One year ago today: November 16, 2016, want, want, want.
Five years ago today: November 16, 2012, Twinkie files bankruptcy.
Nine years ago today: November 16, 2008, Famoosami. Ooooh, Famoosami.
Random years ago today: November 16, 2013, westbound from Louisiana.
I got another early start, so here are some reflections on car-camping. I adapted to it rapidly but I gather this isn’t the case for many. I’d like now to camperize the wagon, at least make it more comfy. Like a row of overhead hooks all around the window and a “towel bar” across the front head rests. So my bought air stays up front and I get a more private sleeping compartment. On my wish list are things like a ceiling clock and thermometer, you know, visible while lying down. And some kind of storage bin against the sides ahead of the wheel wells. Here’s my ticket receipt from the JC museum.
I know the proper term for car camping is boondocking, but I’ve come to consider that more applicable to larger cars, SUVs, RVs. Today I’m writing about small cars, like my Taurus station wagon and I mean for sleeping. Not moving to LA and living in your car. Even if you don’t ever plan on such a trip, maybe you’ll get some insights from my experience.
First, dress as middle-class as you can. Car camping has its cultists and far too many of them tend to look the part. I’ll explain later why it is annoying, but these people also tend to be copycats. Fix your car so you can reach the ignition from the sleeping compartment and start it without stepping on the gas. Use three layers of bedding, thin, medium, and quilt-like but nothing bulky. Unlike the wooden cPod, a car interior has no ambient warmth. A car matches the outside temperature, where the cPod could be, if I recall 15°F warmer from body heat. Also, a car has windows that can steam up, a sure sign of occupancy. Leave one window cracked.
The WM Hotel, that’s Wal*Mart lots remain the surest place for convenience and safety. Best are the 24/7 locations where they don’t care who is parked where. Get a sealable laundry basket, or like me you just buy new socks and such as I travel. And get a drawstring bag for your shoes. It’s a mistake to leave anything outside because you don’t want to have to exit the vehicle in case you need to move. Be asleep by 9:00PM and forget your stereo at home unless you use headphones. Before you chose a spot, take a few moments to drive around the neighborhood. Many times, I’ve moved on. Be gone by 7:00AM or at least move to the other side of the lot.
Full English breakfast.
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Here’s a couple explanations to accompany the above. Why are copycats pests? Well, usually it is because you may be as well-equipped for the adventure as I am, but generally the others are not. As for single travelers, it is 100% men, I have never seen a woman on her own traveling this way. Men are scrounges. So what happens is I naturally tend to make best use of the available resources. Such resources are rarely in abundant supply. It sounds neat, even flattering, to be copied, but the fact is these people are ensuring that nobody will get enough of anything.
Example, the shade. Other’s will park where it is shady in the day, but not at night? Huh? That’s right, at night the bright parking lot floodlamps click on. I’ll find a place where trees or buildings block them. So around 2:00AM you get people who can’t sleep without the dark starting to bang around moving their vehicles over beside you. Cussing, stalling motors, hunting for jumper cables. Now ain’t nobody getting enough of sleep.
What about moving without having to step outside to find your shoes? One time a goof pulled up next to me and set up an entire mini-campsite. The idiot parked in the employee of the month reserved spot. An argument started with the staff and I was the only one able to pull away moments before the police arrived. I was gone by the time they rounded up and shook down all the other campers, who were now up and about gathering up their things. They were, as said, 100% males, usually between 25-35. Prime police suspects.
Here’s a list of other hints. If one of them saves you sometime, that’s probably average for travel columns.
1) Get a pigtail and an octopus. These days it is rare to find an outlet all to yourself. Even then, if you have a millennial design, one charger will seal off both receptacles. The pigtail lets you top up everything.
2) Buy lots of flushable wipes, these are your shower-in-a-box. And use them, dammit. The majority of the world does not share your opinion of how sweet you smell.
3) As you shop, keep all of your change in a bucket, out of sight. You will need every penny of it and local shops are not keen on helping out.
4) Get the best mattress you can afford. Get memory foam is you can afford it, but remember that every inch of mattress is an inch less of headroom.
5) Use 48 hour deodorant daily as a base. Then prep as you would at home after.
6) Use an electric razor. A growing number of places, like libraries, are prohibiting shaving.
7) Get those quality ribbed ear-lugs with a neck string (so you can find them, not hang them around your neck, Ken.). Forget those twisty foam things, they don’t work. The reason you got such a good parking spot is a freight train goes by every hour. Plus, I told you about copycatism. Latecomers will thoughtless pull next to a car already camping—and they can be a noisy bunch of deep-lung coughers and spitters.
8) In-car battery chargers are a must. Sooner or later, if you use restaurant plugs, you’re going to forget something behind. Since there is no coordination between factory packaging, charger capacities, and device demands, you will need a LCM of batteries. That’s lowest common multiple. I use only AAA batteries. Use charger only when vehicle is running.
9) Small reading lamps. The book ones that time out are great for me. Don’t use the interior, you will fall asleep with it on sooner or later. Nobody has jumper cables at six in the morning.
ADDENDUM
Joe & Moe, an unheated coffee-shop diner thing on Thompson Lane. It’s a yuppie place recommended by Guitar Center. I don’t mean to discourage you taking a look, but. The place was full of liberated-looking women with first names like ‘Mackenzie’ and personalities to match. The average age was 34-ish and it was just me and 14 of them. It was like being back at the phone company with the housewife troupe. You know, the ones who think men only want sex because when men ask them for anything else, they don’t got any.
This picture is a Second World War era German radio beam detector. It was used to track mainly the French resistance, who had a terrible proclivity toward broadcasting not shared by other guerilla fighters. The life expectancy of a sender was what, nine days? I had coffee and a sandwich, if I didn’t say. Get it? Joe and Moe? Little humor, ‘joe and mo’. Never mind.
Anyhow, the two other males that stayed were a Bubba-type with that splotchy skin condition (Rosecea) and the other looks like a delivery driver. Could be that jacket he’s wearing, with the log. Yep, I’m the alpha make in here. You know, I was a fool and I’ll tell you why. That lady at the wicket was, I now realize, too good-looking to be just working there. She was a somebody standing in for some nobody who didn’t snow. For clarity, she did look at me at first, but it was when I gave her my real name, which is rather distinctive.
She key-entered it in the computer, then looked at the name, then looked at me again. It was that so-that’s-what-you-look-like expression. And I was too dumb to let her know I was interested. I thought about that a lot over my tomato soup and wonder if she might know somebody that I know. Well, here’s my plan. When I show up at the Opry and Taylor Swift isn’t in the next seat, maybe this gal will be there. Either way neither of these gals have any idea how suddenly interesting their lives will become. Never again a dull moment.
So I went to a karaoke pub. It was dead, but I’ll return another night. It was a dump in a trailer, but they had Karaoke and I want to be able to brag that I sang in Nashville. But not to an empty club. The thing is, I got ID’d. Moi. You know, 10% of my hair is turning dark again. But not dark blonde like it was, rather black. My hair has never been black. So I showed the guy my ID, having figured out they are ID’ing everyone. He says, this ID is expired.
Seeing there were ladies in the bar, I said that, sir, is because it is fake ID. It shows my age as being twenty years older that I really am. That’s a little country humor that brought down the house. And got the women all over me. Alas, they were all married or shacked up, and I don’t do either type. Ever. I have now performed on stage in Nashville. The plan is now to sweep Taylor off her feet. Shouldn’t be too difficult considering the weak and wimpy specimens she’s been settling for.
[Author’s note: watch for this pub later. It comes alive on weekends. I put on an awesome show. Had my pick of the Nashville ladies, all more than half my age. I didn’t move in for the kill, but if I go there again and this happens, I’ll grab the best looking blonde babe in the place. Personality be damned. It’s where I should have been thirty years ago. I was up against some millennial types who never stood a chance. If I’m ever in Nashville again, this is my home base. It’s called Santa’s Pub. It is in a trailer, but don’t let that fool you.]
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