Richard Dean heaved his bike and trailer across the bridge, away from the city, and followed a dirt track through scrub until reaching a patch of shaded riverbank.
It was approaching 100F (37C) but Dean, sweating and panting, was upbeat. “This is a good workout. And we have the best air-conditioning in the world. It’s called the American river.”
The wiry 50-year-old unleashed his dog, Shunka, extracted a foldable chair from the cart and settled in for a serene afternoon under pecan and dogwood trees. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was home.
Dean, who goes by the nickname Syphy, is part of a largely invisible homeless population camped by the reeds and bushes lining the American river just outside Sacramento, California’s capital. They come for the seclusion and opportunity to live on their own terms. Full story...
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It was approaching 100F (37C) but Dean, sweating and panting, was upbeat. “This is a good workout. And we have the best air-conditioning in the world. It’s called the American river.”
The wiry 50-year-old unleashed his dog, Shunka, extracted a foldable chair from the cart and settled in for a serene afternoon under pecan and dogwood trees. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was home.
Dean, who goes by the nickname Syphy, is part of a largely invisible homeless population camped by the reeds and bushes lining the American river just outside Sacramento, California’s capital. They come for the seclusion and opportunity to live on their own terms. Full story...
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