live. work. dream.

Wanted: Chief librarian for Slab City Lizard Tree Library. Must be literate, love books, the desert climate, live in own RV and enjoy colorful characters of all types. Pay is non-existent but the fulfillment of running this institution is something money can’t buy. Job starts today.

What began as a final trip to the Slab City Library yesterday has turned into a devastating discovery. This one-of-a-kind institution is on the verge of collapse.

Sunday afternoon I arrived with some DVDs to donate, only to find piles of books thrown around, and an angry look on the face of Ron, the chief librarian. All of the doors to the place had also been removed, the sign had disappeared from the parking lot, and the book donation shelves were gone. He even took our Internut access away.

I was stunned, and asked Ron, “Uh, what happened to the shelves?”

His eyes were filled with rage as he said “I’m sick of picking up after people and their dog shit! I’ve had it! If they want to trash this place they can have it!”

I asked “But….what’s going to happen here?”

Ron said, “It’s a self-serve library from now on. People can take care of it themselves. I’m done!” and he stormed out.

Three years ago, Ron arrived just after the founder of the library died. He was enthusiastic about keeping it going, and moved in next door. He took the wheels off his motorhome, set up an encampment, and went about the business of becoming chief librarian. He’s done an incredible job. Every time I went there, new books had been shelved, more fun knicknacks appeared and the floor was always clean.

But apparently the slobs around here made him snap. Or maybe it the 120 degree summertime temperatures. But last week he threw up his hands and surrendered. Now, this treasure is at risk of becoming just another trash heap in the last free place in America.

I’m so devastated, it kept me awake last night. I love libraries, and this is a rare find in America. It’s killing me that we’re supposed to leave for Anza Borrego tomorrow.

Today I made the “Save the Libaray!” sign and posted it inside, hoping that more people might care enough to stop taking the library for granted. Maybe we can change Ron’s mind about quitting.

I guess I’ll have to wait until next year to find out what happens next.

And if nobody wants the job, I just might apply when we return.

Slab City: love it or hate it.

Lovers are tolerant individuals who respect the many different lifestyle choices here. Haters just can’t seem to turn away from the trash heaps and shiftless drifters, and usually depart within 24 hours.

One might assume that Slab City Lovers are younger folks on the fringes of society, but as our neighbor Bernie demonstrates, that just ain’t so.

Bernie and his wife are snowbirds, spending summers in Washington and winters here at the Slabs.

He built this RV himself, handles all of his own rig maintenance, and is building a new cottage by hand back in Washington. A former HVAC repair man, he spends his afternoons lounging and riding his ATV around the desert. He and his wife have been vegan for the last 40 years.

Bernie is 80 years old. His wife is 75. They’re just one example of the many reasons why we love staying at kooky places like Slab City.

Because you just never know who’s going to rock your world here, like Don the musician.

My wife told me not to get her anything for Valentine’s Day. I suppose I should be thankful for that.

“Let’s just send each other love letters,” she said. But it’s not like I can keep any secret shopping from her anyway, living 24/7 together in a 200 sq. ft. box. Nor can I get all crafty and surprise her with the type of personalized greetings I used to make with all our printers and graphic production equipment. So hear goes…

Dearest René,

I’ll keep this brief, because even the most eloquent words cannot convey the depth of my love for you. I cannot count the ways I love thee, for there are just not enough numbers. I know I don’t express it enough, but without you, I am but an insignificant spec lost, alone, in this big scary universe. You don’t just complete me. You make me all that I am.

With you by my side, I am a happy man. Your smile brightens my every day. And a night never goes by without your comfort giving me peace.

Above all, I am eternally grateful for everything you do. All that we have enjoyed, all that we have become, I owe to you.

Thank you for being mine.

xoxoxoxoxox

~ Your Sappy Valentine

PS: Remember this?

Overheard at the Slab City Library: Champagne Living on a Beer Budget? … Hey, can I have that? … Serendipity in action.

Funny how I kicked off the new year that way – remembering the old adage momma would often cite. And funny that this 1969 guide by Mike and Marilyn Ferguson for How to Buy the Best for Less came to my attention while boondocking for free among both shiny monster RVs and deep rooted old buses.

As mother would also often question though, “Funny ha ha or funny peculiar”?

Either way, funnier yet are various applicable quotes I turned to throughout Champagne Tastes on a Beer Budget:

Happiness is being rich enough to ask the man to show you something cheaper.
~ Johnny Carson

We choose to live like vagrants here for a while because it is much cheaper than the alternative of paying for comfortable amenities, and richness is measured in many more ways than wealth. Others live on the slabs out of need, all rich in their own ways.

Necessity never made a good bargain.
~ Poor Richard’s Almanac

It’s all about give and take, I say. What are you willing to give up to get what you want? And if you want freedom, for free, you might need to go without quite a bit. As most do here in Slab City, USA.

Oh give me a home where the buffalo roam,
And I’ll show you a filthy house.
~Author Unknown

There seem to be many more people here this year. But you don’t see much of them, being rounded up in their safe little RV caravans as they are. Safety in numbers I suppose, among the regular miscreant vagrants, loving hippies, wandering loners and hobos.

Money, which represents the prose of life, and which is hardly spoken of in parlors without apology, is, in its effects and laws, as beautiful as roses.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

What’s that make me then? Well, I’m not quite smelling like roses these days. And I gave up a lot to enjoy the beauty within. Yes you must look past certain filth, but I’m not spending a dime (out of pocket), and am rich in personal freedom and fixed in perfect reality.

We hit the road yesterday for the first time since early December. And as with all first days on the road, things didn’t go quite as smoothly as we would have liked. We are definitely rusty.

First, we missed our exit to the Slabs, and almost ended up in Quartzsite. Drove about 25 miles out of our way.

Next, when we were in search of water, we took a wrong turn and drove another 10 miles in the opposite direction. The small road we were on was so flooded from the recent rains, we couldn’t find a dry enough place to turn around.

Once we got to the Slabs, I opened up our door, and saw hummus everywhere. Good thing the flour didn’t spill too!

As I proceeded to clean up the mess, Jim tried to turn on the Motosat dish. Guess what? That pain in the ass dish is acting up again, and won’t go up. Thank Dog we have Internet redundancy with our MiFi setup. If we couldn’t get online to manage Tripawds, we would be on our way to the nearest service shop. Apparently our F2 motor is dead . . . again.

All this, during our first day back on the road. In the past, I might have fallen apart at so many mishaps in one day. Because when you’re new on the road, multiple screw ups in one day happen a lot, and they can be upsetting. At least to me they were. Jim’s always been a little better about not letting them get him down.

But after almost three years on the road, I’m happy to say that we are both able to handle these things with a smile.

A few cocktails also work wonders.  Good thing we’re stocked up.

Our time in L.A. is nearing an end. Over forty days of living in the big city, and we’re getting homesick for our rig. It sits outside under a tree, and the birds are having a party on our roof. It’s time to get the rig out from under the shade, and under a blazing desert sky, where it belongs.

Any time we spend in cities is reassurance that we did the right thing by choosing to live like hillbillies.

We drove on the freeway, and it took us nearly two hours to travel 29 miles. Things are too fast, too crowded and just too much for us.

We’ve had a good visit with the family. Also met some world-renowned canine health professionals and interviewed them for Tripawds. And last week, ate at two of the best Asian restaurants we’ve been to in a while. Both are located in the San Gabriel Valley, where my parents live. These dining experiences reminded us that living in the city isn’t all bad.

Happy Harbor in Rowland Heights served up the best dim sum we’ve had since San Francisco. We also ate at a funky little 40 year old sushi joint in the Hacienda Heights ghetto, Akasaka.

We haven’t had sushi in over a year. We just have a thing about eating sushi anywhere other than the coast. It’s just wrong, and to us, the freshest sushi you can get is definitely worth the wait.

The plan is to leave here on Sunday, after the rains end. We’ll head straight for Slab City, where we a warm desert is waiting for us, with dark night skies and solitude.

Being on the road again means that you’re much more likely to talk to a variety of people that you wouldn’t otherwise bump into in your own backyard.

When I was Satan’s minion in Fernley Nevada, we were camped across from Julia, a 77-year old fulltimer who roams the country with her cat and two dogs.

I admired her fiercely independent and self-reliant nature, and we had a lot to talk about during our downtime when we weren’t chained to Satan’s workshop. I knew I liked her when she said she preferred to boondock, even at Slab City.

Even in our modern world, many people are still shocked to find women traveling alone, and few women I know would consider it. In our two years on the road, I’ve only met one other solo woman traveler, Eva from Portland. I wish more women would find the courage to explore this lifestyle, because it doesn’t have to be a lonely or scary journey. As Julia says in my interview with her, there are numerous groups devoted to solo RVing, and you can always bring a dog along to keep you company.

Here are some valuable tips and insight that Julia has to offer to potential women RVers:

Since childhood I have always had a taste for the finer things in life. I remember being about 11 years old when my parents would take us out for dinner at a favorite Italian restaurant, I would order the prawn scampi. Fresh lobster is another all time favorite. I will never forget my mother telling me, on many more than one occasion, that I have Champagne tastes on a beer budget.

Believe me, I still yearn for the taste of those finer things. But my budget is more suited for sparkling water now, and I do not mean Perrier either. After stretching our one-year roadtrip budget to last nearly three years, and making frequent reality checks on the savings we are still spending, I have become quite good at letting those tastes linger on my palate praetendere.

In years past we have enjoyed Moët & Chandon on New Year’s eve, though Cristal was my favorite. But in past years, we used to actually make money too! This year, it was Trader Joe’s finest. And that’s OK. Long ago, I came to terms with getting what you pay for, and paying for what you get. Yes, those finer things in life taste good, but they never last long enough. There was even a time when spending over $100 on a bottle of bubbly made me feel good, but that was when we could afford such things. Now I know what matters most is the memories.

Friendship, good health and good times. Happiness, well being, comfort and prosperity.

These are the things we toasted to ring in the new year with our good friends Martha and Ralph and the Oaktown pack. And these things are what we wish upon all our friends and family. Keeping in mind, that is, to prosper need not necessarily require being wealthy.

I for one, will take my debt-free lifestyle with a sip of California sparkling wine over an upside down mortgage and French Champagne any day. Cheers!

Here’s a book review that is long overdue. We originally requested a review copy of American Nomads by Richard Grant, but to make a long story short, we got to review God’s Middle Finger instead. And I’m glad we did.

René read it first. She’s a much faster reader than I am, and suggested I write the review – hence the delay. Perhaps she knows a bit too much about my sordid high school daze. Or that I would just love any book filled with drug references that starts off with a thrilling scene straight out of Scarface. Nevertheless, I did. Love the book that is.

But even more than learning the meaning of perico, I enjoyed discovering the truth about just how safe it is to travel through the Sierra Madre, not. The books subtitle gives it a way – “Into the Lawless Heart of the Sierra Madre.” But it doesn’t quite begin to describe the crazy deadly adventure Grant dragged himself on, deeper and deeper into Mexico’s mountainous region known mostly for marijuana plantations and cocaine production.

Any history buff interested in Pancho Villa will enjoy reading God’s Middle Finger; because in it, Grant follows the trail of the legendary bandido. At points, a bit too far.

This book is also a must-read for any RVer considering one of those caravans through Copper Canyon. Yes, it is definitely better to travel in numbers. And yes, the dangers have been much worse in the past. But if Grant’s tale about the Copper canyon train being held up by narcos pissed off at regional authorities is any indication, I won’t be going anytime soon. I’d much rather just read about it.

From the People’s Guide to Mexico Copper Canyon Tourism Page …

“In the unlikely event of a train robbery, be calm, quiet and cooperative. In other words, don’t argue; just hand over the loot.”

The book does serve as a good guide for anyone who dares to travel off the beaten path south of the border. It offers much advice similar to the above that just might save your life. Like … be sure to speak Spanish, don’t look anyone in the eye, and never turn them down if they offer you a drink. And if they do, prepare to get muy intoxicado before saying goodnight.

I also like any book that talks about places we’ve been. And after reading this one, I’m glad we didn’t walk much further than we did away from the Plaza in Agua Prieta on our five dollar Mexican vacation last year. Or places I would love to see, and this one does a wonderful job vividly illustrating the beautiful terrain of the Sierra Madre and the drunken religious rituals of the Tarahumara Indians.

Once discovering how the opening scene winds up at the end of Grant’s book, one can’t help but wonder why he traveled so compulsively on such an uncertain path. He answers this question quite succinctly early in chapter three …

“I felt a rush of excitement, a sensation of being fully alive and immersed in the present moment.”

This too, is is the driving force behind my wanderlust.

Grant’s adventures might make a great movie. But without being the first hand documentary that this book is, it would most certainly end up being one of those “You should’ve read the book first” flicks. I’ll gladly settle for this Amazon video which sheds some light on the reasoning behind Grant’s chosen title for God’s Middle Finger:

PS: For anyone who might be wondering how I embedded this video from Amazon.com, when Amazon’s media Share link does not include object embed code, never underestimate the power of your browser’s “View Page Source” function!

Regular readers may remember that Jim and I aren’t exactly big gearheads. With our frugal lifestyle and relatively non-existent income right now, we must carefully choose the gear we need, to get the most out of our budget. And we understand that there’s a difference between being cheap, and being frugal. Buying cheap gear is always more expensive in the long run.

Take for example, this North Face jacket I’m wearing during our stay at Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park in Colorado. The jacket has served me well for the last 8 years, but lately I’ve been thinking that it’s time for a replacement. This one was cutting edge at the time, but by today’s standard it’s bulky, heavy, and army green isn’t exactly the most flattering color. It’s also overkill for our winter travel adventures in the temperate southwest and should probably be left at our Colorado home base.

Coincidentally, I was introduced to The North Face Resolve jacket today, through Webtogs, an online retailer specializing in quality outdoor gear.

The North Face Resolve jacket features include:

• seam sealed, waterproof, breathable fabric
• soft, lined collar
• stow-away hood
• mesh-knit liner
• storm baffle front zipper with double front closure
• big pockets on both sides
• athletic cut with a drawstring cord for tailored fit

As you might be able to see in the photo, I’m a walking billboard for North Face gear. My boots and jacket are North Face and so are the base layers I wear. Their products last forever and hold up beautifully, making them a frugal RVer’s dream.

The North Face Resolve jacket looks compact enough to fit in our tiny RV wardrobe closet, yet sturdy enough to give me the protection I need from the spring rains in Texas.

With Christmas around the corner, I think it’s time for an upgrade, don’t you?