I've Slept Around...
Gordon Yaswen

I've slept around........but my job made me do it. As a part-time instructor, I've taught semester-length classes at over 7 community Colleges (as many as 3 simultaneously) and short-courses at another 7, all strewn across about 200 Miles of California, and have earned my right to the "Freeway Flyer" title. As my irregular hours put me usually out-of-phase with commute traffic, my drives were often easy cruises; one place where being abnormal worked gloriously for me. My commute-routines had their elegance, like driving across the Golden Gate bridge to rest or write on a Pacific cliff near sunset, meandering to an inexpensive, favorite Japanese restaurant, then finding a deserted parking-spot to meditate in my car until my assignment. Coursing late-night, early-morning, or counter-flow routes over the silken roads and freeways was often a graceful dance, as I swooped through freeway ramps or soared upon bridges over black waters, with the twinkled lights of cities below those of stars. I enjoyed also snaking thru the dark of deserted industrial centers, or the glittered windows and polished brass of downtowns.

I tried to use my commute-time well, listening to lecture-tapes, or recording tape-letters to others (full of traffic-sounds, of course; they must have thought I lived on the road). This was needed because In California, there was little of the inclement weather I'd been used to (back East) saving my letter-writing for, and my correspondence would otherwise have suffered. I used a small recorder (powered from the car) with switched remote-mike; a tiny sound-studio in a glove-box.

Classes often ended at night, and distances were considerable, so sleeping over made much sense. In the course of decades of changing venues and times, I tried about every variation: I've slept In the back of my car or truck, priding myself in some lovely sites at beaches, marinas, and parks, and waking to gulls, foghorns, and surf, to take morning walks In picturesque areas. I also utilized parkIng lots and side-streets from which I was (fortunately infrequently) rousted by police In the night's middle.

For years I weekly crashed at a strewn-about circuit of the houses or apartments of about 20 friends on a  schedule to distribute myself thinly among them and overburden none. It was a wonderful way to keep up friendships as, upon arrival, I was usually jazzed from teaching and eager for talks with my hosts until late hours. Middle-of-night visits to the bathrooms were challenging, as I groped about, trying to recall which geography I needed to negotiate. With mornings I would similarly lay awhile with closed eyes, enjoying the puzzle of remembering or detecting where I was. Then I washed up and ate my brought-breakfasts while gazing out strange windows, browsing unfamiliar books, and otherwise appreciating the homes of my friends. If I had a second night's class to layover for, I would set out In my car for some park, library, museum, or waterfront to spend time at, where I might walk, bike, study, read, or explore, often amid splendid scenery. To ensure I had whatever I needed on these sorties from home, I kept various kits permanently In my car, restocked as needed.

When I later maintained trailer-crashpads In rented backyards for my layovers, I maintained a shuttle-box In my car for stuff on-route from one someplace to another. My trailers made it affordable to rent in otherwise-too-expensive neighborhoods, and made longer layovers possible. When I chose to actually live in one such site for four years, I merely altered my commute-routine like a reversible jacket, working my urban assignments from my new home-base, and crashing in a shack of the rented-out residence I owned (making even that seem a part of my nomad circuit).

Though this life of commuting and multiple domiciles was rigorous, it had the allure of travel, and I confess I enjoyed my sleeping around.