“Are you staying home?”

Yes and no.

Technically I have been isolated in my home. In the last 13 days I’ve bought groceries and propane once, water and diesel twice, while keeping my distance from other humans.

On the other hand, “home” is not the permanent structure most people imagine. It’s the bus in the photo above. I’m staying at free campsites on public land.

I visited San Diego from March 1–15. I parked at the beach by day and in a commercial/industrial area by night.

Then I woke up to find a $112 parking ticket on my windshield; sleeping in a vehicle is technically illegal anywhere in San Diego, and my attempts to sidestep the rules weren’t as foolproof as I’d hoped.

The fear of the pandemic was settling upon California like a smog at the same time.

So I looked up the nearest free campsite and after wandering through a chaotic Wal-Mart in a daze, picking random things off the shelves, and driving down a heavily washboarded gravel road, I arrived at my new home. California went into lockdown. I stayed for eight days.

Photo by Joe Omundson

I wondered: what exactly am I doing with my life? Am I OK? Is this safe or dangerous?

I’m more prepared for isolation than most people. I often spend days at a time alone in remote areas. My writing work is done online. I’m used to stretching cheap, staple foods to last a long time; I only need a gallon of water a day, and a gallon of propane a month. I’ve got unlimited solar power.

The major difference for me is that I can’t camp with my friends anymore, and I can’t go to the store or eat out just to give myself the illusion that I’m part of the human race like I usually do.

This is mostly a breeze. And yet...

If my bus were to break down catastrophically, what would I do? I don’t have money to fix it anyway, but even if someone loaned me money, are mechanics open these days?

Am I at risk legally? I assume I could convince a cop that I am at home, and I am quarantining, but maybe they’d insist that I’m traveling needlessly and that I should be… somewhere else. Or nowhere at all.

In the worst case — if I get the virus? Where do I go for treatment? Where would I leave my bus? In the very worst case, if the virus weakens my immune system to the point that my prosthetic heart valve gets another bacterial infection, what then?

I have healthcare in Portland but that’s a long way away.

Maybe I should go back there.

If I did that, I’d have family support and easy access to healthcare (assuming it doesn’t get overwhelmed) in case of an emergency.

But I’d either need to park on the streets of Portland (stressful) or with one of my parents in the suburbs (stressful in a different way). I’d spend a lot of my money on diesel to get up there when it’s not strictly necessary.

Worst of all, Portland is like this.

Taken from wunderground.com

Some people like rain, but I had enough of it growing up and now I’m a desert rat. I’m also not sure how waterproof my bus is.

If it’s a choice between catching the virus while far away from healthcare, and living in never-ending drizzle in a suburban driveway, I’d have to choose… god, I’m not sure.

All jokes aside, when I’m depressed and stressed out, my immune system is weaker. This seems to have been a factor in my previous heart infections and might be true for the coronavirus as well. Good weather and full autonomy help me stay positive. Traveling in the desert might be the most protective thing I can do.

In the same way that waking up to a parking ticket ejected me from San Diego, waking up to a sore throat and a fever would likely launch me up I-5 in a hurry.

I understand that some people will be upset at the idea of me traveling right now. All I can say is that going to remote places and not interacting with people, resupplying at the grocery store once a week, is no more dangerous than quarantining in a house or apartment.

Interestingly enough, there are some unique upsides to living on the road right now. More people are at home, which frees up space for me. Fuel prices are down.

Most significantly: the thing that normally keeps me from enjoying extended solo travel is that I feel like I’m missing out if I don’t spend time with other people. Maybe I’m trying to meet a travel partner, or I’m camping with new or old friends. It’s hard for me to purely follow my own interests for more than a week or two.

With self-isolation removing socialization as an option, this is an opportunity to enjoy myself without needing to mesh with the rest of society. I can visit a series of campsites I’ve never been to, hiking and writing and listening to new music. Since people all around the world are staying home too, and looking for someone to talk to, I have new pen pals.

Things are changing quickly and there may soon come a time when I must seek a more stable living situation. For now, I’ll keep rolling with it.