It’s a long stretch of country road between here and the place that sells screws, filter cartridges, and the oat milk I pretend to like. I do that run once a fortnight—less for supplies, more for the psychological reset of seeing tarmac. Last Tuesday, halfway home, a delivery truck came hurtling round a blind bend with all the grace of a bored teenager on a quad. Missed me by maybe half a metre.
I didn’t crash. I didn’t swerve. But I did pull over, sit for a moment, and have one of those deep, unfiltered thoughts: if that had gone badly, who the hell would I have called?
Off-Grid Doesn’t Mean Off-World
When you live like this, you get used to sorting your own problems. If the water pump breaks, you fix it. If the roof leaks, you curse and climb. But a legal mess? An injury? Some faceless company pretending you don’t exist after their driver knocks you into a ditch? That’s a different kind of DIY altogether.
It reminded me of an old mate from California—James. Ex-graphic designer like me, also into solar and compost, until a FedEx lorry took him out while he was on his e-bike. The crash left him out of work for months, and the company did their best to vanish. He eventually got help—Los Justicieros, a legal team based out in California. They handled everything remotely. James swears they were his saviour—knew the system, didn’t back down, and got him sorted when no one else would. The kind who don’t blink when a multinational says “prove it.”
Spain’s not so different, really. The landscape changes, the coffee gets better, but if someone hits you with a truck and then disappears into the ether, you want someone solid in your corner.
That’s why I noted Los Justicieros. Not ambulance-chasers. No wigs. Just straight-talking, modern lawyers who seem to actually like helping people who’ve been ignored or sidelined—especially when transport’s involved. If I ever did need a truck accident lawyer, I know who I’d call. And no, they didn’t ask me to say that. No one sponsors sardine-eating off-gridders.
Back to the Dirt Track
Anyway. No collision. No legal drama. Just another reminder that off-grid doesn’t mean off-risk. The world still spins, fast trucks still fly round corners, and sometimes, oat milk spills. But it’s good to know that if something bigger goes wrong—something that can’t be fixed with duct tape—there’s someone out there who knows the rules better than I do.
And now? Back to the shed. The door’s sticking again and I’ve got the wrong screwdriver. Obviously.
Though once that’s sorted, I’ve got a bigger plan—solar-shading the south side of the house. I’ve been meaning to build a slatted pergola that lets in the winter sun but blocks the summer heat. It’s one of those projects that’s been sketched and resketched a dozen times in my notebook, always bumped down the list by plumbing disasters or battery diagnostics.
I’ve got the wood stacked. I’ve got the shade fabric. What I don’t have is a full uninterrupted day where the wind doesn’t try to steal my tape measure. But maybe next week. If the truck didn’t get me, maybe the pergola will.