This is a little different than usual for me, but I often sleep in my car for photography. That makes this sort of relevant. The reason that I have a Subaru Outback is because it was long enough for me to sleep in with the rear seats down. That lets me wake up and drive to the sunrise spot without having to take down a tent. It’s also nice when in grizzly country. I wrote this essay during a writing course from Jon Turk. Jon is one of my favorite adventure story authors. if you haven’t read one of his books check them out at Amazon (note: if you buy from this link, I get a small commision. Please, don’t let that influence your buying decision).
I hope you enjoy this diversion.
You Don’t Have to Sleep in Your Car
The photo workshop I was teaching descended down a knee-aching grade towards a river flowing below.
“Where did you sleep last night?” one of my students asked me.
“I slept in the back of my car in a rest area,” I said.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said.
“It was easier.”
“You have my phone number,” he said. “Next time you need a place to stay just call. We have a big house with plenty of space.”
Everytime I tell someone I slept in my car, it’s the same response, “You don’t have to sleep in your car.”
I’ve tried to explain, “But I like sleeping in my car.”
“Nonsense,” they say, “You don’t have to sleep in your car.”
“But I like sleeping in my car,” I’ll say. “It’s easy.”
“You don’t have to sleep in your car.”
But I bought a Subaru Outback specifically so I could pull a lever, drop the seat, inflate a Thermarest, climb into my car, crawl into a sleeping bag and fall to sleep.
“We have plenty of room,” they’ll say. “It’s too cold to sleep in your car.”
It doesn’t matter my answer. They never believe that I like sleeping in my car. I like sleeping in my car so much that it doesn’t matter even if it feels sketchy — like the time camping in the rest area just inside the Tennessee side of the Tennessee/Kentucky state line when after waking up to step onto the wet rest-area asphalt with bare feet. Starting to brush my teeth when four people got out of a rusty, white cargo van with faux wood paneling and approached me like a gang.
“Got any money,” the leader barked.
“Nope,” I said while washing the toothpaste from my mouth with a swig from my water bottle.
“We got robbed,” he said. “And now we don’t have enough gas money to get home to Florida.”
“Did you call the cops,” I asked while starting to dial 911 on my cell. “Let me call.”
“That will be okay,” he said.
“No. No. They won’t help us,” yelped a second guy.
The woman behind him said, “So, you’re not going to give us money?”
“No,” I said.
“Fine,” she said and turned around.
“Let me call the police for you,” I said. “They should know about the robbery.”
“No thanks,” the leader said.
“Thank you for your time,” another said as they turned and walked away.
Not even then does sleeping in my car bother me. I like sleeping in my car even when it is cold, sketchy, parked at an angle on a downhill slope so my feet slide into the hatchback all night long while cramping my knees and forcing me to wake up with a bright street light in my face.
“We have plenty of room,” they’ll say.
But, that isn’t the issue for me. Arranging to sleep at a house complicates a trip. If I were the type of person to get a dry throat while asking a favor – that would be what the phone call would be like. I’d call and ask to stay and then try to arrive at a decent hour and plan all that it take to get from wherever I’m at to there on time and leave after just a few hours of sleep in a strange bed in a strange house at a strange hour. Then it wouldn’t work out, because the sunset was too great to leave on time and I’d arrive late and mess up their schedule. Then we’d talk for a couple of hours before bed knowing that I’d wake up early with little sleep. Plus, the first night sleeping in a strange house with strangers after arriving at a strange hour and leaving at a strange time feels uncomfortable. You never get a good night’s sleep.
“You don’t have to sleep in your car,” they’ll say.
If I told them the real truth, I’d say, “No, I don’t have to do all that because I sleep in my car.”
That’s why I like sleeping in my car.
As someone who has slept i my car numerous times, I totally get it, Bryan. With the right gear. sleeping in a car is quite comfortable and less complicated than other options. But it is hard to explain that to people. You explain it well in this post– but a lot of people still won’t get it.
I sleep in my car too, though I have not slept in my most recent– yet.
Hey Bryan, Thanks for the diversion. I also enjoy sleeping in my car, when I own the right one. Your story reminds of the early morning at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon many years ago, sleeping in my Subaru Outback. I was awoken by a Park Ranger wondering what I was doing there. When I mentioned I was getting an early start on a sunrise scene from the South Rim, he informed me NP rules forbid sleeping in one’s car. I had no choice but to drive to the parking lot he suggested for the best view, and waited outside my car for the magnificent sunrise over the Big Ditch. I guess loitering is OK in NP’s ;-). The wait was well worth it. Sadly, my amateur photography skills at the time were not equal to the scenes before me. But I will remember that scene forever. Thanks for the story and the reminder. Cheers! See you on your Door County workshop when that does finally occur.
Fun story! Door County would be next year, hopefully.