A New Toy

One of the things I needed for my trip was a good, sturdy knife. I didn't want just any old fixed-blade cutting tool, but something with a little heft, a durable blade, and a lot of character. If I have to build a shelter in the woods, I wanted something capable of chopping through saplings without much trouble. I wanted a knife that could take the kind of abuse I'm going to dish out. I also wanted something I could defend myself with in case some lunatic decides to mug me.

Fortunately for me, I have a wicked-awesome girlfriend who also likes blades and thinks that custom birthday presents are the coolest things ever. Just before sitting down for breakfast this morning, she comes into the kitchen and places in my hand a gift, wrapped in what appeared to be butcher's paper with strange quotes printed on it, such as "Aayo Ghurkali" (the Ghurka's war cry 'The Ghurkas are upon you').

From this sinister bundle I pulled a custom made khukuri, a curved knife that's a cross between a skinning blade, a machete and a hatchet. It's designed to slice, chop, pry and the back of the blade even serves as a hammer. I've used a cheap one before, and though it was small and flimsy, it chopped like a machete. But this blade that I held at the breakfast table was no cheap, flimsy knife. This was a sturdy, menacing cutting tool.

The khukuri (at least the ones from khukuri house) are individually hand crafted, forged from the leaf springs from old trucks. The sheath, a green leather thing with a belt loop, is made from buffalo hide. Both the khukuri and the sheath are built to last, as is evident from their appearance and sturdiness.

The handle, a rosewood replacement for the unavailable buffalo horn, is thick and comfortable in my hand. It's been expertly shaped and feels like it belongs in my grasp. The tool looks primitive, and it is. It's a design that has been unchanged for hundreds of years. It's a farmer's tool and a hunter's tool. It's for expedition and defense. It has character and class, and in the hills of Nepal, some barefoot blacksmith is already at work on another one. It has a history already, and it has a future. Soon it will accompany me on an adventure.

F.A.Q.

Frequently Asked Questions


I've been getting tons of questions so I figured I'd post an FAQ blog to answer the most common and a few of the more bizarre.

Where are you going?
I don't know. When I leave my house in Sulphur, LA, I'm not sure yet if I'll turn left or right. I'm going to aim East, but would not be surprised if I end up in Oregon. The only destination that's set in stone is home. My trip will finish right where it started, but I'm not sure where I'll go while traveling. I guess it's wherever the road takes me.

Why are you doing this?
Simply because I want to. I feel the need to explore for a prolonged period of time and see what I can see. There's no deeper meaning, there's no religious significance, I'm not running from the law (I've been asked that one before), and I'm not terminally ill (I was asked that one also). I just want to do it and have wanted to for nearly a decade.

What will you do for food?
There are towns out there and in those towns are grocery stores. I've seen them. I've even been in a few. I'll purchase food as needed.

How long will you be gone?
If my math is correct (I'm terrible at math, so it's probably wrong), my trip should last roughly 1 year. That's what I've budgeted for. If I see what I need to see and feel the urge to come home earlier, then that's what will happen. If the trip runs long, it will run long. I don't have any reservations at hotels, so my plans can be quite fluid. I can go wherever I want, whenever I want.

How will you live?
Like a vagrant, I guess. I've found that sleeping under overpasses is quite comfortable (even during major hurricanes) and camping in the woods is fun and relaxing. I'll do a lot of that. I won't have a schedule except for the schedule my body sets. I'll eat when I'm hungry and sleep when I'm tired. I'll wake up when I'm rested and stop walking when I need a break.

Are you taking anyone with you?
No. This is a solo trip for me and me alone. Period. I'm leaving everyone and everything behind save for what can be carried comfortably on my back. Having someone walking with me would influence my decisions and alter my course.

You'll have your cell phone, right?
No I will not. I'm only taking three electronic devices: a cheap watch, a flashlight, and a small digital camera with a battery charger. The watch is solely for me to be able to check the date before writing in a journal. I probably won't even adjust it when crossing time zones. I don't want to be in constant communication and I'm not going to add an extra expense to the trip.

What about a GPS?
No GPS. No iPhone. No navigational gear. I'm going to explore the country by exploring it for myself. I'm not going to look up destinations in advance and chart a course a hundred miles in advance. I'm not even taking a map. If I hear about something interesting in an area, I'll get directions then.

What if you get lost?
In town, I'll ask for directions to the nearest grocery store so I can get food. Then I'll find train tracks and hike out. If I'm in the wilderness, I'm not lost. I don't get lost in the woods. Never have.

But what if you do?
You can't really be lost in the woods. Not in North America and especially not in the eastern half of the country. If you walk in one direction, you'll find a road and that will lead to something. Unfortunately there aren't many wild places anymore. I won't get lost in the woods.

Don't you have a girlfriend? How can you leave her?
Painfully. This trip is the most important thing in my life right now and if I didn't go, for any reason, it would be the worst betrayal of myself possible. I have to go and unfortunately that means that I have to leave certain people behind that I'd rather not, but that's the way life is sometimes. Each step I take will be one more step away from the people I care about and that will be the most difficult thing about this trip.

When are you coming back?
I should arrive back in Sulphur in the fall of 2010, but so much of the trip will be uncertain to even me until it happens, that I can't predict an exact arrival date. I guess I'll be back when I'm back.

Are you going to write about the trip?
I'm going to keep a journal of my travels and occasionally find a way to get online and post an update. Once I return, I will indeed write a book about my walkabout adventure.

What if you die?
Uh, I'll be dead. If I die, either by foolish accident or by malicious intent, it will be easy for the authorities to identify my body and contact my family. My Social Security Number is tattooed on my left hip below the waist line in big, bold print. I won't be a John Doe. If I die and find out about the light at the end of a tunnel or anything else pertaining to the afterlife, I'll be sure to post a blog about it and I'll include a spoiler warning.

I'm About to Die

Apparently imminent death is the only thing that justifies long-term travel. Yesterday, while looking at maps of Louisiana, Mississippi and Tennessee, someone asked what I was doing. When I told her about my trip she asked "did you find out you're about to die?"

How can people be so caught up in the mundane tasks of daily life that they can't imagine taking some time out to explore? In fact, most people I've talked to can't even comprehend the idea of exploration. They ask me what there is to explore. Perhaps they've seen the entire world and assume that I have also. Unfortunately, that's not the case. I have seen very little of the world and I believe that the people who can't comprehend my desire to explore will see far less than I will.

It's difficult to explain my motives to these people. They ask where I'm going and I tell them that I'll go wherever the road takes me. Then they ask "why?" I feel like I'm trying to explain the color of the sky to a blind man, and in a sense, that's exactly what I'm doing. To some people the idea of doing something unpredictable and adventuresome is so alien that it doesn't compute. Sort of like Calculus.

When the girl asked if I was about to die, my reply was quick and to the point. "Why would I wait until I am about to die to start living?" She said that she'll travel... one day. Maybe.

I doubt she ever will.

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.