The Down Fall of Uppy Puppy and Van Man
The Pros and Cons of Autumn Vanlife for a Man & His Dog
Up North for the Down Fall
This week finds us in Nova Scotia, one of the easternmost provinces of Canada, our northern neighbor, on which the US slapped a 35% tariff. Canadians are still nice.
We entered Canada on October 1st and had visited Quebec Province and New Brunswick already, enjoying more than a few wonderful sights along the way.
We visited Cape Breton National Park in the northeastern tip of Nova Scotia, to enjoy the fall foliage on the Cabot Trail, a 300-kilometer loop that you can drive or hike.
We found eye-popping scenery. O Canada!
I grew up in the Midwest, loving autumn’s crisp air and magnificent foliage. I thought fall could not be more gorgeous, but somehow it’s even better up here in Canada.
The trees blanket the Cape Breton Highlands mountain slopes, the northern end of the Appalachians. I came around a curve descending a mountain slope, and got this shot. The shaking of the birch leaves gives the foliage a shimmering appearance.
Acadia, also known as the Maritime Provinces, includes New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Prince Edward Island, all once part of France. Acadian French is still spoken.
The Acadian forest comprises sugar maple and yellow birch. Maple gives us the bright reds and oranges. The trembling leaves of the birch provide glowing yellows.
Seeing this color palette for the first time in my life made me shout for joy as I drove. “Holy crap, Mr. Bones, this is amazing!” “Yeah. Just drive, will ya?” he replied.
My dog told me he can see the yellows, but not reds and oranges, which look tan to him. “Colors don’t matter. The purpose of a tree,” he said, “is for a dog to pee on.”
Mr. Bones prances among the fallen leaves on the ground, sniffing busily. “I like how they crunch under my paws, and I detect the delightful odor of dead leaf decay.”
Despite the threat of cooler fall nights, we want to stay here till the end of October.
Traveling in a campervan in the fall is a bit like being in the witness protection program—we can never stay in one place very long. One surprise cold front could blow our cover.
When it works in van life, it’s wonderful; when something goes wrong, we have to run.
On the road, some days are a movable feast, and other days, it’s no picnic.
***
Want to know the best part of traveling with your dog in a van?
A good dog is the best travel companion. Spouses are not bad; significant others are OK, but a dog rocks! My dog is always happy to go where I want and do what I want.
Also, my dog only weighs 45 pounds. It’s hard to find an adult companion that small.
Also, my dog is crazy cute. People constantly stop by our table on coffee shop patios to ask if they can pet him. Mr. Bones sits up on his hind quarters, grabs their extended hand with both paws, and begins to lick it assiduously. Grown adults positively melt.
‘Oh, he must smell my dog,” they say, or “I just put lotion on my hand,” or “It’s salty.” My dog licks hands in all seasons and in any weather. His tongue never takes a day off.
“What is his name?” they ask. ‘Where did you get him?” They focus on my dog, not me. To them, I am his human, a handler, an anonymous man. One day, a woman asked my name; I was stunned. ‘You want to know my name?” I said, uncomprehendingly.
Whatever for?
***
Dog owners know that dogs are people magnets, while humans are not. Humans have complex social protocols that inhibit easy greetings and impromptu gabfests. Other than traveling with a baby, having a dog is the best way to meet people.
A baby would be hard to come by, since I am 67, single, and I have no grandchildren.
I’m sticking with the dog.
***
The Illusion of Travel
Allow me to philosophize. All travel is an illusion, a fantasy. Visitors come to see the sights, to enjoy the food, and to absorb a bit of the local culture. Everything is new.
Residents are born there, and sometimes die there, with a lifetime of local memories.
We visitors cannot see their memories, any more than they can see their home for the first time again, as we do. We may cross paths, but we journey on alternate planes.
(What the hell? That was deep! It happens occasionally; I’ll try to behave.)
I am a traveler, a wanderer, sharing the magnificent views, the fabulous finds, with friends and family, presenting each new place like a warm piece of pecan pie.
People who follow me on Facebook or Instagram think my van life is a full-time vacation. Every day is full of fun and excitement; there is no drudgery or boredom.
The photos I post suggest an exciting life. But photos do not tell the whole story.
I could post pictures of mundane daily activities (“Going to the bathroom now!”).
But who wants to see those?
***
Some of you know the story of my venture into van life and can skip the next part. If you are finding out about me and my dog for the first time and are curious, read on.
First, let me tell you how I got into van life, then how I got a dog, and we hit the road.
I Become a VanPa
This three-year van adventure started after I retired and wrote a book, which nobody bought online. I decided to conduct my own national book tour. It would have cost a lot to fly around and stay in hotels, so I got a campervan and drove across America.
What, you may wonder, did I know about van life and conducting a national book tour? Nothing, which in my experience is the best way to start. The more you know, the harder it appears, and the less likely you are to do it. Begin with total ignorance.
For many reasons, including the need to get into parking garages with height limits, I got the smallest campervan possible, a Toyota minivan, and converted it into a camper. Go ahead, laugh. Who the hell travels in a mini-campervan these days? Everyone has upgraded to the Sprinter class so they can stand up inside.
You can even sit and shit in those things, if that’s your idea of a good time.
Not everyone. I march to a different drummer that no one else can hear. I also take seriously my responsibility to minimize my carbon footprint. And, I wanted to challenge myself to simplify my life down to the bare essentials.
In other words, I’m weird.
I was only 62, a mere lad, while most popular van lifers were in their 20s or ‘30s. They had hard bodies, while I was having a hard time just getting out of bed in the morning.
When I appeared on the van life scene, I got funny looks from younger folks. They asked questions like, “Is he lost?” “Did he wander away from a nursing home?”
Given my age, I asked them to call me “VanPa.” Proud to say I made that one up.
In the Beginning: Getting a Dog
While in Denver to convert my van into a camper, I went to a shelter to find a dog. I told the woman at the front desk that I would be on the road for at least six months and wanted company. The van had room for me and a dog, but it is too small for two people. The sleeping platform is 2.5 feet wide; I have less than two feet of headroom.
To put that in context, imagine not being able to sit up in bed at night or to roll over.
I had figured out that a medium-sized dog, about 40 pounds, would fit on the front seat. I walked up and down the aisles, scoping out dogs through the glass windows of the cubicles. One stood up, smiled, wagged his tail, and gave me the eager puppy eyes.
I wrote down his name: Chado. Description: Pit mix, white face and paws. Age: 3.5 years. Friendly. The woman brought Chado to meet me in a room with glass windows and left us to get acquainted. Chado stood on his hind legs and gave me a “dog kiss.”
When the woman came back, I said, “I’ll take him. No need to see the others.”
A Man and His Dog Hit the Road
After paying his bail, we walked out. I opened the van door. He looked at me. “I was expecting something bigger, maybe more glamorous.” “You wanna stay here then?”
“Uh, no. This will do.” He jumped up three feet to land expertly on the empty front seat. “Have you done this before?” I asked. “I’m a dog, dude. We know stuff.”
(Now I just say, “Uppy, puppy,” and he leaps up onto his seat. He does a mean downward dog, too. When I open the van door, he shoots out like a cannonball.)
I looked over. He was still a bit wary of me.
“So, what are we going to call you? You don’t look like a Chado.” “No, he said, “that’s just a name the shelter gave me.”
“So,” I said, wondering if he had any ideas, “What do you like?” He said, “I like bones!” “How about Mr. Bones?” I asked. “OK,” he said, “I can live with that.” And so it was.
***
Off we went. He took to van life, curling up and sleeping in the front seat, jumping out whenever we stopped for gas, whining at me to take him to pee on the nearest tree.
When we went into bookstores, the staff focused on Mr. Bones, who always pranced ahead of me on the leash. He stood up and put his paws on the counter to beg for a treat. After that, he would roll over on his back for a belly rub from the excited staff.
***
The thing about traveling with a dog is, sometimes it works, and it is awesome. Other times, it doesn’t work, and then it sucks both for me and for my dog. It’s because of people, and their laws. It’s a human’s world, not a dog’s.
He Can’t Come in Here
Canada is like the US in terms of their laws regulating where dogs can and can’t go.
When we reach a new town, we first drive around looking for a dog-friendly coffee shop, hoping to find a place where we can both go inside, where it’s warm and comfy. I have to get online and check my mail, do my Wordle, and work on the blog.
On the front door of most coffee shops, however, we see the dreaded sign, “No dogs.”
As a dog person, I feel like I have to choose whether to leave my child outside; I can’t. I poke my head in the door and smile. “Hi. My dog is very friendly. Could we possibly sit inside? It’s cold and rainy.” “Is he a service dog?” they ask. ‘No,” I answer. “Sorry.”
I am genetically incapable of lying about even small things. It’s a character flaw.
“Why do they say no dogs?” Mr. Bones asks, looking hurt. ‘Don’t they like dogs? “They like dogs,” I say, “but there is a law against letting in places that prepare food.”
“But it’s cold and rainy,” he says. “My little ears will get chilly.” He gives me the sad puppy eyes. I sigh and say, “We’ll have to sit outside. I brought your little mat. You can lie on it.” We put up the sun umbrella. The wind blows the rain sideways. We get wet.
Inside, the people are warm and dry. They look comfortable, while we are miserable.
Am I begging for sympathy? Just highlighting a reality that few people may know.
Next time you see someone sitting outside with a dog in bad weather, they’re probably just visiting, with nowhere else to connect to Wi-Fi so they can get their work done.
***
“So what’s the big deal?” you may ask. ”It’s fall, not winter. It’s not that cold yet.”
Have you tried sitting on a coffee shop patio for two or three hours in the fall when the temperatures drop into the 50s or 40s, and the wind blows? Most of us are used to sitting inside the coffeeshop, where it’s warm, dry, and toasty. Not in the rain and cold.
There we are; I am bundled up. Bones is curled up on his mat for warmth. I don’t break out his coat until winter. He doesn’t like it: “A dog looks silly wearing a coat!
Within half an hour, my fingers get numb; in an hour, my face feels as if it’s frozen. It’s not that other people are unsympathetic; they are mostly unaware of what’s going on. Customers come out of the coffee shop and see us sitting outside. They ask, “What in the world are you doing out here? Why don’t you come inside?”
My teeth chatter. I am barely able to speak. “Because they d-d-don’t allow d-d-dogs.” Sometimes baristas come out to meet Bones. He loves the attention, but it doesn’t solve the problem of being left out in the cold.
You Can’t Leave Him in the Van
In case you’re wondering why I don’t leave him in the van, it’s because I can’t.
Municipalities that prohibit dogs in coffee shops and restaurants often prohibit leaving a dog in a vehicle unattended, due to the danger of high heat in the summer or extreme cold in the winter. I agree with the law, but it adds a layer of complexity.
I can’t take him in or leave him outside.
The only break is if we find a coffee shop that does not prepare food, but relies on a food truck instead. In that case, they may have signs saying dogs are allowed inside.
Hotels are one alternative, but I made a pledge at the start to avoid staying in hotels until the book begins to sell, and the tour can pay for itself. That still hasn’t happened.
Proud? Yes. Stubborn? Yep. I limit hotel stays to twice a month in the worst weather.
The Down Fall
Each year, about this time, we think about heading down south, where it is warmer, and the climate is more suitable for van life people traveling with dogs.
But I also love the fall foliage colors, and my dog loves the sweet smell of decay. Inside us, a battle rages. Every day we look at each other and ask how long we can stand it up north and enjoy the season before heading south to find warmer temperatures amid dark-green southern pine forests and live moss oaks.
People who hate the cold wonder how we manage when it gets colder outside.
At night, if the temperatures remain in the 50s, we can manage with a light blanket and no heat. My body is a furnace that churns out heat, and my dog runs ever warmer.
When it drops into the 40s, we either unfold the sleeping bag and get under it, or if we find a place to plug in, I set the small space heater on low so that it cycles on and off.
Temperatures in the 30s are harder to manage. Vehicles are not airtight. The cold begins to seep in after an hour. This requires us to get under the sleeping-bag-as-blanket and then pull a foil survival blanket over the top of that, or to find a plug-in.
Once it drops below freezing at night, we will have to head for the border, pronto. Van lifers with heaters that run on diesel or propane dare the winter. I’m not that extreme.
I’m curious if any of you think this sounds like a life you’d enjoy, or would at least like to try out, or if it sounds like endless torment to which you would not subject yourself.
Remember that humans have adapted to extremely cold and hot climates for centuries. People live in the Arctic or survive in hot deserts; we can, too.
When I can’t sleep, I lie awake, weighing our physical comfort against the chance to enjoy the beauty of nature, and ponder whether to choose warmth over wonder.
Every new day is another gamble. Any of you feel like rolling the dice?
Thanks for reading and for considering van life.
I love this, Carl! Wonderful read and I realized enjoyed seeing Mr Bones in on the conversation!
Doug is right on - that’s on of my favorite books of all time.
Enjoyable read Carl! I like the dog/human dialogue; reminds me of one of my favorite books - The Art of Racing in The Rain. If you've never read the book I would strongly recommend it!