Time may change me
But I can't trace time
I said that time may change me
But I can't trace time”
Lyrics by David Bowie
A month ago I completed a road trip that settled a BIGLY question.
My route shuffled east, west, north and south. I touched down in Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho, Oregon, Washington, California, Nevada and Utah.
There was plenty of drive time for a sociable hermit to think.
It was two distinct journeys in one. There was the pre-Barley the Van breakdown phase. That was the life is good stretch. The weather was warm to hot, the scant clouds shed no moisture. It was a glorious time to camp and hike, but an awful time for the western states. Fires were breaking out, smoke obscured the views and “Thank You! Firefighters” signs became lawn ornaments.
Then Barley the Van morphed into the infamous turncoat-Benedict Arnold the Van. A botched repair job in Pinedale, Wyoming led to a cascading effect of engine damage. A repair bill of $11,000 plus greeted me in Wenatchee, Washington. Apparently that Evergreen State repair shop noticed my green Colorado license plate and saw the green of money.
But wait! There was more bad news.
Two long time buddies called to tell me they were battling cancer.
I dropped a propane fuel canister onto my defenseless I-Phone. The damage was beyond thoughts and prayers.
I sliced off a nub of my thumb.
The unoccupied apartment I usually occupy in Fort Collins, Colorado had been flooded. Its use was no longer available to me. I’d have to depend on the kindness and generosity of friends and family for a roof over my head. In other words, I’d be couch surfing at the age of 63. Not an easy thing for an independent sort who hates imposing on others.
The usually mild autumn weather of the West became nasty, cold and rabid.
Benedict Arnold the Van’s mechanical woes continue. (Transmission fluid leak and a new alternator.) Thank you Lyndel S for your continued mechanical wizardry.
After these setbacks and hassles I feel weary and worn down from the constant motion. I miss the idea of home and hearth. I want to cook comfort food other than macs and cheese prepared on a Coleman stove. I want my own space (although there will be ample room for a First Lady). I want cable TV. I want a break from funky RV Park bathrooms and showers. I want a base camp to hunker in when my internal battery is putting out low voltage. (Like now). I want a real address in lieu of a license plate. I want central heating and air conditioning. I want four walls and a roof that doesn’t move.
For all these reasons and then some, I’ll be settling down within a calendar year.
But wait! Does this mean an end to the Wandering Wondering Jew? Not at all. On my 64th birthday, I’ll have a temporary bachelor pad in Scottsdale, Arizona. On January 3rd, I’ll fly to Australia for four months. When I return in April, I’ll do a lap in the Southwest. From then on my schedule is dependent on whether or not I score tickets to the Yankees/Red Sox series in London in late June.
All I know is by the Fall of 2019, I’ll be giving up the full time wandering and wondering. I’ve been at it for six years. Some years have been better than others. I learned heaps about places and about myself. I’ve become more introverted. At the age of 64, it’ll be time to transition back to a home and community. Maybe I’ll become sociable again and not just a sociable hermit.
“Ch-Ch-Changes
Turn and face the strange
Ch-Ch-Changes”
All the photos were taken from this past western tour. It’s a great lifestyle when all the cylinders are firing.
Cheers,
Jeff
