A Workout?

For six months, a rare white Toyota van from the 80s in pristine condition, with Oregon license plates and legal tags, appeared at the park in the late mornings or early afternoons, where Elmer and I observed it on one of our walks.

If the sun was shining, a cloth-like solar panel hung outside the passenger window.

I'd seen the occupant of the van—a man in his 70s with long white hair, twice: once sitting in the driver seat staring out the window; the other time standing in front of his rig where I passed, said hello, and he said nothing in response. His face seemed utterly vacant and tired.

He always parked in the same spot. The van was never there when Elmer and I took our 5:30 a.m. walk.

Naturally, I was curious about the van and its owner. I surmised he was homeless because, although the van was in superb condition, it exuded the unmistakable vibe of a mobile domicile. They just have that look—typically the battered exterior, but also an interior crammed with possessions and a dash loaded with survival supplies, like peanut butter.

I's never seen the van's interior, but I deduced from the late model of the vehicle, the man's appearance, the solar panel, and a habitual presence where there are restrooms and water and open green space, that the Toyota was home. He simply came to the park every day to enjoy the park, like Elmer and I do. I see homeless people do the same all the time, especially if they have dogs.

Moreover, about a dozen other mobile domiciles camped overnight on any given evening in this parking lot, so the place was known.

It just seemed to figure.

What other possible explanation could there be and believe me, I ran through all possible scenarios. I never want to assume anything in my observations or interactions of the homeless. I made that error early on in my writing about them.

To that point...

A couple of weeks ago, rain finally subsided and sunshine arrived. Elmer and I were out for a walk in the park at noon. We rounded a corner and I saw the van and the man. He was outside his rig, shirtless, wearing shorts and sneakers, and on the move! And I mean his lean and taut body was on the move!

Elmer and I stopped to watch.

The man did knee bends, then jumping jacks, then push ups, then yoga poses, then some shadow boxing, then short bursts up to tree trunks that he used as a stretching post. He even jumped up, caught a branch and did two pull ups.

What?

Meth?

An elderly homeless man on a meth-fueled workout? Both at the same time?

I'd seen homeless people collect agates, chop driftwood, play football and basketball on meth. Why not a workout?

Still, it didn't feel that way. There's another homeless man in the neighborhood I've observed exercising many times and I know he's not a drug user. One also sometimes does Yoga in the park.