Guerrilla Parking in PDX

We’re up in Portland, the land of the earth-tone hoodies. It’s incredible up here. The people smile and say “hello” on the streets, trees intermingle with the city buildings, musicians talk to each other without pretension, bouncers are polite, and the beer is AWESOME!!! Another nice feature of the town: No cops knocking on the RV door for the 6:00 am skidaddle.

In an area where we don’t yet have somewhere to roost, we need to rely on the kindness and understanding of strangers to allow us to park on their street in front of their house. We understand. No one wants to grab their morning cup of coffee and Wednesday paper, sit down at their breakfast nook, look out the window and see the view normally reserved for backpacked children playing and laughing on the morning haul to school occupied by a giant, sloppy redneck-mobile. Much less, OUR particularly sloppy redneck-mobile. For our part, we respect the residents by not running the generator and keeping potential nuisances, like rehearsing, in the parking lots or other open areas. And we never stay in front of the same house for more than one night, unless otherwise invited.

Most times, we get one or more local law enforcement representatives knocking on the door at an inconvenient hour (considering our schedules) and telling us to move along. Even then, once they find out what we’re doing, they tend to be pretty cool and even offer suggestions on places where we are less likely to be hassled. That being said, we’ve spent two nights in Portland thus far, both on fairly nice residential neighborhoods in front of people’s houses without a single police officer or even a single dirty look. It’s as though this town understands and empathizes with our plight. So far, we’ve felt a quiet brotherhood emanating from the soul of the city. Our opinion may change, but for now, this town is wonderful.