Lately we’ve been parking our RV in the parking lot of a public park in Longmont (at first I wasn’t going to say where we are, but then I realized the NSA knows anyway, since they track people’s IP addresses). The park faces the Flat Iron mountains, and it’s quiet here, during the week (weekends, baseball mania). The park is across the street from a giant Walmart, which has given us many problems (the horrible company, that is: too boring to relay the bad customer service we’ve experienced there). Two old men are living in the Walmart parking lot, in separate trailers. One is living in an old, crummy sort of trailer propped up on cinder blocks, an eccentric old man with a long beard. I have seen him grilling on a little grill a few times.
The other old man lives in a blue Ford truck with a silver house attached to its back. Not sure what it’s called, it’s like the cab attachment, literally held together with duct tape and a Hail Mary. If you leaned on it, the house would fall apart. It’s a lot of got American flag stickers on the lower half. We’ve seen the man who lives there coming and going a few times. We think he is dying. He wears a heavy coat, a hat, a scarf, and big sunglasses all the time, even though it’s been over 90 degrees lately. His face is grey, ashen. He’s paper thin, like a silhouette. Could he be a Vietnam vet, who breathed in too much Agent Orange?
Back in our lot, a few other RVs have come and gone—the two old men have taken up most of the choice spots in the Walmart parking lot (well, the dude with the long trailer on cinder blocks parked sideways takes up eleven spaces; the other man, not so much), so other travelers come here. Late Saturday night a truck pulled up and parked near us. Three adults and two kids got out, and immediately one of the adults and both kids got into this strange trailer behind the truck and laid down. It was like a low cage, no roof, just a tarp. It rained most of the night. Early Sunday morning they were gone. We would have invited them in except: 1. we have all our stuff stacked up in our 26′ RV and only have room to sleep in our bed and 2. there is a protocol to these things. That family didn’t seem like they wanted help, they moved with purpose, have been doing this for a while. When you live in a parking lot you see situations like this often; last summer we got to know a family with two young children who were stalled out for a few weeks in another Walmart parking lot. They had driven from California to Denver because the dad got a good job here; immediately after they got here, the new job fell through and the RV broke down. Somehow they fixed it themselves, scraped together gas money to get back to southern California, and the kids only missed a few weeks of school.
To tie this together, I guess, I’ll just put up some photos of this and the previous parking lot we crashed, in Golden. I’ll keep up this hobo tally, writing down what I see in these nomad haunts, taking photos. More to come.