The Stigma of the Single Man...

in the White Van.

On April 1st, I unceremoniously passed my Four Year Homeless by Choice Anniversary. (It's not about the $). 

I'm still learning things along my journey. For instance: 

One) Perspective girlfriends have no sense of humor for a senior citizen who's address is a Van's license plate number. As rare as first dates are, second dates take on a Halley's Comet appearance time frame. In other words, not often. It's hard for me to get past the standard question of "where do you live?" I really squirm a lot when that subject comes up. On the "boy meets girl" issue, I could have chosen a more user-friendly lifestyle. 

Two) At times, things can get a bit feral. On stretches of what I call "rough camping" (no showers, no electricity and no flush toilets), I'll Solar Shower on some lonely dirt road. I'll expose myself to the elements while taking my daily ablution. I just hope no other vehicle ambles by. I might make YouTube in an awkward way. Please don't enquire about plumbing.

Three) I draw a lot of stares when I arrive in an RV park where everyone knows each other, but no one knows me. A fine example of this occurred in Lajitas, TX. I was driving a lap around the campground while looking for my designated site. Groups of manly cohorts were engaged in animated conversations. Upon seeing me and Barley the Van-SILENCE! They craned their necks while following me with their prying eyes. I parked, hopped out and gave them my toothiest grin. "Gentlemen! You have no need to worry about me. I will be the quietest neighbor you will ever have. You won't even know I'm here." The bull session resumed and everyone was happy. A few gents came by later on to check out the Barley Van. I gave them beers. I'm on a mission to win hearts and minds. 

Four) Families fear the White Van and probably the single man inside. On more than one occasion, I noticed young Moms and Dads pointing toward Barley while emphatically shaking their heads in the International "NO! NO! NO!" fashion. If the parents aren't getting through to their progeny, they wag their fingers too. Ouch! That hurts my feelings. 

This is why I never park near a school or playground. The local SWAT Unit would surely be dispatched with weapons drawn. 

For the above reasons and a few others, I've become more of an introvert/hermit. It's the price I'm paying for all this mobile freedom. Oh, I'll still say hello to strangers and wave, but I won't go further than that unless provoked. I'm definitely not the kind of guy who would stride up to someone, extend my hand and say, "Hi! I'm Jeff! Damn fine to meet ya." That being said, I'm pretty sure I'd still pass society's minimum standards of acceptable community behavior. 

I still consider myself to be a nice Jewish Boy from the Bronx.

What's to become of me? I haven't a clue. I'm still motivated to travel with and without The White Van. Barley won't fit in an airplane's overhead storage compartment, so I'll be leaving him behind in my future overseas travels.

Keep looking in, things will get interesting.

For further readings, check out these old posts. Maybe you'll see a pattern here.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/03/three-years-of-homelessness.html

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/06/i-never-thought-of-myself-as-a.html

BTW. I, still running for President in 2020. The First Lady slot is still open too.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2016/11/my-2020-presidential-campaign-begins.html

Cheers while rolling into Year Five of Homeless by Choice,

Jeff

Next to last photo: Yes, there are times I am living in my van down the river.

Last photo: Me in the Master Bedroom engrossed in an IPPY award winning book.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B006VXRMUG?keywords=Jeff%20Sambur&qid=1447125667&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1

Hiking the Grand Canyon with...

a STAN.

I met a lot of characters in my 28 year career on the fire department. One of the more memorable (in a bad way) was a bald headed, opinionated, conversation domineering , fib-telling Dude nicknamed STAN. 

He was the guy you couldn't top. If you caught a three-pound trout, he caught a five pound Brown on a one-pound test line. Ran a sub-18:00 Five Kilometer race? He won his age bracket in 15:30. Hiked a respectable summit? He scaled Everest with no oxygen. He couldn't be beat.

BTW: STAN translates to S--T! That Ain't Nothing!

So...on my recent backpack with Brad 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2015/04/my-brother-from-another-mother.html 

and Max and Cassie (son and girlfriend) into the Big Ditch I was told a stranger (to me)  would be joining us on the second night out of five. That's fine. Buddy of Brad should be OK by me. 

On the second night, we were camped at Monument Creek. Brad and family were out exploring the tiny tributary. I was hanging out contemplating the rocks or reading. In other, words typical Grand Canyon activities for me. Out of the silence, I heard, "Brad! Brad! Where are you?" 

I called out, "You must be #%#%. (That's my way of not indulging his real name). "Hi! I'm Jeff. Brad is out with his family looking around. Here's the campsite he picked for you. I'll go back to my site and let you set up. See you later." 

Around dinner time, I rejoined the gang at the designated kitchen area of Brad's campsite.  %#%# was in full story telling mode. It went sort of like this...

"In the beginning, I was born to poor yet humble parents. I worked my way through Harvard doing pizza deliveries on my tricycle. I got my Doctorate in Mathematics at the age of six..." and on and on it went. 

Hmmm! This was going to be an interesting backpack trip.

A few days later, we all set off on a 15.5 mile amble from Monument Creek to Bright Angel campground. In all my years of hiking in the Grand Canyon, this would be my biggest mileage day ever. No matter how you spin it, that's more than a stroll to the neighborhood post office.

%#%#% charted out his game plan on where he would be and at what time. "I'll be on my way at 6:03 I'll pass Salt Creek at 7:13. I should be at Bright Angel by 2:08 give out take a minute. I'll be hiking at three-plus miles/Hour. You guys know what that's like. Don't you?" 

I broke camp after my usual morning dawdle. I was fueled by my secret weapon. Two Starbucks shots of strong instant coffee. Pure grind your molars, quick striding energy. My plan was the standard one. Crank out as many miles as I could until the caffeine runs out; then arrive at my destination on fumes. 

It was a beautiful day along the Tonto Plateau, flowers were out, the air was cool and crisp and the scenery was the usual Grand Canyon magnificent. After awhile I ran into Brad, Max and Cassie. They were moving at a loping just fine steady pace. All were well with these happy campers. 

"Hi Guys! I'm nice and wired from the coffee. Who knows? Maybe I'll catch %#%#. That might quiet him down a bit." 

They wished me luck.

After Salt Creek, I spied three backpackers. One was definitely the 6'5" #%#%#. When I approached I overheard a story. "Then there was that time I was physically removed from a Vegas casino. I guess I was doing too good a job at counting cards. Hey! I was only up $5,000 on the House!" 

He was surprised to see me. "You are moving well! I'll try to keep up with you." 

"Don't sweat it. No worries. Walk your own pace. I'm still lit up from the coffee. Enjoy your day. See you at Bright Angel."

My caffeine fix expired at Indian Gardens. There was still five miles to go. My pace became a relaxed mosey, with food and water breaks along the way. 

On the Colorado River trail, I saw the familiar sight of the iconic Silver and Black bridges. I'm sure I was grinning. Once in camp, I found a suitable campsite and went to work on a bagel and cheese snack. A few minutes later, #%#%# strode in.

I nodded and said, "Long day. Strong work. I'm glad we're done." 

"I dunno. I could've taken a break and been good for another five-ten miles."

I know I let out a audible sigh. There's no topping a STAN.

But Hey! It's the Grand freaking Canyon! It takes more than a STAN to muddle the experience. Besides, I was still hanging with my Bro from another Mo and his amazing family. All is good in the world (except I'm sick again!")

Moral of the blog? Don't be a backpacking blowhard. 

Cheers from windy Kanab, UT,

It's an R&R day to try to get over this latest bout of sinuous infection. Yes, I'm on drugs too.

Jeff

"What happens in Vegas, stays...

in Vegas."

So, I was in Vegas and I'll tell you what happened. 

Nothing!

I wasn't in Sin City for three painfully long nights to gamble, see a show, start smoking Marlboros, drink $1 specials of Bud Lite, inhale a $12 all-you-can-eat buffet or procure a Lady of the Night. I was stuck there waiting for Barley's sick transmission to be replaced. A well spent $150 bribe helped the project along, or else I'd still be trapped. Best $ for the value. One of the few 100% no smoking hotels available in Vegas cost more than the "palm grease" did. 

My escape route took me to the Mojave National Preserve for two quiet days and silent nights. The only smoke I dealt with was from my evening campfires. In didn't matter that I spaced the Ingredients for S'mores. I felt happy.

Today,  I'm in Joshua Tree National Park. It's more than invigorating windy. It's rock Barley the Van to and fro windy. I'm hoping that invisible force takes a sunset siesta. 

I want to Happy Hour with a campfire. Shucks! I still don't have S'mores ingredients. 

Photo below: I placed that square boulder on top of the heap to create a more picturesque photo op. No biggie, it's what a W W J does for his avid readers.

Last photo: I'm thinking of getting a playmate for Fido. I believe Horace the Tortoise would be perfect. No. I wouldn't do that. They need to live free and procreate.

BTW: Desert Tortoises are on the endangered species list. They get run over a lot my mechanically minded humans. Poor little guys can't sprint away. 

Fun fact: There are two sub-species of Desert Tortoises. One variety lives on one side of the Colorado River, the other on the other side. Apparently, they swim as poorly as I do. 

From windy Joshua Tree NP, CA

Cheers!

Jeff