Wanderlust

Where am I going? That is the question that I am asked most and no one can comprehend the idea that I have no answer to that question. I am not walking for miles and miles every day to get to a destination. I have no destination, only a desire to explore and to see what is out there with my own eyes, on my own terms. I want to see the world for myself instead of traveling to a certain destination with a preconceived notion of what it should be like. There are no travel brochures for my trip and there is no itinerary. I do not want a package deal, all expenses paid. I want a raw adventure.

For me the destination matters so little that I don't even have one. I'm going east because I've never really traveled east before except for spending the weekend in Daytona while Hurricane Hannah was throwing a tantrum. I've been north as far as Missouri and west as far as New Mexico, but not really east. And even though I'm going to start walking east, I would not be surprised to find myself in Seattle or Portland.

The walkabout trip is for the purpose of satisfying my need to explore, to quench my wanderlust. If something looks or sounds interesting, I'll set off in that direction. If I find something more interesting along the way and detour, I will not feel bad. If I miss a thousand landmarks and fail to see a thousand sights, I will not be disappointed because I will have been doing exactly what I wanted at that time. I will do what is most important at that time. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And if I find myself in a place that no longer interests me, then I'll move on. Likewise, if the trip becomes a bore or I feel that my heart is no longer in it, I will turn around and go home, because that too will be the right decision at the time.


A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving.
~Lao Tzu

What I'm Leaving Behind

So I've listed what all I'm taking. Now I'll talk about what I'm leaving behind. Originally my departure was supposed to be simple. I was going to set out on my adventure with my pack and my dog. The two of us were going to explore as we had done numerous times before. But life has a way of changing the playbook without first consulting me.

First came the realization that I would be nearly overloaded with gear already and taking along even a 10 lb. bag of dogfood would be impossible. I couldn't find a way to tote the extra weight. Also, my dog (a black lab and basset hound mix) has short legs, making prolonged walks strenuous on him. More than just a few miles per day would be too much for him. I really enjoy adventuring with Rocco, the spastic little animal, but this adventure would be too much for him. Regretfully I had to make the decision to leave him behind. It breaks my heart to think about walking away from him, but I have to. I just wish that on the nights when I don't return home, that he would have a way of understanding why I left and that I would eventually return.

Next is my family and friends. A motley crew of random individuals that make up the group I enjoy associating with. Some think the idea of me going on such a trip is awesome. They wish me luck and ask how preparations are going. Some issue stern warnings of the dangers of the great outdoors or homeless people or serial killers that might make me their next victim. A couple have told me that spending that much time and money traveling and leaving my career for a year is a serious mistake. One I will come to regret later. These people, those who encourage and those who doubt, will be sorely missed when I'm abroad. My closest friends and certain family members have a way of brightening my day and turning any situation into the object of comedic relief. I will miss their amusing antics most of all while walking alone.

Last but certainly not least is my girlfriend. I enjoyed her company from the time we first met but we were both too wrapped up with writing projects to spend any real time together. Over the next year, we grew closer, but I had already made my decision to spend a year traveling. Starting a relationship made absolutely no sense at all. But decisions aren't always ours to make. The more I tried to avoid liking her, the more I found myself spending time with her until finally, a little over a year after we first met, I found myself dating again. Now, nearly six months into our relationship, I'm beginning to see my departure date looming on the horizon. Something that was previously an opportunity of hope and change, seems to be transfigured into something altogether worrisome. I knew I would have to make sacrifices to take this trip; I just didn't think this would be one I would have to make. I started a relationship that I knew would have an expiration date. It will be with a heavy heart indeed that I take those first steps in September.

So that is what I will be leaving behind. In addition to those individuals will be a couple boxes of personal items that I cannot replace. Everything else will be sold or donated or trashed.

"I Wish I Could Do That"

"I wish I had the balls to do that."

That's what a friend recently said when he heard about my trip. My jaw nearly hit the floor. When talking about having the nerve to do something, mustering the courage, there's no way this guy in particular should be looking up to me. He's a cage fighter. Seriously. He participates in Mixed Martial Arts fights. So how does he not have the balls to take an extended vacation?

The answer is simple. It's unconventional and unknown. Taking a trip is easy if we have reservations at a motel beforehand. If we know where we're going, getting there is easier. It's somehow safer. We know what to expect and we think we can prepare for it.

But if we are going on a trip where there is no destination, where we don't know beforehand where we will sleep each night or how far we will travel each day, then the entire ordeal is clouded in uncertainty. What will we eat. Where will we sleep? What if it rains? What if it gets hot? Cold? Hurricane? Lions and tigers and bears? Oh my!

The mind has a difficult time coming up with plans and solutions to deal with the endless possibilities for disaster and the trip suddenly seams impossible. But those millions of things that can go wrong don't always go wrong and they certainly don't all go wrong at once.

Sure, it'll start raining while I'm traveling. And I'll deal with that when it happens. If it gets cold, I'll deal with that also.

Why do we tell ourselves that we can't do something? Why do we tell ourselves that we shouldn't even try? Instead of making an attempt, we resign ourselves to inactivity for fear of the potential failure or shortcoming. And when it's all said and done, we have failed ourselves without even trying.

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.