away from and forward


When I quiet my mind, I hear it. Behind the noise of the city, beneath the streets, when I look at the stars, I hear it.

The Enchanted Forest is calling me back, back to find myself again, back to visit the sacred sites, the graves, The Grandmother Tree, the memories of the past and future.

I say The Forest is calling me, but more realistically, it is the road. There is a romance that is generated as the wheels spin, when the destination is unknown, when the city shrinks in the mirror and there is nothing ahead but the night and solitude, the broken white lines and blackness as distance passes by and the future is closer than the past with every passing mile that rolls underneath me.


I need to go. Somewhere, anywhere – just away from and forward to the beauty of the unknown…


in which dreams are formed


It was only a few minutes, nothing really to speak of at all – but for those few minutes, that brief moment this past Wednesday – I was home again. Where I feel best, where I feel I belong – with 454 cubic inches of motor singing its sweet, throaty song next to me in the driver’s seat of my motorhome.


Wednesday, 6:30 am and the alarm on my phone went off, my eyes barely opened as I lift this hellish thing off of my dresser and be certain I touch ‘dismiss’ instead of ‘snooze’. It’s not a noise I wish to hear again. Of course, the night before I had found the rare parking on Hyde St. which *didn’t*  have street sweeping this morning, but they were unable to start my girl the day before and needed the space for a 50 foot trailer that was coming in. Not expecting to find such ideal parking I promised that I would be there at 7:30 to move her…

It’s been a while – perhaps well over a month since I’ve been to the East Bay, as with fuel prices and bridge toll it’s not a trip I can make too often, and besides, except for just opening the door and sitting in her, there was little reason to go visit my motorhome.

I felt her welcoming smile as I opened the door and stepped inside again after so long – it was like visiting a dear old friend. Some may understand this; those people whose vehicles become, after a time, much more than just something to use in order to get around in – they become, in a way, a part of you. Part of your history, part of your future, part of dreams both realized… and yet to come.

I climbed into the driver’s seat – *my* seat – and sat there for a minute or three, just looking out the windshield with my eyes closed, imagining the roads we would someday travel, then with a bit of massaging and a small simple trick I turned the key and her heart roared to life, a deliciously low rumble as her blood was sucked up from the oil pan and started circulating again, feeling her strength & power as I pressed lightly on the accelerator pedal, checking the gauges to be sure all was well and, after far too long, moved the lever on the steering column to that sweetest of letters: ‘D’.


I didn’t go far, just out the rollup door and around the building to the other side, but it was still a sweet little spree and reminded me of what I had been missing.

In those few short minutes, I was home again.


Perhaps some may think I’ve gone off the deep end in writing about a motorhome with such romance – words that are usually saved to paint poetic images of and for loved ones of the more, shall we say, *human* nature, and well, perhaps I have – but dreams are still dreams, regardless of what form they take or the way in which they are realized, and Serenity, my motorhome, is the way in which my dreams not only are formed – but can also become a reality.

The Road to Anywhere

Perhaps this little road trip to L.A. will satiate me for just a bit, but I’ve got a feeling it will more than likely sharpen my desire to *truly* get on the road, and keep going. I don’t know whose blood flows through my veins, I’ve never met any of my blood family – but perhaps they – or one of them, were travelers, wanderers as well…

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…