An American Walkabout

As soon as I made it home, I cracked open the laptop and started typing. (Actually, I battled with my overexcited dog, kissed my girlfriend and ate some chicken... but you know what I mean) What was I typing? The beginning of my book 'An American Walkabout' which will chronicle my trip from the earliest thoughts and desires to take some random adventure to the minute I walked back through the door and dropped my heavy pack on the floor of the livingroom and everything in between.

I'm currently about 30,000 words in and have plenty more to type. It's going to take a while to finish this thing, but I'll get it done. This trip has taught me determination and I'm using that to plow through the events and thoughts and emotions that made up this journey. It's all going into the book. Every bit of it. Everything you read in this blog and plenty more will be in the manuscript. So if you want to hear more about my travels, I'll give you the opportunity. I'm putting it all down and I'm willing to share with you guys the story of my Walkabout and how it changed me.

If you want to read it, I'll give you a copy. And if you want to hear about it, offer me a cup of coffee and I'll sit with you for hours and tell you all about the trip. I'll even tell you about the two guys and the giant pumpkin in the photo with me.

62 Days

Two months, ten states, 44 towns and 43 rides ago I left on a trip that I figured would change me in some way. I had with me a mental list of goals to accomplish and places I wanted to visit. I calculated the walking time to get from one destination to another and figured that it would take at least nine months to do it all, a little more if I added goals along the way, less time if I was able to hitch hike. I started this journey under the assumption that hitching was virtually impossible. Everyone had told me that no one picks up hitchers anymore. It was a thing of the past.

That was then, and then I believed them.

Now, after hitching hundreds of miles in a single day, catching 4 rides in 5 hours and six rides in one day, I know that hitching is alive and well and quite common. All you need to hitch is traffic and a wide shoulder for someone to pull over.

What does this mean? This means that in 62 days I was able to cover more ground than I could have by walking for a year. It means I was able to move about with such freedom and speed that it surpassed even my wildest expectations. It means that I was able to scratch off all those destinations from my list in a matter of weeks.

But after visiting all the places I wanted to visit, seeing the Appalachian Mountains, Providence, Boston, Pennsylvania, virtually all of North Carolina, etc. I still had something I needed to do. All of the physical goals had been accomplished, but my trip couldn't end. There was still something missing. I still had that hole that needed to be filled.

While in Providence, I realized what it was that I was missing, what I needed to feel whole, and I couldn't turn back until I found it. Even though all other goals had been accomplished and then some, I still had some searching to do.

I spent a week in the Blue Ridge Mountains, completely isolated. I didn't see a single person for over seven days and during that time I had countless hours to reflect. I took a long, hard look at myself and my life and my future plans. I did a lot of meditating. Relaxing. Examination. I can't tell you what it was that I discovered there, during my time away from people, but I can tell you this: I found what I have been searching for for so very long.

Every person has a hole in them, a certain something that is missing. Some people find it when they're young. Some when they're old. Some search their entire lives. Some give up and accept a certain amount of emptiness as a part of their being. I was lucky enough to find what I was looking for in those mountains. Away from all human life, without being distracted by voices for a week, I could hear my own and it was crying out for one thing and there, in the valley that I called home for a time, I found what I needed. When I walked out of those mountains on November 9th, I was finally whole. I was no longer missing anything.

That's when I looked around and tried to figure out where to go next. I had no idea when I went into the mountains, but when I came out, I knew exactly where I needed to be and when I needed to get there. I had a challenge before me, but I was up for it.

I hitched west along I-40, but was blocked by a rockslide before reaching Tennessee. Then I had to deal with more bad weather coming out of Virginia after taking my detour. Asshole cops in Knoxville delayed me a bit, but I got around them, also. I had trouble hitching along I-59 South out of Tuscaloosa, Alabama, but after 5 hours I managed to get a lift from a great guy named Doug. Then finally, this very morning, I woke up in Slidell, LA at 6:30, looked at my watch and decided that I would be at my destination by lunch time. I decided that I would cross the state in under 6 hours.

At 6:45 I caught my 43rd ride from a trucker named George from Laredo. And at 10:40 AM, I got out of his truck and looked at my surroundings. I was familiar with the parking lot I was standing in. I recognized the smell of the air. I took it all in, shouldered the pack that I've been carrying for two months and started stamping the pavement once again.

I walked onward, along the path I've been traveling all along, heading toward the destination that's been before me since I stepped from my yard in September. I walked with the same determination and resolve that took me through the most difficult parts of my journey. Like the time I spent in Mobile when I felt like gutter trash, or walking aimlessly and lost after my travel journal had been stolen, or the most difficult steps of all, those taken after my cousin turned back and went home, when I was truly alone. I marched forward, following the sound of the road as it led me across town, through familiar neighborhoods until I was at last at my own front door.

Why did my trip, which I anticipated would take a year, only last two months? There was no set time. I said in the beginning that it would take as long as it takes. I had to look for something and I had things to do, and it only took a month and some change to do most of it. And once I found what I was looking for, something that changed me on a personal level, everything I set out to do was done.

I wasn't homesick. That feeling faded after my second week. Home was always the final destination. I was heading home the entire time, I just took the scenic route. When I walked through the door, I didn't feel regret for not spending more time on the road or seeing more states. Like all the places I visited, I was exactly where I needed to be at exactly the right time. I look back over the last two months and can't believe that it was only 62 days. It seems like forever ago that I slung that heavy pack over my shoulder and lit my cigar, stepping across the lawn with dozens of friends and family members cheering me on. I look at all the new friends I made along the way, Doug, Alex, Chris, Taylor, Samantha, Shamba, Rex, Mike, Maciek, Derek, Steve, Josh and all the others, too numerous to mention, and I wonder how I fit it all in in such a short amount of time.

I am home, and it's good to be back. It's been a great day today, and this trip has been nothing short of wicked-awesome (that's a technical term). It didn't take as long as I thought it would, but that's fine by me. It lasted as long as it needed to, not a day longer, nor was it a day too short.

Is this blog over? Not by a long shot. I have a million stories to tell about this trip and just because one adventure is finished, that doesn't mean that the Newanderthal is done adventuring. I have lots more to do and lots more to share.

So keep checking back.

Another Detour, Another Surprise

Hitching in the rain is nearly impossible. No one wants to stop, and if they do, it's usually not saf for them to make a sudden lane change and pull over, especially on the interstate. So after an entire day of standing in the rain, trying to hitch along I-40 West, I managed to land only two rides, taking me from Icard to Black Mountain, North Carolina. I wasn't far from Asheville and if I could get a break from the constant rain, I knew it wouldn't take long to hit Tennessee. But the day was late and with dark comes the realization that I must fnd shelter for the night for no one will pick up a hitcher when the sun drops. I explored the tiny town of Black Mountain and found that the only overpass had no concrete shelf on which to sleep. The terrain nearby was also uneven at best, and everything was saturated, including me. Without a truck stop where I could wash clothes, I had no way to get dry or stay dry, so I did the last thing I ever wanted to do on this trip. I sinned.

I got the cheapest room at the only inn I could find and washed all of my soiled clothes. And after nearly 8 full days in the mountains and several more on the road, that was all of them. I did my laundry and showered, my first bathing in 10 days. Then I went to sleep.

While ransacking the complimentary breakfast this morning, I overheard a conversation about he Blue Ridge Mountains and a fellow traveler with an Australian accent said that he had done some driving on the Blue Ridge Parkway. He talked about the scenery and I mentioned that I had recently done some camping there. I mentioned I was heading west on I-40 and that's when I learned that rockslide had covered the road west of there. My path was blocked. I decided to take a detour and started consulting my map. I had several options, but in the end, the decision was easy. Chris, the Aussie, told me he was heading up to Roanoke, VA and I could ride with him. From there I could get on I-81 South which runs almost parallel to I-40 West. I'd end up in Knoxville either way and I'd be able to add Virginia to my list of states. And then he says with his Austalian accent "So I just bought this car" and shows me his keys. I thought to myself "so this is the guy who owns that Aston Martin Vantage parked outside."

The ride was great. The sporty import gripped the slick roads of the Blue Ridge Parkway like a gecko, and we cruised along the scenic byway, enjoying the view and the agility of the car, despite the occasional fog and continuous rain. We rocked out to Red Hot Chili Peppers, Led Zeppelin and Metallica. But when we got on the parkway, Chris killed the music so we could enjoy the sound of the engine. It was purely a driving experience.

We rolled into Roanoke a little after dark and Chris pulled into Outback Steakhouse. What a fitting place to eat. A guy with an Australian hat on Walkabout and a true Aussie going there for dinner. We chowed down and Chris sprung for my meal, which was qute the generous gesture. Afer some tasty grub and a bit of relaxing he drove on to a Quality Inn. I told him I was more than willing to seek out the nearest overpass for a good night's sleep, but he was insistent on hooking me up with a room. I hesitantly accepted the offer.

I'm now staying in a very nice room and will get another nice breakfast tomorrow. I've anaged to get a shower two days in a row an tomorrow, the weather will be better and I'll be on on the interstate, hitching west.

I've added another state, another city, another great ride and another friend to my ever growing list.

Thanks Chris. This has been quite the pleasant detour. And thank you, oh gracious rockslide. I'll get around you soon, though. You cannot stop the Newanderthal.

Out of the Woods

It was last Monday when I stepped off of Highway 321 and marched into the Blue Ridge Mountains, and now, a week later, I stumbled out, limping slightly and more energized than ever.

I stayed in seclusion the entire time, not seeing a single person while out there, and yet I never felt lonely. I went to the most secluded place in North Carolina to NOT see people and I got just what I expected as far as that is concerned.

After a week of reflection and self-evaluation, I've made several decisions concerning myself, decisions that should change how I live the rest of my life. I came to realize that much of what I had done in the past was selfish and many other things only held me back. I can't live that way any longer and, now matter how difficult, I must make changes.

Parts of me, parts I didn't like, I intend to leave behind in those hills. Hopefully I can break certain habits and move forward in a more positive manner with my life. Hopefully, my time in the valleys of the Blue Ridge Mountains will have left a permanent mark on my soul.

It's a magical place, peaceful and quiet except in the late afternoon when the wind whips over the ridge and rushes down into the valley, roaring and flinging leaves in every direction. Simply beautiful. Deer and turkey can be seen every single day and if you sit still enough, they'll walk within feet of you, eating and exploring.

I built no fires while I was there, chopped down only one small tree to use as a crutch after straining a muscle, and left no trace that I have ever walked into that area... which is more than I can say for some people. I found a bulldozer trail in that valley. Ruin is coming to the most remote area of North Carolina. That magical place will soon be pocked with summer homes for the retirees of Florida and scarred with roads.

I don't plan to ever visit that place again. It was so beautiful and did so much good for me, I'd rather remember it as it is now, not how it will be in a year. Right now it's bruised. I won't visit that place once civilization has raped it.

I have a new destination in mind and mus move quickly. I've set new challenges for myself and I must see if I can meet them. Now I'm back to the Road.

On the Horizon

For the past several weeks I've been bouncing from one home to another, hanging out with all kinds of interesting people. I've joked around with Jazz musicians and lived in a tee pee. I've had moonshine at college football games and ate chicken feet in China town. I've met some of the nicest, most interesting people in the recent past and I wouldn't trade those experiences for the world. But now it's time for a different type of adventure.

Some of the most emotional times on this trip have come while traveling alone. I learn more about myself when there's no one else around and the spirit of travel can more freely work on me when no one else is around. The experiences are more real, more powerful, and more meaningful when I do not have to share them. Also, it's so much easier to understand what I need to do when I don't have the distractions of companions.

I haven't traveled like this in a while and I could feel that I was missing something and now it's time to get back to the solo experience. No more couch surfing. No more hanging out. No more new friends. Not for a while. And to kick off the next leg of the journey, I'm going to spend a lot of time alone.

The place the Road is taking me next is not near a road at all. I looked over maps of Tennessee, Kentucky, South Carolina and North Carolina and found the most remote location out of those four states... possibly the most remote location in the eastern portion of the country.

In the Blue Ridge Mountains, a place filled with clear streams and black bears, there is a spot that is at least 3 miles from the nearest road or house in any direction. The terrain is extremely rugged and walking to this spot from the nearest road will take several hours. I will not be able to see or hear anything manmade. I won't be bothered by people. I'll be completely and totally alone.

I'm not sure exactly how long I'll be there, drinking from streams, living in the mountains, exploring the wilderness and existing simply, but I'm going to be prepared to stay for 7 days without coming out, possibly more. I'll do this part of the trip just like any other. I'll have no definite plans apart from staying true to the spirit of travel and the desire to experience things as fully as possible. I'll go in to see the area and to reconnect with myself after so many distractions. I'll prepare myself for a lengthy stay and come out early if it feels right to do so, or forage for food to prolong it if 7 days isn't enough. I'll put myself where I need to be and see what happens.

I'll be doing a lot of reflection over the next several days, looking into myself like never before and trying to understand everything that's there. Alone in the woods, examining my conscience, this is what I need to do right now. I need to test myself in a whole new way. I need to continue peeling back the layers. I need to see everything more clearly. I'm not going to guess what the next week will be like, but however it goes, I'm sure I'll have plenty to write about and even more to think about.

I won't be able to update the blog, read or reply to emails, or make any phone calls until I come out of the mountains, so don't be alarmed if you don't hear from me for a week or so.

Goodbye for now. I'll update again when I can.

Plants and more... zombies?

So, while living amongst the tee pee folk I was introduced to an awesome woman named Holly who lives right up the hill and is mega-hardcore into wild edible plants and such. So hardcore, in fact, that she hosts these giant weed-eating feasts. I'm not talking about grazing like farm animals, but 6 course meals of stir fry, casserole, pie, salads, and all sorts of other examples of culinary greatness.

Holly and her son had gathered a ton of various wild plants that grow in the area, most of which are likely pictured on the back of that bottle of weed killer you keep in the garage. She put us all to work in the kitchen dicing and chopping assorted leaves and roots and flowers and seeds and adding them to the various recipes. It seemed we were taking normal, delicious dishes and replacing all the veggies with the stuff that I considered random weeds. It was sure to be a disaster and I was gearing myself up for the disappointment, while simultaneously trying to learn as much as possible. As a backpacker, I wanted to know how to identify and prepare wild edibles in the area. That sort of information is invaluable in the wilderness, though I didn't think it would be much use in a modern kitchen where broccoli and salt could be found readily.

Shows what I know. The meal, 6 or 7 different dishes, not counting the uber-badass apple pie, smelled so good I was about to chew off my own arm just to fill my stomach. When it was all ready and we dug in, I was totally and utterly floored. This was some seriously good cooking. I've been cursed with some bland meals on this trip and as a Cajun, that's something I can't tolerate. In most places I've been, the food has been boring and bland. This meal, engineered by Holly and prepared by the guests, was beyond rock-awesome (technical term). I piled my plate high and ate it down to the porcelain. Everything on there was killer-good and the flavors were so rich and defined. They were also so new. Many of the ingredients tasted similar to something I was familiar with, but different enough to make it interesting.

The drinks were assorted teas made from just about everything you can imagine, like peaches, honey, and about a thousand other things, all mixed together to make about 5 different bottles, each with its own brand of goodness. I took a little of each so I could sample them all. Then we were also treated to some fresh mint tea, made from mint leaves picked earlier, and pine needle tea that I helped gather.

I learned a bit more about wild edibles after dinner, but my education really picked up when I spotted Holly outside my tee pee the following day, foraging in the area. I walked with her, picking things that she pointed out and learned each by name. I wasn't sure when I'd be able to put my knowledge to use, but the opportunity came earlier than I thought. This morning, while walking through the town of Boone, I passed through a vacant lot near downtown. While walking through, the assorted weeds sprang out at me as plantain, mullein, burdock, dandelion and red clover. Even in the dim light of the early morning, I was able to spot the different plants with ease. By the time I had walked to the far end of the lot, I had eaten my breakfast. By the way, red clover blossoms taste exactly like broccoli.

So that was all cool. My newfound knowledge is coming in handy already... and a few hours ago a random guy informed me that tomorrow night is the first annual Boone Zombie March where potentially 150 people will dress as zombies and march on the town of Boone, raiding shops, coffee houses and bars. How do I keep finding myself among zombies?

Riot Punch, Moonshine and Mint Tea

After hanging out in Hickory for several days I migrated northwest to the mountain town of Boone, North Carolina. I rode up there with a guy named Taylor who is obsessed with Appalachian State University and "It's Always Sunny in Philladelphia". So obsessed, in fact, that when one of the characters on that show went to a baseball game toting a drink called 'Riot Punch', he contacted the writers of the show, asked for the recipe, and then after getting a reply, made a gallon of the troublesome concoction and got thoroughly blitzed at the ASU game the following day. I have to say, Riot Punch is quite tasty and when I finally make it home, I'll make up a gallon for anyone who wants to try some.

While hanging with Taylor in the ASU parking lot, a group of tailgaters were building some wicked-awesome barbecue. I wasn't ashamed to snag a plate and devour it. I couldn't let it go to waste. Besides, I consider myself to be quality control and the food needed my stamp of approval. Before the game started and I made my way away from campus, a guy passed through, talked with us a bit, and after sampling the Riot Punch, he offered us some of his own drink, a mason jar full of Moonshine.

I'm not sure it's possible for any bacteria to grow in my body right now. That shit could strip the paint off an oil tanker. I think it cleaned my teeth.

After a little more time wandering the streets of Boone, which is an awesome little town surrounded by mountains, I ran into a girl I'd talked with online and she took me back to her llama farm where her and her boyfriend live... in a tee pee. yeah, you heard me right, a tee pee on a llama farm.

I've been kissed by a black llama named Cusco and squawked at by non-egg-laying chickens. It's a bit different than what I'm accustomed to. The tee pee is pretty cool, made from pine poles and stretched canvas. It has a flap that can be opened to let the smoke out and closed to prevent the rain from coming in. It has central heating (a wood burning stove in the center of the floor) and plumbing (a compost outhouse that's 40 feet away).

When I started this trip, I hadn't heard of Boone, had no interest in hanging with llamas (the ones near my house are plotting to kill me) and didn't think that anyone still lived in tee pees.

I found some mint plants growing on the farm and harvested a few leaves, took some water from a nearby stream, and made some mint tea on my alcohol stove. It was quite tasty, but I should have shredded the leaves more before making the tea (I'm just drinking all sorts of homemade things lately).

I'll be in the tee pee until Wednesday, then I'll be off again, running in some random direction. I'm not sure where I'll go once I leave Boone. I might just hitch for several days and go wherever the drivers will take me. If I make a decision, I'll be sure to let you guys know. If not, I'll let you know where I am when I get there... assuming I can figure it out.

Thanks for following along. It's been a blast so far and each day seems more exciting than the last. There's nothing I'd rather be doing right now.