As I slither through the back gate, I press it gently against its hinges to prevent it from creaking. The effect works and I step into the backyard, quiet as a burglar. Success, I think. Until the flood lights flash on. The entire yard illuminates and the barking begins, a soprano/baritone duet of not-quite-guard dogs.

Shit.

It is my fourth day of live-in dog-sitting and, aside from this little midnight neighborhood-waking, it couldn’t be going more smoothly. My two babies for the week, Sparta and Bailey get along wonderfully. They both love their temporary caretaker, too. As I open the door to the house, I am greeted by a giant, licking ball of fluff and a jumping, frantic terrier. Not only is this week-long gig giving me great canine companionship, I also get a free place for a week and a stipend for ensuring the pets are happy and healthy when the owner returns. Not a bad way to escape the heat when the mercury readings are shooting the afternoon highs over 90 degrees. I enter and promise them a treat. They’ve been good in my two-hour absence.

Since leaving my desert bungalow in August, I’ve managed to avoid most of the summer’s hottest days–and there have been a lot of them. But dog/house-sitting has been just one of my chosen escapes. My friend Kevin “The Cock” Hitchcock visited earlier this month, bouncing around with me to various low-cost accommodations on a kind of local vacation* that gave us a taste of getaway without breaking the bank. A few days later, Ashley and I hit the road earlier than planned to enjoy the moderate climate of Northern California. It was a 9-day road trip that covered 3 states and as many National Parks, with a healthy portion of other national, state, and local lands scattered in for good measure.

This rough version of our itinerary leaves out many way points (Google Maps only allows ten entries) but gives a general idea of our route around and outside of the great state of California.

A trip like this could easily end up costing thousands of dollars. Ashley and I spent a few hundred each. Total.

How?

The biggest savings came in the lodging department. With inconspicuous in-vehicle accommodations, Ashley and I slept each night in the back of the truck. Tracing the below itinerary, we ended up totaling a whopping $20 cumulative for 9-days of sleeping. Thanks to public lands and public streets, we had no problem finding some excellent spots to bed down for the night. Here’s the itinerary in detail:

Saturday: roadside, Dolores Park, Mission District, San Francisco ($0)
Sunday: forest service trailhead, uninhabited trailhead parking lot, King Range National Conservation Area ($0)
Monday: remote roadside, gravel road pullout, Six Rivers National Forest ($0)
Tuesday: free forest service campsite, along river with primitive toilets, Six Rivers National Forest ($0)
Wednesday: enjoyed, so repeated ($0)
Thursday: spontaneous desire to camp along salmon run in Rogue River, traditional campsite, Rogue Elk County Park ($20)
Friday: remote roadside, gravel road pullout near Lava Beds National Monument border, Modoc National Forest ($0)
Saturday: remote roadside, gravel road pullout near Lassen National Park, Lassen National Forest ($0)
Sunday: remote roadside, clearing under pine trees, near Donner Lake State Park ($0)

Not only was our camping plan cheap, it was solitary and beautiful as well. Camping on public lands has often led me to the most incredible sites, soundless and scenic, with the feeling that the stretch of land is truly yours for the night.** As long as a few simple guidelines are followed, camping on public lands such as BLM land and within National Forest boundaries is free. This is called dispersed camping, and there are countless acres of land in this country where it is permitted. We weren’t the only ones enjoying this luxury. Countless others were pulling over in each forest for an in-vehicle night’s rest, too.

These folks are dispersed camping along the main road in the Angeles National Forest, one of the closest forests to a major urban center in this country. Taken in August of 2012.

The California-Oregon border was a bastion of the home-free. Folks everywhere were taking on unorthodox lifestyles. A young couple from an adjoining campsite in Six Rivers National Forest explained that they had been living this way all summer, jumping from park to park, picking up an adorable little puppy named Hollow along the way. They had made friends with a van-dweller in the other occupied campsite, and he would let them borrow his vehicle to head into town for groceries. An act of trust like that is seldom seen in the city.

Not every home-freefolk was living in such rustic conditions. The couple who were hosting our campsite in Rogue Elk State Park were just beginning their journey away from home. The husband had recently retired from the trucking business and they had accepted a gig hosting the campground in exchange for 20 hours of work in the grounds per week. They occupied a spot in the front of the grounds, their RV resting comfortably near the newly chopped firewood. They were even outfitted with a schnazzy golf cart.

“We like it here,” he said. “Everyone pretty much keeps to themselves.”

At the river, the salmon were beginning to spawn. Dozens could be seen in the zero-depth water near the shoreline, swimming in place against the strong downstream current. Ashley and I sat and watched them for a while, in awe of the witnessing of such a renowned migration. Like the hosts of the campground, these chinook had worked hard all their lives just to come to rest here on the Rogue River. It seemed like a fine place to spend a creature’s twilight time.

It is illegal to interfere with the spawning of salmon in the state of Oregon. It’s a completely understandable law, as there are so many one could almost just run out and grab them by hand.

I couldn’t help but wonder how one might be able to achieve his lifestyle of contentment without having to wait decades for classic retirement. I have seen so many people slave away unhappily at jobs just for the hope of one day being able to settle into something comfortable. For those of us who aren’t bankrolled by some circumstance of unusual wealth, I suppose that’s the most attainable route to relaxation. But I can’t help but think some version of the lifestyle of contentment can be achieved earlier. Earning money doing something he loves while keeping enough time for his avenues of leisure and enrichment.

As I type, a little terrier chest rises and falls in a slumbered cadence next to me. Sparta has taken to me so well, she finds it hard to leave my side even as she sleeps. After years of working 60 hour weeks and struggling to keep an apartment, it strikes me odd that what I’m doing now is a job. The service I’m providing is critical to someone, yet for me it’s a fine pastime. Perhaps that’s the lesson from all of this. To enjoy making a living so much, you’re too busy enjoying living to realize you’re making it.

Or maybe I just ought to spend some more time dog-sitting.

-TOH

*No, I will not use “stay-cation” in this piece.
**Courtesy of the taxes I pay, there is truth in that.