Learning to Stay Still

Posted On June 22, 2020

To those friends who say “you’re living the dream” we just want to point out that vanlife ain’t easy. Adjusting to the living space is ongoing, of course, but the biggest shift is learning how to park. How do you stop moving in a house that’s built to move? In eight days we have covered eleven states, driving a ridiculous six hours per day, at least, and now must learn to sit a spell. We get to do so in Michelle and Frankie’s amazing home in the wooded hills of southern New Hampshire, and feel so grateful for their hospitality in this time of Covid.

The novelty of being able to go anywhere at anytime pushed us on, as did the persistent rain, and we have to learn to harness this new superpower. After all, it’s still driving, and driving is draining. In any case, we did take a break in a cheap hotel in Luray (which is where we last left you), and visited the famous caverns in the morning, before heading on to Harper’s Ferry.

It was odd seeing the historical park largely empty, the AT office and trail abandoned. I thought of John Hair’s visit on my SOBO journey in 2016.
Heading generally northeast, but wanting to avoid cities of covid, we chose a random state park from the Penndot map of I-84 and stumbled upon the lovely Locust Lake State Park near Frackville–named after Daniel Frack, not after fracking, as the mind might conjure–in the coal belt of my former home state.

While the $42 charge gave us pause, since we could easily just pull over to the side of the road hereabouts, it did provide a hot shower, and includes a really cool interpretive trail, a humble eagle scout project that tagged and described dozens of different trees in fairly novel ways; for instance, that Mtn Laurel was also called “spoonwood” by early settlers. It reminded me of the fact that Pennsylvania is home to more species than any other; northern oak were dominant here, but eastern hemlock, tulip poplar, elm and ash, yellow birch, cherry and of course locust were here.

I had always wanted to see the Shawangunk rocks of the Catskills, the “Gunks” of my hero Guy Waterman and so we drove scenic byways across NE PA and NY’s Hudson valley to Gardiner and the Mohunk Preserve. Stopping at one of Callicoon’s historic hotels for lunch and chatting with locals on the porch helped orient us, although we never could find the Jenson’s Ledges that one Alec raved about. You have to search hard for open/accommodating inns in this part of the country, and we scored.

We found a short hike over Peterskill, and as night fell tucked the van under the undercliff road at a busy Trapps trailhead full of climbers and scramblers from all over the world. One of them, a climbing guide who was “there to work” showed off his promaster conversion and told of his annual migration from Vegas to here for the climbing. He encouraged us to hire an instructor for a day or so, and we put the idea in our back pocket for now.

Karyssa missed the beach so we headed across the Hudson near Pauling to Clinton Beach, where she tried, then passed on, her first lobster roll, some locals having advised us to not miss Lobster Landing’s.

We planned on visiting family in and around Boston, but everyone was predisposed and so we called Michele from the road and she was like: “come right up!”

And thus we are comfortably ensconced in an air-conditioned and spacious home, with unlimited counter-space and one-touch espresso. (Even a cup of coffee takes a dozen preparatory steps on the van: move the stove to the counter-top and plug-in its propane bottle; retrieve small pot from its shelf and fill with water from “faucet” and light gas burner; move the phone off the fridge, open said fridge and remove coffee grounds (and 1/2 and 1/2 if you think of it), place filter on carafe; and so forth and so on. Reverse when finished, so as to make room on the counter for breakfast.)

I hope you all can take a minute to look around you and try to appreciate whatever space, and time no doubt, you do happen to have. If this is hard for you, then try living in a 136″-wheelbase van for a week or so.

Today was a well-deserved rest day, though we rode with Frankie on a tour of the area, ending up at Manchester’s warehouse district, the birthplace of America’s industrial revolution. The Merrimack’s currents supplied our country’s first cheap power, as coal and dinosaur blood do now, and here in the gorgeous woods it is less obvious that our northern forests supplied cheap building materials for our major cities, but it is still the case that they, and every tree therein, have been eradicated not once but twice in our country’s brief history.

The pandemic continues to suck, and loom over our trip and future plans like a dark cloud, but we can get through this together, and collectively learn to take a rest.

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