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First Edition Design Publishing - George Critchlow

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112 pages

English

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This is a story about Critchlow's solo two- month journey into Middle America to celebrate his retirement and reflect on life, culture, and the past. It is a real journey -- through the West, the Bible Belt, and Missouri River country -- in Vamper, Critchlow's affectionate name for his 1999 Ford Coachmen camper van. But it is also about Critchlow's life journey, about race, religion, the environment, and a divided America in the age of Donald Trump. Critchlow weaves together people, places, historical anecdotes, political observations, legal tales, and personal history in a way that helps explain the competing narratives in American society today. His journey also tells us something about how a baby boomer might look back and look forward as he moves into his senior years and faces the challenge of retirement.

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Travel writing

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Publié par	First Edition Design Publishing
Date de parution	01 janvier 2018
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781506905280
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0360€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Travels With Vamper:
A Graybeard ’ s Journey
GeorgeCritchlow

FirstEdition Design Publishing
Sarasota,Florida USA
Travels With Vamper: A Graybeard’s Journey
Copyright ©2017 George Critchlow

ISBN 978-1506-905-27-3 PRINT
ISBN 978-1506-905-28-0 EBOOK

LCCN 2017960696

December 2017

Published and Distributed by
First Edition Design Publishing, Inc.
P.O. Box 20217, Sarasota, FL 34276-3217
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com

ALL R I G H T S R E S E R V E D. No p a r t o f t h i s b oo k pub li ca t i o n m a y b e r e p r o du ce d, s t o r e d i n a r e t r i e v a l s y s t e m , o r t r a n s mit t e d i n a ny f o r m o r by a ny m e a ns ─ e l e c t r o n i c , m e c h a n i c a l , p h o t o - c o p y , r ec o r d i n g, or a ny o t h e r ─ e x ce pt b r i e f qu ot a t i o n i n r e v i e w s , w i t h o ut t h e p r i o r p e r mi ss i on o f t h e a u t h o r orpublisher .

1

Retirement,June 2016

Ididn’t want to retire, but they gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Not a Godfather bloody horse head, but a Jesuit university’s inducement in the form of abig check. From a social justice perspective, I suppose the reward forthirty-six years of work is the work itself. But there is also the matter ofpaying bills and living out one’s golden years in measured abundance free fromthe threat of financial hardship. So, after almost four decades of teaching lawand lawyering, I decided to take the buy-out of my position as a tenuredprofessor and embark on the rest of my life’s journey—a journey whose directionand course were not yet decided or in any way self-evident. I had gone to lawschool at Gonzaga University in Spokane, Washington and, after three years of privatepractice in my father’s law firm, I returned to the same law school as aprofessor. Fourteen-thousand days of repeated trips to and from the law school hadcarved a worn and accustomed path. What now to do? I knew, instinctively, whatnot to do. I did not want to wake up the day after my retirement lamenting theloss of my old life. I needed to put distance between that life and whateverlay in the future. And then it hit me—a road trip! Not a short, humdrum roadtrip but a real adventure, a journey that would rekindle my imagination and teachme something new.
A fewfolks, including my wife, Diane, lifted their eyebrows when I announced I wasgoing to buy a used camper van and travel the country alone in celebration ofmy retirement. I knew I was no John Steinbeck, but my idea was to create a Travelswith Charley road trip with a dash of Blue Highways . Donald Trumpwas pushing and shoving his way through the Republican primaries and BernieSanders was promising free college education for all. People were taking sideson the question of whether Black Lives Matter was racist (as if black livesmatter only when the value of white lives is acknowledged). The generationforged in the 60s, my generation, people destined to make America moreequitable, more environmentally sensitive, less violent, and more inclusive,now lived in a deeply divided society marked by permanent war, an increasinggap between rich and poor, climate change denial, resurgent racism, gunviolence, and distrust of government. I wanted to get out into the Americanhomeland at a street level to observe and ponder what was happening.
Ialso wanted to drive, just drive. Drive in a mercurial way, drive intuitively,drive the country’s backroads through deserts and mountains—away from theairports, hotels and conference rooms that had insulated my professional travelfor decades. I wanted to get away from computers and schedules and routines, togive my much-hectored mind a chance to slow down and wander. In some ways, Ilooked at retirement in the way one might anticipate a vacation. Still, I knewthis was not a vacation, but the beginning of some new and unknown way of beingin the world. I was afraid. I hoped my road trip would allow me to face thisfear and apprehend a more confident and imaginative way of visualizing my newlife. I also expected to rummage around in my past and perhaps uncover a fewlife lessons that had relevance for me today. Or, at the least, locate somememories that could make me smile.

*

I amnot a car guy. I once bought an expensive red sports car because it was prettyand fast, but motor vehicles for me have largely been just a way to get around.I could never participate intelligently in discussions about engines, drivetrains, wheel hubs, and front ends. When I was in high school, friends teasedme by making references to made-up car parts like “Johnson rods” and “mufflerbearings.” It isn’t that I was a complete blockhead – I loved listening to CarTalk on NPR and I occasionally looked under the hood back in the day whencar engines were still comprehensible—but I never really got my hands greasy,and I have generally bought newer cars that didn’t present mechanicalchallenges.
Ishopped online for weeks looking for worthy transportation, and I becamefamiliar with what I could buy for the modest amount of money I had set aside. Therecreational vehicle world was new to me, and what I discovered was shocking. WhileI knew that the big rigs could be purchased new for the price of a nice home, Ihad no idea that small camper vans in the range of nineteen or twenty feet longcould cost seventy or eighty thousand dollars new, and thirty or forty thousanddollars used. I had imagined buying a nice pre-owned Roadtrek with around80,000 miles for maybe fifteen to twenty thousand dollars. No way. So, Iadjusted my expectations and started looking for older vans with more miles. Ifinally located a funky nineteen-foot 1999 Ford Coachmen in my price range. Itwas in the Seattle area, 300 miles away, but it had all the amenities –refrigerator, gas stove, microwave, hot and cold water, generator, two crampedfoldout beds, air conditioning and an adequate engine. I drove across the statewith a friend to check it out. I immediately felt a promising vibe when wepulled into the seller’s driveway next to the van. A local mechanic inspectedand approved the engine. I obtained a cashiers’ check from a local bank, andthe deal was done. When I arrived back home, my daughter, Charlotte, promptlychristened the camper van “Vamper” and the name stuck.
Butyou do not simply get into a rig like this and take off on an adventure. Especiallyif you are a neophyte RV owner like me. Oh no. You must first figure out howeverything works, all the systems and equipment—the propane, the twelve-voltauxiliary battery, the fresh water tank, water pump, water heater, the greywater, the black water, the option to run the refrigerator on 110-volts, 12volts, or propane, the location of switches, fuses, and circuit breakers, andthe shut off valves. After taking the van to an RV dealership to have itchecked out and serviced, I read the sixty-page operators manual cover to coverand was still confused. But, while I am not a car guy, I am a lawyer and thathelps. Lawyers read lots of fine print, ponder, research, and solve problems. Islowly figured things out and embraced the inevitable prospect of learning moreon the road. A week into my travels I could report that all systems wereworking well, and I was able to carry on informed conversations with othertravelers about RV stuff. I also became a card-carrying member of Sam’s Club, aCamper World affiliate that qualified me for cool discounts and, if needed,roadside assistance.
2

NorthIdaho, 1974

Eventhough I’m not a car guy, I do have notable car memories. Like one of my firstcars, a black 1961 Volvo with a rounded body and front end that thrust forward,low, and lean, to create the impression of a big black snail with a protrudinghead. The vehicle was iconic, and I loved it. I bought it when I was twenty-four—aftercollege and after a few years of desultory travel to Europe, to Boston, and tomountain hideaways populated by people inclined toward counter-culturelifestyles. Some of these free spirits were of the back-to-the-land variety,others were cafeteria hippies and part-time students. Some were true spiritualexplorers, and some were simply homeless wanderers. What they had in common wasan affection for getting high. I spent much of that summer in the mountainresort town of McCall, Idaho, on Payette Lake, north of Boise and not far southof where the Little Salmon River converges with the Lower Salmon at the town ofRiggins. Historically,the area was a perennial summer gathering place for the Nez Perce and ShoshoneIndian tribes. The twentieth century had brought gold prospectors, loggers,tourism, and hippies.
Thesummer was a long party, and I regretted leaving to start law school inSpokane. I had reservations about going to law school. My main concern was not thatmy party days were over but fear that law school would throw my life out ofbalance, bury me in mind-numbing minutia, and rob me of passion and authenticity. My fathersuffered from work addiction, drudgery, and stress associated with having tomake huge overhead payments to maintain a busy law office while providing for ademanding family of five kids. On the other hand, I knew the law was potentiallya vehicle to a fulfilling and meaningful career – an opportunity to make adifference in the world. I wondered if it was possible to be a lawyer, do good,and still have fun, relax, and be emotionally healthy.
Filledwith anxiety, I climbed into my aging Volvo in late summer and left McCall forSpokane. I followed Hwy 95 as it snaked north along the bluffs above the SalmonRiver, south of Winchester and White Bird. My leisurely drive was abruptlyinterrupted by the sound of screeching metal and mechanical mayhem coming frombelow and behind. The Volvo shuddered and raucously dumped its drive train,differential, and rear axle over several hundred yards of highway. I coasted tothe shoulder and sat for a long stretch brooding about how interesting andrandom life could be. I finally steppe