Bill

It was a fall day on a remote stretch of road on the Southern Oregon Coast. I was standing in front of a little market after a visit to the beach.

An elderly man walking a bicycle loaded with gear veered toward me, stopped, and asked if I was a local. I said I was. He wanted to know about beach access. I gave him the lowdown. We continued the conversation and I learned his name was Bill. The longer we talked the more I noticed that Bill had a pronounced happy disposition (certainly more than mine). He was also groomed about the face and neatly attired, and wasn't exuding that weathered and vacant look that some people on the move do. I assumed he was homeless because he exuded that vibe and had a bike rigged up for surviving like thousands I've seen in recent years, everywhere around Oregon. Could be Portland. Could be Klamath Falls. Could be Newport. Could be Mill City.

Bill told me he lived in the woods a couple miles from here, in a tent covered by a tarp. He'd moved into the area not too long ago and found a choice secluded spot with outstanding phone reception. His stuff was safe from thieves. He'd picked a hollow that would protect him from the wind. He had a tent heater and a sweet little Honda generator. Bill was finished with slumlords forever. They'd screwed him over too many times. He was never paying rent again. He had his Social Security payment and that was it for money, but now that he wasn't paying rent and utilities, he had plenty of dough. He was feeling great. I asked him about the impending winter rain on the Oregon Coast. No problem. He'd lived two winters in a tent at the base of Mt. Hood so rain was nothing.

Before we parted, I told him I could not do what he was doing. Bill smiled. He said, “You learn how to do it. It just comes along.”

I knew exactly what he meant. It's the way I've lived my life the past five years. It's an interesting way to live because something is always new. There is no routine or stagnation.

We said our goodbyes and I watched him walk his bike away. He was going to the beach and later would return to his tent home in the woods. What would he do there, up in the woods, by himself?

I marveled at Bill. He was a member of the New American Diaspora and seemed to be doing fine. But, still, nevertheless, he had checked out on traditional American life and was never going back.