Upside down and rightside up living during COVID-19

I always figured if I made it through a Colorado winter living in my built-out Dodge ProMaster cargo van, then everything else that came my way would be a piece of cake. However, I never considered a pandemic, no one really did. I couldn't have fathomed how quickly my life would change, and I'd have to get used to a new norm, all over again.

I rely on the public sphere for a lot of the stuff I need to make my day to day life work - recreation centers, coffee shops, parks, campgrounds, etc. As a freelance writer, I need electricity and WiFi to earn a paycheck. Both are easily accessible with a purchase of a $2 cup of coffee, and I never really had to come up with a back-up plan in case all restaurants, bars, and nonessential business closed.

As news of the virus began to spread and its severity increased, plenty of friends, many members of our beloved Niwot community, offered me spots in their driveways or yards, with ample connectivity so I could retain a semblance of normal while staying put.

But I didn't want to occupy others' space for an indefinite amount of time and, selfishly, I didn't want them in mine. I knew I'd really go stir crazy if I had to stay in 75 square feet for the few months. People are having difficulty in their homes - homes that have hot showers, backyards, televisions, and multiple rooms. Can you imagine spending day in and day out inside an almost-windowless, rolling metal box? Neither could I. So, like all those straddling the line between the known and unknown, I headed west.

I was halfway to Nevada when everything pretty much shut down, and it was time to get creative. I scouted for outdoor electrical outlets where I could charge my secondary power unit in the van, which gives me electricity for my laptop, camera charger, sink pump, and vent fans. I sneakily plugged into the side of gas stations, hunkered down outside public libraries and found a very convenient public pergola in Moab with multiple outdoor plug-ins.

I used almost a full 16-ounce bottle of hand sanitizer in two weeks, because I was constantly touching public things - gas station pumps, grocery store doors, toilet handles (the van does not have a bathroom). I struggled with feelings of guilt and grappled with my own social obligation to stay home and stay safe, but I didn't have a traditional home and being out in the open, away from most everyone, was the only way I could think of to keep sane and stay safe.

This was a new test, unlike any I could have ever dreamed up. I got to quasi-live off the land in a much different way than I had in the previous six months of van dwelling. Wide dirt roads became my treadmill and sunsets my nighttime entertainment. I went a full 21 days without a warm, indoor shower and got really good at powering through freezing cold baths in rivers, lakes, and streams. The coldest was in Red Feather Lakes, Colorado - I had to break through an icy shoreline to get access to the chilly water below and proceeded to dump bone-chilling water on my head and body while furiously soaping whatever I could. There is nothing more morale boosting than being clean, and I was willing to earn it.

I spent almost two weeks not seeing anyone I knew face to face. That was the hardest part. I hear stories of people stuck inside with their significant others, their kids, their roommates, and how it's driving them crazy to be in such close proximity all the time, but dare I say being totally alone was equally as difficult. Yet I am still one of the lucky ones.

There's a rhythm to this new normal now, and I've leaned on friends over the past week to hide from the snow until it passes. I'll return to Red Feather soon enough to resume my van dwelling adventure there. It's funny, since moving into the van, I hadn't spent more than a few days in one place. I lived for a full 10 days on the same patch of BLM land, driving into town each morning to plug in to an outdoor outlet I found and connecting to my hotspot to submit work. The locals began to know my van and my name. They'd stop by my "campground" to check in and see if I needed anything, both of us grateful to have another face in view, even if it was six feet away.

For the first time in six months, I went to bed looking at the same stars and awoke each morning to the sun rising in the same spot above the same trees. It's funny how this upside-down world made me realize how much I love a right-side up existence. And I think I've finally figured out how to have one that involves a van, for now anyways.