Bag time.

I am not a stocky man. At 6'2" and 197lbs, I lose body heat quickly. If I were thick, stocky, big boned or as they say here in Wisconsin, 'fluffy', staying warm would be easier. My body type lends it self to cooling in summer better than it does to staying warm in the winter. A thicker man retains heat easier. The little extra layers of fat help keep the BTUs in and the cold out. I am not that man. As my dads friend says (who survived a Japanese POW camp), "The fat get skinny and the skinny get dead". So, I have to spend more time in my sleeping bag, inside another sleeping bag to stay warm.

I have 3 sleeping bags in my tin can. A summer weight bag good only to about 50 degrees F, a fall and spring bag, good to about 35 to 40 degrees F and a winter bag. The winter bag is not a high dollar sub zero bag that one would find on Mt. Everest. The label on it says it is good to 0 degrees, but that is a lie. I tried it one night at 25 degrees. It failed. I froze.
It was 30 degrees below zero and I was nestled into two high quality, military, goose down sleeping bags on a winter camp out in upstate New York as a boy scout. I was as snug as a bug in a rug. Layering worked then and it still works.

Layering is the secret when it comes to staying warm when dressed. It also is the secret to staying warm at night. Last night the temperature dipped to about 15 degrees F. The fall bag inside the winter bag was just right. I slept in total comfort. This fall, the fall bag inside the summer bag was ideal. When the temperature gets down to single digits or even to zero, I think I will need to slip my current combo of the fall and winter bag into the summer bag. Since the summer bag is the roomiest it always has to be on the outside.
That should do the trick. If it gets much colder I will have to build a tent in side the van or go buy another really good winter bag. You can only layer up the bags, with bags inside of bags, so much before it gets too tight to move inside.


Night time cold is different than daytime cold. I have noticed that when the sun goes down, the feeling one gets when a chill settles into your bones is more than just a chill. It is a statement. It is a feeling that goes beyond just being cold. It gnaws at your very soul. It makes you feel doubt. It make you depressed and it makes you doubt where you are and what you are doing. The lack of sunlight and the cold together are deadly. There is a reason that the young men in Inuit country are constantly trying, and succeeding at offing themselves.

It is very important that a camper or adventurer remember this. This desperate feeling that settles in at dark when it is cold can lead to bad decisions, depression and trouble. There are three things that you must do to avoid falling into this little trap that mother nature sets for you. First, you must have camp ready early. Have your nest built, your shelter done and ready for habitation long before it gets dark. The feeling of being homeless in the cold is unsettling at best. Secondly, have some food early. You do not want low blood sugar or a general lack of fuel to aggravate the situation. Even a cold snack an hour or so before it gets dark is enough to lift your spirits and keep you warm. Thirdly, have heat and light of some sort. If you can put a hot meal together, light a candle, fire up the camp stove or even a tiny little wood fire, do it. The light and the warmth helps you physically and mentally.

Last but certainly not least, do something constructive. Read a book, do some exercises, write in your journal or simply fix up your supplies or organize your nest. This activity helps you realize that you are in control, that you can improve the situation and you will be better off for it.

Last night I heated up a can of stew for dinner, washed up the one spoon I used, washed up me, crawled into my doubled up bag and read the book, "The Big Book of Words You Should Know." I learned pettifoggery, pedantic and prate. I'll probably never use them but it felt good to learn something.

As the temperature dropped and night fell on PUCK, I was in high spirits. I was committed to making the overnight voyage to Sturgeon Bay in my 7'4" dingy, I was in fresh clean, dry clothes and I had eaten my dinner. The hot thermos of coffee would keep my spirits up through the night and the north star would keep me on course. I had a compass and  was charting my course but since it was a straight run NE the north star was all I needed. Because I had stripped off my wet clothes down to my 'never-nevers', put on warm dry ones, eaten my meal early, plotted my course while it was still light, I now felt good. A lot can happen in the night on a little boat in open water. You need to be fortified, in good spirits and ready to make good decisions. Being cold and hungry is no way to start any night.

I found my self further away from the entrance than where I started. Winds were 35-40 now, seas were 4' and breaking over the side of PUCK, I was getting wetter by the minute. Bailing PUCK would have been easier if I had an extra arm. Holding the tiller and the main sheet and fighting for every upwind inch I could meant that bailing had to wait. When the water collected on the lee side of the floor board to a depth of 6-8 inches I would try to hold the tiller and main sheet in one hand and bail with the other. I always lost what little ground I had made.

This continued until I realized that eventually I would get blown out into the bay away from land and away from any chance of rest or sleep. I decided that while I still had the energy, I would drop the sail and paddle. I loosed the main halyard, dropped the sail and boom into the cockpit and pulled out the double ended kayak paddle my friend Karen had lent me. I paddled towards the rocky shoreline for about an hour.
Sometimes, I would make zero headway. It was all I could do for minutes at a time to hold my own and not get blown further away. Even though I was now wet clean through, I was hot. The energy I was expending heated me up to a point where I was sweating.

About an hour before morning, my headlight picked up an aluminum dock, the only dock along that entire rocky, dangerous shore. I made for it. I made PUCK fast, stripped off my wet clothes, shook out my sleeping bag from its dry sack and crawled into it. I was asleep, butt naked in a bag, on a strangers dock in about 30 seconds.

Dawn arrived, I woke. I had to poop. PUCK has no toilet. My next day begins. But, I made it. Fourty miles up Green Bay from the town of Green Bay in a 7'4" sailing dingy.

Demonstrating my paddling technique. This is the technique I used to make it the last 1/4 mile to the dock in Sturgeon Bay. I kneel on a floatation cushion or dry bag, steer with my butt and use the kayak paddle exactly how it was intended to be used. Works great on a little boat. Thanks for the paddle Karen. If not for it there is no telling where I would have ended up.

Living in a can

Life in a van is like living in a tin can. You are surrounded by metal with very little, if any insulation and it is cold and noisy. People who meet you think you don't have good taste and others just want you to get recycled.
I love the big "R". R value is basically the ratio of the temperature change from inside to outside, to the surface area. If the heat transmission from the warm side to the cold side increases then the temperature difference will be less per given area and the ratio will be smaller. If the heat transmission decreases then the temperature difference will be higher per given area and the ratio will be higher. R value is stated on the insulation material used and the R value the more thermal resistance you can expect.
In the van I use a closed cell foam (pink or blue) that has a stated R value of 3.5. I don't use the fiberglass batten type insulation because I don't want the fibers floating around in my nest. One loose fibre and I would be itchy for months.
I use expanding polyurethane foam to both glue the foam board to the metal side of the van and to fill the voids. The nice thing about using this canned glue/insulation is that it fills the gaps as it glues. The foam board can bed bent into place, but there are curves that the board foam can't match. The foam fills these gaps nicely, oozes out between the cracks and completes the insulation nicely.

 This is the one of the two back doors. There already was silver insulation glued to the metal in this door so I just glued the pink foam board on top. You can see the expanding foam oozing out.

 I use the little bits of foam as wedges to hold it all in place until it drys.

The long nozzle helps to get in behind the foam board to fill the voids. Once squirted, just stick wedge into place and feel the warmth. R 3.5 is not very much. With the silver insulation I might be getting R5.  Some surfaces in the van are layered with 2 pieces of foam and thus have an R value of 7! Today's energy efficient houses are built with R values ranging from 12 to 30.

When you live in a tin can, every little bit helps though. This makes a huge temperature difference inside my tin can and really helps to cut down on noise and condensation as well. One of the by products of propane and butane combustion is water vapor. Since I use open flames to heat and cook, the air borne water vapor is high. Keeping adequate air flow and insulating becomes critical. My wife, my son, our dog Gus and I lived on a 28' sailboat for over 3 years in the Canadian cold, year round from '02 to '05. Condensation was our constant nemesis then and it will be again now if I don't watch for it. It can lead to mould and mildew which is not healthy. But, if you have ever been woken out of a deep sleep by an ice cold drop of water hitting you square in the face, you know the better reason to keep condensation at bay.

Little adjustments in my tin can life style have made huge differences in my comfort level. Creature comforts take on a whole new meaning when you don't have many of them. Like the man who never worked with his back on a 12 hour shift who always has to have steak to please his pallet compared to the guy who labored in the mud and the blood wsho is very content with a couple of hot dogs at the end of a long day. When a hot dog taste as good as a steak, you have probably been doing something worthwhile.

Open Flames

As it gets colder outside I am reminded of the visceral attraction that humans have to fire. Oh what a wonder to light a candle and see the warmth. On a cold night, the candle in my van doesn't stand a chance against the chill that comes through the metal, up through the floor and even through my R6 insulation. But I swear I can see the warmth. Warmth is something you should only feel. But I see the warmth in the candle and it makes me feel warmer immediately.
An open little flame becomes the smile you used to get from your mom when she called you in from ice hockey for fresh baked bread when it was 20 degrees below zero. There was no physical warmth, but somehow you felt warm.
I use bees wax candles nestled into gravel in a short  tin can. The can and rocks are stable. The candles don't tip over and you can always dispose of the hot matches in a safe place. The bees wax candles put off a very pleasant, mild aroma. I especially like it when I blow them out before retiring. The smell is comforting and makes me feel good. Normal paraffin candles stink so bad in this small area that I don't use them.

No serious BTUs coming from these tiny flames but the glow is mesmerizing and cozy feeling. You can see the top layer of R3 against the van sides. Two layers of this plus a reflective layer actually gives me about R7. Less than any home would require but helps tremendously here.

Morning is the coldest. My system for dealing with the unwelcoming chill that bites at every body part that emerges is as follows. I roll onto my left side. Reach my right arm out of the bag and press the ignite button on my propane, ceramic heater. For the thermocouple to heat up, which keeps the pilot lit, it takes about 30 seconds. That always seems the longest thirty seconds of my life. As soon as it stays lit I retract my arm and get warm again until the heater has emitted enough British Thermal Units to bring temperature to above freezing.

The radiant energy of this little heater is magic. It has a ceramic element that combusts very completely, all the gas it gets, produces a nice glow and puts out enough heat to make waking up bearable.

The last open flame that I use in my van is the cook stove. It is mostly used to heat the water that I mix with most of my meals.

This is a combo fuel of propane and iso-butane. The flame is very hot and the little canisters seem to never run out. The stove is designed for this kind of fuel. The threaded fitting on it won't even allow you to use just propane.

This heater heats up a half of pot of water to "very hot" in just about 5 minutes on medium. That's all the water i need to make my protein-oatmeal gruel, a cup of instant coffee. There is enough left in the pot that I can soak a wash clothe 2 or 3 times and get another wash up in. I wash 2x per day. At night I use the Oil of Olay clothes because I have no hot water left over at night, they are convenient and they contain soap and skin conditioners. They are quite soothing and refreshing. In the morning, the wash up with hot water just feels great. It makes you feel civilized.

I grew up camping and existing in the woods. Having open flames in small areas can be dangerous if you don't follow these golden rules.
One.  Have adequate fresh air flow. I run about 64 sq inches of open windows, cracked doors and vents.
Two. Never go to sleep, even for a minute, with an open flame burning. The CO will put you to sleep then you will die.
Three. Make sure there is some vent up high to vent off fumes.
Four. Make sure you have a safe place to put spent matches.
Five. MOST IMPORTANT! Make sure every flame is stable. You do not want an open flame getting knocked over. That could spell disaster.
Six. Keep a good fire extinguisher near at hand.

That's all for now, but remember, as a friend reminded me this morning:

"The truth is that it is natural, as well as necessary, for every man to be a vagabond occasionally"
Samuel H. Hammond

Living in 40 square feet.

In the deep dark woods of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, I came upon a hermit. I was probably 13 or 14 years old, out on my trap line and there  he was. He lived where no one ever goes, a least 5 miles into the woods from the nearest logging trail. Hermits do exist and I admire them. A hermit is someone who lives totally self sufficient, with very little impact on the environment, usually in the tiniest of shelters and almost always in a spot that is hard to find, and free.
We are not talking about the homeless in the doorways and under bridges or the panhandlers that roam the city streets with squeegees trying to get you to let them do your windshield for your spare change. These cases are heart wrenching and their stories are riddled with sadness. The vets, the once successful, the mentally ill all shooed out onto the streets to fend off the cold and the predators. "But there for the grace of God go I". They need our help. They all have a story and they all just want us to see them. To acknowledge them. Rent the Soloist. Jamie Fox is great and the movie is moving.
Anyway, back to hermits. Hermits are not little people with pointy ears. The hermit I met was probably in his 60's, in good condition and lived in a self-built tiny log cabin that was about 5' by 8'. Fourty square feet. The same size as the back of my van where I exist today.
Dad and I were amazed at the compactness, cleanliness and organization in his minuscule dwelling. His refrigerator was a square hole dug into the dirt floor under the bunk. He had a tiny wood stove designed from spare iron he found which was fueled by tiny sticks, not logs. Tiny sticks can be found anywhere and catch fire quickly. Survivalist will tell you that tiny stick fires are the way to go. I agree. I've used them hundreds of times to warm my cold hands, cold feet, dry out clothes and heat soup.
This hermit was friendly, articulate and always put on some hot cocoa and coffee for when we stopped in. Dad and I always brought a bag of food with us and the occasional bottle of spirits. He liked us. We liked him. Dad got transferred and we never saw him again.
I am now that man. Well not quite. I too live in 40 square feet, but it is not in the deep woods nor do I have a dirt fridge. I iron my clothes, wash well everyday (yes mom, even behind my ears) and I see a lot of people. I live a full exciting life in society and on my adventures. I am here by choice.

 View from my bunk. Clothes all on heavy duty hangers saves space and keeps them nice. They can be accessed from inside or from the open back doors. Nice for when doing laundry. Hat, toiletries and spare line all to be found aft of my galley.

 Galley view from bunk. In bag is camp stove and coffee pot. The bag and bungee keeps them from banging around when driving. Paper towels above are handy, mirror in just the right spot for doing my hair and shaving, fire extinguisher at the ready, just in case.

 Plastic drawers hold food stores, bowl, plastic utensils, salt/pepper, etc. I keep my oatmeal in a tin can because the cardboard one it comes in always wants to fall apart and leak oatmeal on my floor. Once oatmeal gets out, it seems to be able to crawl on its own into the tiniest furthest areas.

 My bunk. Fleece on the cushion for extra warmth, wool blanket on back rest at the ready. I flip in down on top on me if i need it. Hanging above is small hammock where i keep my Oil of Olay wipes for general hygiene when I can't find a shower.

 My flannel lined sleeping bag. I have a nylon one but you can't beat the warm fuzzy feeling this bag provides.

Here she is. My home. Chevy Express, 155" wheel base, 3500 1 ton chassis, 240,000 miles and still running. Priceless.

Dodging ships in the night

The wind built to about 25 knots, was out of the south, waves were 3-4' high and I was sailing on what is called a beam reach. That is, the wind is blowing at a right angle to the path the boat is sailing on. This is a fast tack to be on, the problem is, the waves hit you broad side much like being T-boned in your car at an intersection. Then the boat broke.

PUCK is an open sailing dingy, made out of fiberglass. She measures 7'4" long and is 4' wide. She is shaped like a pumpkin seed. I bought the hull and modified her for rough passages with a floatation collar made of closed cell foam and a spray dodger on the nose to keep at least some of the water out. It is still a wet ride. The waves were hitting the side, shifting the boat sideways and every third one or so dumps a couple of gallons of cold Lake Michigan water on me. I bail. I bail. When the lee board broke, (that board that protrudes down into the water to stop the boat from being blown down wind too much), I had to make a decision. Instead of wisely turning into the nearest port, I decided to turn down wind and run with the wind and the waves. This would keep me dryer. The waves would lift my stern gently, PUCK would surf me towards my destination and water would be staying where it belonged, in the lake. My destination was Sturgeon Bay, about 40 miles North East up Green Bay. At an average speed of 3 knots (almost 3.5 miles per hour) the trip was going to take 11.5 to 12 hours.

My boat had no lee board, so it couldn't sail up wind or across the wind, the wind and waves were building, I was drenched and it was going to get dark soon. That's when the 600' freighter came into view over the horizon. I was still in the shipping lane. These ships stop for nothing. It's not that they don't want to, it's that they can't. Even if he were to drop and drag his in the mud anchor and reverse his propulsion he would probably still run me and anyone else over that happened to be in his way for the next mile. We would not make a single noise they would hear, 60 feet up on the bridge, as he chewed me up and spit me out with his 10' wide propeller. Best to get out of his way.

With no lee board, I could not just change tacks and squirt laterally across the rest of the shipping lane.
I decided to slice diagonally across the lane. Although I would be helping to close the gap with the approaching freighter, if the wind held I figured I would slide past his port bow as we passed. It worked. I did not get run down. I tried to hail the bridge on my 5 watt VHF radio as he slid past. No response. He was probably too busy swearing at me to want to talk.

So, off I sailed, on my NE track. Night settled in. I changed into dry clothes. Donned my wool cap and nestled in for the night with by back against the stern, my bitt on a floatation cuchion and my legs propped up on the port gunnel. I could steer by the North Star the whole way. I figured I would arrive at day break.

You can see the tower of the tug that is nestled into her stern.

The weather is nice today so I am going to add some insulation to my nest, (the sleeping, eating and washing up section of my van.) Good afternoon.

Letting life happen

Being a nomad, a vagabond, a hobo with an education is not easy. The whole world expects you to be invoved in a career, a family and a society. I spent my life moving around when I was young with my dad being a military man, then, to add insult to injury, I moved all over the US as an employee of Johnson and Johnson. When moving has been your life you learn to love lightness. You learn to love a lack of posessions. You learn to love being able to relocate quickly, unencumbered by furniture, knick knacks and even personal attachments. I have now almost totally done away with everything. What I cannot fit in my van, is in a small storage bin.
In my van I have the following: 5 shirts and 3 pair of slacks, 2 pair of pajamas (one fleecy for winter and one cotton for summer), a light sleeping bag and a medium sleeping bag (combined they make a winter sleeping bag), a propane infra red heater from Cabelas, a backpackers propane/isobutane stove, 2 LED lights mounted overheaed, a bed that I built and fastened to the truck so it does not become a projectile, pillows, canned food, long shelf life non-refrigerated meals, one jug of water, a bowl, protein powder, oatmeal and Oil of Olay clean up clothes. I have 2 towels and 2 wash clothes that hang on hangers with my clothes for good drying, my coat and my 2 wool sweaters. This is not a motor home. If it was I'd be in heaven.

My system in the morning for getting up when it is cold starts with reaching over to the infra red heater from the warmth of my bag and holding the ignite button for 30 seconds. Once lit, I get cozy again (making sure i don't fall asleep and kill myself with CO) until the frost is at least gone. I sneak out of my bag one body part at a time. As each part emerges I clothe it. Hat first, sweater second, pants third and wool slippers fourth. Once out, I fire up the cook stove, heat up some water in my coffee pot and make what I call coffee-gruel. Coffee-gruel is an adaptation of oatmeal that makes life easy. I put a few ounces of oatmeal, sugar, instant coffee and protein powder in a metal cup. Once I have added the hot water and stirred it all up, I have a hearty start to the day with enough caffeine to invigorate me and enough protein to make sure I don't look like a scare crow.

The beauty of this system is that there are no pots to wash. With the left over hot water, I soak a washcloth, wash all my private parts, pits and feet again (I always do them at night with the Oil of Olay clothes as well) and proceed to get dressed, ready to face the day.

Former executive lives in van

On Dec. 13 of 1970 I was trapping a frozen lake for beaver in the ubercold upper penninsula of Michigan. My dad was with me, it was 15 degrees below zero, the wind was blowing and the snow was already 4 feet deep. Dad fell through the ice.


After he stripped down naked, changed clothes and was warmed by the fire I had started, I asked him how cold he got. What he described was not at all as bad as it was last night sleeping in my Chevy cargo van in Kenosha, Wisconsin.

How I got here is a long story which will eventually unfold. For now, suffice it to say that I always just enjoyed life, took what came and never really planned too much. The last thing I think I really planned was finishing college. Hell I didn't even really plan it when I sailed my 7' open dingy 40 miles up Green Bay, through the night, in 4' seas. In fact, once I arrived in Sturgeon Bay, WI, I had no way of getting me or PUCK (my little vessel) back to Green Bay.

I am still married even though my wife and I have agreed to divorce. She lives is PA, has a great job and our son is on scholorship for hockey and academics at a D1 college.

They are both better at planning than I am. I live in a cargo van that I have kitted out with a propane heater, gas camp stove and a cup to pee in for those times when you just can't sleep without going.

There was a time when I wore expensive suits everyday. A time when I had secretaries, a nice office, a VP title at a $500 million company, and made enough money that I actually lived in a house and drove a sports car that I didn't live in.

That is all for now. Need to find a shower.