The Van Blog

I really have no answers about The Thing.  I don’t quite understand why it exists, but it’s advertised on at least 12 billboards along Interstate 10 between Tucson and Benson in Arizona.  All the boards say “Have you seen The Thing?” in bad fifties horror movie font, and there’s nothing like tacky gimmicks to attract a TJ…

So of course I stopped at it because I thought it would be some mystery spot like in an episode of Supernatural.  I am driving a big ol’ van, but in my head it is sometimes a ‘67 Impala, and if you don’t watch Supernatural on TV that won’t make any sense at all.   I just wanted to see some furniture nailed to the ceiling and some weird examples of taxidermy, but no such luck!  The Thing’s not terribly mysterious at all, actually.

I went into the gas station/souvenir stand that’s next to the Dairy Queen just past Benson, and I paid a dollar to walk through a home-made museum full of fake artifacts and dusty old crap—broken cars, wooden mannequins, dismembered bits of statue, and cardboard cut-outs of cartoon people.

The Thing’s gimmick is nothing but a literal word game and a couple of giant aluminum sheds behind the gas station that are filled with “antiques”, and then there are signs displayed everywhere that say things like “The Model T was really The Thing for early car owners”, or “a copper milk can was really The Thing to use for milking cows back in the day”.  Yes… I actually paid a nice paper dollar to see old cans, tarantula skins, and some bad wooden animal carvings, but I’m not sorry!  If there’s something tacky or funky or ridiculous on the side of the road, one should stop and see it—that’s one of the points of a road trip, is it not?

If J.T. and I hadn’t been joking about Supernatural and its Winchester boys the entire time, The Thing would have been downright disappointing, but humour makes everything better!  And don’t worry, we did some much cooler things in Tombstone (20-something miles down the road).  Read on!

Video:  Not Quite the Winchesters: A TJ and J.T. Mystery!

Gateway to The Thing near Benson, AZ

J.T. can't decide which plastic weapons will help her battle The Thing...

So it turns out there’s not much to see (or write about!) right now in the ‘burbs.

J.T. and I have been enjoying a return to civilization via sleeping in front of Wal-Marts—eventually leaving the one in Casa Grande to patronize a new one here in Oro Valley, AZ —but I believe we’re sated now and can continue on to Tombstone, Bisbee, and a life less populated.  We’ve IHOP-ed, been to Applebee’s, stocked up on supplies, and watched enough bad television for a lifetime.

I wasn’t always hot over the idea of Wal-Marts, but, at the moment, they’re providing me with free, well-lit (and therefore slightly safer) locations to park in a pinch… so I guess I can’t complain.  After all, there was only one mildly unsettling moment when a homeless kid on a bicycle peered through the van’s windows and asked for cigarettes or a light or something.

So here’s a tip kids:  if you see an occupied camper with curtains mostly drawn… don’t peep in the window.  Furthermore, don’t peep in the window RIGHT behind me and literally watch TV over my shoulder for a few minutes before piping up that you’re there.  Not cool, man!  Though that sort of thing is probably something I should expect while living in a van, eh?

Anyhoo, my recent strip mall shenanigans were all necessary for balance, I tell you.  I’ve spent long stints these past few weeks in towns that contain almost nothing—No coffee shops, no stores, and no attractions of any kind.  Sometimes after nothing but dark nights, early bedtimes, and a lot of dirt roads, I just need a little bright light in a big city.

Between tiny towns and discount stores, there hasn’t been a lot to blog about… but I wanted to let you all know I’m alive and doing fine.  J.T. and I are leaving for Tombstone today (supposed home of the original O.K. Corral), and we hope to see the gunfight re-enactment before landing in a little artsy town called Bisbee.

You’ll hear from me again when something exciting happens!  (Or horrifying, or funny… or even just weird).

Oh, what tales I have to tell.

Hello from Casa Grande, Arizona— the first place with a decent internet connection since Indio, California (which will live on forever in Van Plan lore as the place where I lost my drive shaft… ).

The Van is fine, now.  Runs real smooth like a bat out of hell;  I swear 120 feels like 60. Ha!  I’m continuing to drive with my fingers crossed so that nothing else randomly falls off on another highway somewhere.

So we carried on from Indio last Wednesday and drove past the Salton Sea, which is now in a pretty sad state.  It must have been a glamorous resort area decades ago (judging by the pictures displayed in Niland’s little restaurant), and now the little towns around it are mostly deserted.  Mecca, Bombay Beach and other assorted little places by the Sea all have approximately one little restaurant, no gas station, and no “downtown” to hang out in.  J.T. and I passed them all and  finally arrived in Niland, CA by nightfall.  We were on the lookout for the infamous Slab City, which is only a few minutes out of town.

We saw the little white, spray-painted booth that says Slab City across it in red and found a flat spot to park just inside the entrance.  There are people spread out all over the place—sporadically spaced campers as far as my eye could see in any direction, and the variety of abode is great. There are people camped out in antique buses, regular buses, school buses, tents, shanties, trailer homes, giant RV’s with satellite dishes, old cargo vans, dune buggies, pop-tops, and pick-up trucks.  Everything was dark by the time we pulled in though, and our first night in the City was spent staring out at other moonlit RVs and wondering where all the action was.  No lights on, no people around, and nothing to do but hit the hay by nine pm… So lame!

We later found out that because people want to conserve power in their own RV’s, lights aren’t widely used.  7pm is practically lights-out time, so J.T. and I did a lot of reading and journal-writing by candlelight in the van.  (and yes, my little fridge stayed going).

Joaqim's .99 Cent Store!

By the next morning, we were desperate for something to do and we ended up trying to explore nearby Niland, CA—which occupied a good 12  minutes of our time.  There are (or were…) two restaurants, a library that’s about eight feet wide, and one grocery/general store.  We were pretty excited over the prospect of Joaqim’s .99 Cent Store (which we”d spied in the dark one night on the way into town), but it burned down and no one removed the sign…   The other Cafe also burned down, and no one removed that, either.

Good Eats!

The coolest thing about Slab City, besides some of its long-term residents and their evening bonfires, is its proximity to Leonard Knight’s Salvation Mountain.  Slab City has a supper club, a Christian center, a library, a hot spring, and an information and news center of sorts.  Dogs are given away, yard sales take place on the flat beds of pick-up trucks, and Leonard’s salvation mountain is just before the gate booth.

If you’ve seen the movie Into The Wild, you know that Emile Hersch and Kristin Stewart were filmed inside it in 2007, and it’s still there— just like it has been for the last 30 years.  Leonard is still there also (I think he lives near it in a big painted school bus that has a garden shed attached to the back), and he was kind enough to pose for a picture with us and give us a photo puzzle of the mountain to hang in the van.

His mountain is a huge, interactive sculpture made of sand, hay bales, wooden posts, and spare tires.  It is covered in bright paint, trinkets, photos, newspaper clippings about Leonard, and lots of religious messages.  I climbed on it, walked around in it, and took a lot of pictures of it.  I also donated five bucks to Leonard… even though he doesn’t ask for donations and just jovially repeats “Thank you for coming!”  (He’s a little older now, and hard of hearing).

Leonard and Salvation Mountain

During Day Two on the Slabs, J.T. and I ran into a rad girl camping alone in an old postal van, and she introduced us around.  Dinner at the “Oasis Club” (the covered cafeteria between a bunch of communal trailers) was a tasty two-dollar plate of spaghetti, and our after-dinner entertainment was some time spent around a bonfire just down the “street”.  (The abandoned army base on which Slab City sits is organized in a grid, so there are streets of a sort with homemade signs and names.  We camped on the Low Street and Edith Lane).

We met a guy I’ll nickname the Dirty Hippie Skater (he might hate that, but I’m pretty sure he shouted his email address at me as I left to hit the sack in the van… and it sounded like dirty hippie something-or-other).  He shared some cold beers and good conversation with us, and lived with his dog in a nifty little trailer from the sixties.  He was a skateboarder, and was slowly digging out the old foundations of the army buildings around his campsite in order to create bowls for a makeshift skate park.

The Dirty Hippie Skater and most of the others around the fire that night refused to be on camera.  I find this understandable, since who knows which side of the law these random, perma-campers are on—what they’re growing or what they do out there with all those long, dark evenings.  Also, these folks are not a tourist attraction, and because I felt bad that Leonard and the others may now be treated as such, I asked how things had changed since Into The Wild was released.  The Dirty Hippie Skater said the movie wasn’t a big deal; he worked as a paid extra in the film, and finds that many people stumble across Slab City while scouring the internet for free camping.  Apparently, people don’t flock to this quiet little place just because a motion picture was made.  Anyhoo, I don’t have any footage to share with you, but I will say that sitting amongst the slabs with a cold beer and watching the sun go down was a fine way to spend a Thursday night.

The next morning, I heard from an old man on a motorcycle that the hot spring is just inside the City’s front gate, but the postal girl warned us it was a nude spring… and there were just a few too many retirees in their big RV’s around the Slabs for me to risk any skinny-dipping.  I’m all for free-spirited, but that’s more free than I can be (or care to see) around people enjoying their golden years.

And now I’m in Casa Grande, with no definite direction or true plan.  I only ended up making it this far last night because back in Gila Bend, I was plugged into a Dairy Queen (to charge my fridge a little… Possibly without their knowledge) and just after the burger girl caught me, I spied a bunch of sheriff cars heading my way with lights a’flashing.  Oops!  It was probably time to leave Gila Bend, anyway…

See you next time I have the internet (and who the hell knows when that will be?).  Take care!

Videos:

Cruisin’ Through the Slabs

Inside Salvation Mountain

J.T.’s Driving Lesson -  we were REALLY bored in certain parts of California/Arizona…

Inside part of Salvation Mountain

My cactus adventure in Quartsite, AZ. They are big, feel spiky, and look like cartoons!

This morning, the waiter at the Mexican cafe I was in heard my sad Van story and wished me well with his hand on my shoulder.

In one of the first comments I ever got on this blog, a friend of mine in Edmonton called Big Mac wished me luck in my adventures and wondered if I could tell her what a Mexican Breakfast was like (an inside joke from the tenth grade).  Well Big Mac… It’s like this:

Last night, J.T. and I got a little stranded on the side of the highway in Indio, California (right near Coachella).  After spending the night in one of the worst motels ever (truly the stuff of nightmares and CSI episodes), we ended up at a Mexican restaurant enjoying pancakes and bacon while waiting for a mechanic to pass judgement on the fate of the Van Plan.

What’s the story?

J.T. and I stopped for directions and gooey pancakes at an IHOP last night, and then headed for the Salton Sea.  We are excited for its ghost towns and abandoned resorts, and I am hoping to explore the Sea and then end up in Slab City near Niland, CA. (the big abandoned army base/camp site from the Into The Wild Movie.  Scrap Mountain is still there, and I aim to see it!).  We have more than two weeks to wander around the Sea before pestering/visiting J.T.’s dad in Arizona City.

Last night, as we neared Mecca, CA (insert obvious but appropriate pilgrimage joke concerning my previous blog posts here…), we decided it would be smarter to turn around and seek a full tank o’ gas than continue on for sixty blank miles toward Niland.  As we were rolling down the highway back to Indio, the drive shaft fell off my van… while I was driving it…

Never have I heard such terrific noises from a vehicle, so I pulled to the shoulder—all the while wondering if I’d just blown my transmission.

I said, “I wonder if anything fell off…”

And J.T. said (after hopping out of the van), “Oh holy sh–, Teej!  Get over here!  Holy sh–!”  So I walked around to her side and noticed a tremendously long pipe lying on the ground under my van and leaking fluid everywhere.  Holy sh– indeed!  Wtf?

What can I say?  I shook my head and cursed a little, then laughed a lot, smoked a bit, and headed off to find a phone.  Turns out that there were no open gas stations or functioning pay phones in sight.  The highway can be an unfortunate place at night.  J.T. and I wandered around in the dark for awhile lamenting our luck, but it got better when a guy who worked at one of the gas stations lent me his cell phone.  In forty more minutes, Triple A came to my rescue with an enormous tow truck.

We later paid too much for too little and spent what was left of last night in a motel that lacked even simple amenities like an alarm clock or a phone.  Sometimes, I just need a place to rest my head right away, and though I wished quite heartily that the toilet was properly attached to the bathroom floor, the “Budget Inn” was somewhat bearable in a weird way.

There is a bright side though, friends!  Because I picked the shaft up off the road and saved it, the other required parts may be minimal—it may be possible for us to still drive out of here (somewhat poorer, but not beaten!).  I have taken shelter in a coffee shop and am awaiting our lovely mechanic’s final judgment. J.T. is certain that the infamous Turner luck will combine with my Kelly luck and—as she puts it—there will be some “Care Bear Share, and rainbows will shoot from our bellybuttons and into the Van!”  I can only hope…

But at least there will be no more fleabag motels for this van girl!  Tonight, we are free to be back in the van and to sleep outside the automotive shop.  The mechanic will even plug us in before he heads home; he’s another very generous soul.

There’s always a silver lining, or a parking space, or a kind stranger to be found.  My friend Miller has always joked that I have horse shoes hidden in apt anatomical places, and this time I hope she continues to be right!

I will update you all when I can, folks.  Wish me luck.

videos:

Bebe Hates Us

FML!

(More videos to come!  Youtube’s in the slow zone today.  Apologies!).

Back in the saddle, as it were.

Back within range of wireless actually… and what a few desert days it’s been.  I had such a rad time for the last half of my stint in Joshua Tree.  The Photographer Lady (or the PL, for short) and her husband invited J.T. and I to park next to their house for a few nights, and it was pure, sandy bliss.  They are the kind of folks that restore one’s faith in generosity of spirit—real givers to the last word.  They’re also both very well-traveled, and completely understand the need for a place to park and a plug to use.  I find that van living has gained me entrance into the very best of “clubs”—and I feel I truly became a bona fide member after Coos Bay.  I was driving down some little back road there and a man resembling Willie Nelson was parked facing the other way on the shoulder.  As I passed him, he stood up on the side of his own van and gave me a salute (which looked all the more cool due to the presence of a Crocodile Dundee-style hat on his head).

The PL’s house was another wonderful moment in time for my van and I.  There were glasses of wine, fantastic dinners, wonderful conversations, constant cups of coffee, and cookies for the road!  I now love them both dearly (as does J.T.), as the quickest way to my heart is definitely through my stomach and/or my van… I was, quite literally, the happiest of campers after abandoning the Chief’s house and heading for the PL’s driveway across the road.

Like M. and B. in Newport or the Dude in Coos, the PL and her husband made the list of the coolest people I’ve encountered on the road so far.  They met in the circus.  She spun plates and fire batons and sometimes hit the trapeze.  Crazy, but true!  And he grew up in a ‘movie biz’ family, which gave him the amazing opportunity to regularly glimpse Steve Mcqueen in his old neighborhood, be held (as a toddler) by Edward R. Murrow (I saw the photo!), and have the guy who photographed the Beatles for the Sgt. Pepper album cover as a brother-in-law.  Yeah!  Really!

And the PL made good on the promise she made to me in Jasper, Alberta last summer.  She took me  to Cap Rock in the Joshua Tree National Park and found the spot where Gram Parsons was cremated by his friends.

Me in front of Gram's Rock in Joshua Tree, California

I climbed all over crazy desert rocks, photographed the hell out of everything, saw campe fire ashes and grafitti from fellow Parsons fans, and enjoyed a clear view of the Salton Sea and a mountain clear down in Mexico.  Colour me satisfied.  Since I’d always had Joshua Tree and the PL in the back of my mind as one of the first true destination goals of the Van Plan (besides Jagmo in San Fran!), I feel Imust have truly achieved the first leg of the journey by making it there and seeking Cap Rock—which makes what happened post-Joshua Tree ironic and hilarious at the same time!  Read on to find out more…

Videos:

Desert sun in Joshua Tree

Desert Fun

This Is It

Gram Parsons’ Cap Rock

The Exact Spot

J.T.’s Spelunk Adventure

Road to Joshua

(More videos to follow soon!  Youtube = slow today).

I Rock! Or at least I climb on rocks, and then pose...

And washed that Van Girl out!  (almost…).

Well sports fans, it hasn’t stopped raining here in Joshua Tree.  I guess this is payback for all the gloating I did on that sun-drenched beach in Morro Bay.  Laugh if you must, but know that the desert is still beautiful even when it’s partially underwater.  Apparently, this is the most rain Joshua Tree has seen for years.  Just my luck, eh?

It’s hard to stay indoors when on a trip to a radical place like the California desert, but the downpours keep us cooped—as do the constant flash flood warnings.  It would be wonderful to hike outside, but Mother Nature has other plans for us this week… and so does the Chief.

There isn’t much besides big windows in the room I’m sleeping in, and when the rain came down for a third time today, I gave up and admitted defeat—pulling out the laptop to indulge in a little televison.  Sometimes, I just want a little sitcom with my coffee, you know?  It’s a luxury I don’t often experience when living in a van.

There’s no television or movies allowed at the Chief’s, though.  He can sense it in the house and won’t have it anywhere near him.  It’s a strong, black-and-white issue for him, and it “hurts his brain.”  (But not to worry… The Lakers game at the local pub left him feelin’ alright).  As soon as he heard my tv (damn those Winchester boys and their loud, demon-hunting ways), things got strange— and having already done some reading and some writing in our many recent indoor hours, J.T. and I spent the remainder of my cup of coffee staring silently at each other.  Awkward!  No hard feelings though.  It can be a refreshing thing to be in an (almost) techno-free zone.

Eventually, we decided to escape the glass living room here and venture into town through sandy lakes ( enormous puddles!) and rivers of highway.  I have never piloted a boat before, but after today feel I would be competent at it.  The highway flooded so much that even at moderate speeds the van threw up brown wings of water as high as the windshield.  (this is impressive considering Bebe’s nine and a half feet tall at her highest peak).  We risked all that water for a trip to the laundromat and some greasy cheeseburgers— for some sweet, carnivorous, non-vegetarian, machine-assisted, soapy freedom!  So worth it!

And just in case you’re all wondering, the photographer lady across the street does indeed remember me and has a lovely parking space and a plug for me right in front of her house.  J.T. and I will be movin’ on over there tomorrow so as to spread our presence around, enjoy some new people, and give the Chief a break.  She and her husband are wonderful, and she’s already drawn me a detailed map of how to find Cap Rock in the Joshua Tree National Park.

A quick Wikipedia rundown:  Cap Rock is important because it is the exact spot that singer/songwriter Gram Parsons’ (from the Byrds and then the Flying Burrito Brothers) body was haphazardly cremated by his friends (possibly including Keith Richards).  Parsons adored the California desert and would frequently trip on LSD and head off to search for UFOs in the Joshua Tree area.  He died in 1973 at the Joshua Tree Inn and, shortly afterwards, his friends from the music industry made sure his true final wishes were fulfilled.  Instead of allowing the family to fly his body back to New Orleans, they stole the waiting coffin from an airport, borrowed a hearse, and lit Parsons on fire at Cap Rock after dousing him in a few gallons of gasoline.

I may be without ze wi-fi for a few days, but know that I am not off the grid entirely, and I will update as soon as I can.  I will just be out of range a little; off in the desert with a video camera and a journal—seeking Cap Rock, and perhaps a stray UFO…

Let me paint a picture for you.

I’m hangin’ out inside a house built in the sixties, with a wall of windows in the living room that looks out over pure California desert.  I’m sitting cross-legged on some teal shag carpeting next to the big windows, and there’s a single lamp near me that looks like it came out of an old opium den.  There are a million shiny ornaments hanging from the ceiling, and Jefferson Airplane is on the turntable.  That’s right—I said turntable!  ( video: The Chief’s House ).

I’m finally at The Chief’s house in Joshua Tree, California, and oddly enough it is just as I’d pictured it to be.  This house is incredible—if people could see inside my brain, it might look just like this.  There’s strange art on every surface, a million band posters form a collage on the roof, and an entire corner of the living room is filled with books and vinyl records.  The Chief is a rad guy, and I’m so glad to be here.  I’ve been on the road for 51 days now, and have thought about what Joshua Tree would be like for a long time.  I’m so far from disappointed right now, I’m a little giddy just telling you all about it.

The midnight run down the freeways near L.A. was a highly successful venture, and I can’t imagine ever attempting it in daylight.  So many lanes and signs, and there was still a lot of traffic at one a.m. on the 101 South and Interstate 10.   J.T. and I arrived in the desert at 2:30 this morning and camped at the top of a hill overlooking the town.  We ended up way up there because I was hoping any spontaneous flash flood water would flow away from the van.  We’ve coincidentally arrived in Joshua during it’s very short rainy season (winter?), and it only has to rain hard for about twenty minutes before roads start to flood and curbs drown in rivers of sandy water.

I’ll also mention another coincidence before I turn in for the night.  A long time ago, somewhere in the pre-blog era that’s posted on my actual website, I wrote about a photographer I met in Jasper, Alberta who gave me a packet of postcards.  She told me many months ago that I should look her up at the address on the back of the cards when I arrived in Joshua Tree.  She promised to show me the “exact spot” where Keith Richards helped light singer/songwriter Gram Parsons’ body on fire in an illegal funeral act. (My inner rock nerd is dancin’ with glee right now).

She lives across the street from the Chief, and I can see her house from here.  It’s an insanely small world sometimes, and tomorrow I’ll see if she remembers that girl from Canada who told her about a van plan some time last July.  Maybe she knows where Eric Burdon lives…

Click to see video of a rainbow in the desert: Joshua Rainbow

Hello all.

Just a quick note to let you know J.T. and I are about to brave the intense knot of highways known as “L.A.”   We’re just going to truck right on through and hope that when the freeway becomes eight lanes wide, we don’t get stuck in the midst of all those other, faster, shinier cars…

Back in Morro Bay, the Renaissance Lady advised us that two a.m. would be the easiest time for a big old van to lumber down the roads from Santa Barbara to the Yucca Valley and Joshua Tree, so that’s the plan!  We shall nap at the beach until nightfall, and then make a slow and heavy “run” for it down Interstate 10.  I don’t do big highways; I like back roads and small towns—”Blue Highways”, if you will.  I’ll brave the knot for Joshua Tree because it’s a worthy cause, but I’ll be mildly terrified the whole time.

Before getting ready to head out today, we did a little sticky sightseeing in San Luis Obispo, and I’ve got to tell you about this disgustingly awesome alley full of ancient bubble gum!  For many, many decades people have been sticking their gum to the old brick walls in a particular alley in downtown SLO, and J.T. and I knew we had to see it (and contribute a little).  Picture an alley coated floor to sky in different layers and colours of gum that date back to a pre-hippie era.  There were business cards, bullet casings, names, and photographs all stuck together with pink and blue muck and a vague strawberry scent.  Gross but amazing.  I stuck some gum onto the outer layer just because I could, but it was Dentyne Ice and not bubble gum (sorry, San Luis…  Best I could do on short notice!). Videos and a photo are below:

Bubble Gum Part One

Bubble Gum Part Two

Girl in a Van’s Gum

Think good and traffic-free thoughts for me for about the next eight hours, okay?  Love!

Me in SLO's Bubblegum Alley

Because I’ve had a chance to stand still in San Luis Obispo and catch up on my reading and writing, I’ve dipped into my new ‘Pilgrimage Journal’, and I thought I’d throw some random excerpts into my blog-o-sphere so you can all see what’s in my soul as well as what’s written on my pages.

SLO is an apt time for me to ponder a pilgrimage and my Van Plan, as I’m about to head for Joshua Tree in a few days and that town is a little piece of rock ‘n’ roll’s historical holy land.  While a pilgrimage journal may sound hokey to some, but I have one because I saw it in a mystic store one day and it seemed like a good idea at the time.  This is pretty much why anyone does anything, right? (I guess Jagmo’s continuous Harlan Ellison quotes did absorb into my brain a little).  In all seriousness, I think my Van Plan will be a large part of me and will be more than a drop in the bucket that’s filled with my life, so I figure I may as well record it any way that I can.

The journal says there is no right way to do or learn anything, and I could take many months to savor or could go at a breathless pace and stay up too late and wear myself out.  (This journal already knows me too well; too many late nights and fast highways).

It also says if any parts of the journey bore or frighten me, it’s cool to hurry up and move on.  (So far, there’s no boredom or fear going on.  Okay, that’s a lie.  There was a slight twinge of fear when leaving home… but that was one random moment of realizing that I have bitten off an incredibly huge chunk and I feel a pressure to chew—to travel and write and spit out something profound… or at the very least amusing).

The five loose steps for a basic, everyday pilgrimage:

-Leave behind material things and attempt to be child-like again.  (Alright, so I brought a big van and filled it with all my crap… but I live in the van for the long haul and am not leaving it behind anywhere.  But can I be child-like?  Almost always).

-See the road less traveled and view the world as strange and awesome.  (Done!).

-Into the Woods?  I will apparently feel exposed and vulnerable at some point and become self-conscious again.  (I don’t think self-conscious girls take off in vans and head for the unknown… I brush my teeth in gas stations and openly discuss living in a vehicle.  Right now, I have to laugh at this one, but if it happens I’ll let you all know).

-Eventually that whole self-conscious thing will supposedly morph into confidence and I’ll figure out what the Van Plan is and why I’m doing it.

-Sanctuary is the part where I grow up and head home to “go back to real life.”  (I didn’t sign up for the kind of “real life” I feel that step implies… Can I just do half a pilgrimage?).

Post-five steps it’s possible that I will be that much closer to figuring out life’s central mystery.

Cool.

J.T. has used her slow down time in SLO to read further into Chuck Klosterman’s book about a roadtrip to track famous deaths in rock ‘n’ roll—and now we’ve decided that we’re going to find Lynyrd Skynyrd’s swamp in Mississippi after (hopefully) experiencing too much wine and too much [jazz] song in New Orleans.

Also cool!  (I guess I’m only on step two…).

I met a man in San Luis and he danced for me,

In fancy shoes.

With dark hair, a shiny tie, and good dress pants,

To some old blues.

A little more random luck brought J.T. and I here to San Luis Obispo.  A few days ago we were in Morro Bay—eating like kings and hiking volcanic plugs—and a single phone call enticed us here to Mr. Bojangles in SLO.  (video: The Dancin’ Man).

In Morro, we stayed with some couch surfers that I’ll call the Renaissance Lady and Mama Phil (so named because he cooked so well and fed us all and took care of everyone.  It’s not meant as a joke—it’s more of a compliment, really.  The man’s homemade tacos are to die for.  He even made us some for the road.  Profuse thanks, Mama P!).

J.T. and I wandered around in the sun, explored the beach near Morro Rock, and gloated to our camcorders that it was freaking January!  (video: Lovely January).  As pasty Canadians, we may never get used to the sun’s warmth on a winter day in Southern California.

Morro Bay is near a chain of seven funny-looking mountains that actually function as volcanic plugs.  On our last day in Morro, the Renaissance Lady and Mama Phil took us for a short hike up one of them so that we could see a 360-degree view of the town of Morro Bay.  It was a pretty spectacular sight, and more gloating ensued about the weather and the sun’s ocean glare.  (video: Morro View).

Now we’re staying in a lovely home just down the road in San Luis Obispo, and we’re here because the Renaissance Lady knew another artist in this town whose brother is happy to have us hang out for a spell.  J.T. and I have come to refer to her as the ‘Artist that’s Everywhere’—or The A.E.—because her beautiful paintings are all over this house.  She’s on her way back to SLO right now, and may still be intent on seeing the Van.  It seems I’m about to meet yet another person who one day wishes to buy a van and travel awhile.  I can tell you right now that it’s a very good life.

The AE’s brother is Mr Bojangles.  She warned me on the phone in Morro that he would want us to dance, and our first night at his home did indeed become a dance lesson for J.T. (video: J.T.\’s Dance Lesson).  Mr. Bo J. is a pretty awesome guy.  Very chill and comfortable, and very game to let the two of us veg out and relax for awhile in front of his enormous t.v.  So I’m just chilling in SLO today; reading, writing, showering (with hot water!), and stocking up on the feelings of creature comforts… just in case I don’t get them again for a while.

View from the top of the volcanic plug/small mountain overlooking town.

This mountain's plugging a what!? Holy sh--!