What kind of van do you have?
–Ship

It’s a twenty year old Chevy van with about a gazillion miles on it. It was a conversion van but due its age the interior got ripped out and remade into a converted conversion van. Time plus poor original materials and installation quality took its toll. I was originally just going to remove the seats, replace the carpet and take some space wasting arm rests off the wall that enclosed probably 20 square feet of dead space. But as typical with renovations I ended up completely gutting the interior and rebuilding it all. Each problem that I pulled out and tossed in the trash just revealed another problem. Before I new it the only thing back there was the headliner.

Thankfully I had a bunch of donated leftovers from various people’s home renovation projects so my cash outlay was low. I now have a cabinet and desk like thing behind the drivers seat with a full bed in the back with lots of storage space underneath. And, since I pulled so much out I got to insulate the interior too.

It’s comfortable enough but it’s really in desperate need of some mechanical repairs. Most importantly right now is the brakes. But the engine needs some routine heavy maintenance and the alignment is really, really bad.

If I had to do it over again I’d probably go with a mini van. The extra space is nice but the improved fuel economy might just be better. I think if I got my current van properly tuned up I’d squeeze out a couple more miles per gallon but no matter what a mini van would just be more efficient.

The nights here are not so dangerously cold but I made some commitments that will tie me to couch surfing for another week or so. It’s a good thing over all but I do miss my van.

I like sleeping in my bed with my pillows and linens. I like reading with my LED flashlight. I like being in the small space where I feel all cozied and cocooned. I like the changing vista and the quiet. Sure there can be traffic noises but unlike an apartment I don’t have plumbing noises or people walking above me.

A couple things I miss about living in a home

The bathroom: Showers on your agenda, running water and a toilet. In a van you can use kitty litter bucket toilets and a big bowl for washing in. Living life like it’s 1850 really isn’t all so bad.

The oven: In a van it is rather difficult to make a frozen pizza or a properly made baked potato–the kind with crispy skin. A toaster oven could work and would allow for cheese toast but I’m not hooked to shore power enough to warrant carrying one. Though this wouldn’t work well for potatoes and pizza but fresh cheese toast on tap may make me not mind that so much. The refrigerator is nice too but I really don’t miss it when I van dwell. I’m quite happy with foods that are shelf stable.

Standing up: my van is not a high-top so being in a home allows for that pleasing upright stance so fitting of a descendent of homo erectus. But then in a van everything you have is so near that you don’t have far to walk. Mostly you can just lean or stretch to grab what you need.

I haven’t written of late and at some point perhaps I’ll address that fully. But, I have been reading my email and watching the comments here on the site and I’ve appreciated them even though I’ve not responded. Real life must of course come before websites but I’ve apparently left a bit of a hole that needs filling.

“Readers” is as good a term as any I think. Regardless of the term you have motivated this posting.

I am alive and reasonably well. And you’re right, it is wickedly cold. Last summer I had decided to move south for the winter if need be–should I need the warmth. But each week here brought yet another reason to stay yet another week. Eventually, before I knew it, it’s Super Bowl weekend and I’m still here.

For the time being I do have warm accommodations thanks to a kind friend. It is not permanent by any means but while things are life threatening I do have some traditional shelter. I have learned in recent months that I can camp out in weather dropping to about twenty degrees without using a heat source. It’s not the ideal but it is possible with reasonable comfort even if “reasonable” means frost on my top blanket. But right now it’s negative eight fahrenheit and that’s just a wee bit too cold. So indoors I am.

It’s funny though how accustom to the cold I’ve gotten. Normally I’m the one braving the winter with sixteen sweaters on and shivering. That was of course in the housed days whereas now I’m far more subject to the elements and have rather handily adapted to them. Now I have to turn off the heat in the room I’m sleeping in as I’ve grown used to ice cold air and plenty of blanket weight upon me.

So the belt is on and for the couple of minutes I’ve run the engine all seems well. I’m so happy I was observant as a small child and learned the gumption necessarily to just do my own stuff and not be afraid or confused by mechanical things.

I took a little walk and with some guidance, from a repair shop ironically, I found the hidden auto parts store. It was an old timey shop with about fifty years of grit tucked in it’s corners. The counter guy thankfully took me seriously when I, stupid woman, asked for a new serpentine belt. He was really great and we narrowed down which belt would be needed based on what accessories it had and the engine size. He asked if I might by chance have it with me and I said, “well, the other half of my shopping list is a breaker bar so I can get the leverage needed to get the belt off.” He chuckled.

Fifty three dollars later and I was walking back and feeling very butch indeed with my two and half foot breaker bar in hand.

Returning to the parking lot I was secretly hoping I’d get some random man to lend his superior upper body strength to help–or perhaps an athletic woman. As I’m neither of those two I was really counting on the astoundingly long tool for leverage.

As it turned out the parking lot had plenty of traffic which flowed in a disturbing pattern. All men completely acted as if I didn’t exist. Older women would sort of look, but kept their distance. Who actually inquired if I needed help? Three separate younger women, in their 20s and 30s. Just where is chivalry these days and the good old fashioned neighborly lend a hand? The first two women offered their cell phones and moral support, making sure I was okay though not being able to offer practical help. The third one though, who came as I was wrapping up, was also mechanically able but by that point I was nearly done.

Thankfully that monster breaker bar gave me plenty of leverage to move the tensioner. I’ve failed miserably with shorter ones in the past and will keep this one in a place of esteemed honor as it shines gloriously in its function. Though long as it was I needed to remove the window washer fluid tank and vacuum accumulator to get enough swing. Small price indeed though to get running again.

The belt was beyond bad, it was completely fraying apart and worse than my initial inspection saw. The long separation must have been hiding somewhere. I inspected all the pulleys and they looked fine so I’m hoping it was just a belt gone bad of old age. I’d of course really rather not have another breakage and be told I need more work to prevent the same in the future.

And again, thanks to my father for taking the time to explain things to me when I came and sat with him when I was little. Though not the most patient of men he did always take the time to explain not only the process of repair but the deductive reasoning behind why this was the correct way to repair whatever the problem was.

Four days ago my serpentine belt started squeaking a little, then a bit more. Last night it was a racket. I’ve looked at it seemingly a dozen times though and it keeps looking perfectly okay for a used belt with plenty of serviceable life yet.

Last night I got tired of the noise and bought a little can of belt dressing. This made the noise go away and I was hoping I could make it back to my home base area, where I can find a driveway and a helpful assistant so I can easily change it and do a deeper inspection for why it’s making noise. But this morning I was rudely introduced to a greater and highly expedited need for attention.

While pulling up to the library I’ve stolen internet access from the last couple days I started hearing something flapping around under the hood.  “Oh, expletive.” I quickly get a parking spot, open the hood and expecting the worst I was actually somewhat relieved. My mind had been spinning a million miles an hour… “where was that auto parts store I saw… could I do this on my own… how could I scam someone’s assistance… what would a shop charge… is there anyone I know, even remotely, that I could call who isn’t a hundreds of miles away…”

I didn’t have the gumption to get to far into this first thing in the morning but my quick examination showed that the belt had jumped a groove on the AC compressor and was wearing badly on the far side of the belt. Why this didn’t show before I don’t know. Perhaps I didn’t notice, but it’s a sure bet it was causing some foul noises. And there are a couple of frays visible on that side that knocked off the engagement wires for the AC clutch so that’s probably the racket I heard right before parking. I hope.

Ideally I’d get a new belt on there. But I’m hoping that maybe I can wait until I’m about another 90 minutes closer to my home base area so that I can have help putting the new belt on. I know from experience that I don’t have the upper body strength to get the tensioner sufficiently moved to allow a belt to get on. Not to mention that it’s nice to have two hand when positioning a belt so an assistant is quite handy.

I’ve though about just looking sad and pathetic and female and blond and playing that trump card outside the local auto parts store. I’m in a really nice town and I’m sure someone would help. But I’m perhaps a little too independent to ask such favors and I hate playing down my abilities. So maybe I’ll just try it myself first and see what super human strength I can come up with. The worst case scenario is getting one of the constructions guys next door to the library to help for a couple minutes. Even if I need to slip then a fiver it’ll be well worth it.

I need to get it in my head, at some point, that other people might actually feel the same grand satisfaction when doing something altruistic for another person. Recently I changed someone’s battery for nothing more than a thanks and I was quite happy with the exchange. But I’m not one to ask for such things. I was brought up to just do things myself and not bother other people with my problems. But perhaps I should learn to allow others the joys of helping someone in need.

I’ve dropped mentions several times of how I’ve needed a new alternator for a while now. Last night I realized rather harshly that I should have mentioned it one less time as I ended up doing an emergency repair. Had it waited another 15 minutes to seize I’d have been on my father’s driveway as I planned on replacing it today. No, really! It was on my action list for today and instead of fixing it I’m writing about it. But as it played out my problem wasn’t just an alternator failing, it was also in my delaying the repair in hopes of finding a better financial position to afford the repair. Now my emergency hundred dollar bill is owned by an auto parts store.

Yesterday when I drove from my nighttime parking spot to the library, less than a mile of easy driving, I heard the alternator go from it’s usual whine to a full-fledged racket. It was clearly bad and calling out for death to relieve it of it’s burden. But it was on the way back that the bearings truly gave out and it sounded like hell itself opened up all of a sudden under my hood and soon the four horsepower of the apocalypse would be jumping out.

I knew the second that I heard it doomsday was near so I quickly got off the main drag and into a subdivision. The road I was on I’d need to be towed from whereas I could actually park and repair on a side street and this proved a wise move. One block into the subdivision it died.

When I chose this area to be homeless at while living in my van it was done with deliberation. Most towns have overnight parking bans or at the least restrictions. But, I have friends and family all over to lean on for support and favors. As it turned out I ended up enlisting two people’s help from the family and two strangers.

The death rattle

The van died on a little street corner and I wanted to push it from the stop sign. Turning to the right was mostly a downhill run and I could get my van safely off the road and to a curb but mostly is a tough proposition when the vehicle you’re rolling weighs four tons. Thankfully a kindly gentleman helped for that critical four seconds of pushing and got me up the slight incline so I could roll the rest of the way.

I called a relative and she took me to the parts store where I discovered there could be one of several alternators so I’d need to return for engine and VIN numbers or simply bring in the dead alternator for comparison. I ended up just borrowing that car for a while and pulling the alternator while racing the fading evening sun.

Another kindly stranger was out walking his dog and asked if I needed help. He lived just down the street and offered tools and assistance. I declined on the tools as I carry a basic set and thanked him for the offer and that I may need it when getting the belt back on. Alternators are a pretty easy swap, requiring just a couple of bolts and a wire or two and in short order I had mine out. I can’t imagine how hot it was while running as it was just touchable when I started removing it–some 20-30 minutes after it broke down.

Being a chick in an auto parts store is sometimes comical, sometimes bang my head on the wall frustrating. The guy last night though wasn’t giving me the skeptical eye or wondering why my husband sent me to such a manly store to shop while he’s back home in the garage up to his elbows in greasy engine. The clerk was confident enough with me that it wasn’t until we had the new alternator on the counter that he questioned, “and you’re sure the alternator is dead?” I simply spun the shaft and let him hear for himself the racket and said, “well…it’s sure not right.” He laughed.

The neighbor did return when I was finishing up. He and his wife were in the yard while the kids played. And I was so grateful too! I’d simply never have gotten the serpentine belt on by myself. The amount of force needed on the tensioner to get it moved far enough was so great that even the guy, with his superior upper body strength, had trouble getting it moved. I tried, but we only made headway once I was the one stringing the belt back onto it’s path.

My best friend is a battery pack

After I bought the van the battery I learned that it was a fool’s economy not to get one of those $40 starter assistance battery packs. My essentially brand new battery in my newly purchased van had died and left me stranded one cold winter day. It was $50 for a jump start from the tow truck so the next day I bought a replacement battery and a chargeable battery pack. Sadly the nearest replacement point for a warrantee swap on my battery was several hours away.

Last night that battery pack paid for itself as my van’s battery was just a tad too low to get the engine started up but that booster pack got it roaring. Politely roaring that is, in the purr like a kitten sort of way. Suddenly my van ran amazingly quiet. No more bearing whine and no more gurgly rattle of a thrown bearing!

I drove around a while to charge the battery up and blissed out on the pleasing “I’m in good repair” engine noises my van produced. As it was late I just stuck around the relatives house after returning the car. I was invited to stay the night so I could eat dinner, shower and relax. Having a regular home was so very appreciated last night. The shower was a godsend as I was literally dripping with sweat for the speed and physical involvement of the repair. So I unwound with some DVDs while stretched out on a very comfortable sofa–in an air conditioned room!

The true cost of automotive repairs

People have often wondered why I do my own repairs. This was especially true previous to 9/11 when I always had really well paying jobs. But the cost of having someone else repair a car is more than just the astoundingly high hour rate mechanics charge, it’s the time involved and the quality of the work. When I do my own repairs I know it’ll be perfect because I’m not getting paid by the job, or even by the hour. I’m going to make it perfect and take the time to ensure it is so. And I’ll spend a couple minutes cleaning a part that’s still serviceable rather than a mechanic who’ll just charge me for a new anti-rattle clip for brakes when the old ones, once cleaned, are still perfectly serviceable.

Also, I really hate arranging for rides to and from the mechanic and having to leave it there all day, or even half the day when I know it’s something quick. Like last night it took only 65 minutes from start to finish to replace the alternator including the two trips to the parts store. Comparing that to waiting for rides, waiting for service clerks, waiting for paperwork, waiting, waiting, waiting–and saying no to a million upsells and horror stories about how this or that is broken and must be repaired to be safe. But the only danger there was to my wallet. Especially as women aren’t supposed to know about cars I hear it all and am fortunately smart enough to smell the fishy stories. When I do need repairs done for me at a shop I play stupid for then to see what they say. If they’re honest enough to be fair when I play into the stupid woman expectations I figure they’re a good bet to hire for the repair.

Seems I’m not the only van dweller who spends their days at this library as I’ve been noticing another van with some tell tale signs. Tons of papers and junk on the dash, a sun screen in the front window, dark tinted windows, shades drawn and there’s likely a drape behind the front seats as there’s no seeing in. Plus, it always has a killer parking spot as if the van was there from the moment the library opened and it’s always there. Sure it could be an employee, but in a town of 100,000 people I can’t be the only person living in their car.

These recent days it’s been necessary to find day time air conditioning as the weather outside is oven like. The library of course has the benefit of free electricity to charge with and free internet. And apparently at least one other person who lives in their vehicle is in a similar boat, er, van and capitalizing on the resource.

One aspect of fun I’ve been having while sitting at my table is trying to figure out who’s homeless and who’s not. It’s a “nice” town so there aren’t obvious signs to catch like weeks past due on showers and unnaturally large backpacks. I have a couple guesses but they are just that–pure speculation. I suspect though that today my disheveled appearance was apt to give me away, not to mention the dazed look I must have had as my blood sugar was low and I was beat from my night as an insomniac.

So perhaps my mysterious brethren will make themselves know. I wonder how that’d play off. Is there a secret handshake? It would seem reckless to say, “Hey, I live in my van too, you have the other darkened conversion van, right?” No. I don’t think I’d risk such a disclosure and I don’t think the other person would either. A wrong guess would easily lead to an awkward situation in the upper middle class town we’re both bumming around in currently.

I really feel for the folks on the West Coast as the heat sound positively punishing out there–housed, homeless or van dweller. Here in the midwest it’s only in the low to mid 90s today. This isn’t even bad compared to the 100s out west yet I’m planning my days around the heat and humidity. I can’t sleep much past about 8am or so as the sun gets the van too hot. And I can’t get to sleep until about 1-2am as the residual heat of the day has been retained in the thermal mass of the van. So I’m getting about six hours a night, which is okay–just not ideal.

Lately I’ve been finding air conditioned buildings to spend my time in midday and late afternoon as living in a van during the day in the summer is out of the question. I’m quite glad that I look like just another local doing a little research and soaking up some free internet as I’d hate to loose this resource. Power, internet, water fountains and nice cool air conditioning. There’s no homeless look about me, at least I don’t think so. The library has been a bigger and bigger help to me as the battery on my laptop is getting near useless for anything but quickly checking email and a little internet usage unless I have a somewhere to plug into. It’s holding maybe 25% of the power it originally did and is mighty inconvenient.

So I’d love to get on the internet more at night. Or even just be able to write. But that’ll have to wait until later as I’ll need to find a new battery somewhere. Until then I’ll just be happy reading or journaling. I’d much rather be productive but that’s a tall order in a town where everything is closed at 9pm outside of grocery stores and gas stations.

Which makes me think of an article I read about the West coast heat wave. One person interviewed was describing her means of sleeping. She lays on an air mattress in her living room where there’s the greatest air flow and falls asleep with frozen wash cloths on her head and feet. As they warm and she wakes she replaces then with fresh ones from the freezer and hopes the supply last until morning.

This was presented as a worst case scenario in the article and it struck me as I was reading it. I’d love to have air flow! A breeze, anything! And a freezer? How luxurious! I’m just glad I’m not parked out West or I’d be getting eaten alive by bugs as I’d be forced to sleep outside in a park somewhere.

The funny thing to me is that I’ve been thinking how much nicer life would be on the West coast as it’s generally much more mild than the Midwest where I am. Is this fate telling me to be happy where I am?

I got an email earlier asking if I was okay as I haven’t posted recently. And yes, I’m doing fine. As noted earlier I doing a baby sitting gig so my van dwelling related news is fairly limited. The term for the baby sitting even expanded as the genetic father of the kids decided he wouldn’t watch them this week as promised so I’ll be playing nanny until this coming weekend.

Part of what I’ve been working on is doing a couple minor fix-ups on the van, working on straightening out my paypal and banking situation so that I can start selling on ebay and I’ve been cooking and enjoying meals from a real kitchen. The kids by the way love garlic cheese mashed potatoes and it’s become a staple. I’ve checked into a couple jobs without success and I’ve been reading up on some computer technologies that will look good as buzzwords on my resume and give myself handy skills for my own endeavors.

I’ve also been taking the notes I’ve made since starting to research the process of living in a vehicle. At some point I’d like to have them cleaned up and posted on this site. It’s something that I thought I’d already have taken care of by now, but once I got into them I realized that they were very much written for my reference and not generally purposed. Looking at the mish-mash of ideas I really wish I had used a note taking application to keep them sorted rather than use a bunch of text files. They were originally kept to be my notes for my eyes, but once I got really into I felt I could share the distillation of the hundreds and hundreds of sites and sources that I read from.

This week I’ve got an odd little gig for myself. I’m baby sitting for a couple kids, well one namely. The three kids are all old enough that they should be able to care for themselves for a week but one is irresponsible, one has behavioral issues and the other one works full-time and isn’t around enough to police the other two.

It’s a pretty cake situation as I only need to oversee things, to be an authority presence to keep the problem child out of trouble. This basically entails being here as the kids know me and we have mutual respect for each other so the issues are few. The pay isn’t much but I have a place to sleep, a bathroom and kitchen and all the food I care to eat. Plus, I’ll get a couple of dollars too. I’ve done this before, many years ago, and they well know that I’m a very strict disciplinarian for the few things I actually care about enforcing.

Want to watch a movie with swearing that Mom and Dad would freakout over? Fine, watch it. But, you have to hear my lecture on how constant swearing is fool’s means of communication when sprinkled too liberally. That no word is inherently evil or off limits but when half of your sentence is pulled from the same five word pool of swears their meaning dilutes, the effect is nil and you stop actually communicating with any real meaning. Now, let’s watch Pulp Fiction and then talk about Quentin Tarantino’s narrative structure and character development when it’s over.

An object lesson in cops

Last night two of the kids were out in the neighborhood and found a young stray dog with no collar or tags. Thankfully they realized on their own that they weren’t adopting it.

Me: So what do you think we should do?

Eldest: Well, we should probably find the owner.

Me: That could be tough since the dog might have walked for miles.

Eldest: …yeah [proceeds to say it’s an unfamiliar dog, rambles about the neighborhood and is obviously processing through what to do]

Me: The dog looks really healthy and clean, is very friendly and probably has his people looking for him right now as it probably just got loose a while ago. He’s not drinking the water so he hasn’t developed thirst yet either.

Eldest: We could call an animal catcher…

Me: Exactly the right idea! What we should do is call the police non-emergency phone number as it’s what the owners probably did too. It’d be easier than finding some sort of animal control that’s probably not open now anyways. They can then hook the dog back up with the owner as we could spend days combing the neighborhood looking without success for people the police already have spoken to.

I decided to let the eldest child make the phone call handle everything and she did wonderfully. Police were called and came in about twenty minutes. She told them the story, helped get the dog into the squad car as this was one dog who hadn’t learned the magic of the words “car ride” yet.

Having just posted about dubious police tactics I thought this was the universe screaming out for me to teach them how to handle the police. So when it was all over we talked about being respectful, not causing suspicion and protecting our rights. I broke down all the interactions and how things like not inviting them into the home to talk was the right thing to do as the police don’t need to see inside–a good thing too since largely forgotten illegal fireworks were in plain sight on the kitchen counter. With the one that was old enough to drive we talked about what to do when pulled over too.

The Great All Cop Weekends

The parents know me so they’ll not be surprise that thus far I’ve:

• Played music for the kids including NWA’s F@$k The Police and discussed the cultural significance of perceptual changes over time. We talked about the general impact of watershed moments in pop culture and how yesterday’s harbinger of the demise of Western culture is tomorrow’s Muzak. This brought on by hearing Bill Haley’s (We’re Gonna) Rock Around the Clock which is now considered quaint.
• Discussed how to legally and politely keep the police in their place, what their rights are and how to protect them.
• Made the police the first stop for problem resolution with the stray.