Traveling around the US like a modern-day hobo is a dream come true. Around the age of 4, my babysitter's son dressed up for Halloween in ragged clothes, charcoal smudges on his face, a stick slung over his shoulder with a bulging handkerchief tied at the end. Huh. This was a nonstandard costume. I was skeptical. Without the standard plastic Halloween costume finery purchased from the 5 and Dime, how was anyone supposed to know WHAT he was supposed to be, and without knowing this, how did he expect to get candy?
I questioned.
It was explained to me that he was dressed up as a hobo. A hobo is a person who rides the rails from town to town, working odd jobs to get themselves to the next stop. They are lonely, but they are free. What's in the handkerchief? Provisions. Matches, a can opener, and a can of beans. It might not be much, but they will keep you warm and full.
A dream was born.
I've always been a daydreamer; it's my favorite physical asset.
I imagined myself sitting on the edge of an open train car, trying to avoid splinters from the wooden planks under me. Scruffy and slightly hungry, my bindle at my side, watching the landscape go by, as I longed for home and far away at the same time. Sad and happy. Sun warming my face, shadow cooling my back.
From the age of 4 and throughout the next 46 years, I have yearned to be a hobo. I practiced hoboing in my younger years, bundling up my provisions and hauling them down to the ditch near our home in rural Idaho to set up camp. Around the age of 8, I decided that if I was to truly be a hobo, I needed to put some real effort into my training by spending the night in an encampment at the ditch, cooking my own food and sleeping on my makeshift bed under a tent made from an old sheet and some fence posts I pilfered from the farmer on the other side of the ditch. I'd left a note on the kitchen table for my mom, telling her that I was running away to my ditch encampment (I imagined that hobos left such notes, so that those they left behind would yearn for their return) but that I would be back soon. Not to worry.
While settling into my encampment (kitchen goes over here, bedroom goes here, this spot is for visitors), mom appeared at the front entrance and announced that I had better be home in time for dinner that night. Confused, I asked her if she'd gotten my note. I'd left it in plain sight. She only repeated that I'd better be home for dinner.
Clearly, the woman had no idea of the seriousness of practicing hoboing. I stayed in my encampment, preparing for the sun to set. I'd never practiced in the dark before. So, this next part was important.
All settled in, I heard the words from above my encampment, "Kerrie! Get your ass home right now!" I peaked out and up at my mom. She was not happy. Once again I asked her if she'd gotten my note. I was sensing a misunderstanding, which could be cleared up, if she'd only read my note. She disappeared from the edge of the ditch, and I assumed she'd suddenly realized she'd forgotten that she'd read my note and not to worry. I settled back in but only for about 5 minutes.
Next thing I know, my mom is dragging me from my encampment by my arm and swatting my butt with a ping-pong paddle. Confusion again set in. What about this situation does she not understand? I said I'd be back. And, where the hell did she get a ping-pong paddle? There wasn't a ping-pong table around for miles!
I was marched home for dinner, after which I was ordered to breakdown my encampment and "bring all that shit home."
This misunderstanding still stands as one of the greatest disappointments of my life.
In 2021 and at the age of 50, it's my understanding that the only people riding the rails these days are meth heads, completely unimaginative people. What a waste. Preferring then to travel with Henry, a dog who is drug free and loves adventure, I'm out doing it - I'm a modern day hobo - towing my provisions behind my vehicle. I face a low potential for splinters. I have a comfy warm bed. Lots of tasty food. However, as what I imagined as a true hobo life, the dream has ups, the dream has downs.
I've been on the road for only 3 days and within this time, I've taken in magical landscapes, such as the Tetons of Wyoming and the incredible geologic formations in northeastern Utah. I'm now camped next to the Green River in Dinosaur National Monument, a place I never thought I would see. The sun is shining, and I'm about to eat a cookie.
However, on day 1, the first place I intended to camp just outside of Hot Lava Springs, ID was closed and in an unexpected wintery mix of precipitation, I had to plan-b it real fast.
The day-2 drive over the mountains from Wyoming to Utah was very, very lonely and scary at times. No other drivers for miles or hours and then suddenly, a large semi would pass from the opposite direction, the wind from which would nearly throw me from the road.
We arrived in Vernal, UT in the early evening of day 2 as scheduled and headed south to McCoy Flats, the location I'd planned to stay for approximately 1 week. This area looks like where the Basin and Range and the Colorado Plateau geomorphic provinces merge, areas of flat with ranges/plateaus in the distance. Iron and copper rich. Absolutely fantastic for those of us who love big sky country. We made camp.
In the meantime, I ripped one of the arms off of the RV couch. Items I thought I had securely stowed were loose and tossed about the place. Every time I open the refrigerator or the bathroom cabinet, items hurl themselves at me. The shelves I installed in the closet keep falling down. Gah! I'm rolling with it. I'm rolling with it.
The wind. Oh, the wind. How she blows. Insane gusts of wind rocked Stevie nonstop. Henry and I both spent the night looking around at the roof and walls of the trailer, wondering if we were going to be blown off the face of the Earth. It was slightly terrifying.
We survived the night and in the early morning, I connected to my hotspot and searched for a safer camp spot. Found one. Quickly made coffee in my designated adventure coffee maker, which turns out to only makes watery coffee. Threw unpacked items back to wherever they would fit, hooked up the trailer, and we bailed from McCoy Flats.
As revealed already, our newfound camp site is in Dinosaur National Monument, which was a planned stop but not for another week. Well, we're rolling with it. We pulled up to the ranger-personed kiosk, where we are told that not only are there tons of camp spots available, it's National Park day and entry is free! Things are looking up.
The beauty of Dinosaur National Monument cannot be described in words; it must be felt. Such a feeling of joy.
The campground was nearly empty when we arrived, so Henry and I took our time finding just the right spot. The Green River flows next to us, and we're surrounded by geologic time.
Backed the RV into our spot, unhooked and balanced the trailer like a pro. This is great, like it was meant to be. Opened the door to the RV, and shitty, watery coffee was splattered everywhere. In my haste to escape McCoy Flats, I'd left the cup of coffee on the counter. Over the bumpy roads out of big sky country, that coffee had flown.
I spent 45 minutes cleaning up the mess. Strange thing: the coffee cup itself had seemingly disappeared. I searched for it on my hands and knees in every nook. Gone. It wasn't until I was preparing dinner later and I opened up one of the large drawers in the kitchen that holds all the utensils, storage containers, and plates/bowls that I discovered the coffee cup and all the drawer's contents drenched in what had been the remains of the cup's contents. Somehow, an unfortunate feat of physics allowed the coffee cup to spew just enough of its contents to cover most of the surfaces the trailer, just as the drawer opened up, swallowed the coffee cup, and closed. JC!
This camp spot is lovely though, and I'm so happy to be here. Henry and I went for a hike in the sunshine this morning, with nothing but beauty to behold.
Now, we're back at the trailer, and I'm going to spend day 3 figuring out why the hot water heater is leaking, and what to do with all these effing decorative pillows I brought along that are clogging up my sleeping space. They were a homey touch when the RV was parked in the driveway at home, a cumbrance in practice. What kind of hobo brings along decorative pillows? My mom should have let me practice more.
The ups, the downs.
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