I don't know what I was thinking...it's July 4th weekend...where exactly DID I expect to stay? I drove up and down a small road at the tip of Southern Washington [just across the bridge from Astoria, OR]. There was no secret place to pull into. This part of van life is the part I need to work on. I've planned this trip to be impromptu, thus, I have not made reservations at any campgrounds and have no real time frame for anything, other than arriving in San Diego on 7/26 for my parent's 50th anniversary party. The beauty of this trip is taking things as they come...PRO: staying as long as I want in any one place....CON: not always getting what I want. It can be rather annoying when you are tired and hungry and JUST WANT TO STOP DRIVING. I passed a grassy field that had one lone pop-up camper van. I WILL NOT be the jerk who crashes that lovely, isolated party. It's probably some honeymooning couple. I drove another 20 miles, getting grumpier and grumpier as the sun dropped lower and lower. I found a side road that had an empty grassy field and a gate open. I had my reservations, but decided to chance it. I parked and poked around in the van, putting up my windshield visor and side curtain, making myself as non-existent as possible. Only 5 minutes had passed when I heard a voice, "Excuse me? Hello, anybody in there?" Argh. This surely can't be good. I opened my door with the biggest smile I could muster in some sorry effort to persuade this man, most likely the land owner, to allow me to sleep on his property. He and [I assume] his daughter stood there. "Um, are you with the party up there?" He pointed to a larger grassier area that was around the bend. "No, I'm just pulling over to grab some sleep for the night before continuing my road trip." I was hoping to insinuate that I'm not a partier who will be shooting off fireworks and setting his grassy utopia ablaze. He kind of balked as if to say, "oh, well in THAT case..." but his crabby daughter or young bride clearly felt no sympathy. "Well, this is a private farm and only our family can camp here," she spat. Allllright. I apologized, the old man suggested I try the at-capacity KOA or the at-capacity state campground. I thanked him and folded up my windshield visor.
I passed the solo pop-up camper van again. This time, I decided to at least scope out the situation. I pulled into the pothole ridden drive, my rumbling van engine scaring birds in the treetops away. I drove through a field of yellow, white and purple flowers. There the van sat, quietly, almost as if abandoned. I pulled up as far away from their home as possible, practically in the weeds. I turned off my engine. Still, no noise or sign of life. I got my dog out and tied her up to the bumper [I always think of Chevy Chase when I do this] and set out her water dish. I went back into the van to grab a lawn chair when someone came up, "Hello? Is it okay if my dog is off leash?" Ladies and Gentlemen, meet Larry.
After a brief chat, Larry told me it was just he and his dog, Buffy, and invited me over for a glass of wine after I get settled in. I obliged.
We had a good night of chatting....I learned that he had just lost his wife to cancer and had two beautiful and amazing grown children. He told me of his traveling adventures overseas, growing up in Detroit in the 50/60s, and his career teaching troubled youth in a juvenile facility. The conversation never stalled out, but never got too deep–as you would expect, given a single woman encountering a single man in an isolated location. We made plans to have coffee together the next morning. I locked my doors and set out my knife–you can never be too safe–and promptly went into a peaceful sleep, one of the soundest sleeps I had had on this journey so far.
The next morning, I brought coffee over to Larry's van, since he had a nice little freestanding table. He had collected some flowers from the field for the table, and put out cream and rum. We had another lengthy conversation for most of the morning and then went our separate ways for the day. Later in the afternoon, he came back to report the roads were all bumper-to-bumper with tourists on their July 4th vacation and decided to listen to the soccer game and hang in his van. I was reading my book and cleaning up the van after the Seattle visit. One thing I've learned is that you are constantly cleaning your van. Playing Tetris with all of your belongings each day can easily spell disaster if you are in a hurry and don't put things back or if you are in a city where you cannot spill out of the van with your garbage, dirty dishes and melted ice].
For dinner, we ate salmon, a salad and some crab salad. We had another great night of conversation and watched the stars as they arrived one by one.
The next morning, we were both leaving. We were both on a similar route, heading to Southern California, to meet our family. We said our goodbyes and exchanged email addresses. Larry left first, and I immediately felt lonely. He was the first stranger I encountered where I had a long conversation, not just since being on the van voyage, but maybe in years. My purposeful reclusive life in Denver came with drawbacks: human connection.
After he left, I went over to grab my chair and found one last bouquet of flowers.
