Knock, knock!

Knock…knock…knock — “It’s the police.”

It’s 4:45 AM and I’m pulled into consciousness.

My brother laying in a hammock next to the bed says “ I think the cops are outside.”

As I lay there snuggled in blankets wedged between a cooler (our evening entertainment center) and my brother's overhanging legs, my thoughts go from the infinite abyss of dreamland to a foggy entrance into reality.

Knock…knock…knock — “C.H.P” — the cop says while flashing his light through the opening in a window.

“One second, I’ll be right out” — I yelled.

After climbing over Mukwa who’d been sleeping in the hammock all night I stumbled around the van looking for a shirt to put on.

Born to be Wild

Once outside I couldn’t help but notice the beauty of my surrounding —dark but familiar; the wind was consistent with a chilly embrace, pushing the trees about as the stars glistened in the background —imagining a time before the American beast took over and decided to limit our freedoms of: simply living.

Location, Location, Location

I was perched high atop the Mountain on a side street in the rear of Mill Valley— a place I’ve slept many times before without an issue.

Kamala was positioned overlooking Tamalpais Valley, the Bay Area, and the impactful sparkling skyline of San Francisco in the distant background — it was a view of dreams — weighted decisions — unexplainable moments — and different perspectives that rushed over me while embracing our gift of being.

We parked high above the noise pollution below — the only sounds we heard throughout the night were Hank Moody’s voice coming from an episode of ‘Californication,’ or the welcomed whoosh of wind pushing against the van as we relaxed into our dwelling for the evening.

I stepped out of the van and talked to the officer — he informed me that I wasn’t allowed to park where I had overnight (although there weren’t any signs stating otherwise). He said he drove up there to check on kids — to make sure they weren’t causing trouble.

My brother stayed asleep as I clumsily searched for my ID in the dark to appease the officer. After he did a background check, ran my plates, and found that I was guilty of nothing more than wearing a mustache and living in a van (I kept the living in a van detail to myself), he cheerfully let me go.

Freedom in the air — The Maverick Way

Goodbye Officer

Before he departed we talked about wrestling and I told him my plans of competing in the US Open Championships next week in Las Vegas — which is where we found common ground because he was a wrestler in high school. The officer told me I could stay for the time being and go back to sleep, but we were planning on getting up at 5 AM to go to a coffee shop for my morning ritual — reading and writing before I head into work.

It’s never fun when you’re actually tagged while playing a game of hide and seek, but in the eight-plus months, I’ve claimed residency out of a van I’ve only been interrupted in my sleep twice— once by a hotel security guard at 3:30 AM and now the officer who came knocking at 4:30.

Your heart races as you rush into consciousness — confused and unsure of your waking surroundings — you can expect them to continue knocking, causing you to break through the sandman’s dust filled eyes as you’re pulled toward the present.

You can wait it out and hope they leave you or you can face the music and try to cordially navigate your way out of the situation and back into your home — I’ve chosen the latter of the two during my experiences.

How to make your dwelling easier:

Here are a few tips geared toward making your vandwelling experience better; or possibly just awakening in you the thought of doing something different for yourself — taking ownership of your life and choosing adventure over apathy; and experience over fear!