The Purpose Driven Tent

Sleeping in one's car is somewhat overrated, particularly once the greenhouse effect kicks in. For that and other reasons, I hadn't been getting good sleep for a long time. Now the real hoboing begins.

My new home henceforth shall be upon my bicycle or in my tent.

It's great. The bike has been outfitted with a rear rack and pannier bags so I can haul just about anything a hobo might need, including insect repellent (I stopped counting at 40 mosquito bites).

I've spent two nights under the stars. While most folks are sweating out the night in sun-baked houses, I am gazing up through mosquito netting at the night sky, with nary a concern about the god-awful heat. Nature's central air is unbeatable.

It's the showers that'll get you, though. And I've got to prepare for that. Some extra plastic throw-sheets are in order to protect my bike and stuff. A nice pine forest would be nice for such a storm. And I hear there's no beating pine needle floor bedding. Sigh.

This morning, before the sun turned the corner, a bird perched itself on my tent, a few inches from my face and hearkened unto the others, "WAKE UP YOU SONS-A-BITCHES!!!! IT'S WORM-THIRTY IN THE MORNING!!!! LAST ONE OUT'S A ROTTEN EGG!!!!"

Well, that's just a rough translation. To the lay-birder it may have sounded more like "pft pft, three-three-three....pft pft, three-three".

In other transient news, I saw a freshly killed skunk mother on the road with all six teats pointing to where her skunklings will never suckle. So, I bowed my head in silent meditation and peddled on.

In addition to 100 million Americans or so, a good many wild animals lose their lives driving to and from work. Surprised by the number? Note, death is not required to lose one's life.

There's got to be some balance between making a living and making a killing.