Temperatures this morning in the teens and low twenties in parts of the central California coast, with some continuing promise of rain. A phone call with windsurfing buddy J.M, last night who tells me he is moving from near Gilroy, California to Carefree, Arizona, where he plans to buy a house and hang his retirement hat. I will feel better for him once he is settled, as he and his big dog, a Rhodesian Ridgeback, have been living the life of a couple of nomads in his tiny RV for quite some time. Not that the nomadic life is bad, but RV parks make me feel more like truck stops along the highway, what with all the constant traffic moving in and out.
Your neighbors come and go in the middle of the night, typical of all of the facelessness of our modern society, but I still love to sojourn on the open road. Just roll up the sewer line, water supply, electrical cord, and powered awning, and move up the road a few hundred miles before the next fall of dark. I know from living in one for a year that the feeling of home soon disappears as well as the sense of adventure, once you are hooked up to utilities and plugged into civilization. The wandering life is becoming too expensive for many. I see RV storage yards scattered through town and wonder how long the RVs will sit there before rusting out and becoming useless.