What almost retired looks like

On the day before Thanksgiving. 

It's All in the Name

My cousin Alejandra, who lives in Yucatan, is a historian and a Mayan scholar. She sent me this wonderful Mayan translation of La Caguama Blanca: "X-Sak Noj Áak" or, X (The) Sak (white) Noj (big) Áak (turtle).  Now I have to learn to pronounce it.

Lately, whenever I think of the name of this blog, my mind, sadly, goes to this:

That opening scene is a hell even Sartre couldn't have dreamed up.

In Other Developments

There’s been a major development in the works over the past several weeks: retirement.  The short story is that my last day on the job is December 19.  I had to inform interested parties, namely my employer, before committing this news to internet immortality.  But now I can speak freely of it.

I have looked forward to retiring for many years, but only got very serious about making it happen earlier this year.  I've planned and saved for it all along, thinking that I’d retire at 62 when I could do so with my full (such as they are) federal benefits.  Though I’d determined that I could retire sooner and retain my annuity and healthcare coverage by deferring it until age 62, I was hesitant to do so because it would mean paying for the latter out-of-pocket.  When I actually calculated what it would cost (and it’s not insignificant), it seemed well worth the price of freedom.

Because… I am done.  Done with the alarm going off at 5:45.  Done with the commute.  Done with meetings.  Done with the bureaucracy.  Done with “process.”  Done with the cubicle.  Done with going along to get along.  Done with the bullshit.  Done.

I could rant more.  And I probably will.  You've been warned.

What it came down to is the realization that this life is short.  I mentioned friends, family and contemporaries dying in their 50’s.  Most made choices that ensured short lives.  I can delude myself into thinking that because I make good lifestyle choices; I will live well into my 80’s.  What made it very real was Bill Keane’s death, about a year ago.  He was a well-known and highly regarded epidemiologist at the Oregon Division of Public Health.  I knew him only by sight and reputation.  He was a healthy 56 years old, sure to continue his valuable contributions to food safety for many years to come.  Then, gallstones, pancreatic duct blockage, sepsis, death.  You can exercise, eat well, not smoke, drink in moderation and something can come along and kill your ass dead. 

I want to spend what time I have doing what I want to do.  I’m very (very) fortunate to have the health and resources to do so.  So, here goes.  

Repairs and modifications

Though the camper was in basically good condition when I purchased it, it has needed a few improvements.  With the help of my wizard brother-in-law, John Elmore, the camper is shaping up nicely.  To be clear, this is how we work together on projects: He does all the real work and I take on challenging tasks like bringing him beers and holding the flashlight.

As of this weekend, the camper has new pop-top struts.  This is important because it enables the pop-top to rise completely.  The old struts suffered from erectile dysfunction.  They just weren't up to the task….  Okay! I’ll stop.  As I was saying the pop-top no rises much more easily and will stay partially up, approximately 12 inches, while I tuck in the tent before bringing it completely down.

New struts, thank you GoWesty!

 

Other important modifications: a new CD player (gonna miss those cassettes) and a rear window shade. 

Here’s what else that’s been done to date:

Transmission fluid leak repaired

Transmission serviced

Rear brakes replaced
Coach battery replaced

Fresh water system filter replaced

Refrigerator serviced (now functional)

Sliding door adjusted, now closes easily every time

Rear seat/bed sliding mechanism repaired

VW logo re-attached to tailgate
New tires, Nokian Hakkapelitta CR3s (11/21)

Items purchased for the camper:

Hitch mounted bike rack

Camp chairs

Yes, it’s a bit of a laundry list.  More interesting stuff to come.

Oh, yeah.  I turned 60 today.  Damn.  I can’t help but feel a bit odd about that.  Basically, I’m happy to be healthy and in the position I’m in, no matter what my age is.  I was feeling a little sorry for myself, but then I remembered a couple of things: My mother’s KID turned 60.  That’s got to be an interesting feeling.  And—I have some friends and cousins who didn't make it to this landmark birthday.   So, yeah… I have plenty to be thankful for.

Here’s the rubber tramp at the Interstate 5 rest stop just south of Olympia.

Fungiwagen

The seller told me that they’d camped in the Eurovan once in the nearly four years that they owned it.  Mostly it sat in their driveway.  Moment of obviousness: the Pacific Northwest has long wet winters.  And wet springs.  And wet falls.  Somehow there was moisture intrusion into the camper.  In preparation for selling it, they took it to an automotive restoration shop to correct the damage.  According to the seller, mushrooms had grown in the camper’s interior.  Mushrooms.  I wondered if she meant mildew.  Mildew stains mark the tent, but they’re not too bad.  The vehicle’s interior did not smell of mildew and appeared very clean.  The moisture and mildew remediation was successful.  

A few days after I acquired the camper, I was greeted by this sight:

Holy crap.  My mind went a lot of places, including having to remove the cabinetry so as to really dry the interior.  I posted a question about this on thesamba.com’s forum.  I got a variety of helpful responses, also some waggish remarks about the possibility of the mushrooms having hallucinogenic qualities and/or sautéing them in butter with bits of bacon.  I considered taking it to Eastern Oregon’s high desert and letting the aridity dry out the camper. 

I removed the heater vent to get at the mushrooms and pull them out.  That’s when I discovered that there was about an inch of water inside the ductwork.  I think that when the van was cleaned, water made its way into the ductwork, creating an ideal environment for the fungus to slower.  It’s dry now and should stay that way, given the amount of warm air that flows through there when the heater runs.

I spoke with the seller who set up an appointment at the restoration shop.  They re-treated it with enzymatic cleaner and ozone.  The owner advised me to keep it in the garage with the windows and sliding door open.  I’ve kept it that way since and so far, no more problems. 

From leaning into curves to a box on wheels

Nearly three years ago I began to plan a two-month motorcycle trip.  My plan was to ride from Portland down to the border and into Mexico, including some areas that received a fair share of news coverage because of drug cartel violence.  Whatever the risk would have been, reason prevailed and the trip was reduced to a tour of the western United States, from Portland to Texas’s Rio Grande Valley and back.  It was reduced, but only in time and distance.  The trip was spectacular and one of the best experiences of my life.

Things have changed.  For the first time in nine years and after roughly 80,000 miles ridden on a variety of motorcycles, I am without a motorcycle.  Health and safety concerns drove the decision to sell my last bike.  I had some close-calls, a couple of relatively minor crashes and lost an old friend, Hector Reyna.  He died from injuries from a crash on a flat, straight road on a sunny morning in South Texas, riding home from having his Harley serviced.  A car driver turned left in front of him sending him head-on into the side of her car.  To say the least, this motivated me to reevaluate my motorcycle riding (and a number of other things).

I sold my 2012 Yamaha Super Tenere in October 2014.  I went through a bit of a mourning period, missing what had become a major part of my life.  Less romantically, I was also put out by the financial loss I experienced, selling a bike that I’d bought new two and a half years before.  But, as they say, it’s only money.

The previous week, quite unexpectedly, I became the owner of a 1999 Volkswagen Eurovan Camper. 

One day at the office, I overheard a coworker talking on the telephone about her VW camper that she wanted to sell.  Though I’d worked with her for years and knew a little bit about her home and family life, I had no idea that she owned this camper.  Without recounting the less-than-exciting details, I purchased it from her and her husband.  For a 15 year-old vehicle, it had relatively low miles at roughly 94,000.  Cosmetically, it was in fine condition, with one somewhat strange exception which I’ll write about later.  It needed a few repairs and modifications, which have mostly been done.

For the last couple of years, I’ve had this idea that I would live and travel full-time in a recreational vehicle after retiring.  In my mind, it would be a diesel Class C, most likely aWinnebago View.

  This would be a much larger investment, more than likely requiring the sale of my home.  The idea being that it would be my home for as long as I was interested and able to live a nomadic lifestyle.  But when the opportunity to acquire the Eurovan arose, I took it, thinking that this would be a way to try out the RV life on a much smaller, less costly scale.

Besides, I’ve been enamored of VW campers for most of my life.  Sure, I came of age in the 1960’s and 70’s, but I like to think that there is more to it than that.  When I was about seven or eight, the Bonham’s Grocery Store in McAllen, Texas raffled off a brand new VW Bus.  I don’t know if it was a 23 Window,  

but I like to remember it that way.  I was already car crazy, but this was like nothing I’d ever seen: A house/fort/lair on wheels.  I’m sure that I demanded that my mother buy a raffle ticket on the spot and was mostly convinced that we’d win it because My God, what else could happen in a world that is fair and good?  Not surprisingly, we didn’t win it and I went on to other automotive fantasies.  Ten or so years later, my friend Brian Rawls got a 1965 VW Camper.  It became our mobile party spot, in which we and an assortment of friends flew down the dirt roads of South Texas and consumed more than a small amount of illicit substances.  We even camped in it a few times, including trips to Garner State Park and South Padre Island. 

Not long after moving to Olympia, WA in 2002, I got a serious case of the I-Want-a-Vanagon-Westfalia bug.  I looked for months, test drove a few, even got close to buying one (the title situation was “funny,” which scared me off).  Eventually, their notorious mechanical shortcomings and high price steered me away.  That and motorcycles.

So here I am, once again the owner of a German vehicle.  There is probably a ten syllable German word meaning “I know it’s overpriced, costly to maintain, prone to catastrophic mechanical failure, but shit, it is so cool and fun to drive.”  I don’t name my vehicles and I won’t name this one.  But I’ll call the blog La Caguama Blanca, or the White Turtle

 for obvious reasons.  Oh, yeah.  Caguama means something else in Mexican Spanish.