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3. Rules of the Road for Rob

Making this trip was something that I had in mind to do for quite awhile, but circumstances were never quite right. Then for various reasons having to do with the nature of my work, my finances, as well as other family and social obligations, I could see a window of opportunity coming my way. The timing seemed right. By profession, I am an artist, primarily a printmaker. This was not my original profession, but the result of a career change some seven or eight years prior. Originally I was trained as an engineer, an occupation I pursued for almost twenty years before I burned out. That was my larva stage. I started taking art classes (my chrysalis stage) because I seemed to possess some natural ability in that area, and shortly thereafter metamorphosed into an artist. It wasn’t quite as simple as all that, of course; a considerable amount of effort was involved. During the planning phase for this sabbatical on the road I came up with a target figure of dollars per day, which, if I managed to stay near, and peddle some art along the way, I could at least stand still financially. Several reliable sources of income were being terminated upon my departure, and hence there was a definite need to economize.

With the aid of my van I could avoid hotels and motels but there were still campground fees to be considered which, at that time (1986), ranged from five to fourteen dollars per night. This made it difficult to stay within my budget. Finding a place to stay without paying, and without being kicked out in the middle of the night, is not so easy as it might sound, and it is also not quite as safe as staying within the controlled and patrolled limits of an organized campground. However, some of my best camping has been free. Generally speaking, the further north I went the easier it became to find free camping.

Organized campgrounds are convenient, with all kinds of welcome facilities, and there are some nice ones, but there is a tendency for them to be institutionalized to the point that you often don’t feel “back to nature” at all. In addition,they can be crowded during the peak season. I prefer to get away from the throngs except for an occasional stop to get a shower and do some laundry. My van was small and dark brown which made it easy to hide. Sometimes I, quite literally, kept a low profile by not raising the pop top.

The first night on this trip I decided to play it safe so I stopped at Bodega Dunes Park and selected a nice spot with a view of Bodega Harbor. The following day I sold three prints to David and Susan Stary-Sheets of the Stary-Sheets Gallery in Gualala. David is the son of noted watercolorist Millard Sheets, and both are quite knowledgeable about art. The second night I found a great place just south of Westport, right on the beach, with a little stream running down to the sea. Georgia didn’t like it as well as I did, a little too much water for her taste.

I collected some seashells off the beach, but when I got back I couldn’t seem to find any logical spot to keep them. Finally, I threw them into Georgia’s cat litter box. They looked natural there snuggled down in the cat litter. Georgia didn’t seem to mind that. In a way they had a mitigating effect on this duty station. It must be the same kind of thinking that causes manufacturers of toilet paper to print flowers on their product. I had a nice sleep to the sound of surf and no one arrived to boot me out.

The next day I continued north at my relaxed pace. Removed from my everyday working and living routines, I had a lot of time to review things in my mental archives. My perspective broadened from thinking about “trees” to contemplating “forests.” I began “bringing up” some of my favorite little queries and examining them at my leisure. Eventually, I began the process of writing  them down.  Cousinhood explains why I liked to think of Georgia as my cousin. It is light reading, and mildly humorous.

Tags: Artist, camping