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Listen to Lloyd on Tangentially Speaking Podcast with Chris Ryan

We recently had Dr. Chris Ryan over to record an episode of Chris’ podcast Tangentially Speaking. Click the iTunes link below to hear Lloyd discuss his life, what got him into building, publishing books, and what’s up next for Shelter Publications.

Chris Ryan is an author, podcaster, world traveler, and an all-around amazing guy. Check out his bestselling book Sex at Dawn; look for his next book coming out next year called Civilized to Death.

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Lost Coast Backpack Trip (continued)

There are 2 stretches of coast, each 3-4 miles long that are “inaccessible at high tide.” You are warned that you can die if get caught there. Well, uh, OK.

To begin with, it was harder going than I thought. My pack was really heavy. There was a rock slide upon entering the first part of the northern no-fly high tide zone that had to be clambered over. I hadn’t brought rain gear, either for me or the backpack, because the weather report had said no rain…well, 20% chance of rain the first day … and it started raining. Shit, if it poured I’d be screwed.

I found an opening in the rocks and prepared to duck under when the raindrops stopped. Yo!

Onward, or … upward. I had a moment climbing over the rock slide; I slipped, almost fell backward, and got a shot of adrenaline. I occurred to me if I fell and got hurt, I’d be screwed. No way to get word to the outside world. What had I got myself into? And yeah, grudgingly, being 80+ has taken its toll in strength and agility. In my mind I’m still 18, but that just ain’t the reality with an aging body. The kids that passed me that day seemed so strong and bouncy. God, I used to be like that.

I was a bit spooked, got to the end of the tidal zone and felt too tired to make it around the final point.

I found a ledge above the water, pitched my tent on the rocky ground, hoping I’d be above the high tide that night (I was), spent a restless night. Had to wait a few hours in the morning for the tide to drop so I could get around the point. 5½ hours hiking the 1st day.

After about 3 hours the 2nd day, I basically flat-lined. I was depressed, wiped out, thinking of all the things that could go wrong.

The wind was blowing, sun glaring, I felt almost dizzy, so stopped at Big Creek, a wide canyon with 15′-wide creek, pitched my tent, which took 45 minutes in howling wind, climbed inside and slept for an hour.

When I woke up, two women from Auburn, maybe in their 40s, had pitched their tents 100′ away and we visited. Renee told me she’d had 10 herniated discs, a back operation, and several pieces of titanium implanted and that it had taken her 10 years to recover, and one leg was shorter than the other. And here she was, on this incredibly tough hike. Shit, what kind of wimp was I? This was inspiration.

That night we sat around their campfire and her pal Pica pulled out a plastic lightweight ukulele and sang songs in a quiet sweet voice. Did I play the ukulele. Well, uh yeah-uh, songs from the ’20s, and I played “Five Foot Two,” “Ain’t She Sweet,” and “Jada.” Fun.

I got several hours of good sleep that night, woke up. I’m gonna make it! I lightened my load by burying a pair of running shoes, some extra food, and a spiral notebook in the sand and set off feeling lighter and inspired the next morning.

It’s Saturday morning, I’m at Trinks in Gualala, with a double latte and piece of berry pie with whipped cream for pre-breakfast, now going to get bacon and eggs. I can’t get enough food after the trip; listening to the Georgia Satellites sing “Keep Your Hands To Yourself”:

Rock and roll!

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The Lost Coast Beach Walk (part 1)

Just back, now in Gualala. Exhausted. 25 miles of hiking in soft sand and boulder-hopping and high-tide dodging. It was the adventure of my life. On the second day, wasn’t sure I’d make it, but got a rest and pushed through for 8½ hours yesterday. Utterly wild, raw, tough terrain. If something goes wrong out there, there’s now way to get help. I’m so proud.

Had steak, 2 pints IPA at the just-opened brewery in Shelter Cove last night to celebrate, the Big Boy breakfast this morning in Trink’s, my body restocking on depleted reserves. Boy, is it great to be ravenous and burning up whatever food is consumed.

Shot pics of lots of beach shacks.

Sea lions were unexpected: maybe 75 of them snoozing on the sand near the abandoned Punta Gorda lighthouse, hardly mindful of humanoid in their midst.

Will write more soon…

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Driftwood Shacks: Anonymous Architecture Along the Northern California Coast Is Available

We just completed my latest book, Driftwood Shacks: Anonymous Architecture Along the Northern California Coast (82 pages, 8½″× 8½″). It’s the first in a series of short-run, digitally printed small books. This is a way for me to publish some not-ready-for-prime-time books, ones that we may just sell via mail order.

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My America

trips

On a trip to Nevada, Utah, and Arizona in 1989

This political nightmare we’ve been going through for some months now may have led me to choosing the subject for my next book.

I’ve been trying to figure out what to do after Small Homes:

  • 50 Years of Natural Building
  • A book on my trips
  • A book on barns

Some kind of context for the 10,000+ photos I’ve taken over the years.

The idea about a book on the U.S.A. popped into my head a few days ago. This would be my version of America. It would start with me riding the rails and hitchhiking from San Francisco to New York in 1965, along with a copy of Ouspensky’s In Search of the Miraculous — seeking enlightenment, if you will, trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life — as the cultural revolution of the ’60s–’70s unfolded. (Upon return a month later, I quit my job as an insurance broker and went to work as a builder.)

I would show the America that I love, the people in every state who were kind and friendly and helpful, Pop’s Diner in Page, Arizona; pressmen at Courier Printing in Kendallville, Indiana; squirrel hunters in Tennessee; the waitress in an Oklahoma diner serving me coconut cream pie with coffee at 2:30 AM; farmers, surfers, skateboarders, lawyers, and bankers (yes — there are some good ones); book lovers, musicians, builders; makers…

This just may be the next book: the glass-half-full take on America.

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