The Assimilation

My home among the “regular” folks.

The assimilation started slowly, unbeknownst to me, it began.

Living in a van during the times of COVID-19 is, to me, an excellent option. My rent, utilities, and internet payments are non-existent, I am still a participating member of the public (mostly grocery shopping) and I am safe...for the most part. I am the ultimate free-loading, free-living being I ever have been and perhaps ever will be. My bills are limited to my: Cellphone ($40), car insurance ($70), and credit card ($350), which is a majority of grocery and gas expenditures. I use the public restroom at the grocery store, rarely buying groceries after my morning transactions. I shower at my friends, who coincidentally, is also my boss. Laundry happens once a week at the local laundromat. My entertainment consists of reading free E-books from my, once local, library. Climbing at various locations around New Mexico and southern Colorado, writing, and some internet time. But wait, how do you have internet? Good question. Luckily for me, Taos, has free public WiFi at the park, where I also happen to call “my home”. This is also where assimilation began. 

The assimilation I speak of is into the world of homeless and troubled folk. Now let's face it, I am indeed homeless, for a van isn’t your text-book home, but it does the trick. I am lacking the troubled part though, I mean I have my own troubles, but unlike some folks here I am not deeply troubled or Ill. Because I live in a park, in my van, I am constantly in the public eye. Old people are avoidant, crossing the street when they pass “the guy living in a van”, parents fear the kidnapper lurking in the van, and the homeless envision a good chat with another guy on the streets. I’ve had one middle aged woman come check on me and my well-being offering help, but I politely insisted I was doing just fine as I stuffed myself with an unusually large breakfast. Once a well-to-do family from Texas came by and the dad squatted between his two young daughters wearing matching pink jumpsuits and said “look girls, that guy lives in there” as if I were some animal specimen at the zoo. I’m too sure after I was out of ear shot he said something like “see girls, if you don't stay in school, if you do drugs...blah,blah,blah you’ll end up living in a van too.” Little did he know I graduated college, live a healthy lifestyle and am being financially responsible with my bi-weekly stipend. 

The plentiful homeless folks I encounter, perhaps are the ones who don’t stay in school and/or have drug problems. Actually most seem to be quite drunk or intoxicated when they come and chat with me during my 0730 breakfast. The homeless folks treat me well though, they are nice people, but have an issue or two. (For their respect, I have changed their names). There was Mike, a young Native American young man who stumbled upon me bright and early, he was already or still was, cross-eyed drunk. He didn’t like that I called him “amigo”, insisting he was not Mexican. I then pleaded my case that I only meant it as a friend and was not calling him a Mexican. By the end of our brief chat, Mike stumbled away, informing me that he was a 21 year-old doctor. I congratulated him before he took off and I went to work. 

There was “the zombie” another young fella who once again, had been alarmingly drunk in the early morning hours. He made me watch as he pulled his camouflage mesh bandanna up over his face and acted out his best zombie, although he wasn’t far off to begin with. 

A sharp rapping of the knuckles on my driver window awoke me from my much needed slumber. “Shit! I’ve been found out!” The first thought that crossed my sleep riddled mind. I gathered myself, jumped into a pair of shorts and slowly, regrettably, pulled back the curtain to accept my fate from an upholder of the law. Oh!? But what’s this?! An older woman, perhaps 67, but she’s partied a bit...so 67 on 76. An acme explosion must’ve just happened for her hair is blown back and three inches straight up. She was a human “Beaker” from the muppets. I groggily ask “yes? Can I help you?” And to my appaulment she slurs out “I know it’s terrible, but do you have a lighter?” while raising a butt of a snubbed out cigarette, strikingly resembling her appearance. I answered with an annoyed “no, sorry”. Although I did have a lighter, but if you’re waking me up at 6am on the weekend, you’re sure as hell not getting my lighter! As I closed my curtains to get some more sleep, she sauntered off towards the next unwilling victims. 

“Beaker, the Muppet”

I’m enjoying my weekend breakfast at a table in the park, two tables over two women, roughly my age, are talking about how guys with cars impress them and other superficial attractions. I turn the pages in The Alpinist and read of mountaineering feats and hardships, pour myself another cup of coffee from my french press and enjoy the cool early morning. A younger fellow walks up to the girls and asks them for money for coffee, they reply “no, we wish we had money for coffee!” and giggle as he walks away. The man goes to pass me and I pipe up, “Hey, need some coffee? I made too much, my palms are already sweating.” He comes over and smells his gallon jug before he decides that it’s his new coffee mug, I pour him the remainder of the coffee. I ask him some general questions, find out his name is “Cloud” and he unloads his plot of the day on me. His plan, to go to walmart, steal a phone charging cable (apparently they don’t persecute for such an insignificant item) and come back to the public charger. He says this will take him a whole day, I don’t say much, knowing walmart is about two miles away. He must be a slow walker. Cloud then rants on something about a zen master showing him the way, his sentences broken as he misses several words to complete each sentence. Cloud must’ve been on  a cloud, or dropped form one, his sentences seemed to short circuit somewhere near the middle and he would sputter out the last few words as if he made complete sense to his audience.  He holds up his right  leg and pretends he’s balancing a stick with the same arm. “See, some zen master shit.” He suddenly remembers he has coffee in his bag and says he could’ve eaten some, but he forgot and needed to get some coffee before he “lost it”. Hmmm, lost it over not having coffee? Interesting. I ask him what he does “well, i’m trying to get some alcohol because i’m an alc...alcho...alch...alchomoholic” he stutters out and giggles with a sheepish smile as if it is funny. I don’t wish to open that door so I pass it by as if he said he was a fast-food employee. Then something calls to him and he must go, I wish him luck and he heads away. 

“My back porch view”

Now you may be thinking, how are you assimilating? 

Unintentionally, I have been gaining a somewhat grubby appearance. I’ve claimed a favorite outfit that I only change out of for work or sleep. The shirt I wear is a salt and dirt-stained grey merino wool T-shirt, it is also littered with holes in the shoulders where it has been worn out. I haven’t shaved in three months and I shower once a week. My appearance isn’t the most homely “I live in a home” display. And that brings me to “Eagle”, a retired activist, “self-employed”, and vet who graced me with his company. 

“My solely worn shirt”

Eagle strolled by one morning, leaned on my van door while I was cooking breakfast out of the back and we began to talk. He commented “That damn COVID got ya living out of your van now, huh?” “No, I’m just doing it…” I replied as he cut me off and told me he was living a “stone’s throw” from the Pueblo reservation boundary with the elk and wild dogs. He went on about the wild dogs, saying he enjoys letting them come and sniff around his tent. Then as two homeless guys do, one began recalling life stories and releasing a vocalized novel to the other “How FUCKED is America?...my brother’s in a drug house...Bigfoot stole a pig, plucked it up like it was nothing...and stimulus checks.” I mentioned the coming of the second stimulus check and his humanly feathers ruffled in delight, this guy likes money. 

He mentioned how helpful a second stimulus check is going to be, but that there is a secret one, apparently any US citizen can get, for $6,000. I feigned interest in this secretive, massive stimulus check and this only promoted his enthusiasm. He knows “a guy” ...of course he does...that is helping him fill out the papers for it (the can of worms is now fully open). His eyes glow with promised treasures as he points to the steakhouse across the street, exclaiming “...And when that big fucker comes in, i’m taking the guy right there for a big fuckin’ steak. It’s the least I could do”. Now Eagle is alive with a new idea “I tell ya what man” he says “I’ll get Alex (“The guy”) to help you do it too!”. I kindly decline, stating that I'm not self-employed. “Oh, well sure ya are! Why not?”. Eagle is doing his best to persuade me to this magical six grand check. Before he could go any further another tall lanky homeless fella with a big nose, big ears and harboring an east coast accent wanders in. “Where is all the money? There used to be people giving money here?” He directs towards Eagle. His attention then sways towards me, “hey, you got a cigarette I could buy?” as he extends a dollar towards me. Eagle jumps in before I can say anything “you think this guy smokes? He’s not the smoking type. He’s smart.”. The cigarette behind his ear wiggling as he speaks. The tall Boston man complains some more about how “no one's handin’ out money like they usta.” and then leaves. 

Eagle gets right back to business about the almighty six grand check. He goes for several minutes as I slowly recede into my skull. He must’ve noticed and once again said “I’ll get Alex to help you get a slice of the cheese.” he takes a stride to leave, pauses, and asks “Ah, but before I go, do you have a light?” I clamber back into my van, retrieve my cheap 7/11 lighter and hand it to him. He goes to return it, I tell him “you can keep it, I have another” he then leaves with “Thanks brotha, we’re in this together!”. He giggles as he walks away, presumably excited for the “El Dorado” of stimulus checks. 

 That is how I began my assimilation into the culture of the street vagabond, the bum, the homeless. Perhaps an honorary guest, for this lifestyle won’t continue into winter. I do get some kicks talking with such imaginative folks, but also I do realize that I am fortunate. Unlike them, the homeless, I am choosing to live in a van, homeless, while they are down in life and are forced into these circumstances. On the scale of homelessness, or houselessness as I've heard PC folks refer to it as,  I live a lavish life with a bed, warm shelter, stove, sink, and even a sewing machine. These conversations and encounters make me grateful for what I have, although little, I still have more than I need. I am lucky to have a living family, wife, healthy body and mind, and even a few dollars stashed away. So when the true people of the street do stop by, I treat them with my best respect (as long as they’re respectful) and do what little I can to help. When they have asked for food, I have fed them. When they ask for water, I pump a glass full from my sink. When thumbing for a ride, I’ll pick up the trustier looking folks. Because in the end we’re all human, some of us just sink lower than others and a little act of kindness can help someone a lot. 

Friends of No Time

There are people who you meet through life and establish a friendship where the bond seems to never waiver. These friends, whether met through work or leisure, are with you at all times. Now, I don’t mean physically next to you, or even in the same location, but instead the relationship doesn’t diminish with time or distance. You may not communicate with them all that often, perhaps even rarely, but you consider them close friends. 

I have been fortunate enough to realize this recently upon returning to the United States. I was able to see a handful of my timeless friends and our connection was left unaltered by the time and distance I had spent away. Friends that over the course of my 18 month absence had spoken to maybe once or twice, seamlessly reconnected as if no time had passed at all. I am thankful to have these friends, these people whom I am able to connect with.

These friendships are based on something deep down, I am unsure of what word describes it. Grounded in truth, respect, and admiration. Our conversations kicked off with a simple salutation and we got right down to it, as if no time had passed, but each of us had grown. There were no awkward silences or anything of that nature, we never missed a beat. 

It may be that I have come to learn that I do not want to spend my time creating surface level relationships, for those, like a winter’s snow, never last. I want to spend my energy on people who are honest and passionate about life. People who, when I’m around them, get my mind racing with new ideas, heavy conversation and critique. 

My experience back home was brief. I have once again gone with the wind and am in a new area, knowing no one. I can call this hiatus successful if I leave knowing that I made a connection with at least one person whom I can call a close friend. So far I’ve met many nice people in passing, I’ve fed a couple homeless persons and was able to have insightful conversations with them. They were both very expressive, happy and grateful for food and a conversation, just as I. These two folks or a majority of folks I meet will not be held as close friends, but instead kind folks who I will remember.

Today I am grateful for my close friends, our friendships are ineffable. Being alone in a new place is never easy, I have, over my seasonal lifestyle, become acquainted with loneliness. It sounds depressing and you may ask why I have come to seek out such experiences. I don’t particularly seek out loneliness, but instead the opportunity to experience awe-inspiring landscapes, find the sub-cultures in the gargantuan culture stew of America, the world, and gain the company of a lifetime friend. 

The Recreational Renaissance

Solitude and beauty in the New Zealand alpine

Here you are sitting inside another day, the tallies on the wall growing larger, slowly losing sanity since the quarantine began. The feeling of anxiety creeps in as you look outside and spring is in full stride, birds singing, flowers in bloom, and the activities - ripe for the picking. You batter yourself with the repetitive question “When will I be able to go outside?” gathering a fresh sense of frustration each day you ask yourself. You are not alone. Millions and millions of people have been looking forward to this season, breaking free from the layers of clothing as winter loosens its grasp. Weather is less of a factor in your outdoor escapades now than are the countless signs and policies stating “Stay Home, Save Lives”. We all want to know when, we all want to go on a hike, a bike ride, fishing, you name it. We all want outside.

So, when the day comes, who will be outside? Everyone! The flood of people into the natural world will be unlike anything ever witnessed before. You, your friends, family, their friends, and the entire neighborhood will be escaping from their COVID free sanctuaries to feel the fresh breeze and bask in the spring sun. 

Here in the Pacific Northwest, particularly here in Washington, national and state forests, even many private lands are closed. Now that doesn’t sound very typical of the PNW, known for its myriad of outdoor adventures and outdoor enthusiasts. While it sounds like other places, such as the Intermountain West, may have a bit more luck with outdoor access and have lesser restrictions regarding outdoor recreation. Still, many activities in the backcountry are limited, if at all present, because it would allocate necessary resources (A.K.A. first responders) from the priority at hand. Another reason not to travel to a backcountry destination or recreational location is that the typical visitor doesn’t live there. Traveling from one’s COVID bunker to an outdoor gateway community is unacceptable in these conditions, as the risk of spreading the virus to small, unequipped communities would cause significant risks for the residents. I am in the same boat as you, wanting to get out there, but being respectful of others’ health and communities is currently of utmost importance. Nonetheless, time passes and the water of outdoor recreators is filling behind the dam of restrictions.

What will this mean when the time finally comes that we are free to be outdoors in a quasi-normal fashion? The outdoors are the forbidden fruit of the Garden of Eden and we ALL want a bite. The surge of recreators will crowd trails, forest roads, campsites, crags, rivers and all other facets of the outdoors. We will see folks from all backgrounds, creeds, religions, races, and house-hold species. There will be weekend warriors, battle-scarred vets, the first-timers, the outdoor Instagrammers, photographers, even the ones who carry the infuriating portable speaker. Everyone will be outside. 

A scene where “Everyone” gaggles at the Wanaka Tree

This flood of people dances on the line of a nightmare for someone seeking solitude in the familiar outdoors, but we must be grateful. We cannot forget what we as a global community just experienced. We will have to relearn our common courtesies, double down on efforts to smile and say hello, and most of all carry respect for what we’ve all been longing for. The Outdoors. 

Respect will be a priority for us returning to the land, not only for each other but for the land itself. Such a blunt and heavy load of users cascading upon the outdoors can cause lasting effects of damage, degradation, and spoils if not cared for. We must be mindful of our actions in order to preserve the lands we now crave. Being cognizant of our actions and making an effort to leave no trace will be more important now than ever. With more people comes more trash, bad parking, and less room for you to enjoy the outdoors in peace. We can mitigate this by having a wide distribution among recreational sites, avoiding the recreational hotspots that many others will be flocking to and instead try to find your own little slice of heaven. 

A Slice of Heaven in Denali NP

Knowing your limitations will be a major factor in where you recreate. This is all the more important because you’ve been cooped up for so long. Your body may be stiff, a little tight, not quite the shape you’re usually in during the season. Your mind, on the other hand, may be whizzing with missions to summits, daunting trails, and remote regions. The body and mind may not mesh as well as last year when you had been out and about for some time before attempting these tasks. Now may be the moment to dial it back a notch and start a little slower out of the gate. Although COVID related restrictions may be lifted, the presence of the virus will surely not be eliminated. This means first responders will still have their hands full and hospitals will still carry the ill. It doesn’t sound to be an ideal place to show up after an injury in the outdoors, which is why it is important to know your limits. We are all gung-ho on getting outside and need some time to brush off residual cobwebs, it is important not to get injured during this time. Plus, you don’t want to start off your season with a debilitating injury and shorten an already short season. 

When the tin cracks open on the sardine cans we call home, we may be lucky enough to go about our nearly forgotten daily lives. Giving hugs, hanging out at local breweries, laughing with friends, and heading outside. One day this epidemic may wash like a memory, the feelings you had, now lay dormant in your mind. The wants and desires of yesterday have incorporated themselves into normalcy, faded from a primitive urging. Deep down, in our conscience, we will remember the yearning we had to be outdoors, the need we all felt to be out on public lands. We will surely flock there many times more to reach our roots and quench the inherent thirst for freedom.

RESPECT YOUR MOTHER.

HAPPY EARTH DAY