Almost Left

I almost left one night. No warning. No planning. No preparation.

It was about a year ago. I had loaded my pack down with camping gear and hit the track, walking the lanes and climbing the bleachers until my legs burned. I was training for a backpacking trip. On my way home I was caught by a slow moving train. Sitting in my truck, watching the train cars roll by, I couldn't help but wonder where that train was going.

My pack was right there, loaded with gear, water, and even food. I had enough to last a week without setting foot in town. And there was the train, slow and easily accessible. In my truck's visor was over a thousand dollars. I had cashed some checks and hadn't paid bills yet.

When I say that I almost left one night, I don't mean that I looked at that train and considered hopping it. I mean that my pack was on my shoulders and I was standing in front of my truck, about to scribble a note to my parents. The keys were under the seat and the engine was off. I was about to hop a train. I wasn't sure where I would end up or how long I would be gone, only that I wouldn't come back until I had to. I would be gone as long as I had money and clothes and food.

I've always been afflicted with a wanderlust. It's an illness that cannot be cured. I have the hardest time turning around when I'm exploring. It's usually hunger or dehydration that brings me back.

Standing in the darkness beside that rolling train, I made the decision that I would leave, but not quite yet. I would be prepared. Properly prepared. I would have the funds to make the trip last much, much longer. I would do it right. And I would be conditioned to deal with whatever the adventure threw at me.

I'm almost there now. I've lost weight. I know how to eat cheap. I'm better in the woods now than ever before. I'm only $278 short on my $3,000 goal and I have most of the gear that I need. I'll be ready in September. And after the 15th, I dare a train to roll by as slowly as that last one did.

What Am I Taking?

If I could, I'd do the entire trip with a daypack containing only a tarp, jacket, snacks, 2 bottles of water, a knife and a first aid kit but I'm something of a realist and I also have the worst luck for any human being on Earth. This realization and the desire to not die (or at least not die from anything stupid) has driven my equipment list up quite a bit.

A 4200 cubic inch internal framepack will carry everything I need.
3 Changes of clothes
1 Hooded Jacket
Leather Outback Adventure Hat
Beanie
Lots of Socks
Three 1-Liter Bottles of Water
Homemade Alcohol Stove
Bottle of Rubbing Alcohol
Lightweight Pot (made from large ravioli can)
2 cigarette lighters
Leatherman Multi-Tool (Skeletool)
LED Flashlight
Small Mirror
Razor
1 set of Utensils
Large Knife
Water Purification Tablets
First Aid Kit
Sleeping Bag
Solo Tent
Bar of Soap
Toothbrush
Toothpaste
Bag of Rice
Assorted Foodstuffs
Peanut Butter
Crackers
Summer Sausage
Bandana


I will not be bringing a compass, as I own 4 and have yet to use one... ever. I do not get lost in the woods, hills, fields or rocky regions and even if I can't 'just feel' which way north is, I can always orient myself by the sun or the stars. My toothbrush doesn't have a handle because it's extra weight. Much of what I'll be toting will be peared down to save on weight/bulk. Many items will serve multiple purposes. Like the Bandana which is also a sweat rag, wash cloth, pot holder and tournequit. The Multi-Tool comes with tweezers and scissors which I'll be using to trim my unruly beard. It's also my main knife. My jacket is waterproof, so it's also a rain coat and a dry place to sit when the ground is wet. My backpack will likewise be waterproof, eliminating the need for a pack cover on rainy days. The rubbing alcohol is for first aid purposes and it's also my cooking fuel.

All in all, I should only be carrying about 30-35 lbs. Along the way I'll probably discover that I don't need all of what I'm carrying. My load may get lighter over time.

A New Outlook on Life

Time is the only non-renewable resource. There will one day be more oil. In a million years there will be more coal. But we will never has as much time as we do right now and it's vanishing at a constant rate, regardless of how much of it we use.

We live overly complicated lives and somehow we have accepted this as being the only way to live. Wake up. Work. Eat. Wash. Sleep. Repeat. We buy expensive fast food because we don't have time to cook, and yet it takes an hour of work to pay for that meal that we could cook in 15 minutes.

Our jobs do not support our lifestyle. Our lifestyle is designed to support our jobs. We have a home and transportation and clothes that are all fitting for our careers. We're tied to our place of employment like a dog on a chain. We can only get so far before we have to come right back. Everything we do is for the sake of job security and the job rewards this with 2 weeks of vacation time a year. 50 weeks of servitude for 2 weeks of freedom. And then, after that little vacation, we've spent the money we saved and it's back to the job for another 50 weeks.

We have walls of DVD's but nothing to watch. We have 200 channels but end up staring at commercials or turning off the television. We buy 5 acres of land and then complain about how long it takes to mow the grass. Our pantries hold enough food to feed us for a month, and yet we go out for pizza because we're too exhausted to put something together. We need new furniture even though there's nothing particularly wrong with the old furniture. And if a car hit's 75,000 miles we are long overdue for another.

We spend and spend and spend, but at the end of the year we don't own anything more than we did a year ago, or five years ago. We make $14,000 a year, then $18,000, then $25,000 and then $50,000. But we're still broke. We have everything we say we wanted, but we're still not happy.

So we say we need a vacation. Then we see a bunch of sights, always rushing to get to the next attraction, always rushing to be somewhere else, and never actually seeing what we're looking at. Then we get home, exhausted, and never look at the 400 photos we took with a $700 digital camera. Then we go back to work for a year. Repeat as desired.

We'll spend $20 on wrapping paper, $50 on sunglasses, $75 on a pair of jeans and $300 on a jacket. We're trading time for money for items we don't need.

A few months ago I spent $23 on food at Wal-Mart. I bought the cheapest things that could create balanced meals and decided to eat only what I had purchased with that $23 until I ran out of food. I ate breakfast, lunch, a snack and supper from the contents of those bags and I ate well. None of my meals took more than 5 minutes to prepare and none of them required anything more complicated than heating water in the microwave. I never used a pot and I never ate out.

The food lasted a month.

I can't spend my entire life working with the hopes that one day I can retire and then start traveling when I'm 65. I can't pay hundreds of dollars a month on rent or mortgage, and I can't spend $250 a month on gas just to support a work habit. I can't pay more for 3 meals than I do for a month's supply of food.

Finding Peace

A few weeks ago I took a trip to Kisatchie forest looking for a break from the stressful 'civilized' life. I parked my truck at one of the many access points to the Wild Azalea Trail and started walking. After less then 2 miles, I left the trail behind and ventured into the forest. I didn't use a compass or a map, just aimless wandering in the woods until I found a secluded spot near a stream. I dropped my pack and walked around a bit, checking out the area. After walking nearly a hundred yards in every direction, I still could not see a single man-made object. There were no gum wrappers or cigarette butts. There were no beer cans or even charred marks where someone had once made a fire. I couldn't find curious piles of sticks or even cut branches where someone had fashioned a walking stick or gathered firewood. There was no sign that a human had ever been to my little place.

I went there looking for a break. What I found was a little piece of paradise.

Are The Goals Our Own

We work toward goals that are not our own. The new car that is only needed because the commercial says we must trade in the "old" one after three years. The house that has to be a little bigger than the neighbor's, even though only two people will live in it. The guitar that we only know four chords for so that we can brag about "playing".
We tie ourselves down with notes and mortgages and credit card debt and insurance plans and service contracts. And when we dream of travel, it becomes just that; a dream. We have 19 more months on the cell phone contract, 9 more months on the insurance, 62 payments on the credit cards and 28 years on the mortgage. And despite shoveling out thousands of dollars each month for years, we don't own anything.
If we stick with it long enough, we'll own the car for six months before trading it in for the yoke of another note.
We fight and bleed and sacrifice and die for our freedom only to willingly throw it away as we shackle ourselves to decades of a career that we're sure we can't live without but we're not sure why.


From all your herds, a cup or two of milk,
From all your granaries, a loaf of bread,
In all your palace, only half a bed,
Can man use more? And do you own the rest?
~Ancient Sanskrit Poem

Random Thoughts

I'm tired of the hum-drum of "civilized" life. There's so much noise. So much chaos. So many responsibilities to chores that do not matter. The greatest emphasis is placed on the most trivial of activities. Everything is loud and everyone is in a rush to be someplace else. We're constantly traveling but never arriving, and at the end of the day we just collapse from the exhaustion of doing nothing.
Time is being stolen at an alarming rate and everyone seems content with it. When asked "what's going on?" everyone replies with the same answer. "Same old shit, different day". How pathetic we are that we allow our lives to pass us by and the most exciting thing we can recount is that we did the same thing today as we did yesterday.

"Why should we live with such hurry and waste of life?"
~Thoreau

Long Nights