Tag Archives: free pile at the RTR

The RTArt Camp (Part 1)

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I helped Coyote Sue make this banner. I took this photo of it too!

The RTArt Camp was all Coyote Sue’s idea.

Coyote Sue’s first Rubber Tramp Rendezvous (RTR) was in 2017. It was a particularly cold and rainy January in Quartzsite, and Coyote Sue found herself spending a lot of time alone in her rig working on art projects. Wouldn’t it be fun to do art with my friends at the RTR? she thought. The RTArt Camp was born with that thought.

I told Coyote Sue I would help her with the RTArt Camp if I made it to the RTR. I knew I didn’t want sole responsibility for the art camp, and for months I wasn’t sure if I wanted to attend the RTR. I think it was December before I committed to being there. If I hadn’t told Coyote Sue I’d be there, I probably would have decided not to go or at least left early.

Coyote Sue discussed the RTArt Camp with the main organizer of the RTR because she wanted the art camp to be part of the larger gathering. We could have gone off and had our own gathering nearby (or far away) but that was never our intention. The organizer knew we were coming and offered to set aside space for the art camp.

Coyote Sue was on the Cheap RV Living forums for months, telling CRVL regulars about the plans for the RTArt Camp. Apparently, about 20 people expressed interest in being involved with the RTArt Camp, but at least some of those folks were stationed in the main camp, while the RTArt Camp ended up away from the main meeting area. Unfortunately , as Coyote Sue said, we just never worked out a way to coordinate what we were doing with things going on three washes away.

I arrived at the RTR before Coyote Sue, on the day before the gathering officially began. I’d hoped Coyote Sue would arrive first or that she and I could find the organizers together and learn the location of the RTArt Camp. Instead, Coyote Sue’s Class C was having problems with overheating, and she was stuck waiting on repairs 20 miles away. Claiming the art camp’s space fell to me.

Coyote Sue contacted the main organizer via email and let him know I’d be arriving without her and he should show me the area set aside for the art camp. He responded by saying no space had been saved for the RTArt Camp. He said by the time he arrived at Scaddan Wash, early birds had already set up in the place where he’d planned to put us. (I have no idea if the early birds were asked to move or even told they were in a space intended for the art camp.) We would have to secure our own location.

The camping areas around the spot left open for the seminars, the main fire pit, the free pile, and the bulletin board were already packed when I drove through. I saw a few spaces where my van would have fit comfortably, but there was not enough space for my rig, Coyote Sue’s rig, The Man’s rig, and the rigs of other folks who might want to join the camp. Even if we parked two feet from each other, where would we put our tables?

I drove around in an increasing panic for a while until The Man talked to a fellow who gave us a tip. He suggested we go to the RTR Music road and veer immediately to the left. We took the stranger’s advice and found a roomy spot for our camp. Of course, the problem now was our distance from the center of the gathering and the presence of a rather large wash between us and the main camp.

I was so happy when Coyote Sue pulled in late that afternoon. After her Class C was repaired, she’d planned to do laundry, take a shower, fill her water tanks, and spend a night in an RV park in town. However, once she got to Quartzsite, she decided she’d rather hang out with me! I was glad to hear she was fine with our location. What a joy to have a friend and co-organizer who believes things work out the way they’re supposed to and there’s no reason to get upset or stress out.

The next morning, Coyote Sue and I carefully crossed the wash, her with her cane and me with my walking stick, to make an announcement at the morning seminar welcoming folks to Quartzsite and the RTR. Instead of letting us make our announcement before the seminar began, as is usually the case with announcements, Bob launched right into talking about trash, feces, and showers. We sat there with hundreds of other attendees through Bob’s talk as well as little speeches by three agents of the Bureau of Land Management, until suddenly, in the middle of everything, Bob gave us the floor and let us tell folks about the RTArt Camp.

The first day of the RTR, we had a meet and greet at the art camp for folks who wanted to teach a class or lead an activity. Maybe ten people showed up, but that was enough to schedule an activity every day of the RTR. Several of the people at the meeting were already parked nearby, and others decided to move their rigs so they too could camp near the art camp.

Isn’t my nametag lovely? I blinged it out in the RTArt Camp. I took this photo of it too.

Coyote Sue called the idea I had on the first day “open studio.” Basically, we spread out art supplies on our two tables and invited people to embellish their nametag (or create a nametag from scratch), make a postcard, or spruce up something from their rig. Over the ten days of the RTR, many people spent some time being creative at the RTArt Camp. I think we did a good job reaching out to and engaging folks who didn’t consider themselves artists or even particularly artistic.

A lot happened at the RTArt Camp, and I have a lot to say about it…so this post was running really long. I decided to turn this post into a two-part saga, but I won’t make my readers wait too long for the conclusion. Part 2 will run tomorrow. In the meantime, if you like, you can read my update on the 2018 RTR.

The Magic of the Free Pile

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As always, the free pile at the Rubber Tramp Rendezvous was fantastic. Oh, there were plenty of items useless to me, like the dozen pair of reading glasses and the women’s clothing in sizes so small I wouldn’t have fit in them as a fourth grader, but I got so many great things from the free pile. I know other people did too.

I snagged a brand new red folding camp chair (retail price: right around $10 at Wal-Mart) for Coyote Sue. Once she arrived, she snagged for herself a large metal watering can, a decorative mirror in a wooden frame; and a four-plex birdhouse. One day while we were free pile shopping together, I found a container of dried black beans and handed them over to an excited Coyote Sue. She may have been the one person at the RTR who loved the free pile as much as I did.

Because the free pile required no money, we allowed ourselves to take risks.

The Divine Miss M picked up a folding cart on wheels. She took it to her camp for a few days and experimented with its uses. When she found it difficult to fold and discovered the plastic it was made from was cracking, she returned it to the pile. It wasn’t long before we watched a musician folding it up and packing it into her car. Maybe she had better luck with it than Miss M did.

I found food besides the dried beans I gave to Coyote Sue on the free pile, although not as much as in previous years when the cans left over from the cooking of the chili and soup dinners were donated. One day I scored a can of Del Monte (OH! Name brand!) peas. Another day  I snagged about a dozen Wal-Mart Great Value granola bars. Later, I scored a chicken and noodle MRE; I put it in my pantry for lean times. When I saw a donated container of doggy treats, I snatched it up for my friend’s pooch.

The strangest consumable I found on the free pile was a nearly full case of cans of Miller High Life beer. At first, I thought the carton was empty, but when I peered in, I saw only two or three cans were missing. Then I wondered if the cans in the carton were empty. Maybe someone had left a carton almost full of empty cans as a joke. However, when I nudged the carton with my toe, its heft told me it was almost full.

Did someone really leave beer? a fellow free pile peruser asked after I pointed out the carton.

It’s in the free pile, I assured him.

I do like Miller beer, he said.

You should take it, I encouraged, thinking of all the sober children in China, while also feeling a bit guilty about encouraging unhealthy behavior. Maybe I should have taken the beer when I first saw it and emptied the cans in the scrub.

I would have been really excited to find that beer when I was twenty, I said as the man carried the beer over to his bicycle.

Heck, I”m 41, and I’m pretty excited, he said.

My friends gave me first dibs on some items before they were offered to the general free pile public.

Mr. B. brought over a digital camera he’d fixed. (I take apart anything broken before I throw it away, he told me. I figure I should put my education to use. Apparently taking apart the broken at least sometimes leads to repair.) I decided to hold on to the camera in the event I need to replace the one I’m currently using. (I realize taking on a spare can be a dangerous precedent for a van dweller.)

Lady Nell sent Mr. T to me with the laptop he was about to offer up to the free pile. I passed on it because the operating system on mine is newer than what Mr. T’s had. Mr. T was skeptical anyone would want it, but it was already gone on my next visit to the pile. To someone without a laptop or tablet, it must have been quite a score.

Gee also gave me a preview of her free pile donations. From her I got a beautiful reversible silk wrap-around skirt; a pair of black leggings lined with soft black fleece; and a pair of light-weight, brightly colored, slip-on Sketchers. At first I thought the Sketchers were too small, but after wearing them a couple of days, they stretched a bit, and I love them! Slip on shoes are great for van life! Alas, while the leggings fit around my middle, they were way too long for my short little legs. I passed them on to Coyote Sue, whose long Viking legs are better suited to their length.

One day a woman I’d met briefly stopped her pickup near my camp and asked if she could park there for a few minutes while she carried some things to the free pile. I said sure and offered to help her. She offered to show me what she had before we brought it all to the pile. She explained another lady had given her the items and asked her to donate them. I found a pair of brand new Duluth Trading Company canvas pants which fit me in the waist and were only five inches too long! That’s a major find for a short, fat gal like me. The pants are my new favorite piece of cold weather gear. (I also got a light blue shirt with a hood, also from the Duluth Trading Company, also in my size. Double score! Alas, I have already spilled curry on the blue shirt, and I don’t know if I am going to be able to scrub it out.)

Two of my best free pile finds were a small cast iron skillet (hello, portion control) and a stamp collection. I rummaged through the collection for stamps that had not been cancelled and found many. I gave a bunch of cancelled stamps to Coyote Sue for her collaging needs and kept the rest to sell on the Etsy shop I want to open to sell collaging and scrapbooking items I pick up cheap.

The real free pile magic happened for a friend of mine, but I was involved.

He was living in his car and hadn’t figured out a way to sleep comfortably. We’d talked about how sleeping in a tent might be better, but he was flat broke, so couldn’t rush out and buy one. Maybe I’ll find one in the free pile, he said.

I’d driven out to see a friend in a nearby town that day, and I was excited to explore the free pile when I returned. since it’s always more exciting after several hours away. I didn’t see anything good but half an hour later, I watched a man deposit a red beach chair on the pile. I thought surely someone milling around the pile would grab it, but no one seemed to want it. I went over to the pile and retrieved the chair for myself. (It’s the perfect height to allow me to sit comfortably in the van and see out my side window.)

Five minutes later, I was talking to my friend, who was still trying figure out how to sleep in his car. I told him I’d seen some foam bed padding on the free pile and offered to go see if it was still there. I went over to the pile and saw the padding was gone. Bummer. But then I saw an interesting nylon bag. Could it be? I peaked inside. Yep, poles and more green nylon. It was a tent.

I picked it up and carried it over to my friend. Heres that tent you manifested, I said as I handed it over.

 

Get a Job

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Children in the parking lot love to sit in my chair.

If it were only kids coming off the trail who wanted to sit in my chair, I’d speculate they were tired and/or their legs hurt. However, kids who are just getting out of cars also want to plop their butts in my chair. Is the novelty of a seat they’ve never sat in more than they can resist? Are kids these days simply so lazy they can’t stand for five minutes?

If there is a crowd at the front of the parking lot and I have to be a few steps from my chair, I’ve learned to keep an eye on it. If I look away from it for too long, I’m bound to find some child relaxing in it when I look back.

One Saturday morning, an extended family arrived in the parking lot in six vehicles. When everyone finally tumbled out of the minivans and SUVs, there must have been twenty little kids milling about. Haven’t these people heard of birth control? I muttered to my co-worker. I had to stand for some reason, them step away from my chair. Sure enough, when I looked back, some tween was relaxing in my seat.

I walked up to the kid and said, Excuse me. That’s not your chair.

The kid looked at me like What? Isn’t every chair my chair? (I hate people with a sense of entitlement, especially when those people are too young to be entitled to much.) But he moved his ass.

I went on with whatever I had been doing. When I glanced back, a different kid from the same family was in my chair!

I walked over and said (loudly), Excuse me! That’s not your chair!

Again, the child moved, but didn’t exhibit one bit of embarrassment or remorse. Apparently, every empty chair is for a kid to sit in.

In no instance when a child has plopped down in my chair has an adult responsible for the kid said, What are you doing? or Don’t sit in the lady’s chair. or That chair doesn’t belong to you. or We don’t sit in chairs that don’t belong to us. Nothing. I’m convinced the majority of parents and adult guardians will allow the children in their care to do anything if it garners them a moment’s peace.

One morning as I walked across the roadway to pick up a piece of trash, a young woman approached my co-worker to pay her parking fee. A little boy (about eight years old) was with her. The kid was running around, and the young woman (his mother? his sister? his babysitter?) was paying absolutely no attention to him.

I saw the kid eyeing my chair, so I hustled over and sat my butt down in it.

As I sat, I heard the boy say, something, something, chair!

This is my chair, I said,

The boy said, I would like to have a chair like that.

You better get a job, I told him. (Oh, how my co-worker burst out laughing when I recounted this part of the story.)

The kid physically recoiled from me. Who could blame him? I don’t want a job either. But to get a nice chair like mine, he’s going to need money, and to get money, he’s going to need a job. (Of course, I got my chair from a free pile, but I wasn’t going to give the kid that information and get his hopes up. To read about the free pile where I got my chair, go here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2016/01/25/the-free-pile-at-the-rtr/.)

I took this photo of the chair kids love to sit in.

I took this photo of the chair kids love to sit in.