Campgrounds and RV parks.
I called 1-800-GOOG-411...
"Ashland Oregon" I said.
"Camping" I said.
"Number one" I said.
"Details" I said.
"Text Message" I said.
"I'll connect you" the recorded Google voice said.
Some Guy: "Hello, _______ RV Park."
Chris Harne: "Hi - do you have tent sites, or just RV sites?"
SG: "Um... Yes, we have tent sites, too"
CH: "Do you have hot showers?"
SG: "Yes, we do"
CH: "Excellent - how much is a tent site?"
SG: "$21.75 per night"
CH: "Great - do you allow dogs?"
SG: "Yes, but they need to be on a leash and you have to clean up their poop."
CH: "Of course, umm - alright, that's awesome. I think that's it. Thanks very much."
Only one of those questions really mattered, but I didn't want to sound like a dude who was planning to head over there just to dance around in all of their hot showers. I had all the info I needed. I checked the Google-sent txt message, and put the address into my GPS. 5.6 miles away. Located right next to that beautiful lake that you can park beside. Since I'm a spy and I over-plan small missions and re-use the same themes in my activities, I'll continue to describe my admittedly ridiculous modus operandi. I drove into the place to scout out where the showers might be.
I always try to have some kind of story in place just in case anybody tries something silly, like talking to me or asking me any questions. Just in case: I was looking for Mark Peters who should be there by now. He's in a little Chinook, and we're meeting here and going out for breakfast. In case of anything else: "Damn. I don't know what's going on - I'll need to give him a call." Unrelated information adds authenticity to the story, and leaves any questioning ripe with opportunities for a subject change. ie: "do you know of any good breakfast spots in Ashland?"
The story part is completely unnecessary 99.9% of the time, but it's fun to make stuff up just in case you're required to open your mouth. I gave the place a once-thru and decided that the showers were probably located inside the men's room - I didn't see any other buildings that looked like they would contain a shower. I put my towel in my jacket sleeve, put my cell phone to my ear, and headed in. The cell phone on the ear allows you to put up your index finger ("one second") in response to anything whatsoever. No phony conversation. You're on hold - it's important. You can use this to avoid talking to any civilians in any situation. This is perfect for scouting around when you know what you're looking for, but not exactly where it is, or if it's possible for anybody to notice or care.
Warm showers. Right in the men's room. I probably should have been way less lazy and figured this out weeks ago. But now is just as good. I have a job now, and it's not a particularly clean job, and it's getting too cold to swim in the reservoir to stay clean. I enjoyed one hell of a hot shower. Now that I've seen the layout, I know that I can park somewhere else, wander in on a path towards the back, and not be seen by anybody who could possibly care. I own the world, I own all the bagels and breakfasts contained therein, and now I own all of the showers as well.
(Rewind 15 hours).
It's 7:21pm. I'm looking at myself in the bathroom mirror at work, and wiping my face with a damp paper towel. This is it. It's shower time. Tomorrow, I will find a shower. I've only had two showers since leaving Pennsylvania, if you don't count swimming in various rivers. Most people don't count rivers - but they should.
Another note on showers: I've been hanging out with the hobo squatter hippie punk homeless folks in the plaza downtown. Do they take showers? No. Or very rarely. Do they stink? No. They smell like humans. Showers are a luxury, and something that should not cause undue stress and worry when you need to go without. You don't need to base your life around showers. I like my showers because I'm a suave guy, and I like [needlessly] smooth [and simple] operations.
Showing posts with label van dwelling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label van dwelling. Show all posts
Monday, September 1, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Listen: Move Into A Van.
I'm sitting in my life is easy chair, and I'm cooking noodles down by the river. I stopped worrying about cops again: back to normal. I'm keeping an eye out for a cop so I can have a conversation. I'm almost wishing one would stop by. Preferably the same one who visited a few nights ago. I bet the only reason that cop knocked on my van is because I was parked in a place that would be blocked by minor road repairs in the morning. That's a guess, and I think it's a good one. I would have preferred hearing that explanation at the time, rather than "ASHLAND POLICE DEPARTMENT!!!!," which does not explain much.
Now I'm sane about such situations again, and if more cops start knocking on my van I'll be more prepared to take it in stride. It's only natural to piss yourself the first time you have a grizzly bear pounding on your cabin. I'm parking in smarter spots again, but I'm not squeamish and I'm not over thinking stealth locations. I'm doing well enough, moving every night, and trying to park next to trees that will provide an extra hour of shade in the morning. I don't look over my shoulder while the sun is up. I sit around and cook and read in my house with the doors open. When I open my doors, my house becomes a porch. At 7:21pm I was sitting in my cozy chair on the porch right by the park. I was cooking noodles, and I even had tomato sauce, parmesan cheese and hot sauce.
I implore some people. Take action.
Move into a van. I, Chris Harne (with a silent 'e'), recommend getting off the fence about it. You don't need to be handy or inventive, or know anybody who is. I'm not handy, and I can be almost sinfully lazy. I'm going to summarize my experiences and recommendations here, so you don't have to sort through my past musings with squinted eyes and a fork. It would be smarter to review all information at cheaprvliving.com. That's a better resource. The following information is just one approach.
The first step is picking a vehicle. I love my van. I truly love my van as much as a person can love a vehicle. There are several aspects that I find particularly appealing. I'm living in a conversion van. The walls and ceiling are already padded, the roof is raised a few inches higher than average, and the floor is carpeted. It comes with a few cabinets already installed. There are ambient limo lights, and four bright reading lights that can be turned on individually. I didn't need to figure out how to install any of that - it came that way. Perfect. All of this padding and cabinetry and lighting served to make my van feel instantly like home. The padding makes the interior very calm and quiet, and also tends to decrease outside volume coming in.
I have not done a single thing to improve my van. I absolutely love seeing vandwelling setups that are planned out and organized. I love seeing kitchens with sinks, propane refrigerators, beds with storage below, custom cabinets, heaters, coolers, generators, solar panels, roof fans, and deep cycle marine batteries. I love those setups, but I have had none of that stuff for many months of vandwelling, and my cup still runeth over. Here's what I've got. I have my conversion van with the padded, lighted, living room feel. I put all the back seats in a dumpster. I used clips from Staples to hold up gossamer table cloths from K-Mart. The tablecloth curtains allow me to see out, and light to come in - but if you cup your hands to the windows, you can not see in. If police or other idiots shine flashlights in, they will not be able to see one centimeter beyond that curtain. That's enough for me. My bed is on the floor, and takes up almost the whole thing. I have three cabinets on the ceiling towards the front of my living space. One is used as a medicine cabinet with wet wipes, toothbrush stuff, deodorant, spare AA batteries, hair buzzer, etc. There's room for a lot more. The middle (TV) cabinet contains books and magazines. When I finish a book, I have a conversation with someone about it, and I give it away. The last cabinet contains socks and underwear. I have three small unused cabinets in back. One of them contains a stack of carefully flattened Life Cereal boxes. I'll file that under "unused." My pants and shirts get folded and stacked right beside my bed. I have 7 t-shirts, 3 long sleeve t-shirts, 2 hoodies, 2 pairs of pants, 2 pairs of shorts, rain jacket, rain pants. T-shirts and pants and shorts go beside the bed. My less-used clothing, and some winter gear is stuffed in a vintage hiking pack. I have bicycle touring and camping gear stuffed in bicycle bags - panniers - and that is laying beside the bed.
I have been very comfortable and stealth just like this. No need to wait until you can get a deep cycle marine battery, and a roof fan, and a working sink and all that stuff. Just move into the van, and everything you need will be worked out like magic. You'll change your organization a few times and get a good feel for what you DON'T need. Kitchen? No: camping stove. Sink? No: gallon jug of water. Part of the appeal of a van house is the simplicity. Don't complicate it by trying to jam an entire house into a cocoon. It's automatic. Your home will come together naturally as you realize your real needs vs. the previously imagined ones. Van life is easy.
It takes a few weeks of parking on the street and in various other places before you get a feel for your ideal kind of spot. I use small residential streets almost exclusively. It took a few weeks for me to adjust to being in a van with people walking on a sidewalk two feet from my windows, unaware that I was sitting an arms reach away. At first you can feel very exposed in a van. When cars drive close enough, you can hear them and they move your house a little. It becomes natural. It just does. I don't give it a second thought, and I've grown to love both of these things. Waking up, and stepping out of my cocoon in the morning has become something I love. I feel blessed and lucky.
I'm always seeing people who are "living vicariously" or are "on the fence" or are "planning to start vandwelling." Well, now is the time. Not later. The preparation can be zero. You don't need to have a setup that takes time and thought. You can just start sleeping in a van and work out the details later. I recommend a conversion van for a setup that's instantly cozy - but if you want to do the work on a stealth cargo van, go for it. I like having huge windows.
I spend all day at coffee shops and the library. I spend all day reading books in the park. I spend all day walking to the grocery store because it takes longer, and it relaxes me. I spend all day riding a bicycle and dancing on the pedals at a tempo that doesn't match that of the song on my iPod. I spend all day outside and I don't get cabin fever, even in the unmeasurable quantity that occurs whenever you see The Price is Right or an episode of Law and Order. This is good.
I have one last thought: A medium sized comfortable chair has been so much more valuable to me than any kitchen counter setup could ever be. My happiest times are sitting in my life-is-easy chair, looking out through my swing-out side doors. It's a porch. Enjoy a rainy day on the porch with the rain drops falling on your feet while you read a book. Shake your head and wonder why so many people are hiding in a house. Living in a van takes almost no planning. It's stupid easy, and you might fall in love.
Now I'm sane about such situations again, and if more cops start knocking on my van I'll be more prepared to take it in stride. It's only natural to piss yourself the first time you have a grizzly bear pounding on your cabin. I'm parking in smarter spots again, but I'm not squeamish and I'm not over thinking stealth locations. I'm doing well enough, moving every night, and trying to park next to trees that will provide an extra hour of shade in the morning. I don't look over my shoulder while the sun is up. I sit around and cook and read in my house with the doors open. When I open my doors, my house becomes a porch. At 7:21pm I was sitting in my cozy chair on the porch right by the park. I was cooking noodles, and I even had tomato sauce, parmesan cheese and hot sauce.
I implore some people. Take action.
Move into a van. I, Chris Harne (with a silent 'e'), recommend getting off the fence about it. You don't need to be handy or inventive, or know anybody who is. I'm not handy, and I can be almost sinfully lazy. I'm going to summarize my experiences and recommendations here, so you don't have to sort through my past musings with squinted eyes and a fork. It would be smarter to review all information at cheaprvliving.com. That's a better resource. The following information is just one approach.
The first step is picking a vehicle. I love my van. I truly love my van as much as a person can love a vehicle. There are several aspects that I find particularly appealing. I'm living in a conversion van. The walls and ceiling are already padded, the roof is raised a few inches higher than average, and the floor is carpeted. It comes with a few cabinets already installed. There are ambient limo lights, and four bright reading lights that can be turned on individually. I didn't need to figure out how to install any of that - it came that way. Perfect. All of this padding and cabinetry and lighting served to make my van feel instantly like home. The padding makes the interior very calm and quiet, and also tends to decrease outside volume coming in.
I have not done a single thing to improve my van. I absolutely love seeing vandwelling setups that are planned out and organized. I love seeing kitchens with sinks, propane refrigerators, beds with storage below, custom cabinets, heaters, coolers, generators, solar panels, roof fans, and deep cycle marine batteries. I love those setups, but I have had none of that stuff for many months of vandwelling, and my cup still runeth over. Here's what I've got. I have my conversion van with the padded, lighted, living room feel. I put all the back seats in a dumpster. I used clips from Staples to hold up gossamer table cloths from K-Mart. The tablecloth curtains allow me to see out, and light to come in - but if you cup your hands to the windows, you can not see in. If police or other idiots shine flashlights in, they will not be able to see one centimeter beyond that curtain. That's enough for me. My bed is on the floor, and takes up almost the whole thing. I have three cabinets on the ceiling towards the front of my living space. One is used as a medicine cabinet with wet wipes, toothbrush stuff, deodorant, spare AA batteries, hair buzzer, etc. There's room for a lot more. The middle (TV) cabinet contains books and magazines. When I finish a book, I have a conversation with someone about it, and I give it away. The last cabinet contains socks and underwear. I have three small unused cabinets in back. One of them contains a stack of carefully flattened Life Cereal boxes. I'll file that under "unused." My pants and shirts get folded and stacked right beside my bed. I have 7 t-shirts, 3 long sleeve t-shirts, 2 hoodies, 2 pairs of pants, 2 pairs of shorts, rain jacket, rain pants. T-shirts and pants and shorts go beside the bed. My less-used clothing, and some winter gear is stuffed in a vintage hiking pack. I have bicycle touring and camping gear stuffed in bicycle bags - panniers - and that is laying beside the bed.
I have been very comfortable and stealth just like this. No need to wait until you can get a deep cycle marine battery, and a roof fan, and a working sink and all that stuff. Just move into the van, and everything you need will be worked out like magic. You'll change your organization a few times and get a good feel for what you DON'T need. Kitchen? No: camping stove. Sink? No: gallon jug of water. Part of the appeal of a van house is the simplicity. Don't complicate it by trying to jam an entire house into a cocoon. It's automatic. Your home will come together naturally as you realize your real needs vs. the previously imagined ones. Van life is easy.
It takes a few weeks of parking on the street and in various other places before you get a feel for your ideal kind of spot. I use small residential streets almost exclusively. It took a few weeks for me to adjust to being in a van with people walking on a sidewalk two feet from my windows, unaware that I was sitting an arms reach away. At first you can feel very exposed in a van. When cars drive close enough, you can hear them and they move your house a little. It becomes natural. It just does. I don't give it a second thought, and I've grown to love both of these things. Waking up, and stepping out of my cocoon in the morning has become something I love. I feel blessed and lucky.
I'm always seeing people who are "living vicariously" or are "on the fence" or are "planning to start vandwelling." Well, now is the time. Not later. The preparation can be zero. You don't need to have a setup that takes time and thought. You can just start sleeping in a van and work out the details later. I recommend a conversion van for a setup that's instantly cozy - but if you want to do the work on a stealth cargo van, go for it. I like having huge windows.
I spend all day at coffee shops and the library. I spend all day reading books in the park. I spend all day walking to the grocery store because it takes longer, and it relaxes me. I spend all day riding a bicycle and dancing on the pedals at a tempo that doesn't match that of the song on my iPod. I spend all day outside and I don't get cabin fever, even in the unmeasurable quantity that occurs whenever you see The Price is Right or an episode of Law and Order. This is good.
I have one last thought: A medium sized comfortable chair has been so much more valuable to me than any kitchen counter setup could ever be. My happiest times are sitting in my life-is-easy chair, looking out through my swing-out side doors. It's a porch. Enjoy a rainy day on the porch with the rain drops falling on your feet while you read a book. Shake your head and wonder why so many people are hiding in a house. Living in a van takes almost no planning. It's stupid easy, and you might fall in love.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Full of thoughts
But maybe talking about so many thoughts is just a random weave of nonsense. Let me know who's reading this shit. People tell me they are. I don't know that I make it very easy to follow or care about. I try to be interesting, but I sure don't go out of my way. I don't want to ask everyone to comment and tell me who you are. But I'm curious, so if you want to... you can comment and let me know who you are.
My thoughts definitely seem to keep me from getting bored any more. I can't remember the last time I was really bored. For a guy who does a whole lot of sitting and staring off into space, that's pretty good. I call it 'meditating.' Maybe it is, maybe it's not - but who's going to tell a guy he's meditating wrong?
I was really excited to see a fox a few nights ago. It walked past my open van doors. I've seen foxes, and there seem to be more in the area - but this was special because it was only a few feet in front of me, and had no clue I was there. I was very impressed with myself for being silent and still long enough for that to occur. I was proud that the fox didn't see me. I've had a cat visit my van too. And one morning a little bird flew in. And while I'm listing dinner guests, I had a huge scary bee that sounded like an airplane. That was the same morning as the bird. Busy day.
7:21pm, I'm hung over still and my stomach feels wobbly. My chest feels something akin to what I [probably falsely] believe to be a symptom of anxiety. I'm txting Rachel back. My laptop is on my lap.
I kept a personal journal as a kid, and updated it constantly. Almost hourly updates sometimes. It was on again off again, but I still have journals and journals and journals with tons of shit I can barely look back at. Crazy how I used to see everything for exactly how it is when I was still a tiny kid, but I'm still putting it all together to see where I fit in right now. Lifetime of thinking. It's all about perspective. That's becoming my favorite word. I was a seriously white nerdy little weirdo. I'm glad I've learned how to hide that now. Right?
I love my van, and love living in a van. So much. Even if it's looking dangerously similar to bumming around at my parents house at age 25. Fuck it. It's not only the practical and sustainable aspect that I like so much - its that it feels so right and natural. And I feel blessed and lucky that I'm not looking to own a big house. If you don't aspire to be a house-haver, you've just saved yourself a big headache. Wonder how I'll feel about that in the future.
These are good times. I really feel that way. I'm completely failing at finding a way to describe this in a meaningful way. I'm fresh out of analogies. It's like when there's a tree... and .... a frog... and .. FUCK IT. I'm smiling, baby.
My thoughts definitely seem to keep me from getting bored any more. I can't remember the last time I was really bored. For a guy who does a whole lot of sitting and staring off into space, that's pretty good. I call it 'meditating.' Maybe it is, maybe it's not - but who's going to tell a guy he's meditating wrong?
I was really excited to see a fox a few nights ago. It walked past my open van doors. I've seen foxes, and there seem to be more in the area - but this was special because it was only a few feet in front of me, and had no clue I was there. I was very impressed with myself for being silent and still long enough for that to occur. I was proud that the fox didn't see me. I've had a cat visit my van too. And one morning a little bird flew in. And while I'm listing dinner guests, I had a huge scary bee that sounded like an airplane. That was the same morning as the bird. Busy day.
7:21pm, I'm hung over still and my stomach feels wobbly. My chest feels something akin to what I [probably falsely] believe to be a symptom of anxiety. I'm txting Rachel back. My laptop is on my lap.
I kept a personal journal as a kid, and updated it constantly. Almost hourly updates sometimes. It was on again off again, but I still have journals and journals and journals with tons of shit I can barely look back at. Crazy how I used to see everything for exactly how it is when I was still a tiny kid, but I'm still putting it all together to see where I fit in right now. Lifetime of thinking. It's all about perspective. That's becoming my favorite word. I was a seriously white nerdy little weirdo. I'm glad I've learned how to hide that now. Right?
I love my van, and love living in a van. So much. Even if it's looking dangerously similar to bumming around at my parents house at age 25. Fuck it. It's not only the practical and sustainable aspect that I like so much - its that it feels so right and natural. And I feel blessed and lucky that I'm not looking to own a big house. If you don't aspire to be a house-haver, you've just saved yourself a big headache. Wonder how I'll feel about that in the future.
These are good times. I really feel that way. I'm completely failing at finding a way to describe this in a meaningful way. I'm fresh out of analogies. It's like when there's a tree... and .... a frog... and .. FUCK IT. I'm smiling, baby.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Nap time. Key West sleepy map.
I'm napping in my van. It was a late night, and early morning. I've been feeling the effects. So I crawled in my van and went to sleep. One positive thing about a good parking spot (ie: parents driveway) is that you can sleep with the side doors wide open. You get the benefits of sleeping outside, but you also get your own bed. I left the curtain up. I napped the same way in Key West in my #1 spot. That spot had a constant strong breeze, so even on a very hot day napping was not only possible, but highly enjoyable. Outside, in a bed-nest. That's fine sleeping. I slept for hours today.
The following is extremely valuable top secret information. This is where the cruise ships park near by, there's a porta potti, people fish, and I borrowed electricity to angle-grind my back seat out. It's a big gravel lot. Van dwelling golden map.
The following is extremely valuable top secret information. This is where the cruise ships park near by, there's a porta potti, people fish, and I borrowed electricity to angle-grind my back seat out. It's a big gravel lot. Van dwelling golden map.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Turn lane toward Wawa
I'm about to turn into the parking lot of the Wawa at Route 1 and Bayard Road. I have a mug, and I'm going to get a $1.15 refill of push-button cappuccino mocha express. First I'm going to get some van gas. After that I'm hanging out in West Chester, where I'll sleep in the same street parking spot I've used a whole lot.
I don't think anyone is living in vans around West Chester, and I don't think anyone notices or cares if I do. It's under the radar. My van kinda blends in, and I don't even really try to hide or find a great spot. I just stay wherever - same places several times, whatever. I threw the stealth van parking handbook out the window. If anyone notices me and has an anti-vehicle-sleep problem, I'll discuss it with them then. For now it doesn't look like anyone will notice or give a shit. Nights have been chilly, and I've been snuggling up in a sleeping bag. That's sleeping at it's best.
Also, let me tell you about these wool socks I have: they're the best. I've used them to keep my feet toasty in situations that call for this - but until recently I hadn't realized that they're good in reasonably warm weather too. And you can wear them for a week, and they're still comfortable and dry and don't stink. If I wear my cotton socks for one day now, they feel damp and useless. And cotton gets cold when wet - wool keeps being warm. I'm switching to all wool socks. They're expensive, but I think I'll only need about 3 pair. I've already got two pair with the third on the way.
I don't think anyone is living in vans around West Chester, and I don't think anyone notices or cares if I do. It's under the radar. My van kinda blends in, and I don't even really try to hide or find a great spot. I just stay wherever - same places several times, whatever. I threw the stealth van parking handbook out the window. If anyone notices me and has an anti-vehicle-sleep problem, I'll discuss it with them then. For now it doesn't look like anyone will notice or give a shit. Nights have been chilly, and I've been snuggling up in a sleeping bag. That's sleeping at it's best.
Also, let me tell you about these wool socks I have: they're the best. I've used them to keep my feet toasty in situations that call for this - but until recently I hadn't realized that they're good in reasonably warm weather too. And you can wear them for a week, and they're still comfortable and dry and don't stink. If I wear my cotton socks for one day now, they feel damp and useless. And cotton gets cold when wet - wool keeps being warm. I'm switching to all wool socks. They're expensive, but I think I'll only need about 3 pair. I've already got two pair with the third on the way.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Intentional communities
I'm reading descriptions of intentional communities from an online directory. You know: communes. In my mind, I picture driving to one and parking my van there for an extended stay somewhere really nice. Like an island in British Columbia on a farm. Kids and dogs are there. That could be positive. Missouri is a definite option, but my skull might not like it for long. It's on the way to Oregon though... so no loss if it's no good. I like the idea of living around people and eating together, and sharing work, but then keeping all my living space arrangements and logistics to the van. Is this a possible arrangement? It looks like it probably is. The major obstacle is combining fiercely independent flakiness with a system that compels shared work. It's probably perfectly fine, but I keep imagining the sound of hippies who whine. I'm afraid someone might think they've found an answer to a rhetorical question, and then want to share it. I bet there's good people who I want to meet all over the place. I want to see how an eco-village might work. I like the concept.
I was also reading some writing about gutterfolks in San Francisco, and that seems like a good place to go. Decade old writing. Eddie was there, and he made it sound appealing. And this guy's stuff that I was reading made it seem like a great friendly place to live in a van for some time. I could be by the ocean and also in a city where people tend toward friendly interaction. Seems a lot smarter than stewing around PA forever. Let's go. Who's in??! Oh wait - 'let me find my shoes first,' and other euphemisms for killing at least a few months in the mean time.
I was also reading some writing about gutterfolks in San Francisco, and that seems like a good place to go. Decade old writing. Eddie was there, and he made it sound appealing. And this guy's stuff that I was reading made it seem like a great friendly place to live in a van for some time. I could be by the ocean and also in a city where people tend toward friendly interaction. Seems a lot smarter than stewing around PA forever. Let's go. Who's in??! Oh wait - 'let me find my shoes first,' and other euphemisms for killing at least a few months in the mean time.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Smoking
I'm in the middle of smoking a big heaping amount of pot before going to see The Other Bolyn Girl at the Tropic Cinema. I like going to movies when I have absolutely no idea what to expect. I like going to movies alone. I like sitting in the chair in my van. I'm getting pretty lazy about changing parking spots every day like I used to. I'm realizing that sleeping and living in a van doesn't require a complicated clandestine operation. Nobody notices or cares. It's cozy and simple. This is just the way things ought to be.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Napping on Grinell Street
I'm laying down in my van preparing to take a nap. I'm comfortable, relaxed. The van has had a makeover. Yesterday I borrowed a die grinder from work. I drove down into the Truman Annex in the big lot by the water and plugged my extension cord into the secret outlet. With a lot of sweat and yellow spark fanfare the seat was removed, and subsequently ditched in a dumpster up on Duck Ave. Then I borrowed a shop vac to clean the carpet. I kept two sections of the bed - just the top cushions, none of the bulk. That's what I'm laying on now. The van seems much roomier, but I did lose storage space from under the bed. Still, I prefer this setup. This van is my sanctuary. I feel at home, and I'm digging the new bed setup. I sleep amongst my stuff, and I live in a cozy bubble.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Chillin' at Eddie's
I called Eddie to see if I could stop by for a real proper shower. I ran into him at the library yesterday, and he offered that option to me. He knows I'm living in a van, and he's done that too. I took my shower awhile ago, and now we're just sitting around.
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