Twilight in Baker, Nevada

It's our first voyage, from Canon City, Co, on our way to San Franciso.  We're just entering wind swept, sun baked Nevada, travelling west on Highway 6,  and twilight is coming on.

 We're debating as usual about where to spend the night.  We're not yet set up to boondock comfortably, so its a choice of RV parks.  The first one, right on the highway, is your typical modern, rectangular grid of gravel with hookups - charmless, and pricy.

But then Jean spots another park on her tablet, "Whispering Pines" only half an hour to the south, in the small town of Baker (population 83)- apparently an old prospecting community.  It's a few dollars cheaper, and has trees and isn't on a highway.  So, off we go, taking the turnoff into no man's land.  We joke, as we drive the empty 2 lane road - "you can go into Baker, but can you ever leave?"

The sun is a dying orange globe on the horizon as we pull into town - a Main St that is 5 blocks long with a couple of parallel blocks on each side.  The town boasts 3 restaraunt/saloons, a church, and respectably removed from the "town", a nice brick visitor center for the local caves and the Bristlecone Pine museum

We soon find the promised RV park, surprisingly full of campers on this week night, in spite of the remote location.  The park is announced by a weather scoured wooden sign, that somehow reminds me of the Bates Motel in the "Psycho" movie.

For all of that, the park is clean and well maintained, and we decide to take an evening walk to see the "sights".  The Main Street is about 6 blocks long, sporting a church, 3 restaraunt/saloons, and a large painted "Ore Bucket" to commemorate the town's mining history.  

Just the sort of local color we enjoy.  Walking back towards our park, we encounter a dried stringbean elderly man navigating Main Street with his cane, a mangy smiling dog at his side.  We ask him if he lives here, and he says that he only just arrived, actually coasted into town from the hills, as his engine had unaccountably died.  He points to his banged up camper van down the road - hood open, and top of the camper shell smashed in from a tree(?) months ago, judging by appearances.  We comment on what a unique town this is, and our new friend says he might just settle down here for a while - feels right to him.

Waking up late the next day, we find to our surprise, that All of the campers have vanished from our park - only 2 or 3 long term residents permanently parked in a cluster near one perimeter fence.  Seems strange, as this is the middle of the week, and last night the park was brightly lit and full.  We spend the day catching up on rig related chores, and decide to spend an extra day and night here, exploring the turf.

As the full moon rises in the early evening, we decide to explore some of the back roads in town - one street in particular that has no name and is overgrown with dying and dead trees, and appears to be home to several abandoned buildings.  Strolling slowly down this lane, I notice a black cat running madly in circles inside a ring of stones.  He seems angry.  He continues his stone circle race, ignoring us filming him, until we finally move on.

The lane ahead grows narrower, more shaded, as we approach a couple of dilapidated campers and a boarded up house.  We're beginning to feel a bit nervous, as the twilight deepens and the lane begins to feel more private and ominous, though no one is in sight.

We move hesitantly onward in the gathering dusk, till I notice a handwritten rusty sign, nailed to a fence post telling us to "Please TRUN around".  We are convinced this is a wise course of action, even before we notice the tree on the opposite side of the lane, with a hanging chain, above a timber platform.  It appears to be a hog slaughtering spot, but we do no stay to investigate.

We head back "home" to the safety of our inexplicably empty trailer park, by the light of the full moon.   Baker Nevada (population 83).  Not everyone leaves.

Coarsegold Miracle

Jean and I, helped start a mobile home co-op park back in the 80's.  We were living in a grungy park, beside busy Santa Fe Drive in Denver, when the highway department decided they wanted to widen the highway, and give us each $200 or $300 to find new homes.  Only problem was, there were no spaces available in the metro area, much less ones affordable places that would accept older units, and trailer moving costs were in the thousands, and not hundreds.  Also, most of the park residents were either older and retired or struggling working class folks.

So I decided to do a Social Work Independent Study course in community organizing around this issue.  We got the organization up and running, and then handed it over to other residents when we moved a year later.  You can still see these resident owned parks on South Santa Fe Drive and Oxford street in Englewood.

Well, full circle, 30 years later, Jean and I encountered a classy, RV retirement community in Coarsegold, Ca that was started about the same time.  We stopped into this park for a one day stop after touring Yosemite Park.  We were so entranced with this place that we have now been here for 2 months (with a 2 week time out to see our son and daughter in San Francisco).

Entrance Gate

An "Edge" site we like, overlooking now dry Coarsegold Creek

A typical site

We haven't travelled a lot in our RV yet, but enough to recognize a special place when we found it.  Most RV parks are little more than a rectangular grid of gravel or asphalt with utilities to each space.  Utterly Unaesthetic.  If you're lucky, the park may be landscaped nicely with a clubhouse, but almost always, the layouts of the park are predictable and boring.

Park of the Sierras in Coarsegold is a happy exception.  200+ sites, and not two that are identical.  Set in the foothills south of Yosemite at about 2000 foot elevation, the weather is mostly mild.  The park sits on 120 acres of rolling desert forest - red barked Manzanita trees, bluebirds, woodpeckers, squirrels, coyotes serenading from the 40 undeveloped acres surrounding the park.  The park is actually located on the Old Stage Coach road to Yosemite, which makes for nice easy day walks through the rolling hills.

Burgundy barked Manzanita trees - groves throughout the park

Old Stage Coach Road to Yosemite National Monument - goes through Park Sierra

The beauty and originality of this place, alone, would have caught our attention.  But what is even more amazing is that Park Sierra Co-op was almost entirely built by the original retired co-op members - electricians, plumbers, engineers, teachers, and housewives.  They have never had ANY debt on the park, relying on member contributions to first buy the land, zone it, build roads, landscape  it (preserving all of the natural flora except poison oak), digging large wells and constructing water tanks and plumbing systems, building a large clubhouse, and so on.

How do they do it?   Everyone helps, everyone serves in a volunteer capacity of some sort.  The park has 2 paid employees, and 2 "workcampers" who get free rent, utilities and a couple hundred bucks monthly.  They handle daily administration and operations.  Every thing else is handled by residents.  You want to buy a pop or ice cream treat at the clubhouse?  Pop is 50 cents and ice cream a $.  Stocked by a volunteer committee, sold on the honor system from a cooler, and all the profits going to local projects.  The same is true of the frequent potlucks and parties - which happen every time a committee of any sort completes a project.

We are here for our second month of "rental" (renting spaces empty from travelling members - the money goes back to the co-op), working on our fifth wheel using the Polebarn - the large fully equipped workshop, free to all residents, in which most of the park structures have been built and maintained.

We have also joined the Waiting List for membership.  As we're planning to travel for some years, we won't join at this time, but will stay on the list till we are more geared to settling down.

This feels full circle from Santa Fe Drive, and better in every way.  We're delighted to have found this it.   Feels like a gift from God.  :-D

(Mis)Adventures

No one said it would be easy!  We studied for months, what kind of RV, what sort of towing vehicle, communications on the road, solar power, destinations (Jean's happy task), finances, mail forwarding, operating an RV.  Filled notebooks, asked questions on forums, and making dozens of decisions about our future - we always love this phase, but it was overwhelming at times.  Went several days without sleep when caught up in choosing an RV type - travel trailer, motorhome, fifth wheel;  choosing tow vehicles, learning about daily living on-board.  We sold 80% of our possessions (done that a few times), put our house on the market, and began shopping for our new home and vehicle

We started out with a lot of book knowledge, but never having been in an RV for more than a few visits with Jean's parents, who lived this lifestyle for 15 years.  We quickly began to understand that an RV is more like a boat than a normal house.  You set out on a journey, sailing a concrete river, following gravel and dirt tributaries, hoping for favorable weather and conditions, never sure what you will encounter.  You keep a close eye on all the systems, navigator, electric, plumbing, structure, as your comfort and health depend on them.  And relentless entropy is always at work, attempting to disassemble your lovely Gypsy caravan into its component boards, screws, staples, bolts, and fiberglass sheeting.

So it's no wonder that our initial voyage had a few hiccups.  We left our lovely small home town of Canon City in early August, 2014, attempting to make a boondocking (free stay on public land without utilities) location near Fruita, Co.  A long day of driving, over Monarch Pass, where we happily discovered that our truck and RV were up to the job, and on into the twilight as we searched in vain for the promised parking location.  We finally ended up parking on an isolated BLM shooting range below the Book Cliffs - spent shotgun shells underneath, and a double rainbow overhead.

Starting out - Gypsy Dreams

We've been through a few dreams.  Similar themes in many of them.  In our early 20's, late 1960's,  we headed to British Columbia, to live a "sustainable" backcountry lifestyle, and also to help me avoid the draft.  Our first real adventure.  We ended up in northern Montana on the North Fork of the Flathead river, on the west side of Glacier National Park.

 Neither of us had ever wielded a hammer or saw, but we read books and cobbled together a small log cabin, and stayed there a little over a year.  Turns out, neither of us had the skills or disposition of hunters and fishermen, and gardening in the Rocky Mountains was a rocky proposition.  As with so many of our dreams, projects and enthusiasms, the reality was far different from what we imagined, but we learned a ton, lived out our passion, and moved on to another phase - something that seems to erupt unbeckoned every 2 to 7 years of our lives.

We have changed residences 28 times in our 46 year marriage.  As our last, lovely pastor told us, when we explained the Gypsy fifth wheeling dream, "You should have done this 20 years ago."  Maybe RVing around North America, visiting different locales, absorbing the landscape and local cultures, working on the continuous adaptation of our RV, will fit better with our perpetual wanderlust.

Being "on the edge" of society has always fit us better than a rooted existence.  So begins the Gypsy Dream...

A few of our past adventures:

Canon City Mini Farm