My gypsy life started in the 1970s

1975 road trip

I already have a series of my gypsy life since becoming a seasonal Park Ranger in 1992, so why not back up a little further to when this gypsy lifestyle began.

I appreciate all the suggestions to keep my 5th-wheel, and truth be told I lean that way also.  However, I’ve lived in so many different vehicles and they have all been perfect, for a while.  Yet as life changes so do our homes.

I don’t know what direction this gypsy life is going next.  If/when I accept a summer national park job it would be great to live in the big 5th-wheel, if there is that option in the park.  But then I have to take the camper off the truck to tow the 5er.  It’s a pain in the butt to get the camper off and on and I can’t do it alone.  Plus then store it somewhere until I can retrieve it.  That barely works from the North Rim being only 360 miles away.  It wouldn’t be convenient any further.  I’d rather not be without the comforts of camping/glamping in the truck camper.  So I could live in it full-time with a couple fixes and certain inconveniences like moving it every time I drive somewhere.

This got me to thinking of all the rigs I’ve lived in over the years of my gypsy life, which is what this post was going to be about.  But then I started writing, and this story of the first home on wheels poured out.  And there weren’t really any conveniences but was one step up from a tent.

My first home on wheels

I started my gypsy life on the road in 1975 when I spent three months in a 1974 Chevy Vega hatchback.  Because my Dad was in the car business I scored a deal when the car, with only 1000 miles on it, was traded in for a Cadillac.  He co-signed a loan with me and at 21 years old I felt ready to travel and wanted to see the west and visit national parks.  I was a little worried about traveling alone so I got a large puppy and slept in the back with Denver dog on my feet.  Used magnets to drape mosquito netting off the lifted hatch but the dog could get out so that didn’t work.  An ice chest and one burner camp stove served well.   My Golden Eagle pass worked for park entries and campground discounts.  People I met were friendly yet concerned about my traveling alone.  I learned it was OK, listened to my intuition, and discovered I’m good company.  I mastered the fear of being alone.

The journey began driving freeways nonstop to Colorado because I knew there wasn’t a lot to see along the way.  Fell in love with the majestic Rocky Mountains while visiting my first national park.  I wanted to live there some day.  Hasn’t happened, yet.

With my trusty Rand McNally atlas I followed the ‘blue highways’ as two-lane roads were called back then.  Now interstates are blue on the map, I’ve always tried to avoid those.  I visited Black Canyon of the Gunnison and Mesa Verde National Parks.

Image borrowed from Garry, friend and blogger, of his brother in about the right era

One late and dusky afternoon I stopped at Four Corners, a desolate and remote location where four states’ boundaries meet.  The only thing there was a concrete slab with lines and state names.  Much different from what I understand it is today.  The only sign of life, a mangy dog.

Taken in 2011 from a boat

I drove into Utah and according to my map would follow a paved road to Lake Powell.  In reality, I drove two hours on what looked like the bulldozer had just pushed the red rock out of the way.  By the time I saw water my burgundy Vega was orange and so were the dog and I.  Hot and dusty, I parked on slickrock and we both fell into the refreshing water.  To this day, I have no idea what road that was or where we were exactly.

Taken in 2017

Then I went to Canyonlands, Arches, and Capitol Reef national parks.  I vaguely remember these places as it was hot summer and I couldn’t hike because the dog would have baked in the car.  After a quick drive into Bryce Canyon National Park I ended up at the North Rim of Grand Canyon.  I remember standing on the Lodge verandah and thinking, oh boy another big hole in the ground.  I was on canyon overload.  Little did I know I would live and work there some day.  I left for Las Vegas via Zion National Park.  A couple days staying with friends in the summer heat of Vegas was plenty and I continued toward the California coast where I had relatives living east of Los Angeles.

After hanging out with cousins and meeting up with a high school friend living at a commune in Ojai I headed north up Hwy 101.  Because I had taken a leave of absence from my Illinois job at Vaughn/Jacklin Corp they agreed to pay me for a few days visiting other seed companies.  I loved eating out of the vegetable trial fields with a salt shaker in my pocket.  They would tour me around and buy lunch.  One time I had too much wine with lunch and later pulled onto the shoulder to sleep it off.  A cop knocked on my window waking me when the dog barked.  He made me walk toe heel and touch my nose.  I passed the tests and he let me go.

Continued driving the Highway 1 coastal route north camping along the way.  Then couldn’t afford the bridge toll at Astoria so headed east to the free I5 bridge crossing the Columbia River.  A quick stop in Olympia where I toured the brewery.  I was more of a beer drinker then and there weren’t any micro-brews around.  Next headed east over the Cascades to Wenatchee where a cousin went to school.  Got sick at her place and was running low on funds so my boyfriend wired me money and told me to get home without lollygagging along the way.  And that’s what I did, making it home in a matter of days.

This first solo adventure started my gypsy life and prompted me to save money, buy a van, and move to California, the land of golden opportunities, or so I thought.  This will  forever be one of my best road trips and sadly I have no photos from this journey.