Tag: Homelessness

Red blanket by the freeway

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 23 Comments
If this looks chilly, it’s because it is.

The weather took a seasonal turn yesterday. The gods knew I’d be dropping the Subie at Reincarnation downtown around 8:30, and they didn’t want me to be too comfortable as I cycled home on the Soma Double Cross.

It wasn’t what I’d call wintry. There was a pretty brisk wind, but hey, this is New Mexico. Wind ain’t blowing when you wake up, you may have died during the night. Anyway, it was pushing me along the North Diversion Channel Trail. So, winning, etc.

I was properly attired, with a light jacket over a long-sleeved jersey and an ancient Hind base layer, bibs and tights, wool socks, full-fingered gloves, and a tuque under my helmet. Kept it all on, too, as the wind became a little less friendly on the Osuna-Bear Canyon trail.

When you start your day with a 65-mph sprint down I-40 to University and then cycle from Mountain and 2nd, up Odelia-Indian School, and along the NDCT from Indian School to Osuna, you see the homeless folks getting their mornings on, if you know where to look.

One dude was camping beyond rough, rolled up like a burrito in a red blanket on a concrete slab off on the north side of I-40. I might not have seen him were it not for that blanket. If he had a shopping cart, a bicycle, or even a bindle, it was pretty well concealed.

As I pedaled up the NDCT a small group was shaking itself awake just off the trail below Montgomery. One guy had a bike; we exchanged waves.

Later, after I was home and warm and full of lunch, Reincarnation rang me up to say my 20-year-old rust-bucket would require a deeper dip into the wallet than I had anticipated, imperiling a considerable slice of what I had until that moment considered disposable income.

I felt sorry for myself, briefly, until I remembered that at least I’d have the Subie to sleep in if everything went south on me all at once. There’s even a locking rack up top for the Double Cross.

Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 6 Comments

Homeless? Not hardly. I had the tent, the Toyota, and the house where both were usually parked.

“They had all the news from all around the world just crammed into four pages. Didn’t even have any funnies in there, you know? Every time you turned a page something just jumped right out at you. …” — John Prine, “Dear Abby”

Read enough news and something will definitely jump right out at you.

Sadly, we no longer have John Prine to write songs about it.

Nevertheless, there I was, sipping my morning coffee, slouching aimlessly from pillar to post on the Interwebs, just waiting to get jumped by something.

And suddenly, boogity boogity boogity, there it was.

The Colorado Sun had a piece about the Moosejaw Business Accelerator, which in conjunction with Western Colorado University in Gunnison helps entrepreneurs with the theory and practice of launching outdoorsy businesses.

The story featured a fellow with an 18-pound, thousand-buck ruck that comes with most everything a larval backpacker needs; a duo working on a clothing line for “plus-sized” adventurers; and a bikepacker whose outfit makes “plant-based, gluten-free dehydrated meals for backpacking.”

They were all enthusiastic and effusive and by golly, good for them. I hope they’re all thundering successes.

And then I stumbled onto a New York Times story about how the end of pandemic-era federal funding for emergency housing is forcing Vermont to evict homeless people from subsidized motel rooms and into (wait for it) tents.

With waiting lists for shelter beds and transitional housing, the only option available to most of those forced from hotels this month was a free tent. Across the state, social service workers handed out camping equipment, a gesture that pained providers like [Jess Graff, director of Franklin Grand Isle Community Action, a nonprofit agency in St. Albans], who saw 28 households displaced from hotels in her area of northern Vermont on June 1.

“Even purchasing the tents is awful, because you’re in the store with a cart full of camping equipment, and people are saying, ‘Looks like a fun weekend!’” she said.

“A fun weekend.” Like, say, camping in a Brattleboro cemetery. Might see the odd plus-sized person out there trying to stay dry among the tombstones. But I bet s/he’s not sporting a thousand-buck ruck.

Some days I wonder whether we have the right foot on the wrong accelerator.