From a30c790edea652494e7481f6798047a3bc1fd4ea Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: luxagraf Date: Fri, 28 Jul 2023 13:43:36 -0500 Subject: added a backup of old pages that are no longer live --- .../jrnlold/2020/03/distant-early-warning.html | 528 +++++++++++++++++++ .../jrnlold/2020/03/distant-early-warning.txt | 49 ++ bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/high-water.html | 572 +++++++++++++++++++++ bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/high-water.txt | 70 +++ .../03/pre-apocalyptic-driving-adventures.html | 486 +++++++++++++++++ .../2020/03/pre-apocalyptic-driving-adventures.txt | 43 ++ 6 files changed, 1748 insertions(+) create mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/distant-early-warning.html create mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/distant-early-warning.txt create mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/high-water.html create mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/high-water.txt create mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/pre-apocalyptic-driving-adventures.html create mode 100644 bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/pre-apocalyptic-driving-adventures.txt (limited to 'bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03') diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/distant-early-warning.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/distant-early-warning.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cc4adb3 --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/distant-early-warning.html @@ -0,0 +1,528 @@ + + + + + Distant Early Warning - by Scott Gilbertson + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
+
+
+ + +
+
+ + + +
+
+
+

Distant Early Warning

+

A good storm and a change of plans

+
+
+

Hunting Island State Park, South Carolina, U.S.

+ – Map +
+ + +
+
+
+

There is nothing like a good storm by the sea. The smell of salt on the wind, the slash and clatter of palms as the wind comes ashore. The muffled thick thick think of the first drops spitting on the sand. The lightning flashing far out at sea is always visible long before you hear any hint of a rumble. It blinks like Christmas lights on the horizon.

+

The waves of wind begin to swing ashore, it’s then that you can sense the life in the storm, the personalities, the intentions. Storms are alive too. They have a path to follow just like us. Just because something only lasts a few days, does not mean it doesn’t have intentions. Just because you can’t decipher the intentions doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

+
+ + storm clouds on the horizen photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +

Tonight I sat by the fire feeling the barometer drop, feeling the stir of wind, watching the whirl of embers as the fire died down and the wind came up. I could feel it coming, I could sense its presence.

+

This storm comes from the southwest, a mix a southern and western personalities, a storm we all know in this part of the world. I never worry about a storm unless it comes from the north. Storms from the north aren’t more dangerous exactly, but they’re chaotic and unpredictable. You never know what a north wind will bring. Though around here the ones you really have to watch out for are the east and southeast winds. But we’re months from those.

+

This one we watched arrive. Storm clouds sweeping up from the southwest all day. One or two at first, floating lazily along. Then more, as if they were forming up around some kind of a plan. Whatever the plan was, it didn’t involve Edisto. Despite spitting rain a little during the night it was back to sunshine the next day.

+

I love a good storm, but not when I have to drive. That morning we headed down the coast a couple hours to Hunting Island State Park.The drive was sunny, fortunately. Uneventful. Beaufort proved to be a charming little coastal southern town. Or it looked that way anyway. By the time we drove through, the rest of the country was starting to lock down over the coronavirus. South Carolina remained in a state of blissful ignorance, but having watched the virus spread via stories of friends and family on the west coast, I wasn’t about to head out and wander the streets.

+

I’d just as soon strangers always keep a six foot distance from me. But South Carolina wasn’t about to make rules regarding that or anything else. South Carolina is the south’s “live free or die” state. There still aren’t helmet laws here, which I think is great actually. But a virus is not a motorcycle. A virus is not something you choose to do. A virus really has nothing to do with “rights”. A virus is a good reminder that rights are a thing conferred by communities of people to members of those communities. There are no “natural” rights.

+

It’s also important to dig too, because behind all the talk of rights, usually you find someone making money. As one of the camp hosts put to it when I asked if he thought the South Carolina State Parks would close, “These greedy bastards? Never.” And he was right. The parks down there remained essentially open through April 12.

+

So we missed Beaufort because the virus-exposure-to-fun ratio did not work out in its favor. We did get to spend a few days on Hunting Island though. By a stroke of pure luck we had the nicest campsite in the campground, which was good because otherwise it was packed in and crowded, as beach campgrounds tend to be. The best I can say for it was that the water was walking distance away.

+
+ + ocean, hunting island photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +
+ + storm over the beach, hunting island photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +

The kids spent all day every day out on the sand. We even made in the water a couple times despite the cold. As you do.

+
+ + kids on the beach, hunting island state beach photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +
+ + kids running on the beach, hunting island state beach photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +
+ + jellyfish on the beach, hunting island photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +
+ + kids in the water, hunting island beach photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +
+ + kids in the water, hunting island beach photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +

The beach here was not nearly as forthcoming with treasures. There were shells, and a lot of jellyfish, but little of the fossils and other things we’d been finding in Edisto.

+
+ + kids playing on driftwood, hunting island state park photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +
+ + storm over the dunes, hunting island photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +
+ + deer on the dunes, hunting island photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +

And then our options began to fade. North Carolina shut down its parks, which killed our next plan, which was head to the Outer Banks for a few months. Then Florida shut down its state parks and we were starting to feel the squeeze. Competition for what few camping spots remained became much more intense. We full timers may fly under the radar for most people, but there are far more of us than you know. Take away public camping and the options get thin quickly. We decided it was time to get out of South Carolina.

+

At the time most people were not taking the virus very seriously. Here’s the thing. Maybe you can get Covid-19 and be fine. But what if you can’t? Do you really want to find out right now when there’s no treatment and hospitals are crowded? When we don’t even really understand what the virus does, especially any long term effects? Just because you survive it does not mean you go back to normal. Ask anyone who lives with Lyme, RSV, chronic fatigue syndrome, or any of the other virus-borne diseases with long term consequences. Viruses are nothing new, sickness and death are nothing new, but that doesn’t mean we should run full speed toward them without a care.

+

We decided to take steps we felt would best help us avoid coming in contact with SARS-CoV-2. Unfortunately that meant changing our plans. But it’s hardly the first time we’ve had to change plans. These things happen. Traveling around in RV isn’t a right you know, it’s a privilege that we’ve enjoyed, but right now it isn’t possible. A big part of travel is waiting, so that’s what we’re doing right now, just like everyone else.

+
+
+ + + +
+
+ + +
+ +
+
+
+
You might also enjoy
+ +
+
+ + + + + +
+ +
+

Thoughts?

+

Please leave a reply:

+
+
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
+ + +
+ + + +
+ + +
+ + + +
+ + +
+ + + +
+ +
+
+ + + +
+ + +
+ + +
+ + +
+
+

All comments are moderated, so you won’t see it right away. And please remember Kurt Vonnegut's rule: “god damn it, you’ve got to be kind.” You can use Markdown or HTML to format your comments. The allowed tags are <b>, <i>, <em>, <strong>, <a>. To create a new paragraph hit return twice.

+ + +
+ +
+ + + + +
+ + + + + + + diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/distant-early-warning.txt b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/distant-early-warning.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..01ca72e --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/distant-early-warning.txt @@ -0,0 +1,49 @@ +Distant Early Warning +===================== + + by Scott Gilbertson + + Wednesday, 11 March 2020 + +There is nothing like a good storm by the sea. The smell of salt on the wind, the slash and clatter of palms as the wind comes ashore. The muffled *thick thick think* of the first drops spitting on the sand. The lightning flashing far out at sea is always visible long before you hear any hint of a rumble. It blinks like Christmas lights on the horizon. + +The waves of wind begin to swing ashore, it's then that you can sense the life in the storm, the personalities, the intentions. Storms are alive too. They have a path to follow just like us. Just because something only lasts a few days, does not mean it doesn't have intentions. Just because you can't decipher the intentions doesn't mean they aren't there. + + + +Tonight I sat by the fire feeling the barometer drop, feeling the stir of wind, watching the whirl of embers as the fire died down and the wind came up. I could feel it coming, I could sense its presence. + +This storm comes from the southwest, a mix a southern and western personalities, a storm we all know in this part of the world. I never worry about a storm unless it comes from the north. Storms from the north aren't more dangerous exactly, but they're chaotic and unpredictable. You never know what a north wind will bring. Though around here the ones you really have to watch out for are the east and southeast winds. But we're months from those. + +This one we watched arrive. Storm clouds sweeping up from the southwest all day. One or two at first, floating lazily along. Then more, as if they were forming up around some kind of a plan. Whatever the plan was, it didn't involve Edisto. Despite spitting rain a little during the night it was back to sunshine the next day. + +I love a good storm, but not when I have to drive. That morning we headed down the coast a couple hours to Hunting Island State Park.The drive was sunny, fortunately. Uneventful. Beaufort proved to be a charming little coastal southern town. Or it looked that way anyway. By the time we drove through, the rest of the country was starting to lock down over the coronavirus. South Carolina remained in a state of blissful ignorance, but having watched the virus spread via stories of friends and family on the west coast, I wasn't about to head out and wander the streets. + +I'd just as soon strangers always keep a six foot distance from me. But South Carolina wasn't about to make rules regarding that or anything else. South Carolina is the south's "live free or die" state. There still aren't helmet laws here, which I think is great actually. But a virus is not a motorcycle. A virus is not something you choose to do. A virus really has nothing to do with "rights". A virus is a good reminder that rights are a thing conferred by communities of people to members of those communities. There are no "natural" rights. + +It's also important to dig too, because behind all the talk of rights, usually you find someone making money. As one of the camp hosts put to it when I asked if he thought the South Carolina State Parks would close, "These greedy bastards? Never." And he was right. The parks down there remained essentially open through April 12. + +So we missed Beaufort because the virus-exposure-to-fun ratio did not work out in its favor. We did get to spend a few days on Hunting Island though. By a stroke of pure luck we had the nicest campsite in the campground, which was good because otherwise it was packed in and crowded, as beach campgrounds tend to be. The best I can say for it was that the water was walking distance away. + + + + +The kids spent all day every day out on the sand. We even made in the water a couple times despite the cold. As you do. + + + + + + + +The beach here was not nearly as forthcoming with treasures. There were shells, and a lot of jellyfish, but little of the fossils and other things we'd been finding in Edisto. + + + + + +And then our options began to fade. North Carolina shut down its parks, which killed our next plan, which was head to the Outer Banks for a few months. Then Florida shut down its state parks and we were starting to feel the squeeze. Competition for what few camping spots remained became much more intense. We full timers may fly under the radar for most people, but there are far more of us than you know. Take away public camping and the options get thin quickly. We decided it was time to get out of South Carolina. + +At the time most people were not taking the virus very seriously. Here's the thing. Maybe you can get Covid-19 and be fine. But what if you can't? Do you really want to find out right now when there's no treatment and hospitals are crowded? When we don't even really understand what the virus does, [especially any long term effects](https://mobile.twitter.com/lilienfeld1/status/1251335135909122049)? Just because you survive it does not mean you go back to normal. Ask anyone who lives with Lyme, RSV, chronic fatigue syndrome, or any of the other virus-borne diseases with long term consequences. Viruses are nothing new, sickness and death are nothing new, but that doesn't mean we should run full speed toward them without a care. + +We decided to take steps we felt would best help us avoid coming in contact with SARS-CoV-2. Unfortunately that meant changing our plans. But it's hardly the first time we've had to change plans. These things happen. Traveling around in RV isn't a right you know, it's a privilege that we've enjoyed, but right now it isn't possible. A big part of travel is waiting, so that's what we're doing right now, just like everyone else. diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/high-water.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/high-water.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..81a93b3 --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/high-water.html @@ -0,0 +1,572 @@ + + + + + High Water - by Scott Gilbertson + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
+
+
+ + +
+
+ + + +
+
+
+

High Water

+

Sand, sky, birds, and water everywhere

+
+
+

Edisto River, South Carolina, U.S.

+ – Map +
+ + +
+
+
+

After a winter in Georgia, we were ready for some warmer climes. We managed to book up a month of beach time at some South Carolina State Parks. Everything came together well, weather, work, and bus repairs. Like we did nearly three years ago, we split the drive down into two days. This time we stopped off for a night at a tiny state park on the Edisto River.

+
+ + edisto river in flood. photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +

This part of the country, and upriver of here, has out-rained even the pacific northwest so far this year, and it showed. The river was ten feet over flood stage. It was difficult to even tell where the river was, it looked more like a lake. Another three feet and the campground would have been underwater. There wasn’t much land to explore, we settled for an early fire and some marshmallows.

+
+ + + + roasting marshmellows over the fire photographed by luxagraf + + + + + + roasting marshmellows over the fire photographed by luxagraf + + + + + + + high water edisto river photographed by luxagraf + + +
+ +

The next day we headed the rest of the way out to what I still think of as the edge of the continent. Edisto Island is remote, for the east coast anyway. It’s true, Charleston is only an hour and half away, but somehow Edisto still feels like the edge of the world.

+

Civilization falls away as you drive. The road winds through alternating stretches of muddy marshland and deep stands of gnarled oak trees, bearded with Spanish Moss. Chain stores and strip malls disappear, replaced by crumbling no-name gas stations, fish shacks, cinder block garages, old single story motels.

+
+ + marshland, edisto island, sc photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +
+ + oak trees with spanish moss, edisto island, sc photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +
+ + edisto motel, shot while driving photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +

It’s not some idyllic world out here of course. The land and people here are abused like they are everywhere. Environmental destruction and the deep, unsolvable poverty that follows it linger everywhere in the shadows. The ruin of modern systems is always more obvious out here at the leading edges, the places where the supposed benefits never quite reached, just inexhaustible desires. These are the places from which life was extracted to enable comfort in some other place.

+

There’s a divide. I notice it every time we come down here. You cross a high bridge over the Intercoastal waterway onto Edisto Island proper and everything after that is magically fine, derelict buildings hidden away, poverty pushed off the main highway to some backroad most of us will never take.

+

Life here is different let’s say. And we’ll leave it at that.

+
+ + dodge travco at edisto state beach campground photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +

Humans are latecomers here anyway, newcomers to this world of sea and sand and muddy marsh. This is the time of year that other migrants are passing through. Every morning we get to wake to the tea-kett-le, tea-kett-le of Carolina wrens, the chip chip chip of cardinals, and the more elaborate songs of the warblers headed north to their summer homes. I can’t think of a better way to wake up than lifting your head, looking out the window, and seeing a Carolina wren staring back at you.

+

Our time at the beach here is starkly divided. I am a sitter. To me the beach is a place to come and watch the sea, the sky, the birds. For much of the rest of my family it’s a place to hunt for treasures from previous worlds. While I relaxed, staring up at the blue veil of sky, occasionally given depth by a passing gull or brown pelican, Corrinne and the kids wandered up and down the shore finding fossil shark’s teeth, bones, bits of black, fossilized turtle shells, and thoroughly modern seashells.

+
+ + + kids walking the beach, edisto state park, sc photographed by luxagraf + + + + + + girl holding a shell photographed by luxagraf + + + + + + + kids playing on the beach, edisto state beach photographed by luxagraf + + + + + + kids sitting in an oak tree photographed by luxagraf + + + + + + + girls walking on the beach, edisto island state park photographed by luxagraf + + +
+ +

The temperature always hovered on the edge of warm, usually tipping over by late afternoon.Most days you could find a small depression in the sand to stay out of the breeze and it was warm enough to relax in shorts. Sit up though and the temperature dropped considerably.

+
+ + boy playing in the sand, edisto state beach, sc photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +
+ + girl playing in the sand, edisto state beach, sc photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +
+ + seagull on the beach, close up, edisto state beach, sc photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +
+ + boy running on the beach, edisto state beach, sc photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +
+ + girl running on the beach, edisto state beach, sc photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +
+ + seagull in flight, edisto beach, sc photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +

I did a lot of staring at the sky. I’m not sure if it’s the act of lying down and looking up, or the actual view of the blue sky, or warmth and light of the sun itself, or some combination of those things and more I haven’t sussed out, but there is something wonderfully cathartic and healing about staring up at the sky.

+

I did it every chance I got, which alas was not quite as much as the last time we were here. But things change, morph, I wouldn’t want them to stay the same. If they stayed the same it never would have warmed up enough to coax me off my back and out into the water.

+
+ + kids running on the shore, edisto state beach photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +
+ + boy jumping on the shoreline photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +

The water was cold, biting cold when the wind hit you after you came up. But you have to get in. And not just when it’s easy, not just when everyone is swimming.

+

You have to get in even on the days when you don’t want to. Even when it’s so cold your teeth are chattering before you even get your shirt off. Those are the times when you have to reach down inside and find some way to get out there. The ocean pulls me in, it’s part of an understanding I’ve reached with it, with myself. There are certain rituals that must be performed or the world stops working. And so you get in. When it’s cold. When it’s not. It doesn’t matter. Just get in.

+
+ +
+ + +
+ +
+
+
+
You might also enjoy
+ +
+
+ + + + + +
+ +
+

Thoughts?

+

Please leave a reply:

+
+
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
+ + +
+ + + +
+ + +
+ + + +
+ + +
+ + + +
+ +
+
+ + + +
+ + +
+ + +
+ + +
+
+

All comments are moderated, so you won’t see it right away. And please remember Kurt Vonnegut's rule: “god damn it, you’ve got to be kind.” You can use Markdown or HTML to format your comments. The allowed tags are <b>, <i>, <em>, <strong>, <a>. To create a new paragraph hit return twice.

+ + +
+ +
+ + + + +
+ + + + + + + diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/high-water.txt b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/high-water.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a70ebee --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/high-water.txt @@ -0,0 +1,70 @@ +High Water +========== + + by Scott Gilbertson + + Wednesday, 04 March 2020 + +After a winter in Georgia, we were ready for some warmer climes. We managed to book up a month of beach time at some South Carolina State Parks. Everything came together well, weather, work, and bus repairs. Like we did nearly three years ago, we split the drive down into two days. This time we stopped off for a night at a tiny state park on the Edisto River. + + + +This part of the country, and upriver of here, has out-rained even the pacific northwest so far this year, and it showed. The river was ten feet over flood stage. It was difficult to even tell where the river was, it looked more like a lake. Another three feet and the campground would have been underwater. There wasn't much land to explore, we settled for an early fire and some marshmallows. + +
+ + + + + +
+ +The next day we headed the rest of the way out to what I still think of as the [edge of the continent](/jrnl/2017/04/edge-continent). Edisto Island is remote, for the east coast anyway. It's true, Charleston is only an hour and half away, but somehow Edisto still feels like the edge of the world. + +Civilization falls away as you drive. The road winds through alternating stretches of muddy marshland and deep stands of gnarled oak trees, bearded with Spanish Moss. Chain stores and strip malls disappear, replaced by crumbling no-name gas stations, fish shacks, cinder block garages, old single story motels. + + + + + +It's not some idyllic world out here of course. The land and people here are abused like they are everywhere. Environmental destruction and the deep, unsolvable poverty that follows it linger everywhere in the shadows. The ruin of modern systems is always more obvious out here at the leading edges, the places where the supposed benefits never quite reached, just inexhaustible desires. These are the places from which life was extracted to enable comfort in some other place. + +There's a divide. I notice it every time we come down here. You cross a high bridge over the Intercoastal waterway onto Edisto Island proper and everything after that is magically fine, derelict buildings hidden away, poverty pushed off the main highway to some backroad most of us will never take. + +Life here is different let's say. And we'll leave it at that. + + + +Humans are latecomers here anyway, newcomers to this world of sea and sand and muddy marsh. This is the time of year that other migrants are passing through. Every morning we get to wake to the *tea-kett-le, tea-kett-le* of Carolina wrens, the *chip chip chip* of cardinals, and the more elaborate songs of the warblers headed north to their summer homes. I can't think of a better way to wake up than lifting your head, looking out the window, and seeing a Carolina wren staring back at you. + +Our time at the beach here is starkly divided. I am a sitter. To me the beach is a place to come and watch the sea, the sky, the birds. For much of the rest of my family it's a place to hunt for treasures from previous worlds. While I relaxed, staring up at the blue veil of sky, occasionally given depth by a passing gull or brown pelican, Corrinne and the kids wandered up and down the shore finding fossil shark's teeth, bones, bits of black, fossilized turtle shells, and thoroughly modern seashells. + +
+ + + + + + + +
+ +The temperature always hovered on the edge of warm, usually tipping over by late afternoon.Most days you could find a small depression in the sand to stay out of the breeze and it was warm enough to relax in shorts. Sit up though and the temperature dropped considerably. + + + + + + + + +I did a lot of staring at the sky. I'm not sure if it's the act of lying down and looking up, or the actual view of the blue sky, or warmth and light of the sun itself, or some combination of those things and more I haven't sussed out, but there is something wonderfully cathartic and healing about staring up at the sky. + +I did it every chance I got, which alas was not quite as much as the last time we were here. But things change, morph, I wouldn't want them to stay the same. If they stayed the same it never would have warmed up enough to coax me off my back and out into the water. + + + + +The water was cold, biting cold when the wind hit you after you came up. But you have to get in. And not just when it's easy, not just when everyone is swimming. + +You have to get in even on the days when you don't want to. Even when it's so cold your teeth are chattering before you even get your shirt off. Those are the times when you have to reach down inside and find some way to get out there. The ocean pulls me in, it's part of an understanding I've reached with it, with myself. There are certain rituals that must be performed or the world stops working. And so you get in. When it's cold. When it's not. It doesn't matter. Just get in. diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/pre-apocalyptic-driving-adventures.html b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/pre-apocalyptic-driving-adventures.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e7f196f --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/pre-apocalyptic-driving-adventures.html @@ -0,0 +1,486 @@ + + + + + Pre-Apocalyptic Driving Adventures - by Scott Gilbertson + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
+
+
+ + +
+
+ + + +
+
+
+

Pre-Apocalyptic Driving Adventures

+

Just keep driving. You’ll get there. Eventually

+
+
+

Hunting Island State Park, South Carolina, U.S.

+ – Map +
+ + +
+
+
+

There are days that are good for driving and days that are not. I prefer Wednesdays. This was a Thursday. Close enough. I took the day off work and we hit the road, back to Athens.

+
+ + on the road from hunting island photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +

We didn’t want to go. But to avoid a pandemic you have to be willing to sacrifice. And where we were there were no sacrifices being made. There is a sense of entitlement that runs deep in this country. I can’t figure it out, but I see it all around me — this idea that you can get everything you want out of life without compromise or concession. It’s annoying when you’re talking about politics or economics, but it’s disastrous when it comes to community health.

+

Staying six feet away from other people is socially awkward, but if that’s all it takes to stop a pandemic, that’s not a big deal for a few months. People spent years avoiding London and Paris during the plague. If all we need to do is stay six feet apart, and remain at home for a few months, we’re getting off light. Unfortunately, even that wasn’t happening in the campground. Rather the opposite in fact.

+

We’ve already had a bout of bad illness in the bus and let’s just say it’s not an ideal place to be ill. If one person gets something, everyone gets it, there’s no way around that. We were not interested in dealing with that and having South Carolina State Parks close on us.

+

Our reservation at Hunting Island was up. We’d planned to go back to Edisto for a couple more weeks, but the uncertainty regarding public lands — would state parks in SC stay open? Would we be safe in them? Would groceries continue to make it to a small island at the edge of the world? Would the residents of that island mind our presence if things got real bad? — made it an easy decision. We decided to head for some private land.

+

Fortunately we had a friend back in Athens with a place we could stay for a while, so we jumped on it. We just had to make the four hour drive back. No big deal.

+
+ + On the road in georgia photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +
+ + On the road in georgia photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +

It started inauspiciously, as stressful drives inevitably do. I was dumping the tank when I noticed the driver’s rear tire was low. There’s two wheels in the back, so I wasn’t overly worried, but it wasn’t a great way to start. Still, it was only a couple hundred miles, what could possibly go wrong?

+

Nothing for the first 70 or so miles. I even managed to get the rear tire filled up at a truck stop. All my tires in fact. No charge. And the woman stayed well away from me while doing it. Perfect. For minute I thought, hey, maybe this will all work out.

+

Forty miles later the engine sputtered. At first I thought maybe my foot had let up off the gas pedal by accident. My knee had been swollen and driving was painful, so it wasn’t out of the question. But no. Ten minutes later, it happened again. This time it was worse. I pulled over. Naturally it was the only stretch of the drive with no cell service.

+

I knew from the way it behaved that the problem was gas, specifically not enough of it getting to the engine. I had a quick look and saw air bubbling into the fuel filter. Not good. I knew there was a little leak in the filling hose at the rear of the gas tank. I decided to start there, I got out old trusty — the rigged up combo of small hose clamps that, along with some aluminum foil and header tape, once let us limp along with a cracked exhaust manifold — and put it to new use on the rear of the gas tank. It stopped the leaking gas (a task I’d had on my list for the following weekend anyway), and for about ten miles I was pretty happy with myself.

+

Then it happened again. Damnit. Stopped again. Now Corrinne wasn’t just looking at me with that look that said, really? today, she actually said, “Really? Today?” I didn’t say anything. I opened up the doghouse again. There were still bubbles leaking up in the fuel filter, so I knew the problem was somewhere between that and the gas tank. About 18 feet of fuel line and one pump. I put on my headlamp, crawled under the bus, inhaled unholy amounts of grass pollen, and slowly worked my way up the fuel line to the pump. No leaks. I stared at the fuel pump. The very first thing I ever replaced in the bus. It’s probably the fuel pump I thought as I lay there in the pollen.

+

Under ordinary circumstances I’d just hop in the car, drive to the nearest parts shop, get a new fuel pump and install it. But that would mean all kinds of potential exposure of me and the family to coronavirus. That would defeat the purpose of this drive, which was to get us away from people, not closer to them.

+

I considered the problem for a bit, lying there, staring up at the engine. If there’s extra air coming in, maybe if I tightened up the carburetor to cut the air coming in that way it would balance out? At least enough to let me limp back to Athens. I crawled out and did it. It didn’t help much — the real problem was not enough fuel, not too much air — but it helped enough that it got us back on the road, limping along.

+

After experimenting some I figured out how to accelerate in such a way that it would not stutter much and I could get up to about 50 miles an hour. It took a while, but I limped into Augusta. I decided to skip the interstate and drove through on surface streets. It was slow going, but the bus didn’t stutter as much at lower speeds, and eventually we got out of the city and back onto the highway to Athens.

+
+ + Ramshackle house in Georgia photographed by luxagraf + +
+ +

In the end it took an extra three hours, but we made it to the old farmhouse turned schoolhouse where we’ve been staying ever since. I was tired, but grateful to have made it. I squared the bus away, and made dinner. We put the kids to bed, and I went online and ordered a fuel pump from Rock Auto. Problem solved, no one sick.

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4 Comments

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+ classical_liberal + May 05, 2020 at 12:41 a.m. +
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What I always find interesting about your “something went wrong” stories, is how easily you seem to overcome. Now, I don’t know you IRL, but personally, I’m swearing up a storm when SHTF. Are you mostly cool, calm, and collected in such circumstances? If so, what got you there? Just experience dealing with these issues in travel over your life, or is it more of a speed of life issue?

+

Glad you made it to a safe spot!

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+ Scott + May 05, 2020 at 9:00 a.m. +
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classical_liberal-

+

haha, I definitely do some swearing when I’m under the bus at the side of the road. So there’s some element of me just leaving that out of the story.

+

It depends on the problem though. For this particular incident, I knew what the problem was, so there was some security in that (worst case scenario I could have gone to a parts place and purchased a fuel pump). When the problem is brake-related, I tend to freak out more, because there’s not much I can do about that at the side of the road.

+

In general though I think what keeps me calm is two things: experience (at this point we’ve spent many a day broken down at the side of the road, you learn to cope better every time), and having my kids there. I’m always more careful to keep it together when I know the kids are watching. I mean there’s nothing life-threatening in breaking down (usually). Most of the time the worst case scenario is we spend a night at the side of the road. That does suck, but you know, it’ll pass.

+

That said, I feel like I lose my shit way more than I should. I’ve been re-reading the stoics lately, especially The Enchiridion by Epictetus, because I find some those strategies for coping to be extremely helpful.

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+ Drew + May 14, 2020 at 3:38 p.m. +
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Yo! Just got caught up on your adventures- now you need to catch us up on how Farm/School living has been treating you! Are you all still there? With school out for the summer- and no end in sight for the virus- how long can you stay there?

+

Weve been threatening to take the bus camping, but every time I look the parks are overcrowded, esp in TN/GA- if and when they are open.

+

Sucks too- The bus is running great right now, with no destinations possible. By the time were ready to hit the road, i guarantee the bus will not have the same mindset.

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+ Scott + May 25, 2020 at 8:12 a.m. +
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Drew-

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We are no longer at the schoolhouse, we only ended up staying there about a month. It was great when we thought we’d get back on the road soon, but not so great long term, so we moved on. I’ll write about that soonish. Oddly enough, we’re in another farm house from roughly the same era. 1880s farmhouses seem to be our thing lately.

+

And yeah, crowds. I have some thoughts on that. I think crowds are going to be real bad for some time to come, which convinced us it was time to shift gears. When everyone zigs, it’s time to zag.

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Thoughts?

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+ + + + + + + diff --git a/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/pre-apocalyptic-driving-adventures.txt b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/pre-apocalyptic-driving-adventures.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5acdfa7 --- /dev/null +++ b/bak/oldluxpages/jrnlold/2020/03/pre-apocalyptic-driving-adventures.txt @@ -0,0 +1,43 @@ +Pre-Apocalyptic Driving Adventures +================================== + + by Scott Gilbertson + + Wednesday, 18 March 2020 + +There are days that are good for driving and days that are not. I prefer Wednesdays. This was a Thursday. Close enough. I took the day off work and we hit the road, back to Athens. + + + +We didn't want to go. But to avoid a pandemic you have to be willing to sacrifice. And where we were there were no sacrifices being made. There is a sense of entitlement that runs deep in this country. I can't figure it out, but I see it all around me -- this idea that you can get everything you want out of life without compromise or concession. It's annoying when you're talking about politics or economics, but it's disastrous when it comes to community health. + +Staying six feet away from other people is socially awkward, but if that's all it takes to stop a pandemic, that's not a big deal for a few months. People spent *years* avoiding London and Paris during the plague. If all we need to do is stay six feet apart, and remain at home for a few months, we're getting off light. Unfortunately, even that wasn't happening in the campground. Rather the opposite in fact. + +We've already had a [bout of bad illness in the bus](/jrnl/2018/01/escaping-california) and let's just say it's not an ideal place to be ill. If one person gets something, everyone gets it, there's no way around that. We were not interested in dealing with that *and* having South Carolina State Parks close on us. + +Our reservation at Hunting Island was up. We'd planned to go back to Edisto for a couple more weeks, but the uncertainty regarding public lands -- would state parks in SC stay open? Would we be safe in them? Would groceries continue to make it to a small island at the edge of the world? Would the residents of that island mind our presence if things got real bad? -- made it an easy decision. We decided to head for some private land. + +Fortunately we had a friend back in Athens with a place we could stay for a while, so we jumped on it. We just had to make the four hour drive back. No big deal. + + + + +It started inauspiciously, as stressful drives inevitably do. I was dumping the tank when I noticed the driver's rear tire was low. There's two wheels in the back, so I wasn't overly worried, but it wasn't a great way to start. Still, it was only a couple hundred miles, what could possibly go wrong? + +Nothing for the first 70 or so miles. I even managed to get the rear tire filled up at a truck stop. All my tires in fact. No charge. And the woman stayed well away from me while doing it. Perfect. For minute I thought, hey, maybe this will all work out. + +Forty miles later the engine sputtered. At first I thought maybe my foot had let up off the gas pedal by accident. My knee had been swollen and driving was painful, so it wasn't out of the question. But no. Ten minutes later, it happened again. This time it was worse. I pulled over. Naturally it was the only stretch of the drive with no cell service. + +I knew from the way it behaved that the problem was gas, specifically not enough of it getting to the engine. I had a quick look and saw air bubbling into the fuel filter. Not good. I knew there was a little leak in the filling hose at the rear of the gas tank. I decided to start there, I got out old trusty -- the rigged up combo of small hose clamps that, along with some aluminum foil and header tape, once let us limp along with a cracked exhaust manifold -- and put it to new use on the rear of the gas tank. It stopped the leaking gas (a task I'd had on my list for the following weekend anyway), and for about ten miles I was pretty happy with myself. + +Then it happened again. Damnit. Stopped again. Now Corrinne wasn't just looking at me with that look that said, *really? today*, she actually said, "Really? Today?" I didn't say anything. I opened up the doghouse again. There were still bubbles leaking up in the fuel filter, so I knew the problem was somewhere between that and the gas tank. About 18 feet of fuel line and one pump. I put on my headlamp, crawled under the bus, inhaled unholy amounts of grass pollen, and slowly worked my way up the fuel line to the pump. No leaks. I stared at the fuel pump. The very [first thing I ever replaced in the bus](/jrnl/2016/06/engine). It's probably the fuel pump I thought as I lay there in the pollen. + +Under ordinary circumstances I'd just hop in the car, drive to the nearest parts shop, get a new fuel pump and install it. But that would mean all kinds of potential exposure of me and the family to coronavirus. That would defeat the purpose of this drive, which was to get us away from people, not closer to them. + +I considered the problem for a bit, lying there, staring up at the engine. If there's extra air coming in, maybe if I tightened up the carburetor to cut the air coming in that way it would balance out? At least enough to let me limp back to Athens. I crawled out and did it. It didn't help much -- the real problem was not enough fuel, not too much air -- but it helped enough that it got us back on the road, limping along. + +After experimenting some I figured out how to accelerate in such a way that it would not stutter much and I could get up to about 50 miles an hour. It took a while, but I limped into Augusta. I decided to skip the interstate and drove through on surface streets. It was slow going, but the bus didn't stutter as much at lower speeds, and eventually we got out of the city and back onto the highway to Athens. + + + +In the end it took an extra three hours, but we made it to the old farmhouse turned schoolhouse where we've been staying ever since. I was tired, but grateful to have made it. I squared the bus away, and made dinner. We put the kids to bed, and I went online and ordered a fuel pump from Rock Auto. Problem solved, no one sick. -- cgit v1.2.3-70-g09d2