald eagles living in their trees… so, so tempting. 

That night, everyone brought out their camping chairs and we filled the porches while we ate potluck appetizers and desserts. The next day, some people wandered into town during the morning, while others hung around the house. In the mid-afternoon, Trish collected lobster orders and we all ate corn, grilled vegetables, and fresh Maine lobsters with butter. Afterwards, some people played cards, some played music, and some listened to the music. I was the latter, but there was lots of laughter from the card players — apparently, the Travato owners group’s card game of choice is called Five Crowns and I am definitely going to have to learn how to play someday. 

The next day, a few more people arrived and a few people left. Trish made a delicious lobster chowder for lunch for us all, and in the evening, people set out salads and snacks for another potluck. After dinner, we all carried our chairs out to the firepit in the front lawn and sat around a glorious campfire, toasting marshmallows for s’mores and listening to Faith and Daniel Senie sing and play. 

I feel like I spent a lot of my time following Zelda around as she roamed. She was a busy, busy wanderer, which was… well, interesting? My time with her feels so precious to me now and I want her to do what she wants to do. I don’t know how many days of wandering she has left, so I really don’t want to shut her in the van alone, which she is usually unhappy about, or tie her up. But I don’t know that anyone would ever have guessed she was an old dog from the way she behaved, except in that she stayed very clear of the more boisterous dogs. She didn’t want to play. But she did want to sniff every single solitary blade of grass and explore every corner. Fine by me. But one of the dementia problems is that she doesn’t respond to voice commands any more, although she still understands her hand signals, so I can’t trust her to come when she’s called. It meant a lot of interrupted conversations as I jumped up to follow her around. 

On the last day I was there, I picked up some bruises. I actually took a picture of my bruised knees, which I am not going to post, because ugh, who wants to look at bruises? But whenever I stumble across it in the future, I am going to pat myself on the back.

So the story is: Trish had warned everyone that animals were welcome but that her dog, Rosey, chased cats and any cats would need to be kept in their vans.

On Monday morning, Rosey spotted a cat sitting in the doorway of her van. 

As long-time readers know, last year Zelda was attacked by another dog. It was the fastest, most violent, bloody experience of my life — out of nowhere, aggression and blood and screaming and fear, and for Zelda, pain and shaky trembling and near-death— and I had some post-traumatic stress afterwards. I worked on it, because I didn’t want to be afraid of dogs, but I definitely became wary, aware of how quickly a dog could do deep damage, and tense around bigger dogs. I think my time in Arcata helped me get over the fear, because occasionally I had that reaction to Riley — when he moved fast or unexpectedly, my heart rate would soar, my breath would catch. He turned out to be the sweetest, softest, loviest dog imaginable, though, which helped me work my way through the anxiety. 

And that was good, because when Rosey went for the cat, I went for Rosey. Even as I jumped on her, I knew that if she turned around and went for me — which is a not unnatural reaction for a dog in a fight who feels herself being attacked from behind — I was going to get hurt. But I didn’t let the fear stop me. And yay, Rosey didn’t go for me, and I didn’t get bitten, and the cat escaped and was unhurt and Rosey was unhurt, too. She didn’t even get scratched. A couple hours later, she came and snuggled up with me on the porch, letting me give her lots of rubs and scratches, so she didn’t hold a grudge either. I didn’t realize that I’d landed hard enough to bruise my knees until the next morning, when I rolled out of bed and said, “Ow, what the heck?” But I’m pleased with those bruises, because they are a symbol of recovery from fear. I like that in a bruise. 

Moving on, later on Monday I headed down to South Gardiner and Deb & Ken’s house. I had a lovely afternoon/evening with them, sitting in their front yard watching for eagles and chatting, and then sharing their dinner. And temptation accepted! I’m going to spend September in their driveway, working on the book (finishing it, I hope) and watching the eagles. And the loons and the hummingbirds and the river. I’m pretty delighted with the change in my plans. I might even manage some kayaking.

Meanwhile, on Tuesday, I drove to Rockport to spend some time with my friend Barbara (first pausing at a rest stop on the New Hampshire highway to have lunch with Pam and S). More about that later, though, because this blog post has gotten long and our lunch plans — steamers? not something I think I’ve really had before — are beckoning.

Departure imminent

05 Monday Aug 2019

Posted by wyndes in Personal, Vanlife

≈ 2 Comments

I think I’ve probably written about this before, but traveling in a camper van is adventurous; sitting still in a camper van is just living in a car. Tomorrow I leave for New Hampshire, then Maine and Massachusetts, and I am so looking forward to being back on the road again. I’ve had a lovely visit with family, but the annoyances of life in a van start to add up the longer I sit still.

However, this was sitting still for a very good reason: yesterday evening R & M arrived, on their way south from a summer spent working as a camp counselors in Vermont. We had sous vide flank steak, potatoes, and summer salads with sweet corn, tomatoes, avocado and pickled onion for dinner pretty much the second they got here, which I mention mostly so I remember that sous vide flank steak was pretty good. I’m not sure it was so much better than regular marinated flank steak that it’s worth the effort, but I think if I ever make it again, I will up the sous vide time to four or five hours and see if that makes it incredible. It might! But I was delighted to discover that R had picked up his own sous vide cooker at a garage sale in Vermont. I like seeing my cooking influence spread, I guess.

Blueberry season is definitely over, which makes me a little sad. It was impossible to pick it all, so we turned it over to the birds. It’s amazing to come back to the bushes and discover that all the berries that were left have disappeared but it’s nice to know that the birds feasted. And the end of blueberry season means that apple season has begun. Not today, but when I come back in a few weeks, I look forward to a plethora of delicious, crispness.

Meanwhile, today I have R & M to play with. I believe we’re going to try to fix a tail light on M’s car; do a little shopping; and go out to lunch. And I would rather be doing all of that than writing a blog post, so off I go. Enjoy your Mondays!

Three Years

29 Monday Jul 2019

Posted by wyndes in Adventures, Personal, Vanlife

≈ 5 Comments

New Year’s Eve is usually the time when people look back and reflect on their past year, look forward and contemplate their next year. But three years ago today, I signed the paperwork, closing on the sale of my house, and drove off into the sunset.

If I was going to do this post justice, I’d add up the numbers: how many campgrounds, how many states, how many miles. But I’m honestly just not inspired to do that much work. Sometimes it’s fun to go through my calendar and make lists, but this past month has been filled with that kind of chore, so I’m not going to bother.

That’s a little ironic because I’ve actually been thinking about this post for months. What have I learned in three years of living in a van? What has 50,000 miles of driving taught me? But there are so many answers. Mostly that water is precious and that I really don’t like driving very much. I still miss my house sometimes, although not nearly as much as I miss Bartleby, and I still worry about the future more than I should.

Before I decided that I wasn’t going to make lists, I opened up my photos app to look at pictures. I was thinking that this past year wasn’t as busy as the previous two, that I did more adventuring in my first couple years of camping. Um, no. Not at all. Last summer was upstate New York and Vermont, followed by a delightful couple of months in Canada, then down through Maine and Massachusetts. Florida, then cross-country through Texas and New Mexico to California, and from California, a road trip to Oregon and Idaho, then north to Washington, and cross-country again. Lots of people, lots of places.

But not enough sunsets. That is, of course, not literally true — we all have exactly the same number of sunsets in a year, after all. But not enough appreciating of sunsets. When I consider the past year, especially in contrast to the previous couple, the real thing that strikes me is that I’m spending way too much time worrying about what comes next and not enough appreciating where I am.

So! Goal for year 4: more sunset pictures.

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Just catching the sunrise
A little patch of flowers in the wasteland.
Spring is on its way. Yay!
The second rainbow on the right is a little hard to see in the photo so look close.
Pre-Epcot breakfast, made by Frisbee. Total SuperHost. All the stars!

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