Above Photo: My little piece of Wheel Estate in Palm Springs, California – April 2022

Greetings from Las Vegas!

I am in the middle of a three-month meander in Vinny Van Go-Go, having stored Hunker Downs near Santa Barbara until July 1. I thought I’d catch you up on my time in Palm Springs as I make my way toward Utah.

Van Life: Yeah Or Nay?

Fellow camp hosts Tex and Barbara have been living in a van for 11 years. They have a Roadtrek and love the freedom to go wherever and whenever they please. At El Cap I witnessed firsthand how they managed private space in a small area. One is outside while the other is inside. She listens to music on her earbuds, and he plays podcasts on his headphones. They take turns walking the dog. I marveled at how well they make it work for them, and Tex mused that three months in Vinny might convert me to van life as well.

After 30 days in Palm Springs on this voyage of self-discovery, I can say without a doubt that there is no. fucking. way. I would ever live in a van full-time. Hard stop.

Oy, First World Problems

Remember when Ellen DeGeneres almost got canceled during the Covid lockdown for saying she knew what it felt like to be in prison because she was unable to leave her multi-million dollar mansion in the Hollywood Hills? I don’t want to come off sounding like her, but I must admit that during that April in Palm Springs, I spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about the size of an average jail cell, and how the incarcerated must either get real Zen real fast, or become anxiety-riddled and lose their shit.

Now before you start thinking that the whole month was a write-off, there were certainly some good days. Since my last visit to Palm Springs my friend Ben has moved there,

and we spent some fun times together, including doing things I’ve never done before, like a concert in Palm Springs’s newest park for Ben’s birthday,

the Moorten Botanical Gardens,

the Palm Springs Air Museum,

and a performance by the Coachella Valley Men’s Chorus.

There was plenty of time for the old standbys too, like Village Fest on Thursday night

and the flea market at the College of the Desert.

Ben and I also drove into nearby San Bernardino one afternoon to tour the original McDonald’s

and to see the iconic Route 66 Motel – The Wigwam!

My former law partner and dear friend Rebecca and her family now live part-time in Rancho Mirage, and we saw each other several times for meals and performances. Here we are with her daughter-in-law Kristen at a show at the Desert Rose Theater,

and here we are with her husband Bill at their new place.

There were tours of Vinny for everyone,

and I had the time and the perfect evening weather to stage outdoor movies on Vinny’s upper deck, which I now call The Starlight Lounge.

I got to visit with Michelle and Ann while we had an impeccable meal at Farm,

and on two occasions Dave and Al and I had dinner together before we left on separate cruises. (More on the cruise in the next installment!)

But back to bitchin’.

Many factors contributed to my general dissatisfaction in Palm Springs this time, including:

1. Weather

I am a accustomed to being in the Coachella Valley from November through March, when weather conditions are perfect. By April, things get a little more sketchy. We had several 100-plus days, and while people relished reminding me “that’s nuthin’!” compared to the blazes of summer, you must remember that I dislike hot temps, I came directly from a coastal environment where it is rarely above 80 degrees, AND I WAS LIVING IN A VEHICLE.

Many vans are equipped with a rooftop air conditioner, but given Vinny‘s deck I do not have one. I must rely on ventilation, fans that run on batteries or 12 V or house current depending on my power situation, and a portable floor model air conditioner that I call R2-D2.

My site was in full sun all day. That might be great when relying on solar power, but not so much when there is available shore power. Shade is crucial, and I created as much as I could with umbrellas, tarps, sunshades, and curtains.

On days forecasted below 90° I opened windows and side and rear doors, propped 12 V fans in the windows to pull air in and push air out, and positioned a shop fan at the rear of the vehicle to push gale-force winds to the front.

Any day above 90° required closing off all outdoor access, placing Reflectix in the windows, shutting all blinds and curtains, and running R2-D2, which vented through the driver’s side window.

It worked exceptionally well, but inside it was dark and cramped and a bit claustrophobic.

I watched a lot of movies during Siesta time, which lasted approximately four hours on the hottest days, from around 1:00 to 5:00. I fretted how I would deal with no electricity at upcoming dry camping reservations in Utah if the temps went much above 90 degrees, consoling myself that it will be cooler in the higher elevations, especially in late May in early June.

2.  The Decline Of The RV Park

The first time I saw the Happy Traveler RV Park in 2015, I was camped at a palatial resort in Cathedral City, and I was taken aback by its postage stamp-sized sites. I loved the location, however, so I spent the next season there. I got to know the staff and enjoyed the feeling of community; at least twice a month, the park hosted cocktail parties with a full bar and munchies. Campers, mostly Canadian, returned each year, and I knew several of them by name.

In four years, two of which were during the pandemic, in my opinion the Happy Traveler has markedly deteriorated. There were many more full-timers – understandable given that Canadians could not cross their border for two years, and the park had to stay afloat. That being said, there is a peculiarness to those who live in recreational vehicles in a desert full-time, and there are sometimes financial and mental limitations that come along with that. My neighbor to the left chain smoked and was prone to random outbursts of profanity. A woman with a grating and nasally voice called out for her cat in the early hours each morning. A verbal argument between two men erupted in the wee hours one night. A man blocking traffic in his truck, parked in the lane of travel while visiting a resident, called me an elitist for politely asking him to move so my friend and I could get through. Buckets for doggie poop bags were overflowing and rarely emptied. Bathroom and laundry facilities have always had a code for entry; this time, there was also a massive padlock on each door, requiring that you tote a key around everywhere with you. There were no cocktail parties. I probably wouldn’t have attended anyway.

3. Lack Of Secondary Transportation

I was so spoiled by towing a car behind the diesel pusher. In the van, the more elaborate the set up, the less I want to break it all down for exploring. Luckily, I had been to Palm Springs before, so sightseeing wasn’t a big priority. For quick trips to the grocery store or Ace Hardware, I rode the electric bike, which worked out quite well except during the oppressive heat in the middle of the day. I began waking at 6:00 a.m. to handle errands before noon.

I also relied heavily on the good graces of friends, including Ben and Rebecca, who shuttled the dogs and me back-and-forth more times than I can count. It was Uber and Lyft for all the other times, except of course when there were no available cars, which happened on the way to dinner in Rancho Mirage during a Coachella concert weekend.

It felt as though my wings were officially clipped. Next time I’ll take a page from my vagabond friend Kathy, who traveled full-time in a Class C for four years and simply rented a car when she needed one.

4. Flaky Friends

Things don’t always work out as planned, and people sometimes cancel or reschedule. However, when you’re already in a sour mood and it happens with more than one person, it smarts a bit more. You would think that being somewhere for 30 days would be ample time to get together, but that simply was not the case with a few folks. I’ll get over it, but it just added to the general ennui I felt on this trip to Palm Springs.

The VanLife Blues

After a couple weeks in Palm Springs I posted a tongue-in-cheek poem about the limitations of van living, so I apologize if some of you have already seen this. The blog had some functionality problems after the post, and the only solution was to roll the site back to an earlier date.

I am looking forward to using the van for the camping and sightseeing I’m about to do in Utah, as I move more often from place to place. I suspect it will be a lot different than sitting still for long periods. We will soon find out! Until next time …

I scrounged a piece of cardboard

From a recycling bin

I stuck it in the windshield

To keep sun from coming’ in

I got the VanLife Blues

Yeah, those VanLife Blues

Gonna take a lotta money

To be Mobile Homeless this way

 

I love the Insta photos

Of Boho van decor

They decorate with macrame

My skillet’s on the floor

I got the VanLife Blues

Yeah, those VanLife Blues

Gonna need a lot more money

To be Mobile Homeless this way

 

I sit to make my coffee

I sit to make my tea

I even sit to wash the cup

No standing straight for me

I got the VanLife Blues

Yeah, those VanLife Blues

Where’m I gonna get the money

To be Mobile Homeless this way

 

I took an outdoor shower

To really go “off grid”

Thanks to a freak El Niño

I mooned my neighbors’ kid

I got the VanLife Blues

Yeah, those VanLife Blues

It takes a lotta money

To be Mobile Homeless this way

 

I have a propane cooktop

For making gourmet fare

I use it to boil water

The rest’s too much to bear

I got the VanLife Blues

Yeah, those VanLife Blues

I’m saving up my money

To be Mobile Homeless this way

 

The mattress is so teeny

I’m thankful when it’s morn

Whenever I roll over

My right foot honks the horn

I got the VanLife Blues

Yeah, those VanLife Blues

Tell me where to get the money

To be Mobile Homeless this way

 

I’m trying to be frugal

And live within my means

Fuel’s six bucks a gallon

I live on pork and beans

I got the VanLife Blues

Yeah, those VanLife Blues

I’m lookin’ for some money

To be Mobile Homeless this way

 

The van is both a shelter

And way to get around

It takes a hour of packing

To grab one thing in town

I got the VanLife Blues

Yeah, those VanLife Blues

It takes way too much money

To be Mobile Homeless this way

 

The fridge is schizophrenic

The freezer is a joke

I’m growing Salmonella

And drinking tepid Coke

I got the VanLife Blues

Yeah, those VanLife Blues

Can you loan me some money

To be Mobile Homeless this way

 

I’ve got a compost toilet

For Numbers One and Two

I pee into a bucket

And poop in public loos

I got the VanLife Blues

Yeah, those VanLife Blues

How will I ever have the money

To be Mobile Homeless this way.

 

I’ve done my belly-achin

And now it’s time to boast

I’m gonna give my Public

A VanLife TikTok post!

I got the VanLife Blues

Yeah, those VanLife Blues

Gonna make a lotta money

To be Mobile Homeless this way!