Romance on the Road
Do Women Really GO for a Man Who Lives in a Van?
Sorry for holding out on you before Valentine’s Day. Everyone else was telling you about their love lives, but in my modest Midwestern way, I just couldn’t do it.
But I know what you want. It just took me an extra week to spill my guts.
You want to know about all the hot romance I’ve had on the road after I got into van life. Right? About all the women who fell for me and my bold, adventurous lifestyle…
I knew it. Here we go. This won’t take long.
***
I discovered women really do GO for a man who lives in a van with a dog. When I say “GO,” I mean you have never seen a woman run as fast as they do after finding out I live in a van with my dog, Mr. Bones.
Think gold medal speed in the Olympic hurdles. Once they find out that my dog and I live and travel full-time in a van, they leap over tables and chairs to get away.
Below is a typical encounter with a woman at a coffee shop.
***
Scene: A coffee shop anywhere in the continental US or Canada. I am sitting on the patio working on my blog. Mr. Bones is sitting at my feet. An attractive woman holding a hot cup of coffee is walking by. She looks down and sees my dog. She pauses.
Mr. Bones smiles sweetly at her, wagging his tail. Eagerness is all over his face.
Woman: (Looking at me, smiling) Hi, is that your dog?
Me: (Looking up) “Yes, this is Mr. Bones. He is very friendly. Would you like to pet him?”
Woman: Yes. He is so cute! (Bending down, petting him) “Oh, you are just a lover!”
Mr. Bones: (Licking the woman’s left leg.)
Woman: Oh my goodness. He just loves licking my leg. That feels so good! I like it.”
Me: Oh, really? (Tears stream down my face from biting my knuckles so hard.)
Then, a pause. The conversation takes a turn…
Woman: (Speaking to me) So, umm, what about you? What is your story?
Me: Oh, I am just his human. We travel together around the country.
Woman: Is it just the two of you, or is there… someone else?
Me: It’s just the dog and me.
***
Up to now, romantic music has been playing softly in the background. Birds are singing. However, I suspect we are about to hit a speed bump.
Woman: So, where do you live when you’re not on the road?
Me: Oh, I don’t have a house anymore. I got rid of it. We live in the campervan.
Woman: The big RV over there? (Pointing at a full-sized, 40-foot-long luxury RV) Nice!
Me: No, the little red Toyota Sienna minivan parked next to it. Do you see it?
The music stops. The birds fall silent. Everyone in the coffee shop turns to stare.
***
The tone of her voice turns cold. Her eyes narrow to an accusing squint. My throat tightens up. Uh oh. I have this sinking feeling; the Titanic has just hit an iceberg.
Woman: Wait. You live in a van? That little van? With your dog? All the time?
Me: Yes, it gets great mileage and a low carbon footprint. It’s a real adventure, too…
Woman: (A look of horror spreads across her face…) Uhm, sorry, I … gotta go. See you!
The woman leaps to her feet, hurdling tables and chairs to reach the parking lot. She jumps in her car and hits the gas, tires screeching as she peels out. “Wait!” I shout as she speeds by. “Don’t you see? I’m eco-friendly! I drive a van to help save the planet!”
Too little, too late. She’s gone. I look at my watch.
This one was fast, even compared to the others. Great acceleration from zero to 60. Once she saw the minivan, I was a homeless man who sleeps on sheets of cardboard.
Me: “Mr. Bones, did you see how fast she got out of here?”
Mr. Bones: “Yeah! Wow. Did she see a squirrel?”
***
Don’t feel bad. My dog and I still meet women in coffee shops. Mr. Bones still licks their legs. They still love it. I keep quiet about myself, not wanting to scare them off.
We still enjoy the walk-by traffic at the coffee shops. The scene never changes. Mr. Bones curls up at my feet. He loves me despite my itinerant life; why don’t women?
“Mr. Bones, I’m a nice guy who lives on the road. When did I cross the line between an acceptable adventurer and bad news on wheels?” He says, “You need to ask?”
“I know,” I say, “But there should have been yellow warning signs posted along the way.”
First warning sign: Caution. You’ve been on the road for six months!
Next: Turn back now, or you’ll be sorry!
Then: Final warning. No relationships beyond this point. You’ve been warned!
After six months, I got used to it and became a nomad, with no desire to go home.
I don’t blame the women. A guy like me, living in a van with a dog, drifting from town to town, never staying in one place long, must hardly seem like a keeper.
***
I met a woman in Santa Fe a couple of years ago who seemed interested, even after she found out I was living in the van. Let’s call her Deliria. We met at a mixer for singles in their 50s, full of folks in their 60s dressing like they were still in their 40s.
Deliria caught my eye. She stood out from the rest. A big, beautiful, easy smile. She stood straight and proud. I wanted to approach her, but didn’t have the nerve.
Then, the host called for introductions. The other men talked about how big their … incomes were. As the men outlined their net worth, the women rolled their eyes.
I sensed they wanted something else. Honesty, or sincerity. Anything but bragging.
When it came to me, I said, “I used to swim, but since gaining 50 pandemic pounds, I don’t go to the beach.” Someone asked why. I said, “For fear of being harpooned.” She laughed. The other men glowered at me. She had a sense of humor; I had a chance.
We met for coffee. I expected to chat for 20 minutes.
She hung on my every word; I hung on hers. We talked for six hours. She was the first and only professional Mah Jong player I ever met. We went out for two weeks. She even told her daughters and her friends about me. To my surprise, they did not object.
Early on a Saturday morning, we were having a long, slow cup of coffee out in her cool, lush garden. Looking at herself in the picture window, she lazily pouffed her hair with both hands and said, “Well, my dear, I have to go to the hairdresser now.”
I said, ”Time to go. Mr. Bones.” We headed to a coffee shop. On the way, Mr. Bones said, “I think she likes you. She’s not just in it for the kibbles, like some dogs.” I laughed. “I get it, Mr. Bones. Maybe you’re right. Let’s see what happens next.”
We sat down at the coffee shop. I started to work; time passed.
Suddenly, ominous music filled the air. The sky darkened. “Oh, Mr. Bones,” I said, “When this happens in the movies, something bad is about to happen.”
My cell phone buzzes. I see a new text. It’s from Deliria. I open the message and stare at it. My jaw drops. I stare at the phone, shaking my head. “This can’t be. Why would she say that to me?”
Mr. Bones looks at me and asks, “Well, what did she say? Tell me.”
She said, “’We have to break up. I can’t see you again.’ It’s over, Mr. Bones.”
Mr. Bones: “Why did she say that? We were at her house two hours ago. It was fine.”
People walking by melted away. Emotions flew out of my ears like bolts of lightning.
***
My mind wandered into the scene over at the hairdresser’s. I imagine it this way…
Hairdresser: So, Deliria, what’s new?
Deliria: I met a guy a couple of weeks ago. He travels all over the country in a campervan.
HD: (Staring at her, holding up her scissors) Wait. What…kind…of… campervan?
Deliria: (Sheepishly) Just a little Toyota mini-campervan…it’s very eco-friendly.
HD: (Stops cutting her hair and spins the chair around) Wait. This man lives in a van?
The hair dryers all stop. The water taps turn off. There is total silence in the salon.
The ladies in the salon stare at Deliria, hands on their mouths, eyes wide open.
Deliria: (Feeling all eyes on her. Speaks hesitantly) Yes… in a van… with his dog.
HD: Listen, honey. You have to break up with this man. He might be a serial killer.”
Deliria: Oh my God. Maybe you’re right. What should I do?
HD: Honey, take out your cell phone, text him, and tell him it’s over.
Deliria began crying, took out her phone, typed a message, and hit send. All the ladies in the salon cried along with her as she typed; they erupted in cheers after she sent it.
They shouted, “Go, girl!” She put her hand on her chest, gushing, “I feel so affirmed!”
Probably not realistic, but give me a break. I’m a guy. I’ve never been in a hair salon.
***
Back to us. I said, “I need to find a calm, rational, mature way to react to the situation.”
I told Mr. Bones, “We gotta get out of here. Now. We are driving to …” I tried to think of a spot. “Leadville, Colorado. Now.” He objected, “But that’s 350 miles away. Why are we driving to Leadville?” “Because now I feel low. I need to …be at a higher elevation.”
He looked puzzled. “How is driving to Leadville going to help?”
I said, “Look. Don’t ask me stupid questions. By the way, if I start to cry, punch me in the arm. OK? It’s because of all the dust in the air.” I hit the gas, and off we went.
***
By the time we made it to Leadville, in the late afternoon, the breakup by text made more sense. Mr. Bones said, “So, what do you think that was about?”
“Mr. Bones, Deliria was very wary. She had been married, but her ex had cheated on her. He divorced her to run off with a younger “trophy” woman from the office. She kept asking me questions, like what I was looking for. Did I plan to leave town soon?”
“Were you?” Bones asked. “I told her I wasn’t. Maybe she needed more assurance.”
We only stayed in Leadville for the weekend. On Monday morning, I said, “Let’s go back to Santa Fe.” Mr. Bones looked at me. “Are you going to try to see Deliria again?”
“No,” I said. “Her text said no contact. It said she needs some time and space. When a woman says that, you have to respect it.” Mr. Bones said, “So, no more kibble for her?”
I laughed. “No more kibble.” “What’s next?” he asked. “Meeting more women?” I shook my head. “Not now,” I said. “Nor any time soon.”
We went back to Santa Fe, then on to Mexico and Canada. Seeing places. Not meeting ladies.
***
That was over two and a half years ago.
Since then, it’s me and my dog. As long as the kibble lasts, he’s not going anywhere. I take long walks on the beach, but only with my dog. I take off his leash and let him run loose on the beach. He’s off like a flash. If he strays too far, I whistle for him.
Suddenly, far away, he turns and breaks into a sprint, running hard all the way back, smiling, eager as only a dog can be to see me. He comes in so hard and fast, I’m afraid he’ll bowl me over.
“Good dog!” I tell him, as he leans into me, his tail wagging. “We make a good team,” I say, “don’t we, Mr. Bones?” I think, “This is just so great. Maybe I don’t need more.”
***
I am happy with the company of my dog, but it would be nice to have coffee occasionally with a woman, share a meal, and enjoy a real human conversation. Take a walk on the beach. Sit together quietly and watch a glorious sunset.
Nice to think about, but how to arrange it? Get off the road? Sell the van? Get a place? Would I be happy putting down roots after all this time on the road? I tend to get itchy feet when I try.
Taking the leap from living somewhere to living nowhere is like jumping out of a plane without a parachute. You fall fast, and it’s a hard landing.
***
It’s not always men’s fault. We men have our share of trauma. My first wife died of cancer when she was just 40. It nearly killed me, too. I wound up being a single dad to two sad little boys.
Years later, I remarried. Second time for both of us. For 10 years, we stayed together.
In my mid-50s, my ex, who was several years younger than me, divorced me. Soon afterwards, she wound up with a man who was younger, taller, better looking, and better off. But other than that, I don’t think he was such a big improvement over me.
Someone told me they made a great couple. “I don’t want to know.”
***
I try not to worry about romance.
When I meet an attractive, interesting woman, I try to mind my own business. No long conversations. No dates. Women don’t seem to see me, anyway.
Maybe they just see an old man with a cute dog.
They’re not wrong.
Only one woman has actually seen me since then. We met briefly. She stopped, looked deeply into my eyes, and asked me to tell her about myself. I nearly melted on the spot. That was in San Francisco.
There I was, a mere mortal, meeting a goddess. I heard the lyrics of a pop song, “She’s so high above me, like Cleopatra or Aphrodite.” She was the woman of my dreams, yet I was wide awake.
She was Roxanne to my Cyrano de Bergerac. I was the hapless poet still living in a van.
I bit my lip. I wasn’t the only peasant attracted to the Queen. The serfs were circling.
No fairy tale romance that time.
***
My dog and I still live in the van. I’ve decided I need to upgrade this year to a larger van that can accommodate two adults. I also need to find myself a home base. Not a permanent home, just a place where I can pull off the road and take a little time off.
It’s time to abandon the hopelessly adolescent fantasy in which I pull up to a campsite and find myself parked next to another tiny van. An attractive, interesting woman pops out the door and says…
“Hello there, my Prince Charming! I’ve been waiting a long time for you to find me.”
In my dreams.
Will I come up with the money to upgrade to a newer, bigger van? Stand by.
See you down the road.
Carlos, thanks a fun read about your life in a van. Yes you live the dream many if us thought about. For me at 85 yrs seems I need my casita in Bisbee. From here I often travel north or higher elevations in summer and yes somewhere south in Latin Amerika. Maybe see you on the road , you never know.
Loved reading this blog. In several places I chuckled out loud though I was in a hospital waiting area. There is a lot out there about how women are not really looking for a Prince Charming and are so independent that unless they find their soulmate, they prefer to be on their own. One day you will find that person with whom your souls speak to one another. Just keep being you and doing what you love. Also, I highly recommend describing yourself as a retired global development expert and tell about your life’s work and Adventures in Africa, and definitely avoid saying you no longer have a home. You have chosen this lifestyle for this period of your life. If she cannot appreciate that, she is not the woman for you as you are.