Richard Nelson, the knife salesman who arrived in Point Reyes Station each year as reliably as the summer solstice, died of an apparent heart attack last month while making his annual pilgrimage to West Marin. He was 72 years old. Come May or June, Mr. Nelson would set up shop next to the vacant lot at the corner of B Street and Highway 1, where he parked his Chevy Silverado and an R.V. full of merchandise and knife-sharpening equipment. He died on May 15 in Fernley, Nev., after visiting his mother while en route to Point Reyes Station. His truck had broken down, and his body was discovered in his trailer. Mr. Nelson was born on March 23, 1953, in Chula Vista, Calif., and spent part of his youth on Point Reyes, where his father worked as a ranch hand on the Nunes ranch. He attended West Marin School until his family moved to Petaluma. Though he owned property in Kern County, he spent much of his adult life on the road, selling hunting knives, chef’s knives, hatchets and an array of other blades, including medieval-style swords popular with fantasy buffs. He specialized in steel-forged Damascus knives, which he sold at gun shows and flea markets in California, Nevada and Arizona before heading north to Point Reyes Station each year when temperatures started heating up down south. Family members, including his daughter Jenn Rose Nelson, who lives in Rohnert Park, tried to persuade him to settle down, but the road kept calling. “Holding on to him is like holding on to water,” Ms. Nelson said. “He was just a rolling stone kind of guy. He was really good at sales, and he was very good at bringing in a crowd.” Mr. Nelson had an easy way about him that endeared him to customers. “I had contacted him not long ago and told him that all our dull knives and scissors missed him,” said Jeri Jacobson, a local customer. “He was a really nice guy.” He never saw her text message, which arrived two weeks after his death. Mr. Nelson was proud of his Crow Indian heritage. He excelled at making dreamcatchers, stitching together leather, beads and feathers into the protective talismans that are a symbol of Native American unity. (One of his uncles, Jim “Big Bear” King, was a well-known Indigenous activist who once walked from Napa to Sacramento to present a pile of broken treaties to then-Gov. Edmund G. Brown Jr.) About a half year before his death, Mr. Nelson struck up a romance with Susan Beckman, who met him during his travels. “He needed a helper, and I offered to help him. His motto was, ‘The road is my father,’” Ms. Beckman said. “I loved helping him set up.” They made each other laugh, and he serenaded her with songs he conceived on the spot. “He had a nice singing voice,” she said. “He would sing to me and his dog, Lilly.” Mr. Nelson shared his love of music with his grandson Sabastian King, who saw his grandfather during his regular visits to Petaluma. “I’m a singer-songwriter, and he’s a big reason why I make music,” Mr. King said. “He loved the Eagles to pieces, and he loved Creedence Clearwater Revival.” Mr. Nelson’s favorite song was “Lodi”—a fitting choice for a man who spent so much time crisscrossing the roads of the Central Valley in search of his fortune.