Piece by Peace (or, MotorHeart)

A smile crosses my face as I wake to the sound of birds hopping around on the roof of my motorhome, playing in the tree above me and chirping like they’re gossiping after a Sunday 10am mass at church.

I’d forgotten about this, and I’m in ecstasy.

It’s my fifth consecutive morning waking up in my beautiful home, my comparatively huuuge full sized, unbroken bed, my cabin in the woods, my beach house; my sanctuary, and finally I have found a spot on my favorite street to park in San Francisco, aptly named Treat.

I’ve been chipping away at my to-do list, and adding new things mechanical, aesthetic, and both almost as much as I check off others. Some things necessary but not requiring immediate action such as giving the electrical system a really good look, labeling active wires and doing away with unnecessary ones with so in the future if anything goes awry on the awroad I can fix it with little headache, larger tasks like painting it (mostly) white or ripping out the couch and putting a booth in, (creating more floor space while still having a guest bed), re-carpeting & re-upholstering to rid it of the lovely ‘80’s hotel-room peach motif, and things that are completely ludicrous such as figuring out how to make it fly or float, or installing a hot tub on the roof.

It feels So Damn GOOD to be able to work on her again I never want to run out of things to do, and as she’s twenty six years old, I’m a good mechanic and I have a damn good eye for design, (something I’m not too humble about) I doubt I ever will.

Piece by piece she’s coming together; I’m doing as much as I can to save my last $5 & change for just a little bit more food since that not only is good for a certain thing called hunger & keeping up my energy and health, but I need to take almost all of my dwindling herbs with something in my belly. I could go to Maitri for meals, but that either means giving up my space and using the last of my fuel, or taking the bus for one $4 round trip leaving me even closer to completely penniless and her all alone with most of my things inside, as I would want to take advantage of the time there to shower & pack more.

The main thing that is looming over my head and creating undue stress is the desperate need for a good tune up, and that needs to be taken care of ASAP. It’s one of the very few things that I prefer and want to have done by a professional, at least the first time. Until then she’s running rough, with black smoke billowing out of her pipes polluting grossly and drinking fuel like it’s an ice cold Pabst or fresh lemonade on the Playa. A good tune would fix that.

I have a beautiful vision of pulling up to the DNA Lounge on the 10th with her purring like a kitten, and  right now, it’s only a vision, and my disability check doesn’t come for seven days, which is an eternity right now.

The chirpy-hop birds have taken flight somewhere else and I have a relatively full plate of things I want to work on today, so time to put Clotho to sleep and get my own ass out of bed.

Good morning, beautiful life… and thank you for letting me stick around.

Inside Alice

There are times when, due to all the crap they have me on to eventually make me better, that I just can’t bring myself to enter the outside world. As small as it is, I’m more than happy in my own little sanctuary and if I decide I want a different view, or light coming in different windows whenever I choose, well – I just drive there. Simple as that. My motorhome is the perfect cave for the occasional recluse.

Man, it's wild how a simple word can trigger a memory from so long ago - 
I was just brought waaay back to when I first came to Berkeley, and somehow 
got involved with a couple people who ran a cafe / independent movie house 
on Telegraph &... Dwight? - called the "Cave". 
I vaguely remember Farouk but I don't recall her name, though clearly remember
one time where we drove to a small, cliff lined beach in San Francisco,
 tripping balls on really good acid all through the night, talking 
philosophy, life, dreams... & other profound stuff 
that we thought we were supposed 
to talk about.
Ahhh, memories.

Back. Quite frequently in these reclusive fits I get possessed by small degrees of Martha Stewart & Tim Burton, and in order to feel like I’m at least doing something creative & constructive, I dredge up the energy from wherever I can find it inside & continue on the transformation of Alice; painting, adding or moving small touches, and this time thanks to a previous trip to (ahem) Ikea, where I found some table legs that would work perfectly for my purpose, I was finally able to hang my new bow instead of have her tucked up above the wheelhouse.

Mind you, these shots were taken while the place is a mess, but she cleans up nicely  in the times when I’m not throwing everything around wondering where it should go…

I need to figure out how to get the outside painted white. I’m thinking going at it with a roller & housepaint unless anyone else has a better way of doing it that I can afford – maybe like the way it’s supposed to be done, more or less. I also need someone who can weld a bracket to one of my hydraulic levelers for the spring that pulls it back up. Now that BM is over for the time being, that should be simple enough… I can’t believe I don’t know how to friggin’ weld. Well, not really. I can & have, but don’t know the “Official Proper Way of The Weld” – so if anyone wants to give me a hand there…

Today after yet another appointment at the hospital, I install the reverse camera I ordered for super cheap of eBay – though instead of plugging the power to the camera into the reverse lights (as the manufacturer recommends) so it only works when they’re on – ie. I’m going backwards, I need to find a constant power source that I can run to a toggle on the dash, so I can turn it on whenever I like to see what lurks behind me – and be able to see much more than the crappy mirrors allow.

In these shots, which don’t do Alice any justice at all, you can at least get a flavor for her.

She’s coming along…