Tiny house adventures, continued
Far in Northeastern California we parked in a town called Burney for its internet and cell phone reception, grocery store, and the handful of hot springs nearby. The fall colors were gorgeous in this part of the country.
We ended up spending the good part of a day in the local library. We walked in, the librarian smiled and said we’re not from around here. Working quietly catching up on paperwork-ey things, we listened to neighbors gab, books being asked for and ordered, and watched the resident tailless tabby cat walking around surveying the place. He got lots of attention from us — maybe he knew we were not from around here too.
Michael and I unhitched our tiny house on wheels at a state park and found yet another friendly local of the squirrel variety. He jumped inside our car, scrambled on the roof of our trailer, and begged at the picnic table. Michael set out 3 crackers and a bird swooped down and picked them up at once.
After a bit of research we learned that the nearby once-popular hot spring resort had been closed for two years. We spoke to a local to knew the group of owners were fixing it up as a permaculture project, using the extremely hot hot spring water to heat greenhouses, as well as restoring the soaking destination.
We explored a winding forest service road that led us to a very bad dirt road that led to some undeveloped hot springs. It was a Sunday night and we arrived to find a rowdy bunch of intoxicated boys, an eccentric older woman who was living out of her truck, and a family of 6 in swimsuits who were on their way out.
We waited for the atmosphere to calm down a bit and hiked out to a collection of pools running alongside a river. One pool was too hot, one was too cold, and of course we chose the pool that was just right. A group of 3 young people came by (they preferred the too-hot pool) and we had a delightful conversation with them about living on the road. They had all been doing the same thing at one point or another. Overall it was an enjoyable couple of days soaking up some small town flavor.
{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
sounds pretty cool to get away from all the hustle of modern “life”. I’d like to travel freely like that some day. That’ll probably happen once I’m retired (in 9yrs or so).
In 1998, I bought an 1972 VW camper and, after the company I worked for shut down a few months later, I took off for a grand tour of national parks and other points of interest in the Pacific Northwest. I was on the road for three months; it was one of the most inspiring and meaningful times in my life.
I traveled alone, though my fiancée, Linda, flew out to join me for a week in Sandpoint, Idaho about midway through my journey, where we camped at a beautiful Army Corps of Engineers campground on the shore of beautiful Lake Pend Orielle. I was 38 years old, then, and that was, and still is, the longest period of time I have ever spent by myself in my entire life. Better still, I had no real plans, no detailed agenda, just a bunch of good books, some money in the bank to keep me going (modestly) for a while, my Taylor guitar, and general idea of when I should start heading back home.
To be honest, had I not been in a relationship at the time, I may never have returned to mainstream life–it was that good! I call it my “catharsis tour.” I met so many interesting people, explored some of the most beautiful landscapes in the world, and I was able to unwind to the very core being of my soul.
Linda and I married after I returned to Texas and we ended up moving to to the Northwest a few years later. We have two kids now and the VW sees only light duty for cub scout camp outs long weekends. But one day—even if I have to wait until I’m 80—I’m taking the bus back out on the road again, and when I do, I won’t be coming back!
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I envy you. I look forward to reading your future posts and living vicariously though your experiences. Have fun!
Wow Paul, thank you so much for sharing your story! I look forward to sharing more of my stories with you.