No rain on this morning. I was up,
packed and on the road by 5:30 am. I accidentally missed Main Street
because I was lost in thought. I ended up on Jefferson. I'd walked
this road when I first got into town, but the section I was on then
led me the opposite way. And, I'm glad it did.
I came upon the city park, finally! I
knew there had to be one, but every time I got online I forgot to
look for it. Napa is spread out. It's like when they were planning it
in more recent years, they said, “Wow! Look at all this space we
have to work with. Let's put the retail outlets over here, and 5
miles away let's put the restaurants, and we'll keep all of that
stuff well separated from the downtown, and...” The point is I
found the park.
To a homelessly-inclined person like
yours truly, a park is a refuge—besides just being a cliché.
Park benches – as long as you are following the rules – are the
one place you will never be told to “move on” from. There is
grass to take a snooze (during the day). The birds and squirrels,
flowers and picnic tables are certainly a refreshing change from the
asphalt and concrete, steel and glass of the roadways. I guess all of
this goes without saying. But you know me, I tend to say things
anyway...
Anyway... One thing this park –
Kennedy Park – had that really made it a cut above the best, was a
clean and very well-equipped set of public restrooms...
These Park Restrooms are Nice
I've seen a lot of “Kennedy” parks,
in a lot of cities and town, but the restroom in this one was worthy
enough to have had the great man himself take a leak there. All the
fixtures worked, the toilets flushed strongly, there was toilet paper
in every stall, paper towels in the holder and soap in the
dispensers. In the morning they hose the floor, fill the toilets with
disinfectant, wipe everything down and make sure refillable items are
topped off. It is, I think, the model for what every city could use.
Granted, I'm biased by needing and appreciating these facilities
because of my current work. Yet, families with children, joggers,
bicyclists, office workers on lunch break, etc... Anyone can see the
value of such facilities.
And, I took full advantage of
everything. I used the large stall to wash up, and the sink to brush
my teeth and thoroughly rinse the salt out of my hat...
Clothes Drying
Perhaps the convenience seemed
extraordinarily special, simply because it was early in the morning.
I was the first one there and had the place to myself. Who knows? But
it left an impression on me. It is an extremely wise use of tax
dollars. With all the fat, waste and corruption involved in spending
citizens' hard earned tax money, the relatively low expense of
providing these kinds of things for them where they need them most
seems trivial by comparison.
Aside from all of this restroom glory,
in front of a large carved-log bench I found a pair of my size (10.5)
Fila sneakers, just sitting there lonely and forlorn, waiting
for a new owner. As I'd spoken about in my last few posts here, my
feet had been suffering from walking in a pretty minimalist pair of
Land's End “water shoes.” I'd covered 120 miles in them
since I walked out of San Francisco, and had probably already put a
few hundred miles on them since I purchased them a couple months ago.
I had been paying the physical cost. This just seemed too good a find
to be true...
New Black Fila Sneakers
Goodbye Goodwill
shoes... You served with distinction.
As you
can see above, admittedly, they aren't perfect. The treads are worn,
but not too badly. They are better than what I had. In this unique
situation, you always maximize the greater advantage of any one thing
over another. It is what keeps you healthy and relatively
comfortable, and it might even save your life.
Once I
got over the yuck-factor of understanding that these were unwashed, I
had no problem making them my own. They didn't smell and I liked that
they were black. White ones would have been a bit problematic when
running across fields at night, trying not to be seen. And (forgive
me for this, but...), now I will literally know what it's like to
walk in someone else's shoes!
I still
had 2.5 hours until the library opened and just sat enjoying the
park. When the time came to venture into town, I repacked my now dry
clothes, hauled the backpack on, and walked up Jefferson Avenue to
Second Street and then down Coombs Road to wait in line for the doors
to open.
Work at
the library went well. I have an issue where each morning and
afternoon at certain times, I just can't keep my eyes open, and begin
nodding off. My head begins to droop closer and closer to the
desktop, and often one of my fingers is on a key, causing
thissssssssss.......... to happen (although it usually fills about 5
pages by the time I catch myself). When this happens - at about 11:00
am and 2:00 pm – the best idea is to have a big drink of water,
and/or to go outside and walk around for awhile. Sometimes these
methods don't work and I need to rinse and repeat.
Sleeping
is NOT allowed in libraries. I've been to them all over the country
and at only one have I seen it tolerated (in San Rafael).
Here in
Napa (and at some other libraries) there are security guards –
library rent-a-cops – who patrol the various sections routing out
sleepers, loud talkers and cellphone users. Napa's library has only
one person assigned to this important duty, a rather pretty Mexican
American woman. At first – presumably, because of the way I look,
my backpack, complete with walking stick, etc. - she would orbit
close to my work station, making me feel a bit uncomfortable. But a
couple days ago, when a gentleman was tapping out some hip-hop beats
on his desk, singing and hooting loudly and then answering his
cellphone, laughing and flirting with his woman by long distance, she
became my heroine by asking the man to please quite down.
Indignantly, he got up and left in a huff.
When she
orbited back again near me, I thanked her. She smiled and told me
that's why she made the big bucks, “...not!” From that day on I
always appreciated her presence there. If I were not sleeping in a
field, penniless, and grungy, I might have asked her out. What a
couple we would have been: The blogger and the library guard! A match
made in Napa-heaven!
After
finally publishing the 3 posts I had written offline, catching up here
at the blog and feeling satisfied, I left and walked out into the
100º
F air, with every intention of buying a cold beer.
I had not been down
the other end of Jefferson since walking into town a couple days before, and though I might
find a cheap bar there, out among the fast food restaurants. I had no
luck in this endeavor, but I did re-locate the McDonald's
I'd passed days before, stopped in and bought a sprite. They have a
$1.00 deal on all drinks, with 3 refills included as long as you
don't leave and come back. This was perfect on such a hot day. The
air conditioning was cranked and the Wi-Fi (as usual) worked very
well. Having done my blog work for the day, I posted a short essay
about some of the lost souls I've seen, at Facebook.
When
the sun had reached the tips of the western tree-tops, I deemed it
wise to get back toward my sleeping spot. I noticed a bike trail
called, “The Bike Blvd,” which ran parallel to the train tracks,
back toward Soscol Avenue; a route that intersected with Lincoln
Avenue--the road my field was located on.
Because
I hadn't had my beer, I stopped in at 7
Eleven and bought a
super-cold, 23 oz can of “Olde English '800'” malt liquor (6.9%),
for $1.49. Not only was I living the life of homeless person, but
planning to drink my bottom shelf grog in a good “olde”
fashioned, “homeless style”; in my dark field, on my tarp and
sleeping bag. No tips to pay. No trendy, Audi convertible-driving,
young bar patrons leering at me for my cheap choices and dirty
clothes. It was just me and the brilliant orange clouds of a
California sunset.
In
fact, the evening was so nice, that before heading to my nesting
field—while walking by it, I chanced to look for the other
sleeper—the guy who had been there since I arrived in town. He was
gone! Few!
I thought, He's alive.
I
took a leisurely stroll down the same river path I'd found on the
first day in town. This time I passed a group of Mexican American guys
fishing on one of the little trails off the path. Down another, a two
kids were swimming. A tourist couple relaxed and got stoned by the
slow running water.
It
is perhaps ironic that the poorer folks of this town walk past the
rather ritzy little (20' x 10') cottages of the visiting tourist
elites...
Cottages for Rent by the River Trail
These
2 “classes” pass each other with a “Good evening" or "Buenas
Noches”
interchangeably. Everyone knows where they "belong." The sweating
construction workers fish for dinner in the river, while the tourists
get drunk, eat shrimp cocktails and play around in the pool, 20 feet away. I guess all is
in harmony...
At
the second bench I got to, I sat down and removed my pack to simply
breath in the beauty of the area. The same couple who had just shared
a pipe, walked by hand in hand. I listened to their conversation (as
I am prone to do), and he was telling her how he knew he could be a
great leader someday. He didn't like politics, but he felt
responsibility to “serve the people.” She looked up at him
doe-eyed with admiration and awe. As they passed out of site, I heard
him say, “It's all about power.”
I
looked down at my “new” shoes, petted my backpack, readjusted my
walking stick and said, “Yes it is...”
Full Moon Rising
At
around 9:30 pm, I strapped on my constant backpack-companion and made
the short walk back to the field entrance. While waiting for traffic
to lighten up so I could step through the broken fence, I saw a
gray-haired, bearded dude riding a small bike and drinking a Big Gulp
(or something in a Big Gulp cup). It suddenly dawned upon me that
this was the sleepy guy. Sure enough, he slowed down near the other
end of the field fence, got off his bike and stealthily headed to the
spot behind the small grove of trees. I realized then that the reason
why it seemed that he was always there, was because I left before he
did in the morning and got back after he did at night. Turns out
there was never any need to be concerned. I'm glad I didn't call the
cops or a rescue.
Getting
my own nest in order, I settled down, cracked my brew and enjoyed
every last sip of it. It made me sleepy and I crawled into the
sleeping bag, easily falling asleep.
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