Gracie is a dirty van hippie. While I take advantage of any opportunity to get clean, getting in ANY body of water, any time of year, Gracie would go weeks without bathing. To her, clean, is redoing her makeup, which she would do, every couple of days, despite the non-existence of any human contact, besides me, who not only doesn’t care, but is actually turned off, by such things. But that is her homeostasis, as mine, is being clean.
Another quirk I learned of Gracie’s, as we started traveling together, is how long she would hold her bladder. This was not only in situations when it was inconvenient to go to the bathroom. Out of sheer laziness she would wait hours to use the bathroom. While this seems extremely uncomfortable and unhealthy to me, what could I do, besides make fun of her? Which I did.
This all came to a head one day, long ago, on a frigid day in December, somewhere in Texas. We woke up in my van to a completely frozen landscape.
We had already been traveling for a week. A few of the nights were spent in below zero temperatures and we had already sat out a snow storm near Zion National Park. Realizing more weather was impending we picked up our pace heading south. When we got to interstate 10, in Tucson, and started heading east, it seemed like we were in the clear. We were taking our dear old time to get to Longview, Texas, where Gracie’s parents live.
The day before waking up in the frozen nightmare, had been interesting. After hitting up a Cracker Barrel in El Paso, we continued east, enjoying the sun and western Texas landscape, that was all new to me. We smoked a bowl to settle our stomachs from the Cracker Barrel mistake. That too, proved to be a mistake, as shortly after getting extremely high, we pass signs and cameras indicating we are about to be stopped at an immigration checkpoint. We freeze because the cameras, and then scramble to put the paraphernalia away, without appearing to move, as we slow to a stop in the checkpoint. Gracie, who is driving, puts down her window, and gives the border patrol agent her full southern accent, “Good afternoon, sir”.
“Is everyone in the vehicle, a US citizen,” he barks.
“Yes?”, Gracie answers with a question.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“Texas?”, Gracie again asks instead of answers.
The border patrol agent looks at her, then looks at me. I try to keep a straight face despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. Before he can even figure out what to say (as we are already in Texas), Gracie tries again.
“My parent’s house?” Another question.
The border patrol agent, cracks a smile, unsure what to make of this ditzy bitch, and backs away from the window and waves us through. We bolt down the interstate without moving and talking without moving our lips, as if they can still see us. After we can think and breathe again, I research these immigration checkpoints and learn there aren’t any more. Holy shit. Now we are really high. The combination of smoking weed, the adrenaline of the surprise stop, and then the relief of getting through it, was intense. We cruise on down the interstate with our new buzz on.
We enjoyed our high, and the easy interstate driving for a few hours before things got a bit ominous. When I say got, I mean turned, in like 10 seconds. Sure, the temperature had dropped a bit, as we arrived in some hillier territory, but with very little warning, moisture started to hit the windshield. The wipers couldn’t keep up. They seemed to be making it worse. What the fuck is happening?
“Pull over,” Gracie yells.
With almost no visibility, I pull off the interstate, noticing I’m nearly to the onramp to a picnic area. I pull in, up to a curb, and dozens of semis and other vehicles fill in, around my van.
We are safe now. We can just stay here for the night. Fully equipped with food, water, gas, movies, 4G, and weed, this was no different than our night would have been had we not been forced off the highway, by a flash freeze. This likely wasn’t the case for others at the picnic area. We could only imagine how unprepared anyone else was for this, as we were not going to be leaving the vehicle, at all. I had tried to pee outside, but couldn’t even go, because it was so frigid and there was no place to go and not be seen by others. This was just a picnic area, not a rest area, with restrooms. Huh, I thought, as I relieved myself in a bucket, inside the van and threw it out the door. What if its like this in the morning. Where will I shit?
Where I shit, is not something I take lightly. This is the main determining factor of where I park, to sleep. If it is not somewhere, I can wake up, drink coffee, and immediately poop, arrangements will have to be made, as to where that is going to transpire, within a reasonable distance. I set myself up for success. My day will be ruined if I have the urge, but let it pass, as I am not in a position to make the deposit. This isn’t just in vanlife, this is everyday shit for me.
This brings us to waking in the completely frozen landscape. We were still surrounded by semis, but many of the cars that had pulled off with us, were gone, likely having to brave the icy conditions as opposed to freezing at the picnic area. We didn't need to risk it. We were warm enough (if under the covers), had plenty of food and water, and enough gas to occasionally run the engine, as some trucks seemed to be dealing with a frozen engine. The only discomfort was that there was no where to shit. It was insanely cold out, but I would not have let that stopped me, if there was privacy. That's all there was too it, I was not going to be able to shit today. Drinking coffee was certainly out of the question. This is not how any day, ever, starts for me.
I crawled back into bed and smoked some weed, as that inhibits me from pooping. Wait a second. What the hell? Gracie hasn't peed since we got here the night before. She isn't into peeing in the bucket, despite my exclamations at the conveniences that go with it.
At this time, I had only been peeing in a bucket for two years. That isn't long, considering I'd been living and/or spending large amounts of time in vehicles for six years. Once I started doing it, I wondered how had I not done this sooner. It was a game changer. Freedom. I had started doing it, when staying in a city and had no options, but soon realized the myriad times this action was convenient. I had known, and been a little jealous, of guys doing this, and often capping it, to throw out later. When I figured out I just needed a much wider-mouth, container, I was good to go.
Up until this point, Gracie had not only refused to pee in a bucket, she made fun of me for doing so. “I will never do that,” she said.
Which brings us back to the dilemma of the moment. It is definitely not convenient for her to relieve herself, outside, now. In every moment her situation is becoming more dire. She has to pee so bad, it hurts me. Finally the realization sets in. She either has to go outside and face peeing where all the truckers can see her and her pee will likely freeze mid-stream or she can go in the bucket. She opts for the bucket.
Gracie pulls the curtain between the bed, where I am laying and the open space, that incidentally serves as kitchen, living room and bathroom. I remain quiet, holding back my laughter, as she tries to relax and settle into the reality of the situation. Finally the silence is broken with the sound of the stream hitting the inside of the bucket. I feel just as relieved as she must be feeling. I try to hold back and give her “privacy”, but unable, I mutter, “you dirty van hippie.”
“Stop it!”, she screams, as she begins to laugh. “I’m going to miss.”
I am so proud. This feels like a milepost of van-dwelling. A whole new world. Gracie had plenty of opportunities to put her new skillset to work in the days that followed. We ended up being parked at that picnic area for 36 hours. Finally when we woke the second morning, everything had thawed, and we felt safe, proceeding. The sun was out, and we cruised on down the interstate. Despite being relatively comfortable during the emergency situation, we were slightly perturbed when we learned that a couple miles down the road, was the fanciest fucking rest area, we encountered on our whole trip. Oh well, Gracie had earned her van-dwelling badge.
I wish that was where the story ended, but it ended up getting way crazier, as far as driving conditions went.
To this day, I have still never had to shit inside the van. Most van-dwellers, if not by choice, are forced to do so, one way or another, eventually. I’m sure that day will come for me, but luckily, it hasn’t come to that….yet!
As for Gracie, you’d be unlikely to find a more stalwart van-dweller. Aside from all the usual skills one acquires while living in a vehicles, Gracie has mastered van cooking and interior design. She continues to take being a dirty van hippie to new levels.
