When I wrapped up my grad school applications in mid-January (in response to which I’ve already received a few acceptances, as well as a couple declinations), I knew it was time for me to continue my wandering. I was a bit surprised to realize that I’d been away from my wanders for nearly 4 months, and I hadn’t even slept in my van during that time! I’d spent the fall with my dad in his home in the Bay Area, with Julie in NYC, and with my mom in upstate NY. Somehow, I’d become a stationary human again.
I must admit that I had some trepidation about hitting the road again. It was nice to have a large indoor space to move around in, a kitchen where I could cook, a bedroom that was essentially mine, bathroom amenities whenever I wanted them, and regular contact with loved ones. But, after a night of readjustment to the nomadic life, I remembered what drew me to the wander. Indeed, it was the wandering Mystic himself, who yearned to be remembered and released.
The magick of the wandering Mystic presented itself when I was deciding where to go. I had been feeling a bit anxious in the Bay Area, not knowing what I would do next. I knew I wanted to head south to see my LA friends again, but nothing else was clear. Would I WWOOF? Head to Mexico? Go hiking? And then I reminded myself that, when I watched Nomadland, I had wanted to attend Bob Wells’ Rubber Tramp Rendezvous (RTR), a gathering of nomads in the Arizona desert. To my surprise, the dates worked out perfectly, and off I went to Quartzsite, AZ.
Rubber Tramp Rendezvous
The town of Quartzsite is surrounded by public land where thousands of nomads and snowbirds spend the winters. (The town itself has only 3,300 residents, but 1.5 million people come through each year.) I arrived in the evening, and I found a place to park near one of the RTR “caravans,” which seem to be groups of folks who have met at previous RTRs and who travel together throughout the year. I chose that spot because I sort of hoped to meet some friends! Of course, camping vaguely near people does not necessarily make friends, and in the morning I headed off alone to the actual event area.
RTR takes place within the town of Quartzsite (camping is not allowed within the town limits) on their baseball field. Each day, there are three speakers, covering topics like how to find work as a nomad, traveling to Baja California, basic vehicle repair, and medical tourism in Mexico. At the baseball field, there was also a “free pile,” several bulletin boards for people to request and offer goods and services, and information about the non-profit Bob started that benefits from all the proceeds of RTR: Homes on Wheels Alliance, which buys mobile housing for unhoused or housing insecure seniors! On the final days of RTR, there were also “open house” events where people could show off their rigs. (I chose not to, being shy about being in a lowly minivan; but I learned that I did do a couple neat thing with my van that others could have learned from! Oh well.)
The crowd at RTR was pretty different from me. Folks there were primarily White and older (median age was probably 55). In the camping areas (which had more than only the RTR folks, but all are people who live in their RVs or vehicles at least part of the year), I also noticed plenty of Trump flags, military insignias, and other signs of folks’ right-wing allegiances. Nomads or not, it’s still America, and it’s still Arizona. And in fact, if you think about it, living nomadically is a form of rugged individualism and self reliance. NYT called RTR “the real Burning Man,” but I don’t know that I’d agree. At RTR itself, there was a smattering of masked and unmasked folks, and there was plenty of room to spread out and no one gave anyone else a hard time. Bob Wells insists on everyone behaving with kindness and decency, and he himself maintained distance from everyone for COVID reasons. There was one session about traveling to Baja in Mexico, and someone asked a question about whether you can haggle with people on price. While technically you can haggle, Bob explained, these people have a lot less money than any of us, so we should just pay what they ask and maybe give them a bit extra too. What a guy.
Socializing with Nomads
From an emotional standpoint, I felt very much reminded of my extensive experiences as a solo traveler around the world. That feeling of intrepid pride at going it on my own, mixed with subtle melancholy about going it on my own, and consistent craving for spontaneous social connection with others without having to myself make an effort to overcome my social anxiety. Wrap that up in a package of shame for being socially inept and self-judgment for seemingly choosing to remain so, and I felt myself right back in any one of my lonely moments in Spain, Brazil, Mexico, Italy, England, Colombia, or countless cities in the U.S.
Well, Fate had other plans for me when, on my second night, I happened to pick an overnight spot that I later discovered was next to a couple of friendly younger fellows. Tony and Brian had met only a day or two before and were both friendly and welcoming. They had both been let go from professional engineering jobs, and they had both converted sprinter vans themselves. I wouldn’t say we three had everything in common, but we certainly shared enough commonality, and I was very pleased to have some sense of belonging.
The next day back at RTR, a gregarious young lady named Julie struck up conversation with me, and I quickly realized that she was having a good time collecting young people. She invited us to camp with her own growing caravan, and Brian in particular hit it off with them, while Tony and I played the part of crochety men and went to bed early.
Somewhere along the line, a nearby event called Skooliepalooza entered my awareness, and it soon became clear to me that I was being called to continue on in that direction with my newfound crew.
Skooliepalooza
Skoolie, as convenience insisted it be called, is a gathering of people who own and/or live in their converted school buses, as well as fans, friends, and dwellers of all manner of peculiar homes on wheels with varying levels of modification and renovation (including vans, minivans, ambulances, box trucks, airport shuttles, and at least one Toyota Prius). It is an informal gathering on public BLM land. Or, at least it has heretofore been informal; a situation this year, where lack of permitting required the event move after its first day from a spot in California to a spot in Arizona, raised calls among attendees that there be greater organization for the event, which I frankly think is a bit of a shame, but I do understand.
Other than a rough sense that one side of the “town” or “event” is for loud partying and the other is for quiet (which didn’t really end up being reliable guidance), everything else forms organically. For anyone who’s been to Burning Man, think of playa but without any DPW or planning. Now, other than being a desert gathering of younger people living alternative lives, I felt that a lot of the similarities to Burning Man were missing – which was fine, because it definitely was not a burn.
A good number of people were trying to sell their wares, often jewelry or artwork, including one guy who sells cooked food for a reasonable price out of his box truck. There wasn’t a sense radical openness, love, and inclusion around town, which is also understandable, because it’s pretty unclear what the unifying value system is at such an event. There aren’t fun costumes or colorful lights at night. Most nights, someone would put on some kind of music, party, or drum circle, but options were limited. And there definitely was not a whole lot to do, other than walk around, look at people’s rigs, and have an occasional chat. It was basically a couple thousand nomads just living their typical lives in closer proximity than usual.
Each day, I would suit up with some of my standard silly things from Burning Man, like my hydration bladder, snacks, harmonica, and silly toys or trinkets I could possibly use to entertain new friends, and I would walk up and down the town. Without stopping, a solid loop of town took probably 25 minutes. While there was always some coming and going of new vehicles to check out and friendly neighbors to wave and chat to, by the third day of the same routine, I started to feel bored and listless. I had a fantasy of finally getting to work on some crafting, writing, or reading, but the call of another pointless wander around town was always stronger than my motivation to buckle down and work on a longer-term goal.
Making Friends
With that said, my time with Tony, Brian, and other nomads was well spent, and I’m grateful for it. For two nights, we were joined by Mo and Adam, whom Brian and Tony had met previously at RTR. Mo is a travel nurse based in Phoenix at the moment, so they joined us for the weekend in their sprinter van, and I had a nice time getting to know them as well. Very memorably, Mo and Adam have an Insta-pot, and we all pooled our resources to make some very delicious chili. (One thing that almost always is better when in community is food and the process of concocting it!) Also memorably, Adam was interested in stoicism and mindfulness, and when I gave him my copy of Wherever You Go There You Are, by Jon Kabat-Zinn, he blew through it voraciously. It was extremely reminiscent of my experience with Ryan at Bodhi Farms. After Mo and Adam left, Tony, Brian, and I again pooled resources to make ourselves a Frankenstein’s monster of a soup that turned out to be delicious.
In the final few days, we were rejoined by Andrea, a Prius-dweller whom we’d originally met at RTR among Julie and her menagerie of friendly nomads. Unlike many of the people I met, Andrea is maintaining a full-time job while on the road (although she almost certainly is not putting in a full 40 hours per week, and good for her!), so she had to drive 20 minutes into town each day for internet service. Since parting with the crew over a month ago, Brian and Andrea have been traveling around rock climbing (a common activity for younger nomads with a hankering for the outdoors)!
The regular flow of new characters in the scene kept me curious enough to stick around at Skooliepalooza for a lot longer than I’d originally expected. But after nearly a week there, I decided it was time to move on.
Besides the many specific people I met and think fondly of, I also had many pleasant and delightful interactions, conversations, and connections with all sorts of interesting people living interesting lives. It’s these countless interactions, as much as the standout or long-lasting connections, that undergird the power of travel. It’s the immersion in viewpoints, lifestyles, languages, cultures, and values that are completely foreign to my own, such that I am able to deeply feel the humility of the limits of my own experience. And at the same time, there is commonality and shared humanity everywhere you look, irrespective of background, beliefs, choices, culture, or creed. International travel was incredibly important for my development as a human, and as the end of my present travels approaches rapidly and ruthlessly, I am pleased to realize that my domestic travels have undoubtedly contributed to my ongoing growth and development in ways that I maybe am only beginning to realize.