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I have now been on the road for fourteen days since leaving Central California. After four months of a “stick and brick” life there wasn’t much adjustment, routines fell back into place. The first night was spent at Amboy Crater. There was only one other rig there, a Class A with a Jeep Wrangler for a toad. There was wind that first night and into the morning; that’s the thing with living in a van, you cannot ignore nature. No, you have to be in touch with the forces of the natural world: Wind’s picking up, did I lash the solar panels down with bungee cords? Sun is moving, I need to close this door and open that one to get airflow while not letting too much light/heat in.

The next day I drove to Parker, Arizona to meet up with a friend. She was camping in a gravel lot behind a laundromat. What the spot lacked in ambiance it made up in convenience. There was a brushy sort of hobo area on the south edge of the lot. In the night, they made fires probably ill advised due to the dry brush. I spit my toothpaste onto the gravel and made coffee as I watched the Circle K show across the street, people gassing up and going into the store. Kids with mighty subwoofers called out to each other as the night deepened. I slept in my clothes just in case.

The following afternoon my friend and I drove down to Hi Jolly north of Quartzsite where we have been since. I’m not sure what it is, but I feel a strong connection to Hi Jolly that I didn’t feel at the other public land areas around Quartzsite. Without anywhere to be or any sort of schedule the days drift along: I make the bed and then coffee with the sliding door wide open. Then the sun is in the sliding door so I drop a curtain to keep the inside shaded. How much juice did the fridge suck from Big Jack in the night? Do I need to the throw the solar panels on the roof? A wind is coming in later today so I’d better charge everything now—

After making food and cleaning up I take the stool stool and walk a third of a mile into the bush, following wide paths, always watching and listening for snakes. This is the time they are most aggressive, freshly released from burnation. Snakes only attack when threatened; if you respect their space they will usually let you off with a warning—I want to see them and yet I do not.

March is the latest I’ve been down here. The air is alive with the sound of insects and, occasionally, birdsong. It is a full moon which makes getting relief a challenge, standing there in the well lit openness, putting on a one man show no one in their right mind wants to see. In the evenings I read in the drivers seat while drinking wine. I often muse on how three weeks earlier I was sitting in that same seat fighting commute traffic in Sacramento or eating my lunch where I worked. Surprising how much life can change in three weeks. As the sun comes over the mountains the coyotes sing to mourn the passing of another night.

When the sun moves over the western mountains I pour a glass of wine and cross a deep wash into the open country, steering clear of any rock clusters or bushes. The light is a soft roar of pinks and oranges, mesmerizing. I sit on a rock and watch it as it changes the shadows tangled in the tree branches.

My friend is waiting for new plates from DMV. When they arrive at the mail depot, we will drive to Douglas, a small town in the far southeast next to the border. Douglas is at 4000 feet so the heat isn’t as intense as here which is roughly 1000 feet in elevation. As much as I love Hi Jolly I am ready to move on and see parts of the country yet explored...