We drive up the logging road and expect to see the deserted lookout. A Dodge Sprinter is blocking the view, rear doors open, a man sitting over a cook stove, peering at us through the crack between the door and and the vehicle's body. We eye each other the way strangers do upon first meeting. His name is Thomas, and his dog, Jefferson. They've been on the road for two weeks from West Hollywood, and here we are, camping together near the edge of the continental US.
Thomas shares his meal with us, tells us about his life, and invites us over to his van later to play music with his guitar, bongos, and keyboard he powers with a battery charged from a solar panel. We invite him to share our campfire. He offers us vodka infused with honey from the bees he keeps. We offer him razor clam ceviche our roommate made. He asks us about life in Washington, surfing, and what drives us. We ask him about his trip, the van, and Jefferson. It's a moment from a bygone era, a time when people travelled simply, camping together, and sharing food, stories, and the road.
|The view, looking West Northwest.|
|Thomas has been learning the flow arts.|
|Jefferson, friend and security system.|
|Poi spinning, one of the ways Thomas flows.|
|Living in a car or driving a home, either way he's got a cozy setup.|