Bill

An elderly man walking a bicycle loaded with gear veered toward me, stopped, and asked if I was a local. I said I was. He wanted to know about beach access. I gave him the lowdown. We continued the conversation and I learned his name was Bill. The longer we talked the more I noticed that Bill had a pronounced happy disposition. He was also groomed and wasn’t exuding that weathered and vacant look that some elderly men on the move do. I assumed he was homeless because there was that subtle vibe about him.

Bill told me he lived in the woods a couple miles from here, in a tent covered by a tarp. He’d moved into the area not long ago and found a choice secluded spot with outstanding phone reception. His stuff was safe from thieves, he’d picked a hollow that would protect him from the wind, he had a tent heater and a sweet little Honda generator. Bill was finished with slumlords forever. They’d screwed him over too many times. He had his Social Security and that was it for money, but now that he wasn’t paying rent and utilities, he had plenty of dough. He was feeling great. I asked him about the impending winter rain on the Oregon Coast. No problem. He’d lived two winters in a tent at the base of Mt. Hood so rain was nothing. We said goodbye and I watched him walk his bike away. He was going to the beach and later would return to his tent home in the woods. I marveled at Bill. I could not do what he was doing.