This is a piece I feel compelled to write. It is about my own struggles with the idea of following only the true call of one’s heart. For this I will have to talk of my own dealings with God. But don’t worry because I am not, nor have ever been, even slightly religious, although I have plenty of friends for whom religion works very well. But it would seem that the vast majority of folks have some idea of a Creator. This idea just seems a natural part of the human condition.
Giving in to the drifter life that I love so much did not come easy or quickly to me. It took time, perseverance, practice, courage, and quite a bit of desperation.
As some know, I was once a small roofing contractor with a big house, two cars and a truck, beautiful H-D Softail, nice furniture, cable TV, washing machine, etc. For many of my friends this worked, for me however it did not. In fact, all of that stuff made me very poor, for over time my idea of what true wealth is has changed dramatically. For me real wealth is when one finds that he likes himself more often than he doesn’t, and even thinks himself a really cool person, maybe one of his favorites, much of the time. And secondly when one also finds that he likes his life more often than he doesn’t and is even ecstatic about it often, even thinks it’s wonderful, then that is true wealth. For nobody has these things all the time. Nobody. We all have our tough times. But if one does not experience these attributes at all then it matters not if he’s Donald Trump, that man is indeed poor. The suicide rate among monetarily wealthy is identical to that of the poor. This statistic says a lot. So if one truly does have these things often then who cares how he achieves or maintains them. He is truly rich, at least that’s how I see it. So, in my case, the big house and all its possessions brought only poverty.
In time I left the house and everything in it behind then bought a rather old 18 foot Airstream trailer for $1,100 (small, but still offered most modern conveniences) and parked it on a friend’s property for $150 a month.
If this seems like an easy transition then think again! A person is a product of his or her conditioning and I was conditioned to a big house with all its amenities. At that time it had never dawned on me that man had been living without these luxuries for over a million years and not once had he missed them. Still, the move to an 18 foot trailer with its little toilet stuffed into a corner was, at first, almost unbearable. Oh, how I used to love using a regular john where one could sprawl out on the commode. But I soon listened to the woes of a few friends who’d been having big headaches with their housing situations for quite some time. I looked to the little Airstream and thought, “Well, at $150 a month this place isn’t going anywhere and it certainly offers a tremendous amount of ease and security.” Easy living, what a wonderful new luxury that was!
So I installed new carpet, bought a $450 TV with built in VCR (state of the art at that time), and settled in. Within six months I’d become so completely acclimated, or re-conditioned, that the little Airstream seemed nothing less than perfectly normal. For man is the most adaptable animal on earth. We live everywhere from the Sahara Desert to the ice covered northern hemisphere. And the trailer brought SO MUCH freedom. It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders! The balance between pamperings and easy living was now tipped so far into the green that never again could I imagine going back.
Next went my big GMC truck. I then purchased a used Toyota mini truck for $1,640, fixed a few things on it, and drove that sucker for five years. This simple living threw me immediately into a state of semi retirement. For now there was more money than needed and it made no sense to keep working all the time. Cutting the workload back, I began to labor a short two to three weeks then take two months off.
Boredom soon caught up and I began trying a lot of activities. Many did not prove to be the call of my heart’s desire and were weeded out. But I’d begun to take longer motorcycle trips and these seemed far more important. At first these rides were made mostly with friends. But if I waited on them always, I’d certainly not be traveling much. So I began to take off alone as well. Being from southern California, some of these excursions were made north, but most went east into the nearby state of Arizona. These rides began to last longer and longer. With no excuse at all I’d simply pack the bike (an easy routine by then) and fly across the state line for 10 days or two weeks. The adventures began right away.
Then one day I crossed the mountains and was soon flying across the open desert on a beautiful day. All of a sudden I just knew, with crystal clarity the conviction came that this was where I belonged and what I was supposed to be doing. My heart told me and there was no denying.
Seeing my great passion, my then landlord and best friend allowed me to turn the trailer off and pay a simple storage fee of only $30 a month when gone.
Saving money by winter, I began to stay gone for entire summers while traveling to much more distant lands. Dreams of leaving forever started to haunt my thoughts, and the search for a way to make this happen began. Desperate for knowledge now, I became the attentive pupil who took lessons from every biker, traveler, vacationer, freight train hobo, hippie, homeless person, or boy scout that came along. I looked into trucking and even tried working carnivals for a while (I’m never doing either one again). But the majority of what I learned came mostly from simple trial and error.
Still, back then I’d met no one who lived off a motorcycle and was unsure if it was even possible. I began to question my own sanity, this was a real problem. I mean, try choosing a completely different direction from that which everyone seems to be moving and see if you don’t wonder the same thing. But there was no turning back.
After a few seasons of starting the summers pretty flush, then came the year when it was time to leave and I had only $500. Obviously not nearly enough to travel on, let alone get home with. Having never been to Florida before, I’d committed to attend the Daytona rally. But only $500? I was scared to death, terrified actually. But my heart was pulling, no, SCREAMING, that the road was where I belonged. So, much inspired by the book “The Peace Pilgrim”, I looked to the sky and said, “Okay God. You know my situation. I’m gonna leave on blind faith this year and we will soon see if you can keep a man and motorcycle going across this big country.”
That trip lasted the whole of nine months, which included the entire east coast and some of Canada too. At that time I’d not yet learned the arsenal of methods and road tricks that bring such ease, security, and comfort to my nomadic life these days. Instead, I was simply willing to fly by the seat of my pants and accept whatever came down the pike. Money ran down to $50 on two occasions that year, but it never ran out and my needs were often met in the strangest and most unexpected ways. I won’t bother telling those stories here but will say that, after leaving California with only $500 and traveling for nine months, I rode back into Cali with $550, something changed in me that year.
For these longer excursions, and as it had been with the trailer, it would become necessary that I acclimate to living in camps. I think this was even harder than learning to live with the trailer. Oh how I used to look forward to meeting a woman who’d let me stay at her house! But in time, and as I learned to improve them dramatically, these camps would simply feel like my home. Once this re-conditioning process became complete (camps compensated me with far more freedom than the trailer had ever offered) it would be more often that she’d be invited to my place. For in time I no longer cared for houses at all. I’ve seen this transformation happen to everyone I know who live such lives.
Next I began to hate coming home. Then I began to hate being home. All of my time there was now spent only in the desperate desire to again leave.
I decided to see if it were possible to stay gone an entire year. Of course I would again be leaving without enough money and was deathly afraid!! But again passion was calling. For the last few years all the things I’d needed to make these ventures (like the $30 a month trailer deal) had been coming along almost by themselves. And still I was afraid, terrified actually, and once again I appealed to God.
Rather than rewrite what happened at this time, I’ve decided to simply include an excerpt from my book, “Josie’s Journey”, because Josie experienced the exact same thing. But his heart did not call to the road as mine did, instead it called him only to the land, and in time he would give in to it.
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In this chapter, and at this time, Josie (the middle aged car salesman) and his wife have lived their entire lives in the distant city to which they were born, built a life, and a home. Yet, neither has ever cared for the city and it is a place that seems to suck the very life from their souls. At the moment however, they are on vacation in the small mountain town of Misty Lake and Josie is dreaming.
Josie’s Journey
It was in the wee hours of the night that Josie found himself alone in a very strange place. He looked around the room. The furnishings were exquisite, and the comfort they offered undeniable. This was obvious even from where he stood upon the flawless carpet at room’s center. Though the décor was unfamiliar, Josie knew he was at home. He felt pain here, a deep and nagging pain. But it was a familiar pain, a safe pain, a thing he could no longer remember having lived without. Yet there was something strange about this place. Looking closer he saw there were no windows! He looked again and realized no other rooms connected to this small cubical and only one very solid looking door stood between him and the outside! Claustrophobia, just a little at first but soon the sensation grew. In a moment he felt strangled by it. Quickly Josie walked to the door and reached for the handle. Ever so slowly he turned, it was not locked. For only a moment did he hesitate, then, with one powerful thrust, Josie flung the barrier open and stared in a deep state of shock. Bars, the way was blocked with steel bars! He was trapped! Josie threw himself against the blockade of this gilded cage and, with face pressed firmly against the steel, looked with crazy eyes to the world beyond. What he saw took his breath away.
It was a great meadow, an unbelievable meadow of unprecedented power and beauty. The chatter of birdsong hit him in an onrush of twittering and he noted spectacular skill as they darted this way and that. Vast groves of purple and yellow flowers moved with a gentle breeze that blew silently across the land as a thousand honeybees worked busily over them. Clear water babbled over smooth rocks as a wide creek passed gently through the meadow’s center. Josie could see that this place rested in a wide valley. He looked to the rolling hills beyond and saw they were carpeted with a seemingly solid wall of forest that surrounded the meadow almost entirely. Looking to the sky Josie observed a few small and hazy clouds that lumbered lazily in the distance as one magnificent hawk soared high above. The sun was bright and the day good. There was something magical at work beyond those steel bars. Josie could feel it. The fulfillment that awaited him there, he knew, was beyond the limits of his comprehension.
It called to him, and his need of it was complete. So complete in fact that Josie began to shake the bars violently. The effort gained nothing. Again he threw himself against these constraints, pushed his face to the steel, and reached beyond to shake both fists angrily at the sky. “Why am I in here?” he yelled to the wind, “Let me out,” and again, “Let me out!” and still louder, “Somebody please, let me out!” Josie pounded his fists, he stomped his feet, he screamed, he yelled, he ran across the room then turned to again throw himself at the bars. He must escape. Josie’s rage escalated and he attacked the steel with the viciousness of a rabid animal. Like a wild man he screamed, he kicked, he pounded and groped against the gate but for all his effort it would not move. Finally, weakened with exhaustion, Josie slumped to the floor and began to cry.
When this was done a sort of calm settled and, in his weakened state, a moment of clarity befell. Josie looked inside himself and saw the truth. And that truth, strange as it seemed, was that he did not wish to go out. He was afraid. No, more than that, Josie was terrified. For that which lay beyond the gate truly was beyond comprehension, and that which was beyond comprehension was also beyond the comfort of that which is familiar. It was the unknown, and with it came a kind of fear Josie simply could not breach. In a moment of bitter surrender the middle-aged car salesman got to his feet and, with eyes aimed only at the floor, walked to the safety of the familiar and dropped into the softness of one padded sofa. Instantly the pain returned. But it was a dull pain; a familiar pain, and he knew it well. The birdsong was gone and in its place an eerie silence settled. Josie let his chin fall against his chest and closed his eyes.
It was then that a gentle voice came from somewhere beyond the gate and although he could not place it, the tone seemed vaguely familiar, if not soothing. Josie lifted his head to listen.
“It’s okay Josie, You may remain inside the little prison you’ve built of fear for the rest of your life if you so choose. For like any other you have freedom of will. I am no puppet master who would see you dance at the end of a string. I am no slave keeper and would never insist you venture to a place you don’t wish to go. But your heart calls to more, doesn’t it my friend? It’s been said that there is a greater calling for every person, yet the free will that is God’s gift grants that anyone may choose not to follow that calling if he so wishes. The choice, my friend, is yours. For it is true that many have chosen to follow their fears rather than their heart. You would not be the first. But if you ever decide to follow the small voice inside, the place from which I call, then know that I will stay with you for the entire journey. And although the road may become bumpy at times, as life often does, as we travel together you will come to know and love your true self such as never before. And I won’t leave you; for is it not my job to be your guide in this life?”
Josie arose from the sofa and walked to the doorway. He wished to see the man who had spoken these words, words he would never forget. Josie wrapped both hands loosely around the steel and again pushed his face to the bars. There was no one, as he’d known it would be. Only the meadow remained, at least the sound of birds was back. Josie stared ahead at the startling beauty and the image began to change, as did the sound. Colors swirled and ran together until finally fading into one solid wall of darkly stained wood shrouded in deep shadows. He listened then to the sound of a windless rain that fell gently upon the tin roof. Josie turned to see his wife still sleeping soundly under the patchwork quilt. He was awake now and, as it would for a long time, the dream still haunted him.
Josie sat up and reached for his pants, then thought better of it. After another moment’s thought he got to his feet and, still naked, left the bedroom then crossed the small living room. He opened the front door. Fresh air ran over his body, but it was only a light summer storm sent up from the south to bathe the mountains in warm tropical freshness. Josie stepped from the door and traversed the three steps that led first to the smooth concrete walkway, then to the pine needle carpet beyond. He was not cold. The rain bounced off his shoulders to trickle along his body while Josie listened to the soothing sound of drops as they hit the earth and trees. Once near the shoreline, he dropped to sit upon the dirt and lean against an oak tree. The ancient oak pressing against his back brought the familiarity of an old friend. Absently, he reached behind to stroke the thing as though it were a family pet.
Josie looked across the calm black waters of Misty Lake. The far shore was a silhouette of trees against a dark, yet tranquil canopy of clouds. To the east he could see the beginning of dawn’s light. The oak branches held a million tiny leaves that let large drops fall upon his naked body as he watched gentle rain spatter across the water. Josie thought of the dream of the meadow. It had been so beautiful, so alluring, it had taken his pain away. But now, as he looked across the small lake, Josie thought he saw something akin to the great meadow right here, right now. A thought occurred and Josie looked inside himself to find his pain gone! It had been replaced by only a sense of relaxed ease. He thought some more and realized that, as usual, it had been like this since their arrival in the mountains. He wished again that they would never go home. But one could not realistically spend his entire life on vacation, or could he? Would he return to the city, of course he would, responsibility demanded it.
The rain had lessened to a drizzle and the sky was beginning to clear as early sunshine slowly overtook it. Josie’s mind wandered back to the dream. What of the voice? Was it true? Did he create his own prison? But then, it was only a dream, or was it? Josie had never been one to remember his dreams. They came to him seldom and were usually vague and obscure if not just plain weird. But this was so real, so startling, and so filled with truth, wasn’t it? But it was only a dream after all.
It was full light by the time Josie returned to the house. He went first to the bathroom to dry with a towel before returning to bed. Mariah had not stirred. Josie slept soundly until 10am. Vacation time passed, and the couple went home.
It was the spring of 1994 and the road lay ahead. With stress clawing at my mind and knees locked tight against the gas tank I set out for places unknown—and a few that had become familiar as well. Again terror accompanied my ride out of town; for this time I’d be gone an entire year. Although again money ran dangerously low at times, the journey was successful. So, in the spring of 1995, I returned to San Diego to sell the trailer and liquidate everything I owned save that which fit aboard the motorcycle. Then, with a pocket full of money and life that was now a completely clean slate, I road north for Oregon.
At the time of this writing (2014) that’s been 20 years ago. During this time I’ve yet to stay in any one place for longer than two months. I’ve traveled the whole of the U.S., Canada, and Mexico too. But the evolution of this passion for long range motorcycling travel into a comfortable, workable, way of life did not always come easy. Besides my sanity still being in question, there were a few other serious problems that would have forced me back home. So many have been driven home after only six months or a year by these issues, but almost no one listens when I speak of them. I had learned solutions to them. If you’re interested, I have another story called “Titties, Travel and Time,—Methods of the Drifter”, which covers these obstacles in pretty bright detail.
During my second year out, it helped very much when I ran into a guy named Panhead Billy. Here was a cat who’d been on the road for years but never questioned his own sanity. For him this road life was perfectly normal. I also learned a few things from Billy that are still an integral part of my daily road life today. Some of my dealings with him are incorporated into the story “Titties Travel and Time”.
Some of us talk of trusting in God, but what we really trust is money. I know, for it can be incredibly hard to truly trust something that one cannot hold in the palm of his hand. But what if one’s passion calls him to a place where money will be uncertain? Can he really trust? Is it actually possible? Well, for 20 years now I have been living by this philosophy alone and, although things have become hard at times, as any life sometimes does, I have NEVER gone without and, as the many stories I’ve written over the years clearly depict, those things that I need (parts for old motorcycles, equipment, money, and the like) have ALWAYS appeared when needed. In fact, in recent years I’ve enjoyed the luxury of more spending money than ever before (keep your fingers crossed). It would seem that there is at least some security in this.
It has been said, “Do what you truly love to do because you truly love to do it and the money will come.” Can this idea really work? Well, at least in my case anyway, so it would seem.
Scooter Tramp Scotty
Editors Note:You can read many more stories by Scooter Tramp Scotty right here on Bikernet, in the special section called “Real-Life Gypsy Tales with Scooter Tramp Scotty“.
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