We are back in the van. Have been for the past month, with another month to go. This is a hybrid trip, meaning we are using the van to move from point to point, but aren’t staying in the van full-time. Summer can be tricky. Weather and temperatures are unpredictable and violent. Torrential rains, storms, and rising temperatures, no matter where we find ourselves. Already on this trip, we’ve been caught in the Kerrville floods, which we skirted at 8 PM on the night when things went bad. The following day, we rode out the most intense rain I’ve ever seen hit the Hill Country. Thankfully, my van was parked in a safe place, but the volume of water flowing under the vehicle was sending rooster tails up from the front tires. Scary stuff.
Here in Maine, the sun is blocked by Canadian wildfires, and a massive effort is underway to raise many of the houses along the coast. Last winter, swells breached the harbor barriers and flooded the downtown area. The coastal road was destroyed, and several of the houses closest to the water were “blown up.” Once you enter the eastern portion of the United States, you rapidly begin to lose wild places where you can overnight in the van, so here in coastal Maine, where a vast majority of land is privately owned, it can be tricky to find a boondocking space. Luckily, we have other arrangements.
We’ve been coming to Maine for thirty years.
In some ways, it feels like a second home. We have a long history here, got married here, and have driven the van here at least four times. The contrast between the high and dry of New Mexico and the low and moist of Maine is glorious. The food and people are different, the accents are some of the best, and the appreciation of the season is even more heightened than at home.
The van is a home. You can cook, sleep, and work from inside, and it holds all of our toys and work needs. Whether we are stopped at a rest area or parked deep in the woods of hillbilly country, the van feels like a place of calm and clarity. Coffee bubbling, music playing, and me doing close-quarters hook kicks toward the Bruce Lee poster on the ceiling.
And for you, middle-aged men, an important message from your sponsor. You don’t need a $150,000 van. You don’t need a 4×4. You don’t need a roof rack and exterior lighting. You don’t need all-terrain tires. You don’t need a new Patagonia outfit to match the van. You don’t need a heater or a bathroom. You don’t need to shower every day. You don’t need to build the van by yourself while attempting to turn your van build into a profitable YouTube channel. Just get a van, any van, and start driving. Get a paper map. Don’t tell anyone where you are going, and never leave an emergency number. Take chances. Let yourself go. Learn to love your stench.
PS: Take a look at the Jeep/Zodiac combination to the right of my van. That’s a nice rig. I’d fully enjoy a boat like that.
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Welcome back to Maine, Dan! Other than a few hot/humid days here and there the weather has been glorious. I hope that you have another great stay here.
I advise, anyone who wants to learn to live in their own stench, not to wince at the sight of dirt, and not to care about sweat, piss and baby cockroaches crawling by your food, to come to India and travel in general coaches of train. Today did a 36 hours train journey to a completely new place, couldn’t eat for more than 24 hours, sweating like a pig in extreme heat, with a paper map (exactly like you mentioned) and nobody knows any trace back home, all to reach a remote village, documenting their lives during monsoon. 8 hours more to go. This time by cart driven by oxes. Yes, cow carts. You heard right!
Author
That sounds so heavenly. Kinda. Send some pics.
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Such a cool summer. The fire skies are a bit of a drag shooting late. Lots of cool fireballs but so muted.
Taking the northern route back to NM this time?? Stop in the great north of Wisco. We might even let you shower!
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As always, I now have to cover the New York Art Book Fair, then blaze home so I can get to Morocco in time. I would love to slow crawl across and camp out on your lawn. For a month. Like Randy Quaid.
That last paragraph needs to be read by many…myself included. Thanks! Enjoy Maine!
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Yes. We have created a society of overanalysis. I’m guilty of it as well.
Gatorade bottles make fine pee bottles. But think of the women folk and get them a special funnel
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They have all kinds of cool getups now. I use a Gatorade bottle, but love to open the side door at highway speed and let it fly.
I used a Haiku generator to create the text below because of sheer curiosity – I’m doing research – and my amusement with your dislike for 45-60 (that’s middle aged according to wikipedia):
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Uncle Dan frowns
at the middle-aged man—
a playful squint.
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Ha, I’m right in the middle of that demographic. Self loathing? “We” are a strange lot, and so messed up.
I’m betting that Zodiac doesn’t fold up and fit under your bed
Author
Pssssssssssssssssss deflate. Strap on hood. I’d have a field day with that thing here in Maine.
RIBs aren’t really meant to deflate, and really don’t get smaller when you do. But the roofrack (plus winch/crane) that you’re so against might work
Author
I would use a roof rack if someone gave me one. Getting this boat up on a roof rack by myself would be impossible. And there goes my mileage, and where I live the wind is so far beyond what most people know, it would, at times, make driving the van impossible. I’d be okay with the trailer.
I was wondering if you were going to make the trip to Maine again this year. Glad to see you did. Enjoy those fresh lobstahhh rolls. Yes, the smoke from the wildfires is a drag, feeling it down in Albany NY as well. I hope you get some non work time so you can tool around your favorite spots in Maine. Stay safe and be well Dan.
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Oh ya, getting out every day, just for a few minutes. It’s been beautiful.