Last Update: 5/25/2016

Shit in Woods Goes Gross to Nightmare

Photo of cathole with shit and pee in it, next to used toilet paper, baby wipes, and handheld mattock/pick. Text says, “The Dark Side of Vandwelling? Shitting in the Woods. Like a Bear.”
What’s the dark side of living in a van down by the river? Assault by druggies? Cops? Bears? No, it’s shitting in a hole. Today, it went from gross to nightmare ...
It Starts By Raining

I’m camped in Bridger-Teton National Forest. Beautiful site, right across from Grand Tetons National Park. But it’s dispersed camping, and there’s no toilet.

This morning, it was in the mid-40s and raining. Scattered goddamned thunderstorms all day. So, I was holding my shit, brown dog barking at my back door, waiting for a break in the rain. Then it came. The break, I mean.

Out I went, back into the bushes behind a hill, and dug a cathole. I used my minipick to dig a 6”-deep hole through the rocky soil.

That done, I take off my shorts and undies, hanging them on a bush.

Things Go Bad to Worse

Just as I’m squatting, I feel the sprinkles. Ah, shit, I think to myself, I better fuckin’ hurry this up. Hope the toilet paper doesn’t get soaked.

The loaf starts a-comin’ out of the oven. As the first piece breaks off, I realize I’ve missed the hole. Fuck. But hey, at least it’s not on my shoe, right?! So I skootch forward a bit, and keep on blasting.

Naturally, it’s not coming out in clean, dry rabbit pellets. It’s big, squishy, and sticky. Note to self: Eat less fiber, more cheese.

Fully relieved, I grab a stick and scrape the off-target poop into the hole. A tiny bit somehow gets on my finger. Great.

I chuck the stick away and pull out my roll of TP. Working through the sticky mess, wad after wad, I get to white.

Finishing up, I clean my danglies with a baby wipe and start after my bungholio. As I’ve manifestoed before, keeping a clean ass is a top priority for vandwellers.

The Prison Nightmare Begins

Cleanup done, I’m just coming out of the squat to walk over and grab my undies and shorts off the bush. Then I hear the engine and look up

Cover of "All the Whores I Knowed Before" a book by Vanholio! For sale on Click through.Out of 3.4 million goddamned acres in Bridger-Teton, some dude finds his way up into my business! His truck is parked right up the hill from me in my full-moon glory! What to fucking do?

Well, weren't nothin' to do. I put on my clothes, carefully stash the used TP and baby wipes into a trash Ziplock, cover the hole, gather my items, and start walking to camp.

Man steps out of the truck but says nothing. Doesn't look down at me. Don’t know if he even saw me.

Not sure I care. I guess I’m not as weirded out as I’d think I’d be. Not the nightmare I expected.

I figure if he did catch site, it’ll give him the nightmare. Or a home fapping video in his brain. Either way, that’s his fucking problem.

And if he gets any ideas, Vanholio’s got a machete. I’ll be aimin’ low, too … Snickersnack!

But It's Fucking Worth It!!!

Click to Blow Up Bigger

Look at this photo and tell me that my crazy shit in the woods weren't worth it? I mean, how much would you have to pay for real estate like this?

Besides, in the last year of van life, this is only the fourth or fifth time I’ve had to make like a bear in the woods. Vault toilets are in most parks and forests these days. And on the road and in cities, I’ve always found a john in gas stations, coffee shops, and the like.

So, yeah, shitting in a cathole sucks. But it don’t come up that often none.

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Last Update: 5/18/2016

What Is Vandwelling?

Martin of Van Life Crisis does an excellent job of defining and describing vandwelling. I couldnta done it better myself.

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Last Update: 5/11/2016

Wolf Shit Found on the Keweenaw Peninsula

Large possible wolf scat next to credit card for size. Text says, "Wolf Shit by My Camp on the Keweenaw"

Camping on the Keweenaw Peninsula of Michigan, I found this old scat. Seems to be made up of deer hair. Could it be from a gray wolf?

I think it fucking could be! They got 'em up here, in spades. Whadda you think? Look at this gray wolf chart and tell me.

If it's not from a wolf, it's from one hell of a big coyote. For sure. And that don't give me comfort none.

I got Ms. Barkley and The Gimp keeping their doggy ears open. We don't want no trouble. 8o

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Last Update: 5/10/2016

Are the Pasties All That's Fresh!?

What a weird goddamned way to promote your strip club!? I hope the pasties aren't all that's fresh! Just sayin' ...

Haha! Fooled ya! No, this is a sign for a roadside place selling Cornish pasties (PAAS-teez). Saw it yesterday in Michigan's Upper Peninsula.

Pasties are a meal in a turnover originating in Cornwall, UK. The UP is big mining country, and shitloads of Cornish miners emigrated there a long time ago. Pasty love is their legacy.

In Michigan, they usually fill pasties with chopped beef, potato, carrots, onion, and rutabaga. Kinda like a hash. If you don't want to eat it plain, they'll give you ketchup or gravy.

In Vanholio's experience, most cultures have something like a pasty, lunch you can carry in your pocket. The Latin Americans have empanadas. The Chinese have pork dumplings. The Indians and Pakis have samosas.

I ate that pasty in the photo by the way. And that's why I'm a fatass.

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Last Update: 5/08/2016

Fresh, Fried Trout Cures Fish Phobia!

How did Michigan's Upper Peninsula fishermen undo my lifelong fish hatred? Let me tell you how they learned this vandweller that pan-fried brook trout rocks ...

But first, let me tell you how my fish-eating phobia got started.

When Vanholio was a little boy, the other kids in preschool scared the fucking snot out of him by telling him about "Jaws," the movie. It scared our little hero so much that, according to Mama Vanholio, he refused to eat tuna, go to the shore, or even take a bath ... just in case a shark swam up the drain pipe. He lost his taste for fish along the way.

(Vanholio *is* a fan of eating "fish tacos." Only when fresh.)

Vanholio was so terrorized, even as an adult, he'd freak and get out of the water if he even saw fish swimming too close to him. That's in fresh water. You can imagine at the seashore! Pathetic. Who knew our hero was such a pussy?! How can he brave living in a van, down by the river?

As far as *eating* fish, he'd try it now and then. Long John Silver's deep fried and salted fish was OK at times. He even got back to canned tuna, with lots of mayo and onion. But if it tasted the least bit fishy, forget it. Fuck salmon!

Sad, sad Vanholio was missing out on life's pleasures. ...

Then a few days ago, I pulled into a campsite by a small, black river here in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. I got to know a quad of four retired guys up here trout fishing for the week. They invited me for dinner: Fresh, fried trout. I didn't want to refuse, figured I'd just choke the shit down and smile.
There was fresh beer in the deal, after all!

But what the hell do you know?! That damned fish, fresh from the river and fried up with a salty, spicy cornmeal coating is pretty good! Vanholio ate three bigguns! And let me tell you, the crispy, baconey tails are the best fucking part!

Now, if I can only muster the courage to swim with them trout, I might become a van living man after all ... Or else, they might bite off my penis, thinking it's a worm. But that's a whole other phobia ...

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