Location: North Carolina, Charlotte

Posted May 09, 2011; Expires:  May 29, 2011; Price: $8400

1955 Cadillac Hearse converted into motorhome. Conversion done late ’50’s or early’60’s? PA titled as motorhome. 6,000 GVW

Nicknamed Caddyshack! Sleeps 4, 2 overhead and 2 on drop down dining table. Storage cabinets, refrigerator, sink, water tank, 110 electric, gas lighting, gas stove and furnace. Toilet closet with plumbing, toilet was removed.

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This looks like a beautiful magazine on road trips, exploring the world:

“Overland Journal was conceived in 2006 by two friends, Scott Brady and Jonathan Hanson, who were passionate about vehicle-supported expedition travel but dissatisfied with the then-current paradigm of 4WD and adventure motorcycle magazines, which stressed conquering trails rather than exploring the world. The two dreamed of producing a high-quality magazine devoted as much to the journey as to the vehicle and the equipment, a magazine that would inspire readers to explore their own world, whether on a weekend trip 100 miles from home or a cross-continental expedition in another hemisphere. And they dreamed of a magazine that would recognize there are places where motorized vehicles simply don’t belong, that would encourage further exploration by bicycle, kayak, canoe, and backpack.”

https://www.overlandjournal.com/

After my second knee operation (removing fragments of meniscus, scraping some mildly arthritic deposits) via arthroscopy, the doc showed me the MRI scan and said I didn’t have a whole lot of cartilage left in my knee. “On a scale of 1 to 10, you’re at a 7…” — “10” meaning no cartilage left, or bone-on-bone. A light bulb went on. Quit racing, you dumb fuck! Especially since my racing entailed running real fast down hlll to make up for slow uphills.

I ran the half mile and cross-country in high school. I wasn’t good enough for the Stanford track team, but once out of college and the Air Force, and when I was working as an insurance broker, I started running (in San Francisco) on my lunch hour. I wore a sweat suit and tennis shoes. Before the fitness boom. Often I’d run on the beach, then go body surfing.

It wasn’t until the mid-80s that I found out about RUNNING, Stretching guru Bob Anderson got me started, and then I worked for about a year with Olympic runner Jeff Galloway on his book, Galloway’s Book on Running. In the course of hanging out with Jeff for about a year, I started running seriously, and racing in mostly 10Ks and some triathlons. At that age (early 50s), I did better in my age group each year. And on it’s gone for 25 or so years.

In recent years I’ve been running the Dipsea Race, a 7.2 mile race over hill and dale from Mill Valley to Stinson Beach (north of San Francisco). The oldest cross-country race in America, it’s wild and romantic and difficult and beautiful, and it’s easy to get obsessed (and injured repeatedly).

Well, I’ve hung up my Dipsea shoes. I realized that probably the most important aspect of fitness is being able to move, to have mobility. I want to be walking for the next 25 years, so I need all the cartilage I can preserve. If you’re a runner and 60 or over, I suggest getting MRIs of both knees. Check that cartilage! it’s  your shock absorber in this remarkable joint.

Once I made the decision to quit (competition, that is), a new world opened up. I don’t have to train! I don’t have to stress about running 2-3 times a week. I don’t need to run at maximum speed. So I’ve been hiking along beaches, riding my mountain bike — exploring new parts of my world — and it’s fabulous. With each excursion I go into new territory. I’m doing some fishing, more skateboarding.

Oh yeah, I still run a little, but just for fun…

This flock has come back this Spring, after a many months’ absence. About 50 of them swooped down into the garden yesterday afternoon. Here something had startled them and they were taking off.

They, along with the crows, are the most wary of birds. The slightest noise or sighting, and whoosh! Wings flapping, they climb vertically. They got muskles.

BTW, if I were to own just one bird book, it would be the Audubon Society’s The Sibley Guide to Birds. Magnificent book. David Sibley started drawing birds at age 7, but even so, it’s hard to believe a single person could do these 1000s of drawings in a lifetime.

Boy, it’s been a long winter! But today just had it. Billy and I stretched aviary wire over the new chicken yard run. The sun was warm, it all went well, we got the wire tight, ready for the big day on Friday when we’ll tear down the old coop and move the little flock. (The rooster is a pistol; he runs things with a flair, and looks out for his girls. He calls them over for food, picks it up and drops it for them.)

I went for a paddle around 3. Paddling has been generally cold and/or windy, and water cold from Spring winds, but today it was warm, and warmer as I made my way down a channel in the lagoon. Water glassy and green. A seagull was tearing at a dead fish on the bank and didn’t budge when I came within 10 feet. I’ve been appreciating seagulls lately; they’re strong, ultra-resourceful, many quite beautiful, whi=te, yellows, black.

Perfect day for a mud bath. I pulled up to the grassy bank, stripped, got warm in the sun and then plastered myself with the gooey black mud. The stuff is like cream. All over, all body parts I could reach. Stood in the sun a while, the glory of being all alone out in the sunshine, no humanoids in sight. Then washed it off, paddled back to my truck.

There were a dozen kids playing on the mud flats, hooting, running, goofing. No cell phones or video games, just mud and water. They were having so much fun. Perfect day.