Well, the most effective solution might be to move to where it is warm, become a snowbird, or take a vacation. This isn’t an option for many. There are family considerations, work, goals, sense of home, or milder summer days. So here we are.
I live in Tucson, which has many naturist advantages, but still I like to mitigate my daily nature and naturist needs as best that I can. Some of these solutions may help you northern exposed folks.
We have found on the internet, a privately owned camp on Lake Travis, one mile from Hippie Hollow.
The other public camps are closed. One is in construction, being remodeled. If off season, there might be a private site on the lake, where we could be nude at least in stealth, but things are as they are. This one will have to do and it is convenient.
We make reservations with a friendly female voice on the phone. When we arrive we are greeted by a pleasant India guy’s accent.
The trees are also pleasant and grow taller here. It has a large field of grass, a lawn, that runs off out on a peninsula. There are more tent sites at the tip by the lake.
It is off season camping. We wouldn’t expect crowds. There are not wild kids having the time of their lives, just couples like us.
Mosquitoes are problems around the lake, but Windy Point is mosquito free in the evenings. That “Windy” in the name, also means that it has a gentle breeze that destabilizes the bugs.
After we establish our site, pitch tent and eat, we take a walk in the dark, after a mesmerizing sunset.
We have left Safebare to some family business. We’re heading northwest on the Interstate toward Austin Texas. The plan is to stay a couple of weekend days at Star Ranch. The intranet tells us that it is their 65th year celebration, so we’re expecting quite a party. When we call to reserve, we are told that the celebration is a ‘members only” function. There is no way to get in. We are cast adrift.
The next stop was to be Hippie Hollow at Lake Travis near Austin. The Star Ranch reception is helpful for directions through Austin and we head straight to as they say, “Heppy Wholer.”
We look out across a Lake Travis vista as we head down a steep incline to the gate.
The girl at the gate asks “You do know that this is a nude beach?”
We’re at Safebare’s home in NW Houston after a morning walk.
I’m conveniently nude all over, out front in Safebare’s driveway, organizing the car, gathering what I’ll need today.
I hear Safebare making noise with something metal out back, where I had heard his big pickup truck earlier. Looking through the gate, I see him wrestling with his metal canoe. The tailgate is down. I offer to help, as I open and close the tall wooden gate.
The process is easy. Each of us lifts a side of the canoe and slide it into the bed. We strap it down until we are confident that it will stay there.
We’re soon on our way to Somerville Lake. It is a dammed reservoir in the Texas countryside, somewhere out the Interstate towards Austin.
This next day is lazy. We gather ourselves for a visit to Galveston and ice-cream.
The staunch old iron and stone architecture is fun.
The old tall doors open to let the sea breeze in.
We have to beat rush hour through Houston to their northwest side. There is a neighborhood stealth walk and then a canoe trip to enjoy. The Houston freeway is hair raising. My fingers clench the wheel, ready at any instant to react to a brush with death.
The song “If I Can Just Get Off of this L.A. Freeway” comes to mind and won’t go away.
I suggest that DF put the song on the stereo, but she is too intensely busy watching the road and for the next exit to do the search.
The borderline greeting sign had said “Just Drive Friendly, the Texas Way.” It didn’t suggest driving “crazy.”
We’re on our way west, out of Baton Rouge, this morning. We’re going sailing!
Realizing that a drive across Texas is halfway across the continental USA, we decide to take a break at the tourist info center after crossing the border.
We put on clothing in the parking lot and walk around the back to the gateway and into chilling air-conditioning.
The big room is loaded with tall rows of brochures and maps. We’ll have a long drive and we’re looking for fun stops along the way. This is like a library.
We try out the restrooms, before having a machine eat my two futile attempts at a plastic bottle of Coca-Cola. When I inquire at the big desk manned by two ladies, which appear to have spent quite a bit of idyll time together, I am met with an astonished, “way-a-oh.” Texans often need to enunciate all vowels in every word, but these two presented authenticity by actually adding extra vowels to “wow.”
Genuine and friendly, that’s how I like my Texans.
Back in the day, two guys on extended fork choppers cruised across the west in the cult classic “Easy Rider.” If you haven’t seen the essential piece of sixties culture, you should. It’s out there. It’s fun.
I sit in in a Honda Civic packed to the gills, barefoot all over. I’ve been thinking Easy Rider. Maybe we’ve got a similar attitude, mission and unusual look about us. The two hip biker’s flair was of course bold and dramatically different from southern culture of the time. They were flaunting it. We’re looking pretty conventional from the outside of the car, just another pair of tourists. We’re on the same routes, but fifty years later. Maybe we aren’t rocking handcrafted motorcycles and leather clothes, but we’d probably get a similar reception in a small town, walking around without any flashy garb.
In “Easy Rider,” they packed a bedroll and seemed to never change out of the same leather clothes, traveling all across the warm southern USA. We are packed to the gills, as I have said, “ready for anything.” We like to sleep under the stars like them. We are both out to see America. We are both unconventional. Well, things change and they have.
We drive down through the length of Alabama, all the way to the coast. Lot’s of trees, lots of trees, lots of trees…
…We check into our motel in Gulfport, Mississippi and begin the quest for Cajun food. We picked the wrong day, everything is closed. There is a pizza buffet down the highway. It’s pretty good, but mostly the variety makes the fun.
In the evening, we decide to check out the harbor and know where we’re going in the morning. We find our tour boat occupied, rented out to a group of drunken college age girls. They are lighting up the quiet night, belting out off key karaoke and rock anthems as they toast and gyrate.
As the racket fades, the coastal lights on the water’s ripples, with its still, bring a peaceful ambiance, as we stroll arm in arm.
In the morning we’re taking this tour boat out to Ships Island and an unofficial nude beach.
We’re at a retreat in the northern part of Alabama.
I have been researching trails in the Talladega National Forest, but I figure that I need some firsthand experience with the area. Anecdotal testimony of locals has been telling me that once you get away from the main trails, you won’t see many people.
This is reported to be especially true for the Pinhoti Trail, a 170 miles escapade through wilderness, mountains and streams. Many people use it to warm up for the Appalachian Trail. There are busier links to it, but it is well maintained. Because of its length and personification as more of a backpacking trail, there are plenty of nude hiking sections. It goes through old growth forests, water features, and up to grand vistas.
We have had plans for a section of the Chinnabee Silent Trail. Most people travel the popular section, but we are planning to travel on the section across the highway, away from that and then the intersecting trail.