Time to Talk About Being 70 / February 17, 2024 by patrick mcardle

The Rains Killed His Spirit / February 8, 2024 by patrick mcardle

My house-van sitting on the street leading to my Safe Parking spot provided by the Jewish Community Services of San Diego.

Pineapple Express rain storm

What if we could push a magic button and get what we wanted? Like sunshine, warm weather and a safe place to park for the night, the things all van lifers desire the most.

It’s been raining for three days straight in San Diego. The governor has declared an emergency. Roads are closed, traffic is jammed and advisories say stay home.

I am always home, I live in my van, or my house, as I like to say. And for three days now I have heard the drum beat of the rain on my roof.

At first it was magical

Surprisingly, it never lost it’s magic. However, the cold air and high winds do loose their magic-ness.

So, wishing for a change in the weather I pushed that imaginary magic button and waited. Nothing. Then suddenly my office restroom (Starbucks) starts working after five days being broke. No, that was not my wish.

Then the sun comes out. Okay, that is my wish come true. My house-van is parked just outside the Starbucks front door. I can almost feel the warmth the sun is creating in the van. The solar panels also love the warm sun. Thank you to the Sun Gods.

But, three days without solar power because of overcast skies has killed my spirit. Plenty of windy and cold weather is also damaging my calm and my spirit of adventure. The nasty weather has stranded me. I feel a bit altered.

I live in my van full time in an urban environment. I wake up daily thinking about my next safe spot to park and sleep. I don’t travel. I stay in town, in a urban environment. I live off my social security retirement which does not afford extensive traveling. Living in my van, maneuvering for safe places to park and sleep is part of the daily routine.

Places to sleep

In San Diego safe sleeping spots are mostly non-existent, unless one has spent time looking and risking getting ticketed or towed. It’s hit and miss. In the past on road trips I have been lucky. Truck stops, Walmarts, rest stops, and any place that looks deserted and less traveled have been my main stays. Being an urban nomad in San Diego, especially in stormy winter weather, is difficult. Like most cities, it is illegal to sleep in your vehicle.

Campgrounds are safe and there are plenty to chose from in San Diego County. https://www.sdparks.org

A tactic I use worked recently in Chula Vista and can be applied to most commercial parking lots. Drive into the lot after dark i.e. Home Depot, and park in the lot area least used by customers. Park, watch and wait. Look for security cruising the parking lot and any suspicious foot travelers. This scenario can apply to any commercial parking lot in America.

Every van lifer has their own technique for sussing out safe places to park. Find your technique and hope for the best. Good luck. I rely on my gut feelings, based on observations, to determine if it’s going to be safe and ticket free. Read my post about a Home Depot lot I spent the night in. https://www.pjmcardle.com/blog/nomad-warrior-invades-parking-space

As the numbers of those living in urban areas in their vehicles grow, so will the restrictions. I’m hoping for the opposite effect. More legal safe parking for those sleeping in their vehicles. Especially in winter months.

Winter is hard on everyone, especially van lifers. In San Diego, over the last week, the weather has been rainy, cold and windy. They have even labeled the bad weather, “Pineapple Express” after the atmospheric river phenomenon that starts from the warm air in Hawaii.

Like most house-van people my van is cold all night and into the morning. I miss the sun because it warms the van.

Safe Parking, Jewish Family Services

I got lucky and was accepted into the Jewish Family Services Safe Parking program. https://www.jfssd.org Parking in the safe lot starts at 6pm until 9:30pm. Departure time is at 7am. For me this means finding a place to hang out all day. Fiesta Island is one of my favored places. https://www.sandiego.gov/park-and-recreation/parks/regional/missionbay/fiestaisland I park near the water and wait for the sun to warm my van up.

With the constant rain Fiesta Island is not an option. Instead I use the Costco lot in the day, or Walmart, or hang out in my Starbucks office. I also have a neighborhood curbside spot. My friend lives in the area and allows me to park in the front of their house. The neighbors have seen me visiting and don’t suspect I’m sleeping in the van. Of course I am completely stealth after dark. No light, no noise and stay put in the van.

Back to the nasty weather. Today marks the end of our rain and stormy conditions. It’s starting to warm up. I was up and on the road today by 6am. Had to drive north for an appointment. All done. I’m at Starbucks, again, getting warm and writing.

Why blog

One of my joys in life, writing, will continue. I am however, trying to turn my blog into a money machine. I got the idea that I could do the side hustle thing and make some passive income. Doing the research I realized my writing style would not attract the kind of readers necessary to create a monster sized following. Doing more research, I realized I currently have less than 20 people who even read the posts I create.

This does not bother me. I’m writing about my Van life experiences so family and friends will know what I’m up to. No pressure, just pure enjoyment.

Writing is my way to reach out and stay connected to family and friends. I was at one time a paid photojournalist and had a bonafied job. I learned creative writing was more my style. Now there is social media and everyone can write and be expressive without having to answer to editors.

I feel like we can all agree, social media has become one of America’s sources for news. Using the social media sites is like writing to everyone we know in 10 words or less in a matter of seconds. Now that is a miracle, considering years ago it would take weeks to send and receive letters using snail mail. Do people still write letters?

Ironically, I still have all the letters sent to me from my four years in the U.S.M.C. They are priceless and allow me to reconnect with the past. Some of the letters are from friends who have passed. These I especially cherish and admittedly, the letters are haunting.

I have just one from my grandma. I was her favorite. She signed the letter, “Just Mamo” as if her life had little meaning in the grand scheme of things. I’m here to say she was indeed a heavyweight in my life. She was stern but I always felt cared for and cherished. Thank you for that Mamo.

These ramblings are why I declare this blog will always be my personal portal and message board for anyone who I know and care about. These writings are therapeutic, they help me relieve stress and provide clarity. I will continue with this style of rambling. And those who read this stuff are not complaining. They are after all, friends and family. I trust them with my personal info.

I will, however, pursue this side hustle thing. It’s a learning curve and out of my comfort zone. I’ll ride the train just to see what happens. Maybe this official proclamation will push me to change.

Van life is Crazy

The realization that this alternative lifestyle means constant change and a river of surprises, is crazy making sometimes. In the beginning I romanticized about Van life. But the reality has been an adjustment in my attitude and ways of doing things. To be blunt, “Van life makes me crazy”.

Admittedly my van life is not always pleasurable nor does it provide me with amazing and grand adventures in the picturesque world of America. I live in my van in an urban environment. Anyone who lives the same knows what I’m trying to say. And I’m doing this out of necessity. I’m retired, to old to work a decent job and the cost of Living in California is prohibitive. I can live in my van with dignity and on my terms. And there is no rent or other costs due to living in a house cemented to the ground.

I also get to visit some of the most beautiful beaches in America. I stay all day in these places and there is an abundance of amazing sites to visit in Southern California. It’s a beautiful and gratifying thing.

Yes, van living is rewarding. And it is also challenging and sometimes scary and weird. But I feel great when the sun goes down and I’m settled in safely somewhere. I feel like something amazing has been accomplished. I made it through another day. My circumstance is flexible but when it’s stable, secure and safe, I’m all in. I feel fantastic and accomplished.

Also, every night, when I get settled in, I feel this sense of freedom. I’m here, alive and no one can change or take it away. If it starts to go sideways, I jump into the front seat and drive away.

Now that, friends, is freedom. And this is why people are so attracted to Van life. That sense of complete freedom and safety is truly worth the trials and troubles of van life.

Okay, time to stop. The sun has been baking my van and the solar panels for a couple of hours. Should be charged and good for most of the night. Back to the safe parking spot. Thank you Jewish Family Services of San Diego.

It’s early, 6am, and the sun is trying to take back the day as I start the van and drive to Chula Vista, my safe haven.

Balboa Park, Perfect Day Trip, Photographers Dream Spot / February 5, 2024 by patrick mcardle

In 1870 with a population of 2,301 and only 915 houses, a group of forward thinking citizens in San Diego established a 1,400 acre tract of land that became known as “City Park.” Ultimately the area became Balboa Park, a premier people watching spot and photographers dream.

It remained a wild land preserve with hilltops, canyons and arroyos until 1902 when a comprehensive plan for the park was created.

Funds were raised for improvement and City Park was renamed, Balboa Park to honor Spanish explorer Vasco Nunez de Balboa, the first European explorer to see the pacific. Development of the area got a huge boost after two world fairs, the Panama-California Exposition of 1915-16, and the California Pacific International Exposition of 1935-36. Both were held at the park site, launching what has now become one of Americas premier city parks.

Throughout the years Balboa Park has continued to improve and grow. The park has 1,000 acres and offers 15 museums, various gardens, arts and international culture associations, including the world class San Diego Zoo. These amenities make for a historical, horticultural, educational and recreational adventure for everyone.

I enjoy Balboa Park and find it refreshing and other worldly. All of the attractions are amazing and give me a glimpse of the world. My favorite attraction, however, is the people who visit the park. It’s free to people watch and their good mood is elevated automatically just by being surrounded by the rich and interesting history and beauty of Balboa Park.

And did I say it was Free? Yes, it is, and parking is easy. Plenty of parking lots to choose from. However, arrive early, between 8 and 10am, to get a spot. There is also ample parking on the streets surrounding the park. The front entrance and surrounding areas have expansive lawns for sitting, picnicking or net sports like badminton or volleyball and other activities. No permits required. Just show up and setup.

Once parking is secured, start walking toward the central area of the park where the museums and other attractions are located. This is where the people watching is best. Vendors line the streets in front of the museums and on the main square. These vendors include street performers and special group performances as scheduled. There is always something exciting going on in Balboa Park. And again, it’s free.

I like free cause visiting tourist attractions can be pricey. I get the best of Balboa Park and all I have to do is show up. Besides providing endless entertainment, Balboa Park is a photographers dream.

The photo ops include street photography. A favorite past time for aspiring and professional photographers. The architecture is world class and historical. Street performers offer amazing video opportunities. Wedding photographers use the park amenities as backdrops. This is a great place for aspiring shutterbugs to practice and have big fun photographing.

For me, Balboa Park is an escape from reality. I spent most of the day there recently and lost track of time. The visit boosted my mood. It’s like visiting a zoo packed with free ranging humans, as opposed to animals. (This is not an animal to human comparison).

Balboa Park is truly a photographers dream. My daughter and I grew up enjoying the park.

There is a spot near the House of Pacific International Cottages. We would walk the trail, climb on the roots of the magnificent Moreton Bay fig tree and chant the lines “Lions, tigers and Bears” from the Wizard of Oz. We would run excitedly from the tree then stop and laugh. Such a good time.

My daughter recently had her first child, my first granddaughter. During a recent visit to the park, we noted our Moreton Fig tree adventures. We agreed, when the baby gets older there will be more great adventures.

For now, however, I will continue to be amazed at the offerings of the park. As a Van lifer, the park gives me a break from the daily routine of managing things on a daily basis, which takes more time than people realize and affords for little leisure time.

More Useful Info on Balboa Park.

An estimated 14 million visitors annually. The park is minutes away from downtown San Diego and is famous for its seasonal displays of flowers, shady groves of trees and an abundance of things to do.

Many of the museums along Balboa Park's Prado are housed in magnificent Spanish Colonial Revival buildings, constructed for the 1915-1916 Panama-California Exposition. It was the first time that this richly decorated, highly ornamental architectural style had ever been used in the United States.

Discounted admissions to Balboa Park's major museums are available. Visit the Balboa Park Explorer. Park museums also offer free admission one Tuesday per month on a rotating basis.

San Diego's largest arts organization, the Globe Theater, is located in Balboa Park. The Globe presents at least 14 productions and 550 performances annually.

The rich ethnic diversity of San Diego is reflected in the Park's institutions:

Centro Cultural de la Raza
World Beat Center (celebrating cultures of African origins)
San Diego Museum of Man anthropological museum
Mingei International Museum
Japanese Friendship Garden
House of Pacific Relations - 17 cottages that are home to groups of diverse national origin.

Balboa Park's sports complex encompasses two international expositions. that The facilities at Morley Field include USTA-awarded tennis courts, a velodrome bicycle track where masters world cup championships are held. There is also a swimming pool and a disc golf course.

Balboa Park also offers many family play and picnic areas, three leash-free dog parks, lawn bowling, canyon trails for hiking, and a golf course.

My World On Wheels / February 1, 2024 by patrick mcardle

EDITORS NOTE: Van life is a popular subject these days. It sounds romantic. Living off the grid in a scenic utopian environment. Van lifers often talk about the pretty side of this popular alternative lifestyle. Last summer I had that opportunity, traveling across America, free and easy. Since then, I have upgraded from a truck with a cab high camper to a 1969 Ford Econoline van camper. It looks like an ice cream truck. It is a house on wheels. I decided to try and live in the van in an urban environment. The cost of living, especially in San Diego, is reason enough to seek alternatives to the traditional way of living. There are, however, unusual challenges, especially with living in a mobile house. I write about my experiences so others can get insight into Urban Van life. Thanks for visiting my world on wheels.

James Taylor says it best, “Baby it’s cold outside”. And wet. Rain forecast all day. Flood warnings. Downtown looking for a spot to park, got an appointment on Imperial Avenue.

Found a spot. Waiting and thinking. The office is four blocks away. It’s raining. I’ll get soaked. Not good to be wet and cold. It’s raining harder now.

Okay, not wise to take a risk on getting ill from the weather, I leave downtown. Going to Starbucks, in Chula Vista, my rain-day office. Ironically, while there, I get a call from the person who I was supposed to meet downtown. She was not there. We laughed at the irony. We concluded our business.

So, what now, it’s still raining.

Time for another blog post. Here we go, an overview of the last few days.

Janurary 31. On the street leading to my safe parking spot there were two police cars. They seemed to be writing tickets. Don’t know. I just pulled into the lot. Didn’t feel like sussing out the facts.

I went to park, but someone had moved into my perfect spot. Oh well, there’s other places.

I’m now a permanent participant in the (JCS) Jewish Community Services safe parking programs. This is truly a helpful program. Not easy to get into, but worth the wait. It took four weeks. I’m grateful.

The police presence was a reminder of the vulnerability of trying to live in a car. The street in front of the safe parking lot has numerous vehicles parked on both sides. They appear to have been lived in.

Some seem broken down, one in particular. It’s a newer truck loaded with what looks like junk. The sidewalk next to the truck is littered with the overflow from the truck bed. There is a full-size refrigerator strapped to the back tailgate. A big screen TV sits near the bushes.

I spoke to the man who was trying to get this truck up and running. He told me he has no money, no plan and no where to live other than the back seat of the truck. We spoke for a while. Sadly, I could not help him. He needs a mechanic and money to get going. I gave him some water.

“Have you got any food”? I ask. “I’m good he says”, looking up at me from his wheelchair.

“I got to go to my storage” he says, then leaves.

This image of him trying to maneuver the wheelchair down the street stuck in my mind. It’s haunting. As is the image of the 400 pound man stranded on the ground across from my safe lot parking space.

I try to help along with four other men. We try to lift him up into and into his SUV. It’s impossible. He tries to pull himself up, again and again.

“Son of a bitch”, the stranded man says, frustrated. I decided there is nothing I can do other than stand around and share ideas.

One man suggested we get a floor jack, stick a piece of plywood under his ass, then jack him up into the vehicle. Then sort of throw him into the bed area and hope for the best. That’s when I left.

“Knock on my van if you need help”, I say.

Back in the van I hunker down, trying to get these scenarios out of my head.

It’s been a few days since this happened. I processed the information, put it in a safe place and I’m moving on. “It is what it is”, I conclude.

I have been involved in various endeavors throughout the years regarding homelessness. While living in Tucson I created a documentary about living on the streets. It focused on solutions and told the story of a former war veteran who came home and dedicated his life to helping homeless veterans. He lived on the streets for six years and did in fact make a difference.

So here I am safe, warm and dry at Starbucks. I feel sort of stranded. Not wise to try and drive in this mess. Its’ pouring rain now. I look at my iced coffee (I usually don’t do coffee, I’m buzzing). What’s next, I ask myself. All my happy places are rained out. Fiesta Island, the Strand, and the beaches.

It’s 11am. I can’t get into my JCS parking spot until 6pm. Fortunately, because I live in a house on wheels, I have other options. I’m so grateful.

I’ll be leaving soon to park in my 007 spot I talked about in an earlier post. https://www.pjmcardle.com/blog/nomad-warrior-invades-parking-space

It will rain all day and I was hoping to be able to drive to the JCS tonight. If not, I will call the case worker at JCS. Missing a night is okay as long as I notify them about not coming in. In the mean time this another lesson on navigating in the alternative world.

It’s been 32 days since I started living in this alternative universe. It is amazing, sometimes daunting but never boring. And there is always a feeling of accomplishment at the end of the day when I am in a safe, cozy and peaceful place.

Being downtown and seeing the houseless in tents and walking on the sidewalks in the pouring rain makes me appreciate my situation. Its’ also challenging because I can’t help them. Experience tells me to take care of myself for now.

Maybe later, when I can actually offer productive help, I can reach out.

Living in a Parking lot / January 30, 2024 by patrick mcardle

Pulling in to the Jewish Family Services Safe Parking, Kearney Mesa, California. I’m early. A security guard tells me to move away from the gate, no parking there. I move.

Then another person asks me what I’m doing. We speak. He is the case manager at the facility.

The lot is for people living in their car. The fenced in 2 acre paved lot has port-a-potties and a smoking area. There is also a community area covered by a tent. It has books, tables and chairs. One of the tables has free canned food. There are lights stretched across the tent ceiling. Only two people sitting there as I walk by.

Inside a trailer, the site case manager gets me signed up. He explains everything. Common sense stuff. The dos and don’ts of parking there. No weapons, drugs or violence, is all I really pay attention to. After 20 minutes I’m done registering.

He gives me a tour of the lot. I pick a spot keeping in mind my cannabis use. Yes I smoke cannabis. I could lie and say it’s for medical purposes only. Which it is, mostly, but I also enjoy the peace of mind it affords me.

Keeping my pot use to myself was critical to get in the program. So a spot with no direct neighbors would be ideal. And then I see it, on the tour, my perfect safe spot. “There it is”, I said out loud, and pointed to my perfect spot. It is far enough away from other cars so any aroma from the pot smoke will not be detected.

I’m in my parking place. Got Netflix on, getting ready to smoke. Time to wind down. Then a bang on my door. The case manager forgot some paperwork. So lucky I didn’t light up. I signed the papers, he’s gone.

I don’t know the rule on marijuana use at safe park. It is legal in California, however. But possessing marijuana is considered a federal crime. Huge gray area for non-profits.

Now I’m truly getting settled in, I needed a good rest. Netflix, off. Good night.

Woke up, got out by 7am and went to Fieta Island, in San Diego.

I spent hours processing and decided, “Yes, I’m there, Yes, I’m safe from getting ticketed, arrested or towed. And its 75 out here. The birds are floating across the water. Boaters are rowing past the row of fishers who have been here all day, like me. And now the night crew of fishers is here occupying the same stretch of water. They seem related. Well that’s a story for later. I’m excited about it. It’s amazing the things that happen in front of us that we don’t see.” A long rambling way to say it’s all good.

Okay, back to Fiesta Island, which is where I still am. I have decided to continue on this current safe parking path to see where it leads. To get a permanent lot status one has to stay four consecutive nights. Drive into the lot between 6 and 9:30pm. Out by 7am. I’ll try it for at least four nights. Safe harbor.

So back I go to the safe lot for the next three nights. I do feel safe there, except for getting caught smoking my cannabis. Worse case, they evict me. That seems so ironic. Evicting a homeless man from a homeless shelter.

Nomad Warrior Invades Parking Space / January 28, 2024 by patrick mcardle

It’s 6pm. Just pulled front first into my spot for the night. The most remote parking place in the Home Depot lot. Out the widow is a hill leading up to a middle-class neighborhood. No one sees me from there or the parking lot.

In the back of the van, Netflix is on. I’m trying to hide the iPad in the corner of my bedding area. The screen is very bright. Doing whatever it takes to keep from being detected.

It’s 7pm. Almost dark out. The lot is empty in the back except for my 1969 Ford camper van. I’m getting anxious. Playing out the immediate scenarios if the police come. Ticket, towing or arrest. I had already scouted this place days ago and left because the police cruised the lot. It was a sign.

Just a ticket is a huge setback for anyone. Towing or arrest could mean an end for some van lifers. This is also the case for anyone who is houseless and living on the streets. America is not a houseless friendly country. We take better care of our stray pet population than our houseless.

It is what it is. That’s another story for later. Anyway, it’s 8pm. Netflix off. Hunkering down. Ate a salad. Wanted something more. However, lighting the camp stove creates a glow inside the camper. So does lighting the t-candles used under the clay pot. So, no soup and no heat tonight.

It is illegal to sleep in any vehicle on any street in San Diego. Commercial lots, such as Home Depot, have their own rules. No parking any vehicle overnight, is the standard for most private lots.

Okay, Netflix is shut down. I am also shutting down. Time to be attentive to the outside environment. Peeking through the side windows facing the main parking area I see customers getting in and out of cars. I’m trying to sleep.

Hard to ignore the loud car doors and trunks slamming. The drifting voices. The echoes from the traffic on H street.

Finally I fell asleep. Not deeply. I had to keep adjusting my blanket for the cold. Parts of it slipped away from my back side. I did not want to leave my warm nest to rearrange the blanket. Tugging and yanking at it, the blanket finally covers the cold spot. Awake at 3am.

Tired from a restless night I pulled the cover over my head and got into a fetal position to conserve the heat. This happened on and off until the sun rose just above the horizon. Its rays heated the side of the van. At 9am it was warm enough to start moving out of my cozy nest.

And here I am now. All inflated with confidence from a successful night. I truly feel like a Nomad Warrior, but in a peaceful way. I feel like this is a graduation from playing it semi-safe, in a safe parking spot. The 007 spot I talked about it an earlier post.

I say graduation cause the safe spot will not last. Other options have to be learned and sought after. I’m learning. It’s been almost 30 days since I began this adventure. It is always twisting and turning. Mind boggling sometimes and always different. Gratifying sometimes, annoying now and then.

For example. Everyday I have to find a new place to park my rig. It’s stressful. Mostly I have found safe places. I don’t take risks so anything that smacks of unsafe I drive on by. It’s the game. And thus far I have been winning and I’m thankful for that. Will I camp in the Home Depot lot again? Probably.

I’l be back with more news soon. Thanks for reading. Feel free to share this blog.

Random Thoughts, Van Life / January 24, 2024 by patrick mcardle

NOTES: Most of this post is filled with personal observations and opinions. I enjoyed writing from such a inside point of view. Let me know what your thoughts are?

Raining hard, urban environment, San Diego Van life. In my rig all day. Things to do.

Organizing and finding stuff, shuffling through stuff and keeping all the stuff accessible. Most important thing, remain as stealth as possible. Don’t give any signs of living in van. Tickets and towing are possibilities. If I was a Black man I would be especially concerned. But, rainy days allow for a layer of protection.

It’s still raining so lights on in the van after dark are okay. San Diego folk are fair-weather people. So dog walking or after dinner strolls don’t happen. Indoors they are dry. I feel safe when we have emergency weather conditions. While housed people fret going outside I’m excited they they are not waterproof.

Schrödinger’s Cat. I realize I’m the Schrodinger’s Cat. This means I’m safe. No one knows I’m in here unless they smash through the front window. I should take solace in that.

Home Depot parking lot. I’m the only one here. It’s 6pm. Police circle the back lot. Sees me. He takes notes, this I am sure. Then an enraged person parks a few spots down to argue on the phone. She leaves still screaming into the phone. Now A guy is walking in front of the van. I don’t know where he came from. I hear voices in back of the van behind the bushes. These are danger signs, time to relocate. Back to the safety zone at 007 (street camping across from my former house) parking spot.

Monied persons. The email from my blog was a solicitation. She wanted to post her story on my site. This sounds interesting, I say to myself, immediately painting many possible scenarios. Some good, others dark. Beyond the ego boost, the solication made me realize van life is no longer an alternative, hippie, get off the grid movement, rather it is a monied persons, way in. The solicitor wanted to talk about this new phenomenon in Van Life. I replied. Have not heard back.

Baby its cold outside. I got to close the shades. At this time of night there is more cold air in here than warm. So uncovering my legs and walking down my 4 foot long, 2 foot wide hallway to close the curtains is like walking through a ice tunnel.

Proof of Citizenship. The temp agency wanted to see my birth certificate. I showed it. He said, “Can’t use a copy, need original”.

“They don’t give original, even to the president”.

He said, “How about passport”?

I got it. It is expired, no good. “Social security card” he asked.

“No”. Go get one. Takes a week. Come back.

I could see it in his eyes. He was looking at my age and appearance. My imperfect scary teeth. Ageism, but I can’t prove it. Happens a lot.

Can’t get Traction. Can’t get traction. Jobs are all done online via job sites. For years, yes years, I have been applying for photography jobs all across America. I went back to school, finished my BA. No change. Nothing. I’m a self employed type of guy. So what the fuck is my next step? I don’t fucking fucking know. Sip my large iced coffee. Feeling better. Got an imaginary plan.

Not Homeless Friendly. Left Tucson a year ago. Separated from wife. Sold our house. Got rid of anything that would not fit in my truck. Hillbilly rich. Got the truck ready for traveling. Hit the road. Drove across America, visiting friends and family. Landed in San Diego. Roommates with former wife and her oldest daughter. My daughter and first granddaughter live in San Diego. Main reason I chose to say here. Trying to stay put. San Diego, one of least homeless friendly cities in America. Frustrating and challenging. Thank the Universe for family. They help make it tolerable.

Starbucks Bathroom Movements. Watching people, a man and a women, waiting to use bathroom. It’s a coffee joint so we all know what happens. The man kicks his feet outward and shuffles around, grimacing. The woman, standing, crosses her legs and has a sour look. I know that sensation of having to go right now. Not pleasant.

What’s That Smell? Last summer on the road I would go weeks without a shower. My record is 30 days. Yes, that sounds gross, and it can be, depending on your state of existence. The point is I’ve learned how to stay clean and neat is very small living quarters. But even then there is a particular camp fire grunge, fresh air type odor, that I would smell. Solution, air out the van, the bedding and do birdie baths.

I Want That Soup. Wait, I’m hungry. I’ll heat my soup. The challenge is, the flame from the stove may flicker through the curtains. If folks see that I’m sure someone will come knocking. Many different scenarios can play out. Fuck it, I want that soup. Umm, very good, Progressive Clam Chowder with Wheat Thin crackers.

I think I’m done for now. Time to leave Starbucks. Coffee buzz all gone. Heading back to 007. First get to use indoor bathroom. Was anyone taking notes on my toilet experience? They would say “He wiped his hands on his pants”. I did, there were no paper towels.

Old Dog Says, “It is what it is” / January 15, 2024 by patrick mcardle

At Starbucks getting high on caffeine. My first coffee in two months. Got the Starbucks buzz, now what?

First I got to get some warmth going. Shivering a bit. Still thawing from the coldness that has creeped into my bones after waking this morning in my 69 Ford van. It’s cold in here until the sun gets just above the horizon. It creeps into the van giving it that perfect warmth factor. Looking around the Starbucks for a warm sun laced spot to sit. None.

Oh well. It is what it is.

Today is caucus day in Iowa. Maybe that is why I’m so agitated. The idea that Trump is actually still running disturbs me. Oh well, it is what it is.

Note: A man just walked in tethered to his cell phone talking out loud sharing his personal life with us. His Mom did something that he has got to attend to. Note to self, “Don’t ever make the cell phone part of my body”.

The women next to me is talking to someone on her cell phone. I would have to wear soundproof ear plugs to escape knowing things about her life. The man with the loud voice who is tethered to his phone is chatting with the barista. Combined with the lady next to me, the sounds in here are confusing. My imagination is flying around the room looking for a place to land. Must be the caffeine effect. “

“Take another sip boy, get the buzz. Join the crowd”. Sounds cyclical, right? It is. Today I need to be cynical. My way to sanity. Got to let it go, write it out. Sorry but not sorry.

It is what it is. Now the piped in music is annoying me. Maybe I should have stayed in my warm van. A young person walked by wearing ear buds. I find this interesting and it’s a reminder I have not been trained to live in this new world. My cell phone just alerted me to a FB notice. I look then another comes up about a received email. I have to look cause of an expected lead on some work.

My email account has more than five thousand unanswered messages. It would take me hours to look at them and delete. And yet another email alert on the phone. And another, and another. It will never cease. Even when I unsubscribe they keep sending them.

I get robocalls, some in the early hours (7am) and late night (9pm). I tell them to fuck off and never call again. They still call. I have to give my email and phone number to retailers to get their so called special member discounts. Choices, give them info or pay more. I need the extra money so I submit. They say its private info for their use only but within days I get a whole new slew of robocalls and unsolicited emails. Retailers lie routinely to get my cash and loyalty. Americans are annoyed with this, but we endure, we have no choice.

I’m an old dog. Do I need to adapt to this new techno world to survive? Yes is the only answer unless one chooses to live in a box somewhere. Of course its not safe and a guarantee to a troubled lifestyle. Street living means jail, tickets, danger and is extremely hard to get out of.

I don’t want that. I chose to live in my van. This way I have better choices and a chance to live a decent life with dignity. However, there is no escape from modernism. There it is, the crux of this world. Adapt. We have to adapt. If not we get weeded out. The system is designed this way. Homelessness can be erased if Americans found the will to do so. Not today and probably never. The underlings will always exist to support the rich and do their bidding, their dirty work.

Trying alternative methods to get by works, but it takes time, energy and tons of patience. Today I’m running on empty. So I’m having this bitch fest. Trying to erase these feelings of lost hope and despair.

The loud voice man is gone. The woman next to me has stopped talking. She is memorized by her phone. She sips her coffee and studies the phone. Looking at it as if she is expecting something. What exactly is she looking for? I can’t ask her. To risky. It could blowup on me. These days the police are the go to for any minor incident. The Karens’ of America rule. The Trump MAGA people rule. We have seen evil prevail and goodness diminish. Yet here we still are, fighting for decency and humanity.

In the mean time at Starbucks the microcosmic world plays out. But wait, it is not as bleak a picture as I paint it to be. For example. The woman next to me just left. She wished me a good day. And there is a kid about 7 years old in front of me bitting on his toy dragon smiling and walking towards the counter. His mother carries a tiny dog as her boy shows the barista his toy. The barista smiles and greets the boy with kind words.

There is goodness and fun in the world. We just got to search for it or wait. Starbucks has quieted down now. My anxiety has diminished a bit. Maybe cause my coffee is half full. I’m buzzing. Is this what it takes to endure this whacky world, Starbucks coffee?

For me, today, Starbucks is my pacifier. My peaceful and wonderful savior even though I broke my vow to never drink coffee again. Oh well, “It is what it is”.

Quick note. A person just came in with two dogs bundled for the cold. The bigger one is sniffing all the goods getting its wet germs all over them. The smaller dog is struggling to walk with the sweater on. I could complain but I wont. It’s the new life in America. Accept it? Do we have a choice?

Snail Hunting at Tijuana River Valley Campground / January 11, 2024 by patrick mcardle

I was walking around my campsite hunting snails. Yes, snails.

But why was I not finding them? There were herds of snails when it rained recently. So I went back to the first snail I found. Closeup it looked dead. I nudged it. It crumbled. The snail had abandoned its shell. Then I realized when it rains snails come out. It was dry out.

So I stopped hunting snails. Instead, I walked a bit then, stopped and listened, with intent.

I heard a helicopter. They are in constant motion monitoring the border wall. The wall is a half mile from this campground. The helicopter noise sounds like a soundtrack forom a war movie.

Although this area is not a war zone, it is a political football because of immigration issues. Thousands of people every day are trying to get into America without authorization. And it’s happening here in my campgrounds’ backyard. I send only good vibes to all of the people trying to get accepted into America, I send hope and strength as they fight for life, dignity and a safe harbor.

The border issue is extremely complex hence the reason for no productive and effective resolve. That is another story for later.

In the mean time as my walk continues I notice the woman who I spoke with earlier is gone. She is from Florida and left in December in her car with her dog and is traveling to Mexico.

We spoke a bit . She warned me to keep my distance because she was feeling ill. I asked if she had covid. She didn’t know. But noted her two previous bouts with the virus. We agreed the covid era was bad. She predicted 2024 would be better especially after the election. She made special note of the unkindness raging in America. She then put some shaving cream on her face and cut off the mid morning stubble. She said it is one of things about being trans.

I looked at her empty spot and wished her well and safe travels.

The next day I packed up and left. Destination unknown. But i’ll get there.

Rattlesnakes, bushes and drones / June 11, 2023 by patrick mcardle

***Lost drone in rattlesnake bushes. iPad art, pj mcardle***

In my last blog post I talked about drones. I wrote, “What goes up must come down and where it lands however can be a mystery. Especially in the drone world”.

Sadly, in my current drone world, my little flying friend is missing. He/she/it crashed into a pine tree and then tumbled to the ground. Then limped a bit and stopped. The only damage was a nick on one propeller blades. I ignored it and flew anyway. Bad decision.

The little whirling grey machine went straight up, turned toward the YMCA compound and took off. It dipped down past the thick and wide row of bushes. I could not see it but I heard a clank, thud noise. That is the last I saw of my grey little friend.

I have flown in that area a few times with no problems. Plenty open sky to navigate in. This time, however, when the drone crashed into the pine tree (same tree it rammed before) it crashed through the branches to the pavement. The propellers were still turning and slamming against everything. They survived before but not this time.

That nicked propeller blade I mentioned earlier, well, it was beat up enough to make a difference. When that little blade did its job putting the drone up there, giving me a thrill, it said its farewell and blasted off toward the YMCA.

I looked around and we (the YMCA employee) agreed the Drone was gone. I said to myself, sadly, “Like forever”.

I could have spent a long time crawling through the thorny bushes, But I did not know my friend long or well enough to die for. I say this because of the thorns and rattle snakes that live in those bushes.

So here I am today, a man without a drone and the only one in my family who has lost his drone.

My last photo using my drone. Chula Vista California, YMCA parking lot.

Hundreds Of People Lose Their Drones Every Year / October 23, 2022 by patrick mcardle

The art of droning

What goes up must come down but where it lands can be a mystery.

by Patrick McArdle

What’s goes up must come down. Where it lands however, can be a mystery, especially in the drone world.

For all the folk out there who fly drones you know what I’m talking about. When one is learning the art of droning their little hoover craft often lands in a neighbors fenced in yard, across the street in the Starbucks parking lot or somewhere not seen.

That has not happened to me yet, as I am being extra careful. But I have managed to crash it into the living room ceiling, the side of the house and today it scooted into the cab of my truck and out then crashed against the door and skidded onto the asphalt Home Depot parking lot.

Still running upside down I made the mistake of grabbing it. The blades bite at my finger. I dropped it on my foot and got another bite. After frantically pushing buttons on the controller it stopped. Luckily it was not damaged so I could fly again. Next time was successful.

It went straight up and I got it as far as it would go. It stopped and just hovered. I played with the controller twirling it in circles moving it left and right backward and forward until I sort of understood what I was doing. There was nothing up there to smash into. The trick then is to get into a large parking lot with no cars or buildings near by.

When I first opened the drone months ago I read the instructions. I understood a little bit and got enough info to get it into the air. I abandoned the manual since then and just push buttons and hope for the best. It’s working out. But, there are ways to make the drone behave and come back home if one programs it. That is my next step.

I have been lucky so far and have only crashed it and it survived. It has not run away and I don’t want to have that experience. So I’m going to read the manual. It’s a fun toy and photographically the possibilities are endless.

The Good Witch Brought Him Home / October 22, 2022 by patrick mcardle

by Pj. McArdle

Dorothy tapped her feet, “Home again, home again”. The Good Witch granted her wish.

I stood in the truck stop parking lot 500 miles from Tucson tapping my feet. Nothing happened. Climbing back into my truck, weary and tired, I turned onto interstate 10 west and kept driving. I drove 833 miles that day.

On the last leg of my 6,000-mile journey I was traveling from Largo Florida to Tucson. After driving through some of the most picturesque states in America this last bit did not excite me. Not because it was not worthy. I was tired and a bit worn down from living out of my truck for two and a half months.

I appreciate my health, the truck and my attitude about living a Nomad life style. I was still excited about being free to go where I wanted and when.

I was however, a bit overwhelmed about driving 2,000 miles on the southern route of America from Largo to Tucson. Especially since the weather was hot and humid. The AC on all the time makes my truck run hot. I tried to drive at night as much as possible. This limited my off road excursions. Given these circumstances I decided to drive fast and furious to reach Tucson. I had also gathered enough images, video footage and memories to keep me busy creating for many years. And I was anxious to begin working on these treasures.

This Is after all part of my plan, to have the freedom and space and time to pursue creativity in my life as opposed to just living to die. I’m also 68 and in my opinion older folks have an awakening when 70 is knocking on the door. Get busy living or do nothing.

The idea of living large did not however, include driving 2,000 miles. That was not thought about in the grand scheme of things. I felt exhausted after traveling more than 4000 miles and living in my truck. But alas, here I am back in Tucson. The good Witch did indeed grant my wish but not how I intended. She just got me here safely from start to finish. I am so grateful.

It’s great to be home. Although I don’t have a physical home in Tucson, I do have friends who do. They invited me to stay in their spare rooms, couches etc, but I have come to love my Nomad-mobile and it is very comfortable. When offered an inside spot to stay I say, “No thanks, but can I crash in your driveway”?

So far it is working perfectly and I thank all my friends who are supporting my adventure.

This is in a way, my official proclamation that my new home is my truck. I like saying that. It’s liberating and backs up the idea that this new lifestyle is working just fine. I spent the last three months trying it on for size. I had to retry the fit a few times and make some changes and adjustments but overall it is perfect.

Being back in Tucson is like a celebration for me. It‘s like an idea that was manifested from years of quiet contemplation and just exploded from necessity, desire and life style changes. It also feels like the start of a new creative era for me. A sustainable way of being alive and happy. Of course it’s not an overnight transition and various changes can still happen and will. But the basics are in place.

I’ll be back in town for the All Souls Procession and am wildly excited about that. I don’t have definite plans after that other than being happy and free.

Old Friends Reconnect after 30 years of Silence / October 12, 2022 by patrick mcardle

I traveled 2,300 miles to visit with my
friends after 30 years of silence.

We were the drugged out burn down the establishment revolution fuck you era hippies that spent the rest of our lives growing up.

By Patrick McArdle, shown above in Tucson Arizona.

So how does one write about visiting an old friend they have not seen or spoke to in more than 20, 30 or even 40 years?

Great question. Why would they want to reconnect? Is it even possible? Will it be a nightmare? Will someone get killed? Will someone get their ass kicked? Will it be a ruination? Will love bounce round the room and strike like a drunk Cupid? So many possibilities. For me however, the only constant was trust. I remember trusting all of these people and I knew that would get us through the humps and bumps, the forgotten experiences and awkward stillness.

As usual I just had an idea and went forward. Reflecting on it now is really the first time I put any deep thought into the reasons why I was willing to drive across America and meet with what in essence is total strangers.

But, the way forward was already determined. And what made it easier was everyone I wanted to meet was equally excited about the reconnection. The invitations were made when they heard I was coming to Michigan. It was mutual. So that made it easy. I knew they were serious and sincere and was willing to risk as much as me. I worked real hard cause I am challenged with an introvert personality.

I was also feeling wounded when I decided to hit the road. The trauma came from years of difficult life experiences. It felt like a very old friend may be good medicine, a way to heal and reignite my mojo. I am also 68 years old and that has had an impact on many aspects of my life. Mainly I want to stay active and have new adventures and experiences.

The friends I met are in the same age bracket as me. And we all shared the same cultural hardships and joys. We had a deep connections because we all grew up in the 60’s. The drugged out hippie burn down the establishment revolution fuck you era that took us the rest of our lives to grow out of.

The constant thread in our conversations was always the cultural aspects of growing up in a historical period that will always be noted as the most significant one ever occurring. Google the 60’s life and times. To much happened to mention here. It did, however, trickle through our small worlds and we bonded just because it was all to big to understand. We desperately needed each other to help reason and make sense of the radically changing times. And for the most part we succeeded.

Some of us, sadly did not and have died. That is the hardest thing about reconnecting with old friends.

So how is so and so,”. I ask. They answer slowly and cautiously because the depth of some of these relationships goes deep. I simply nod and we move on with the conversation. Their death makes us realize we truly are survivors. Cause we all did the same things, shared the same pot pipe, drank more beer than we should and stepped outside the law on more than one occasion.

It was crazy times but we made it. And we still are making it. Now I sit across from my old and new friend trying not to cry knowing it’s time to leave and we will more than likely never see each other again. With this quiet acknowledge we hug, wave and watch each other drive away.

I am more than happy I took this journey and now I have new memories and moments to cherish as I grow older.

Thank you dear friends for sharing your lives with me once again.

Pontiac Is not In decline, It is not Dead, it does Not Suck! I Love Pontiac / October 10, 2022 by patrick mcardle

The parking garage for the Riker building in downtown Pontiac. *photo by Pj. McArdle*

By Patrick McArdle

Goodbye Pontiac, hello I-75 south. It’s a long road to Florida. My destination, 1,300 miles to Dania Beach. Before I leave I wanted to hang in the downtown area one more time. I have been here for 6 weeks. Most of my time spent photographing Pontiac. Subject: the decline of a once vibrant city.

Discovering a less than alive and lost dreams Pontiac was easy. Available signs dominate the store fronts. Dusty windows scrapped clean for peek holes were on every window. After awhile I realized the signs advertising available were placards of hope. They were not written or scribbled out on computer paper. Instead they are shiny, bright and easy to read. Placed perfectly and professionally.

The buildings that are occupied are also shiny and new looking. Artistic in design and definitely in favor of highlighting the architectural marvels that they were and still are.

One in particular, the Riker building has been under renovation for six years according to one of the construction workers. I roamed around the building and discovered an amazing array of large open space areas used for various purposes. Top notch through and through. As a kid I went to the Riker for my dentistry work. Touring the building gave me hope for Pontiac. I realized the possibilities for a new and shiny Pontiac. A secret garden of wonderment and artistry.

There is a book waiting to be written about Pontiac. For my purposes today, I’m simply jotting down what it feels like to be back in Pontiac after a 30 year hiatus. I left Pontiac on a negative note which made it difficult to look at and enjoy my visit. That changed quickly when I strolled through the streets and alleys of downtown. In the alleys I could see the remnants of the old cobblestone that once paved the main roads.

My grandmother would ride with us on the bus and we would go to Walgreens (not sure if that was the store) and get malts. I would ride the bus to the Pontiac Press and pay my paper route bill on Saturdays. Great and warm memories.

After a 30 year leave and as a photographer I immediately fell in love with the downtown area. There are amazing images on every street and they all tell a story. Ultimately I am dreaming of creating a coffee table picture book from my images.

Photographing downtown recently I got hungry and stopped in to eat at the Oak House Deli, at 1 south Saginaw street. I was told it was the oldest surviving building in Pontiac. It was built in 1830 in the center of Pontiacs business disrtrict which at the time was booming.

The front view of the Crofoot building in downtown Pontiac. *photo by Pj. McArdle*

Indeed the building has a unique and one-of-a-kind history. It’s another story waiting to be written which will not happen in this article. For more historical info visit The Crofoot.com.

The décor at the deli compliments the flavor of downtown and adds some artistic and refreshing touches. For example, there are tables to eat at, couches to sit and chat with friends and a 14 foot long bar table with stools. The wood is finished and topped out with polyutherane. It matches the shiny floor which is real wood. The front wall is solid windows and affords a perfect view of the street action and beyond.

In the Oak House there is plenty of open spacesutrrounded by artistic elegance. *photo by Pj. McArdle*

The area is open and spacious and the walls are dominated by posters of various music and other entertainament events sponsored by the Crofoot, a mixed use independent entertainment complex. The Oak House Deli occupies an area in the front of the building. It also has has the Pike Room and a ballroom.

The Crofoot is another story on its own which, again I will not cover here. For more on that go to Crofoot.com

The elegantly framed posters and pictures on the wall include Jay and Silent Bob Get Old, Alabama Shakes and an special inauguration dinner for President Obama with Jazz Pianist Charles Anthony in the Pike Room and the Hidden Agenda Band DJ Ron Jackson in the Crofoot Ballroom. These are only a few of the events sponsored by the Crofoot as southeastern Michigan’s most dynamic independent promotion company. They produce shows in nearly a dozen venues spread out across mid and West Michigan via Fusion Shows.

So to say that the Oak House Deli is a jewel and beacon of hope for Pontiac is an understatement. It demonstrates the will power of Pontiac residents to stay vibrant and the recreate the spirit of the city that was named after one of the greatest Indian chiefs in America.

Driving From California to Pontiac for BBQ Ribs / September 20, 2022 by patrick mcardle

By Patrick McArdle

It would be a lie if I said I traveled all the way from California to get some Detroit BBQ ribs. It would not be far fetched, however, if I admitted I fantasized about it. Especially during the long stretches of driving where I did lots of daydreaming about my Michigan visit.

Once I got to Michigan finding an outdoor BBQ was more difficult than I imagined. I drove around the area in Pontiac I thought I could find one one but no luck. I called my sister, who already told me where one was, and she gave me the directions again. I ignored her the first time cause I tend to do the man thing. “I don’t need no map I’ll find it,” thing where we always get lost but never ask for directions. Stubborn.

I hit Woodard from Whittemore street turned left and there it was, Sco’s Backyard BBQ, on the corner of Earlmoor and Woodard. Ironically next door to McDonalds. I asked Uncle Sco (the master BBQ chef) if McDonalds ever harassed him. He said they didn’t. But they did come by and eat the BBQ delights.

The menu is extensive including my favorite, the ribs. I almost switched to chicken wings when Uncle Sco handed me one right off the grill. But, alas I had to honor the hours and hours I spent daydreaming about the ribs while driving across America.

Before I ordered I watched the crew work. Sco’s daughter and cousin were there to help. Others, friends or family I assume were hanging out and I also assumed they would jump in and help when it got really busy. It was already medium busy when I pulled up. My sister said there are lines most of time.

And for good reason. The food is very tasty and original. Extraordinary would be a better description. Probably cause Uncle Sco has been doing the BBQ for 20 years. He’s been at his current location for one year. The huge cooker he uses was custom made in Kansas City 20 years ago. He has two cookers going at once. He walks between them like a man checking multiple fishing poles on the bank of a river. Intense and very attentive. Lifting the cookers lids he peers inside, flips the meat and determines what has to be removed. He lets the lids slam back down when he is sure all is well. And they do slam, getting everyone’s attention. We are assured I’ll is well cause Uncle Sco moves to the next drum, lifts the lid and does the same inspection.

When he opens a cooker a huge cloud of smoke bursts out and escapes into the atmosphere. Uncle Sco’s head is right in the midst of it. He crouches down putting his hand on the counter by the cooker and peers in. His face is concentrated and serious. I ask him if he still enjoys the work.

“I love it,” he says “You got to love what you do.” He assured me this is what he will do forever. I truly hope so. Cause when I visit again I want my ribs.

Coffee and Hot Tubs? Why Not. / September 14, 2022 by patrick mcardle

by Pj. McArdle

Coffee and hot tubs or a sauna? Why not. Café Mokka, Finnish Country Sauna and Hot Tubs in Arcata California offers these services at a surprisingly low price. Only $12 for an half hour including another half hour to use the shower.

I’m a light weight. I only lasted 15 minutes in the sauna. The cold shower cooled me down. I went in the sauna for another few minutes, feeling like I had to get my moneys worth. I walked back into the coffee shop feeling altered. Sitting outside the shop near the green algae pond I was completely relaxed. The 800 miles I had driven so far on my Nomad adventure melted into oblivion.

The Finnish Country Sauna, 495 J street, located in Arcata California is one-of-a-kind for two reasons. Firstly it offers a sauna and hot tub experience wrapped around a coffee café environment. I asked if they were in fact a one-of-kind-shop. Yes, was the answer, especially at the low price. Open Monday through Thursday 11 to 11pm and Friday and Saturday 11 to midnight, they give customers plenty of time to come in. I was lucky to get in almost immediately cause someone had cancelled.

Secondly the compound is other worldly. A variety of trees provide shade and surround the beautiful green algae covered pond. Two small bridges give access to the sauna areas and cross over the pond. There are tables set near the pond in different spots around the area. This allows users to sip their coffees and teas after they finish a hot tub or sauna. Customers can also just sit and enjoy the ambience without using the saunas.

As I sat there I could hear customers laughing and talking inside the saunas. A variety of flowers added color to the green pond. Inside the shop a man was sitting with his head hung down. I think he was snoozing. No one bothered him. Another younger guy was sitting on a smallish hill outside shrouded by the trees smoking joints. He walked from his spot and asked me if I had any cash cause the shop only accepts cash. I didn’t have a single dime. He walked on.

Would I drive 800 miles again to experience the Finnish Country Sauna? Hell yea.

Arcata is a city the north coast of California adjacent to the Arcata Bay portion of Humboldt Bay in Humboldt County. There is a strong sense of community in the area which is surrounded by ancient Redwood trees. HTTPS://cafemokkaarcata.com

BIGGBY: It's a Michigan Thing / September 14, 2022 by patrick mcardle

Wednesday special. Iced Latte with whipped cream caramel and chocolate. *photo by Pj. McArdle*

I call myself a Road Warrior mainly because I live in the small camper sitting in my 1993 ford Ranger. Being on the road I often use coffee cafes because they have internet. I van do my. Writing there. I usually use Starbucks. The one I have been using closes at noon. That’s the time I start my day. I discovered my new place just by driving by. It is comfortable with living room chairs that one sinks into. It has 270 stores in Michigan with a few in other states. They are currently celebrating 25 years of “Love” as stated on their ads.

Along with the comfy chairs they have regular tables and chairs for those who want to use their computers. An elegant lobby entrance split between carpet and tile is welcoming. Easy restrooms with no code required. Just go in and do your business. Just like most coffee places there is a large selection. There are also daily specials.

I was initially on the fence about changing my work place to BIGGBY. The name was to rehearsed. In other words it sounds like a marketing strategy. Sort of like BIGG as in large portions or we are BIGG and important. Then they threw in the BY in as in buy our Big important product. But after some thought I began to respect their genius. It was a smart move and I’m probably only one of a few who looked at the marketing aspects. Now the name strikes me as quirky off the wall. My kind of place to be.

And I was sold on the place when I walked in and the three girls working there were laughing out loud when I walked in. They had a hard time stopping. One of them was coughing cause they were laughing so hard. I kiddingly asked if they were okay. They laughed some more and said of course. They stood shoulder to shoulder and asked what I wanted confessing I was the first customer they had all day. Of course they were joking and again they laughed.

We all laughed and shared a brief moment. The place was ringing with happiness. I like that. So I am now a BIGGBY guy. I even got me a customer card. If you want to enjoy the BIGGBY experience visit them at 4211 Joslyn Road in Auburn Hills. I can’t guarantee the same happy experience I had cause they same crew may not be working. But the ambiance is worth a walk through and the coffee is good.

Visit their web site at www.biggby.com

Coffee and A Sauna? Why Not / September 12, 2022 by patrick mcardle

by Pj. McArdle

Coffee and hot tubs or a sauna? Why not. Café Mokka, Finnish Country Sauna and Hot Tubs in Arcata California offers these services at a surprisingly low price. Only $12 for an half hour including another half hour to use the shower.

I’m a lite weight. I only lasted 15 minutes in the sauna. The cold shower cooled me down. I went in the sauna for another few minutes, feeling like I had to get my moneys worth. I walked back into the coffee shop feeling altered. Sitting outside the shop near the green algae pond I was completely relaxed. The 800 miles I had driven so far on my Nomad adventure melted into oblivion.

Would I drive 800 miles again to experience the Finnish Country Sauna? Hell yea.

Discovering the real Cannery Row / August 26, 2022 by patrick mcardle

John Steinbeck sits on the top of this statue in Cannery Row, Monterrey California. In random order sitting with him are his friends Ed Ricketts, Ted Balestreri, Bert Cutting, Harry Davidian and George Zarounian. Photo by Pj. McArdle

Written By Pj. McArdle

Monterrey California. I visited there because my daughter mentioned it during a phone call. I had just left Doheny Beach (see blog). I liked the idea of seeing Cannery row, especially the statues of John Steinbeck, author of Cannery Row.

I saw the movie and vaguely remember reading the book. However, the book I remember felt desperate and sad with pitches of hope. Now being at Cannery Row in real time reveals a bright, well kept and organized appearance. However, it seems like tourists are overwhelmed with choices. Hundreds of shops line the street with thousands of people passing by. Tourists are not pouring into every shop, just a select few. I wonder how the shops stay open.

I would have asked a similar question when Cannery row existed during the depression. “How do these desperate souls survive”?

In the novel's opening sentence, Steinbeck described the street as "a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream."

I wonder how Steinbeck would describe Cannery Row today. I describe it as pleasant and interesting. I did not go into any of the shops. I did however get hungry and ate a hot dog. It was all beef and had grill marks. No catchup, mustard or any other fixings. That was up to me. I had to rip open those cheap little packages and squeeze out the pasty condiments. For the price I thought they could have supplied easy to use bottles with a wider selection. I think it could be representative of how corners had to he cut to survive.

A few blocks from the hot dog place was the world renown aquarium. It is worthy of a visit. But the line went around the block and I was concerned about covid. No one was wearing masks.

So I skipped the aquarium pushed my bike and strolled around. I was trying to feel what it was like in the olden days. A few antiquated restored buildings sparked my interest, but they were just sign posts for people to look at. Picture points for the tourists.

I ended up at the square where I started. There is a statue of Steinbeck and his friends. That was magical and took me away. I spent some time photographing it and could feel the conversation they were having.

Still, I felt like I was missing something. I walked over to the railing by the bay. I looked down. Shazam, there was the essence of cannery row. The water, the rocky shore and the wharf that stretched forever out onto the bay.

On the beach walking on the rocks I could feel how one could get a sense of ease just hearing and experiencing the ocean. I could imagine how that small beach area gave them a way out, a way to feel fine. I stepped onto a rock and sat near a small tide pool. There was a small crab and an urchin. The crab was bravely touching the urchin who could have pulled it in with its tentacles. A death trap.

The crab walked around the urchin occasionally daring fate. Back and forth through the tide pool it crept. At one point the crab was so close. I wanted to put my finger in the water and save it. I didn’t. That was my best experience at the Cannery row.

It reminded of the people who lived there and how they tempt fate just to get along and do what they need to do to survive. In that sense Cannery Row has not changed and it is still resembles the same place in a different time era.

It Could Have Been Worse / August 22, 2022 by patrick mcardle

Sun sets in Wyoming while driving on i80 East toward Cheyenne.

I’m in Boise Idaho. Never been here before. Pulled in at midnight. Found a truck stop. Opened the camper and said out “Lordy, Lordy look at this”. The camper was tore up. The 27 inch iMac had crashed onto my bike. Items that normally were secure were strewn around the camper. Most of it on the floor. The bike was wedged in by the fallout.

I lifted the iMac from the bike and said again “Lordy, Lordy”. The screen was cracked near the top in two places where it had landed on the bike handle bars. Immediately I went to my it’s okay place, it could have been worse.

All of this was discovered in front of the tire store I pulled into to get a new spare. About 40 miles from Burn Oregon the drivers side rear tire blew out. A new tire was necessary. As I went through the tire selection and buying process I again noted it could have been worse.

Yes it could have been disastrous. The tire not explode it simply blew out. Big difference. I easily turned the truck to the side of the road. The spare was good and it got me to Burn. However when I pulled the blown out tire off I had to get off the pavement and onto the gravel. I scrapped the gravel so I could slide the tire on to the rim.

All done and feeling relieved I tried to pull away. The truck was struggling and jumping in the very loose gravel. It stalled out a few times with the front part of the truck parked on the roadway. This was in fact the worse case scenario. I finally got the truck on the road but it was jumping like a scared deer. That was when the interior fell to pieces.

Now looking back I have to say yes indeed it could have been much worse. A half hour before the blow out I and a few others travelers had to wait hours for the road to be cleared from a three car crash.

My blowout was a minor incident. But a huge reminder that anything can happen instantly. It really shook me. As I engineered how to fix the flat I looked in both directions. Breathtaking views but desolate. If all else fails, I told myself, I could finish the trip on my bike.

I ended up getting two new front tires. The one that had blown got replaced, of course. And I decided to get another. The tire had ripples which meant it could blown out without warning. During this whole process I was calm outside but in a panic mode inside. What if, what if, what if I kept saying. Then I asked how to fix it so I could feel secure. I looked at all of the events as signs that led me to the realization that not everything is only one way. I decided to change my travel plans.

NOTE: I wrote the above three daze (I do mean daze, as if a daze) ago. I hit the Interstates and have been doing 80 mph through Idaho, Utah and Wyoming. I’m in Wyoming now, about 300 miles from Cheyenne. Chicago is the next destination. Then on the Michigan.

So back to the change in plans. Originally I intended to cross the North part of America and take my time. The three car crash and flat tire made me realize I would have to travel the back roads. These events made me realize how precarious that could be if I broke down. I could be stranded for hours or days. On the interstates it is easier to navigate breakdowns and emergencies. Also my cup runneth over with spectacular and amazing sights, enough to last a life time.

So I’m moving fast to get to Michigan. Once there I can look at my images and my notes and write for weeks along with visiting friends and family. Okay, that is where I am at at this time. Be well.