Being homeless is fun for about a minute, unless you
know where Windmills is. Well, used to be I should
say. The County closed the road because people
started partying too hard down there and
there were lots of fights.
I guess I got lucky. In the late '70's and early
80's the road was gutted so bad only a fool and me
in my VW van would chance riding the ruts
down that steep gully. Getting back up was
worse, especially when it had been raining
and I'd have to get to town for supplies.
I painted this picture one day when me and
my sons were campiing out together.
I spent quite a bit of time down there alone writing
my scripts and novel on an old Royal manual
typewriter.
When I had the van, we'd spend the night
together, and in the morning fire up the
propane stove and have a royal break-
fast. Then the boys would go surfing
for most of the day. They always made
me watch them and
I even had to video
tape them.
But when I was alone, I'd put the hammock up
between two trees at the end of the trail
and have great walks and swims in the
clean ocean surf.
The ocean waves crashed constantly, and it was
a great place to write because the surf
washed the brain clean with it's
intoxicating motion.
