Visitors to the woods surrounding China Hat Road may recognize Zachary “Zack” Polton’s yellow school bus through the trees that line the road to the east.

Polton has had the bus, which runs on propane, for more than three years. He bought it before he entered into a deal to buy a house from a friend in La Pine. That deal turned out to be an illusion, he said.

“I thought the owners were paying the mortgage on the house with the payments I was making to them,” Polton, 36, told FORJournalism. “But one day, people from the bank showed up and said, ‘Hey, what are you doing here? You gotta go, buddy.'”

That was a little over two years ago. With no money, and nowhere to go, Polton moved his trusty bus to the woods near China Hat Road.

“While everyone else was struggling, I thought I was thriving,” he said, remembering the feelings of elation at having bought a house amid the COVID pandemic, and the disappointment that followed the bank’s visit. “They had to drag me to eviction court three separate times because they kept losing. That was fortunate …

“Man, I’m glad I didn’t sell this bus,” he added, brushing his hand against the bus’s rear bumper, then slapping it with his palm.

The bus attracts visitors to the area, whether they’re advocates like Katie DeVito, of Deschutes County Behavioral Health, or U.S. Forest Service rangers seeking to notify campers of the upcoming sweep.
When those rangers descend upon the area on May 1, Polton will likely be among the first people they approach, because of his camp’s proximity to the road. That’s if he’s still hanging around. While some campers have found a soft landing spot,

Polton doesn’t know where he’ll go. But he has no interest in facing the potential of $5,000 fines and up to a year in jail.

Cyclical poverty

The rangers’ threat to penalize homeless people with fines and jail time is a driver of what’s called a poverty trap. Polton calls it a “struggle cycle.” Whichever word one uses, punishing homeless people for being homeless can lead to a vicious cycle of debt, unemployment and hopelessness that’s hard to escape.

Jail cells could await those who can’t afford to pay fines, and most of the campers fall into that category. Then, when they’re released, often on probation, they could be compelled to find work to avoid violating their probation and being returned to jail. But they’re just as often unable to drive to their jobs, because they don’t have a vehicle, or their driver’s licenses are suspended. That makes it harder to get to and from work and increases their chances of being fired, which ensures that they remain homeless. Without a valid mailing address, they have a harder time finding work. Stuck without a steady home, they could move to another encampment to await the same fate, the cycle continues.

The approach reminds Polton of his hometown, Cedar Rapids, Iowa, where a certain joke is uttered in the company of those who know.

“I got a flat tire while driving through Cedar Rapids,” he said, setting up the punchline. “Now, I’m on my third year of probation.”

Iowa’s a flyover state for a reason, Polton, the former welder and framer, added.

“Those cold Republican-run states are messed up,” he said. “There are almost no services to help if you fall down, so…

You’re lucky to get a meal and a kick in the ass on your way out.”

When he first moved to China Hat, he worked as a prep cook at the Broken Top Country Club, situated about 6.5 miles from his roadside camp. Polton said he picked his camp spot, which is about a quarter mile south of the Lost Tracks Golf Club, because he needed to quickly access the road to get to and from work.

He had a truck then, he said, but he didn’t have a valid driver’s license.

“My license was taken away years ago, in Iowa,” he said. “They profiled me, then pulled me over too many times out here.

They knew who I was, they knew I didn’t have a license, and they eventually towed my truck.”

Polton rode his bike to and from the country club for a while, but it wasn’t a sustainable routine.

“For those that don’t know, it’s damned hard to put in eight hours at work, while riding a bike for 13 miles every day,” he said.

The routine was wearing Polton down when an RV crowded him off the road while riding his bike.

“I went down and fractured some ribs and a vertebrae,” he said. “I lost my job after that, but I was too tired and in too much pain to be upset at that point.”

He rested and healed in his bus. Now, as he’s trying to get back on his feet, he said that being made to choose between moving and facing legal penalties feels unnecessarily cruel.

That’s what a poverty trap looks like.

Farther into the forest

The looming sweep won’t be the first time Polton’s been chased from a place he’d come to call home. He’s been in Oregon for more than six years. Before the La Pine snafu, he lived in his bus behind Miller Lumber, in downtown Bend. Before that, he lived in Eugene, where he was also put out after a friend moved on from a home they shared there.

But Polton said he’d rather look to the future than dwell on the past. He may have an apartment lined up through an affordable housing program, but he’s uncertain. In addition to the many things he’s collected, he’s also caring for a few dogs and people that have become family.

“We’re all rejects around here, the black sheep of society,” he said. “We make our own entertainment. I walk my dogs. I see all kinds of stuff going on. I meet people, lend them a hand if they need it. It’s not that different out here than the neighborhood over there.”

He’s referring to a subdivision to the east, where many of its sprawling homes cost more than a million dollars. A number of the neighborhood’s residents have complained about the growing ranks of campers living just across the road. Campers can see the subdivision’s homes through the trees; the subdivision’s residents can see the camps. Some believe that the complaints, rather than campers’ safety, are the primary reason campers are being forced out of the forest.

Whatever comes, Polton’s still got the bus.

“I’ve learned that selling it is a bad idea,” he said. “I’m gonna try my hardest to hold on to this sucker.”

“Especially when the president and his administration can just hit the ‘cancel’ button, and my apartment’s out the window,” he said, turning his gaze to the south. “If that apartment doesn’t pan out, I’ll probably move farther out into the forest.

Homelessness: Real Stories, Real Solutions (realstoriesrealsolutions.org) is a journalism lab funded by Central Oregon Health Council under FORJournalism (forjournalism.org), an Oregon nonprofit dedicated to supporting journalism statewide. Sign up for weekly newsletters to receive updates.