RUNNING WITH A PACK

AN EXPERIMENT IN OPTIMAL CONNECTION----WHAT IS THE RIGHT NUMBER OF CAMPMATES My tribe----camped at Quartzsite, Arizona---for 2 weeks---about 150 individuals---lot of fun--lot of social options. Good place to look for a partner? But overwhelming for some.

So a small group of us decide to camp together---I suggest a deep desert place I like.

So we go there! You are looking at a logistical miracle down there:--- six complete lifestyles---separately powered---separately paced--- disassembled from place A--- individually made their way 50 miles--- to place B---and reassembled there----within an hour or so. Our Wagon train predecessors would be amazed. Theirs was a similar pattern however--- averaging about 20 miles in a good day. I have poetized on the similarities in A WANDERERS AFFIRMATION

..........We are second wave pioneers,

Blazing trail to a new lifestyle;

Perfecting the art of mobility;

Guiding our swift cozy wagons

Across mountains, deserts and plains;

Stopping briefly in the valleys of anywhere;

Letting night overtake us

everywhere at home.

Ground level view showing how the pack---sorts itself out----each --on arrival---"feels their way around" to find their "spot." Most are very particular about their spot---I know I am. Getting level is a primary concern--followed closely by orientation----I prefer facing West in the winter so that my solar panels can tilt for maximum sunlight. Others feel strongly about locating always on the edge of a group----some want the morning sun to beam cheerfully into their front window---some gimpy folks locate near the assembly place so they won't have far to walk. Others will not park near (noisy)generator users. I've seen Diana maneuver extensively to avoid them and/or to give herself a good view.

So we settle in and hike our area---right away we are surprised to find neighbors a mile away who've come to view the stars. This is just one of their smaller telescopes--the big one was sheathed.

But to hurry my story along---we stay two days then go to Phoenix---several folks purchase new solar panels then spend a week in Lone Butte casino parking lot installing them---and getting a "city fix" (seeing movies buying stuff)---It's a big help to have smart friends handy for consultation, tools, assistance-----THEN we agree to move to another lovely desert sanctuary----down there--at the base of that distant mountain.

This is Harlan---an Alaska guy who'se everything you'd expect an Alaskan to be--bigger than life----his rig is huge--his grip is awesome---his toys and tools span the spectrum--an expert mechanic---a fisherman who makes a good living working 2 weeks of the year---good natured--with a wealth of hilarious true stories of his adventures. He is one of the few people alive who has actually been in the same tree with an angry bear. Getting ready to travel is more of a chore for him than others---that silver thing is a firepit --the second motorcycle is for off road travel. Atop his rig he has constructed a patio. Anyway---with his toys snugly stowed--he is almost ready to travel.

Safely ensconsed in our new spot---from Harlans patio, I will pan 180 degrees to show how we've sorted ourselves out here. (one of those solar panels has an unhappy fate in store for it--a week after this shot--a freak wind gust tore the big one off----He was not unduly ruffled---simply bought another and installed it more securely.)

More of our tribe joins the pack. And rain is on the way.

Looking North--that's my rig and barely visible , two other members.

Finally, looking east the rest of the Pack. Note the patio rails---they lie flat when in transit. I think those things attached are speakers.

Me dancing with Nelda---age 82---she joined us for a day or so---She's determined not to grow old. I watched her jump out of a plane not so long ago---skydiving. That's her rig on the left.

Jay---from Idaho---showing us the wooden kitchen items he makes and sells at flea markets---joined our happy company for a few days.

As you can see---makes quality stuff----(about$5 each)

Then Pat joined us---a master guitarist---wow! entertained us at night round the fire.

That's Rich accomodating Luke---someone else's dog---who insist on being at the heart of whatever is happening. He literally slithered himself onto this lap. During the day Luke will come calling on several rigs---just to say hi---and "any scraps of food handy??

The rain came----Delicious---I feel cozy and I celebrate for the thirsty desert plants.

RANDY PHILOSOPHIZES: Traveling aside---it's possible to have too many friends and too few friends. Studies show that a personal social circle of more than 15 is too large to "service"----do what friends do for friends. My circle of friends is considerably smaller than that. Too few friends and you lack sufficient "reflection" to know who you are----and your rough edges will stay rough. I expect my friends to polish me and I will help polish them. Like stones in a tumbler friends slowly make each other more beautiful. (character wise) Traveling as an RV tribe speeds up the tumbler and thrusts out those too painful to tumble with. I've seen social savages "evict" themselves from the tumbler in less than 24 hours. But I'm slightly off target---the blog question is about optimum travel tribe size. My guess is a minimum of 5 and less than 15. And so much the better when one or two drop away and fresh new personalities replace them----somewhat like a whirlwind making its way across the landscape---the pattern remains the same while individual particles are constantly being pulled in and hurled out.

WORLD OF THE WASTELANDS---PART FOUR

PUSHED TO THE WASTELANDS--- Today I will penetrate the deep bushlands to find the camps of individuals living there out of necessity and not choice like yesterday's folks. But first,I show you this reproduction of an Indian hut on the banks of the Colorado.

Out there is where I begin my hunt

A surprisingly neat camp with nobody home---I will try to catch its owner another time.

This camp---some distance away seems abandoned---note the mess he left---so often I find poverty teamed with messiness.

As with this camp--definitely being used.

Zooming in we get a glimpse of his lifestyle. I think he may have been sleeping on the left side of the tent---didn't wake him.

I kept my eyes peeled on the area for some time hoping to engage a "bush" person. Saw this one but failed to intercept him.

But later that day I found him scuffling around in the bushes---PICKING UP TRASH---He agreed to talk to me.

Gentle and soft-spoken---said he likes to keep the area clean---That the neat camp was his---been there for some months--cannot afford to pay rent---Has no job---lives on a subsidy--was cheerful and likable.

five miles away---near the canal --I came to see if an acquaintance was still living here. For three years he claimed a "hole" in this patch of tamerisk trees as home--returning nightly. Can you see the cleverly concealed entrance?

Here is the hole--he would drive his car in here and sleep in it. He carried a kitten around inside his shirt. Guess he's moved on. (that's my coat)

This is off the subject but I wanted to show you the seeming wholesale waste of the lettuce pickers. My companion took a head---perfectly good---we puzzled till someone explained that they were rejected for being too large or too small.

We stopped to investigate this phenomenon. The red flags mean--don't pick here.

Moving in closer we see this sign. Later, we learned that a single footprint---of a human or a dog-- found in a field will quarrantine everything around it---being super careful after the contamination scare of a few years ago.

Now, back to my story--engaged this refugee from Ohio--took him3 months and 3 bikes to make the trip---he asked where he could camp free---I directed him to the bushes near the casino.
RANDY PHILOSOPHIZES---I think I've differentiated two types of Wasteland dwellers---those DRAWN to it and those PUSHED to it. Jesus, Buddha and Mohammed spent time in the wastelands--- suggesting something----but what??? I've found that I'm happiest in the desert. Studies show that humans are more emotionally attached to Savana environments than any other. Logically because that's where we came from. I think we should allow everyone a place to BE. Even if it be in the bushes or desert. That spiritual seekers and the moderately mentally disturbed be allowed to dwell unmolested on the fringes of society. Its far better than the streets and even better than shelters in my opinion. A nation that phohibits mavericks will inhibit genius.

WORLD OF THE WASTELANDS-----PART THREE

THE LURE OF LOW LIVING Meet Tim (tiny tim?) a refugee from the winter chill of Colorado---loves it here on the bank of the All American Canal---will stay all winter. Rent for this spot --or any spot along the canal--or on Indian land is $65 for 6 months--cheap enough.

He proudly shows off the interior of his tiny trailer---said he rid himself of a big motor home because it was waay too much trouble and expense.

He has enough money to live wherever he chooses---but prefers it here because he has the time to do the small things he enjoys----he showed me how he sculpted his landscape---trimming and raking , reading and riding his tiny bike. He built steps to the bottomland below and told me his hobby of "earning" about $70 a week from the nearby Casino by playing with the money they give vets three times weekly. Note the $150,000 rig behind him---they also choose to live in the wastelands. For such as these---it's not about the money.

The bottomlands----many upscale campers live down there---so what's the big draw? If they could be anywhere they choose---why would they opt to live in those bushes? I'll go down and find out.

Tent campers nesting in their own private Shangri-la---been there since early December---Said they like the peace and quiet---protection from the winds and proximity to Algodones for dental work.

Another cozy nook----sheltering a $100,000 rig, satellite dish and a steel shipping container---He's settled in for the season. Didn't get to quiz him (or her). The question that begs to be answered is: WHY HERE----in the bottomlands?

A cluster of rigs---friends and family. Said they come every year---love the peace and quiet. They gave me directions to my friends grave.

She's buried somewhere here---I will find her resting place.

I found it: Diana's little Westhighland Terrier--Molly. For 10 years I shared the pleasure of their company----a small poem flashed into my mind:

Rest easy pretty girl:

Wherever your spirit be:

Know that I loved you

As much as you loved me!

RANDY PHILOSOPHIZES: I've learned something here in this wasteland---but I haven't the will to express it just now. Perhaps tomorrow---when I show you an entirely different wasteland ---with occupants PUSHED into it.

WORLD IN THE WASTELANDS OF YUMA---PART TWO

ESCAPE TO THE HINTERLANDS----THE FRINGES OF SOCIETY---A NEAR UNIVERSAL HUNGER---Or fantasy. The Hero in many movies---runs to the wild lands for solice, healing, inspiration ---where he meets strange characters living interesting lives. (e.g. Blade Runner) The experience is transformative and he returns stronger and wiser for the experience. Yuma has more wild lands---wastelands--than most cities. I will take you there and let you meet some of its inhabitants. I begin here---In the parking lot of the Paradise Casino beside the Colorado River---pointed west with solar panels raised to collect more solar energy. All those folks are camping free--and each, to some degree, a maverick--- refusing to pay campground fees.

Sunset finds me in this historic spot---Yuma Crossing. The first bridge is the Railroad---the second is the famous "Ocean to Ocean" highway bridge completing the transcontinental roadway. The third bridge is Interstate Highway Eight.

Glancing left I see the watchtower of historic Yuma Territorial Prison. I will go there to photograph some wastelands.

I walk across the bridge next day--pay the $5 fee.

Tour the prison (again) ---and from that tower show the much -diminished Colorado River that is allowed to flow into Mexico. The vast majority--perhaps 80%---has been diverted 20 miles upstream into the All American Canal.

Now I turn to the North to show you some of the Wastelands I mean to explore---the floodplain of the river. People live out there in those bushes.

But first I will follow the course of the remaining 80% of the river---the All American Canal---flowing generally West into California . Here, it meanders under Interstate 8 in the distance.

I turn around 180 degrees to show more wastelands---with some outlanders camped there.

Further downstream---a crucial juncture that changed history---for this is the spot where---in 1905--an overfull--rainswollen--rampaging Colorado River--broke through all obstacles----carving a brand-new river---FLOWING NORTH---into a dry lake bed--thus creating the Salton Sea. That channel on the left--leading into Mexico-- is now blocked and all the water--channeled---ON THE AMERICAN SIDE---to the farmlands of the Imperial Valley---40 miles West.

Enormous effort and money were expended to assure American control of this water. The new canal had to be routed through those mountains--AND THEN--through 5 miles of gigantic sand dunes! I'll show you. But the relevance for this blog is that this project created miles and miles of wastelands where outlanders and solace-seekers may live---for a day---or a year. Look carefully and you will see campers like me on the edge and atop the spoil bank. I'll follow this road to it's abrupt end.

A tiny---but interesting--outlander rig---surely there's a story here---I'll come back and see who's living there.

The canal curves toward a niche in the mountains. That structure on the right is a watershed overpass--to prevent local drainage from entering the canal.

And there's where the canal builders blasted a route through the mountain--and where the road ends. I've been told that 10% of all the vegetables grown in the US are nurtured with this water.

Now---back to my story--I park and climb the spoil bank. Down there are the wild lands---the waste lands---Can you see "my people" camped here and there in the bushes. In the distance you can see a few hundred campers clustered at the Q casino. They park there for $5 a night to give them easy access to the nearby Mexican city of Algodones. (cheap dental work and medicines)---I'm going down into those bushes for a close look. Also---I know that a dear friend is buried down there in a sandy grave---I will go pay my respects----and continue my wastelands report tomorrow with the people I meet.

I leave you with this shot of the canal passing through the great Imperial dunes---They are awesome and I love them. Notice the concrete lining---to prevent seepage loss.
RANDY PHILOSOPHIZES: I'm drawn to the wastelands and I bet you are too. That is where order ends and surprise is likely----the demarcation line where the rich, the greedy and status seekers lose interest --- drop away. Here is no grist for their mill. Historically, wastelands are sanctuary for the persecuted---the weaker groups. The Paiute Indians were pushed by more powerful tribes to desert wastelands like Nevada. The Seminoles to the swamps of Florida. And (karmically?) they were in turn pushed to the wastelands by us. Almost all reservations are wastelands where defeated races sulk to this day. (Indian bitterness will begin to heal the day they admit they are as bad as we are) Incidentally, I'm waiting for an opportnity to ask a nature-loving Indian why their reservations are so universally littered with trash.

Everyone needs a place to BE! And the wastelands provide a last-ditch place for some and oddly--a first choice for some world weary souls.

WORLD IN THE WASTELANDS OF YUMA---PART ONE

THE YOUNGEST HOBOS. Hurrying along the tracks searching for an open boxcar--pausing only a moment for this picture---no time to get the full story. Yet the story is there---in the details of the picture. Here's what I see: Young love on a grand adventure---equipped for the journey---tent, sleeping bags, food, water and a means for making money---the guitar. (recently interviewed a guitarist who reported earning $50 in two hours of street playing) His ill fitting suit, with vest, is likely from a thriftstore. She wears warm leggings and a skirt. He has telltale tattoos on both hands. The dog carries something also. What have I missed?
RANDY PHILOSOPHIZES: I've been busy--"shaking the bushes" and have much to tell---will do so in small bits. As always I seek to answer ever more precisely the question: What is the good life? Increasingly I believe Thoreau: "life is best viewed from the vantage point of voluntary poverty."