A Fellow Van Dweller

The sun sagged in the west as I rounded a bend near Tioga Pass in Yosemite National Park. Up ahead, a handful of rented RV's and cars filled to the brim with backpacks and climbing gear dotted a large parking lot.  At 9,000 feet,  the Syncro's engine labored at 5,000 RPM's in second gear.  Fifteen miles of this climb up from the Valley had warmed the oil up.  Shifting into neutral,  I coasted into the lot and pulled into a parking space.   A lone Vanagon with a hand-painted mural stood a few hundred feet away.

Grabbing a down jacket,  I locked up the Syncro and checked out the Vanagon.  It was an early 80's aircooled hard top that, based on the bike, curtains and artwork, was most likely someone's home. Scanning the parking lot, I saw no likely candidates.

I turned on some Pink Floyd on my iPhone and shoved it into my breast pocket,  as I often do when alone. Marching to the tunes of Wish You Were Here, I followed the setting sun's rays up the hill.  Following no defined path,  I saw a group of Teva wearing, DSLR brandishing hikers heading down the hill.

"Certainly not van dwellers...RV'ers for sure.." I mumbled to myself and continued up the hill.  My sea legs, and lungs, were burning by the time I finally made it to the top.  Scanning around the 360 degree view, the last rays of light bounced off the granite.  Picking a ledge, I sat down and turned up the volume on my phone.

The sun lowered over the sheer granite faces.  Zoning out,  the Pink Floyd songs meshed together.  Slowly, I realized that I wasn't the only one on top of the mountain listening to my playlist.  Sometimes you can sense it.  Turning around, I saw a man in his late forties sitting a hundred feet behind me watching the sunset.  He sat calmly and without  the anxiousness of a most tourists on a weekend trip.  He had been traveling for a while and was very familiar with spending time by himself.   He didn't fidget or fire away blindly with a digital camera.  Instead, he sat with watching the sunset over Yosemite Valley as if he does this every evening.

"He must be the van dweller..." I thought to myself.

For a moment, I felt like breaching the silence and starting a conversation.  For a song or two, I debated in my head.  A certain type of person is drawn to traveling by themselves and that type of person, although often lonely, values solitude.

I kept to myself.

Back in the parking lot, I fired up the Syncro and blasted on the heat.  The late October evening was chilly, and according to a Park Ranger,  Tioga Pass would soon be closed for the season. Backing out of the space,  I rolled down the parking lot towards the exit.   The lone man from the  hill was just getting back to his yellow Vanagon.  Rolling past, I waved in approval and respect.

He nodded in return with a smile.

Here are some more links,

Vanlife (Tumblr).

Closed for the Season

The campground looked empty from the road.   Rolling past the welcome sign, I cranked down my dirty window and stuck my head out,  scanning for a dollar sign.  $15 per night.  I let off the clutch and continued on the dirt road.  Avoiding the chilly breeze,  I rolled up the window.

"Might as well be free," I chuckled to myself.  The afternoon sun was dropping quickly and the north side of the adjacent hills was already clocked in shade.  Driving around the perimeter of the campground,  I looked for familiar sights.

 Sixteen years before,  my family rented an RV and explored the eastern Sierra for a month in early fall.  Although somewhat hazy,  the trip stands out as a highlight of my childhood.  Motivated by a sense of restlessness brought about by lack of surf and nostalgia,  I cut out from the coast the week before and headed up 395 towards the Tioga Pass area.

Basing my plans on a few calls with my parents,  I bounced around the Tioga Pass area for a week in late October.  During the week,  I headed over towards Yosemite, and as as the crowds picked up, I retreated back towards the Mono Lake area.  In passing and without cause, some of the sights touched on memories from my first trip.

Boarded up for the winter.

Those dots in the middle of the wall are two groups of climbers bivvying for the night.

Home is where you park it!  I also run a site called Vanlife.

Sunset at 9000 feet.

Looking back through Tioga Pass.

Chains required.

Half Dome, in Yosemite Valley.

I wonder if they will keep the sign in the spring?

Aspen groves.

Custom Camper on a 1967 Dodge PowerWagon.  This baby has 600k miles on it, and has run over a cow.

These mountains are now covered in snow.

Wish you were here.

Looking east towards through Tioga Pass.

Traveling alone affords you the time and flexibility to linger in some areas and pass through others.  The Tioga Pass region is one I advise lingering in,  especially in the off season.  My weeks spent there 16 years ago and last month are highlights of different eras of my life.  Somethings don't change.

Here are some more links,

Out Of Reception (Tumblr),

A Restless Transplant (Facebook).

The Dog Days are Over

The sun hung over the distant hills.   Standing in a dirt road berefoot in shorts, I searched for rocks the size of a finger tip.  Gathering a handful of choice specimens,  I stood up and removed my wrist rocket from my back pocket.  Selecting a the pick of the litter,  I pulled the pouch back  to my cheek and aimed towards a can some 20 feet away.  Letting go, the rock whirred towards the upright can, and missed by a few inches.  With a hiss, the rock ricocheted off a patch of hard dirt, emitting a sound familiar to a Sergio Leone film.   Searching in my back pocket,  I picked the runner up in terms of size and shape, and placed it in the pouch.  Brushing a fly off my shoulder,  I pulled the pouch back, let out a breath and released the rock.

It was early fall on the central coast of California.

It's a bit ambiguous when the summer ends and the fall begins.  The temperature stays about the same; hovering in the sixties at night and highs in the 70s during the day.  As a surfer,  the season change is evident by the switching of predominate swell direction from the southern hemisphere to the northern.  During this transitional time, the swell tends to die down and the section of coast protected by Channel Islands turns into a lake.  Hours stretch on. The dog days are over but the foggy days of "winter" haven't arrived yet.

Dan Malloy's bike set up for his Slow is Fast Bike Tour.

Heading to Lompoc.

Early morning shakas.

Campfire vibes.

Emma Wood is up to no good.

Rough Feet.

Jason Fraizer's Studio.

A view from 7000 feet in the Los Padres National Forrest.

The pace of time slows and my sense of urgency backs off.  Sometimes you just have to wait.  I've never been good at it.

Grabbing another rock from my back pocket,  I carefully centered it in the middle of the leather pouch.   Keeping my gaze fixed on the can,  I drew the rock back and released.   The can jumped a foot in the air with a hollow ting.

Here are some more links,

The Dog Days are Over (Florence and the Machine),

Out of Reception (Tumblr).

750k Miles

"Is that your van?" I asked the man sitting in a chair looking out towards the Channel Islands from a campsite in the Los Padres National Forest.  I already knew the answer.

"Sure is," the man said looking up from his book with an unidentifiable accent.

"Mind if I take a look? What year is she?"

"Of course not! She's a 66 and will love the attention."

Taking his cue,  I walked around the Westfalia, inspecting the heavily used, but well loved machine.  Rust dotted the pumper and window seems,  After years of heavy use and sun,  the original color had faded to a cream. Bottle caps bejeweled the engine bay.  Clearly this guy had spent some time with his van.

"How long have you owned this thing?"

"Thirty-five years," He said, keeping his head buried in his book.

Art deco touch.

Well decorated.

Home is where you pop it!

Vanlife is all about balance.

Well broken in.

Philipe has owned this van for last 35 years, rebuilt the engine on the side of highways, and changes the transmission ever 150k miles.  He has lived in it for the last 15.  To keep costs down,  he keeps his van parked in the same place for at least a week.  He knows a thing or two about vanlife.

After inspecting his van from top to bottom, chatting about the last year of my life and last thirty of his, I headed up the dirt road towards the trail head.

"Safe Travels."

Here are some more links,

750k Miles (Facebook).

Vanlife.