Tag Archives: florida

Going West (by car)

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In the past few months, I cycled ~1,500 km through FL & GA, built a couple 3d printers in Missouri, summited the highest mountain in New Mexico, backpacked through Zion, saw the Grand Canyon for the first time, and became a humble guest of East Jesus in Slab City.


In the past few months, I cycled ~1,500 km through Florida, built a couple 3d printers in Missouri, summited the highest mountain in New Mexico, backpacked through Zion, saw the Grand Canyon for the first time, and became a humble guest of East Jesus in Slab City.

It’s been a while since I last wrote, but I finally have some downtime as I try to survive the 46 degree heat of Slab City in late June. When I crowdsourced info on the Slabs before I came, everyone’s response was pretty terse: “don’t go” they said, “you’ll be miserable”

It’s not often that I’m in the SW, and visiting Slab City has long been a dream of mine (coupled with the fact that the police have been harassing me in the past few weeks–I was quite ready for anarchy).

As for the desert’s summer heat: I’ve cycled through the entire width of Nevada in July, so I’m familiar with my body’s limits on heat. I figured I would be OK so long as I had sufficient water & shade.

Mikey stands next to a giant monument that reads "The Conch Republic. 90 Miles to CUBA. SOUTHERNMOST POINT. CONTINENTAL USA. Key West, FL. Home of the Sunset."
Start in Key West
Mikey stands behind his brompton bicycle smiling in front of a brown-bricked suburban home with short-cut, sterile weeds and cement. Towers of trees stand with thin green leaves blooming behind the house.
Finish in Atlanta

Before I left Prescott Valley, AZ en-route to California, I spent a few hours dumpster diving for water containers. I was quick to find a bunch of ~1L plastic soda bottles, but I wanted something bigger. Behind an ihop & a taco bell I found what I was looking for: used 20L vegetable oil carboys. I got two of them anticipating a ~1 week stay in the Slabs. I washed them out very well with soap & water, and I filled them (and a dozen or so other 0.5-4L bottles) to the brim with clean, potable water.

As for shade: I didn’t have much in the way of providing decent shade. I could have bought a tarp, but I decided to go the interdependent route; there’s plenty of full-time Slabbers who have plenty semi-permanent structures for shade. I learned that there was an Internet Cafe in the Slabs, and figured–if nothing else–I could probably bring gifts to the Slabbers in exchange for their shade and internet. But what would a Slabber value?

I drove to Taos. Unfortunately, I was unable to find anyone to let me ram their tires full of earth without me paying them…so I ended up leaving town–climbing to the top of the highest mountain peak in New Mexico on my way out.

I came across the East Jesus website (a nonprofit artist community that actually owns their land in the Slabs). The website literally had a section listing their needs. After some consideration, I went to the hardware store to buy peat moss and duct tape. And then I took a trip to the liquor store to buy their cheapest 1.75 L bottle of whiskey ($14!).

Mikey is smiling, standing near a cliff on top of a canyon. A valley between canyons stretches along in the distance behind him
Observation Point, Zion

When I arrived to East Jesus the next day, my peat moss, duct tape, and whiskey were very well received. As I chatted with the resident summer artist over (cold!) water & whiskey, I got a ton of useful information about life in Slab City. And–as the sun was setting while I was looking for a space in the Slabs to call my own, my friend at East Jesus intercepted me and offered to let me set up in Kaos camp at East Jesus 😀

Mikey is smiling, standing near a cliff. Behind him is a natural bridge, and reddish canyons that make up the Grand Canyon.
Grand Canyon

I’m full of gratitude as I sit on this old couch under shade by big box fan, sipping my refrigerated water surrounded by a dense display of artwork, much of which is heavily accented by empty bullet casings and nitros canisters.

But how did I get here?

After completing my bicycle ride to Atlanta, I spent about a month visiting family and improving the livability of my Prius.


Continue reading Going West (by car) →

Bikepacking Key West to Atlanta

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After a 20-odd hour greyhound down to Key West, FL, I unfolded my Brompton, strapped on my gear (a 50L backpack & big ortlieb front pannier), and began my next cycling journey: a mildly-circuitous, ~1,500 km from Key West, FL to Atlanta, GA.

last month I was squinting to see the road through the flurries of snow as I drove my salt-covered Prius down the east coast…Now I’m dipping my toes in the warm ocean in Key West

Just last month I was squinting to see the road through the flurries of snow as I drove my salt-covered Prius down the east coast of the US. I planned to take my time, but I was eager to get out of the snow.

A prius from behind with its hatchback open. Inisde is a Brompton bicycle folded and many pieces of cardboard. The black car is dripping with frost and salt. Snow is piled up on the pavement around the car. The car is parked at a gas station.
Escaping NYC Winter
Mikey's Brompton leans against a palm tree on a sandy beach. In the background are multi-story apartment complexes.
Smathers Beach

Now I found myself basked in sunshine–dipping my toes in the warm, gorgeous salt waters of Smathers Beach.

My one-night host in Florida worked at a sea kayak joint, and they graciously gifted me time on a kayak to wander the calm, shallow waters of Key West. After a few hours of getting lost in the mangroves on my way out of town, I hit the road and took my time over the next few days cycling from Key to Key until I finally crossed the last bridge into mainland Florida.

I’ve spent the past couple weeks with family in South Florida, but tomorrow I’ll be back on the saddle. Tomorrow I’ll be cycling through Parkland and along State Road 827 (locally known as Browns Farm Road) through the Everglades up to Lake Okeechobee. Google Street View doesn’t cover 20km of the road (it ends abruptly at a barrier in the Loxahatchee Road Boat Ramp parking lot), but it does appear to be intact and available to non-motorized vehicles. Here’s to hoping all the bridges visible in the grainy satellite imagery are still intact!



Leaving NYC

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I temporarily gave up my vagrancy for an opportunity to work with some of the best journalists in NYC.

Now that my job is finished and the ground here is covered in snow, the long road to Sunny South Florida is calling. This time, I’ll be the vagrant picking up hitchhikers.

6 months ago, I signed a short-term contract and saved up enough to buy a micro-home-with-an-engine (a Prius) and a folding bicycle. Now that my job is finished and the ground here is covered in snow, the long road to Sunny South Florida is calling. This time, I’ll be the vagrant picking up hitchhikers.


My short-term plan is to find long-term parking for my car in Atlanta, then hop on a one-way bus to Key West, FL with my new Brompton folding bicycle and a 50L backpack This ~1,500 km trip will be a gentle test of bicycle touring with the Brompton.

If all goes well, my long-term plan is to use this setup for a bike-packing trip from the southern tip of India up to China, then down to Vietnam. Or Ethiopia to Botswana. Or zig-zagging Europe. But probably Asia.



New York City Vagrant

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After 6 days, I finished hitch hiking 1,500 km from Ft Lauderdale, Florida to Asheville, North Carolina. It took me another 10 days to go the last 1,000 km to Philidelphia, where I paid $10 for the Chinatown bus into Manhattan.

The sad reality of my hitch hiking experience on the East US is that it was slower than riding a bicycle.

Most of this trip was spent in the blistering sunshine, ~8 hours per day sitting on an on-ramp, smiling & holding a cardboard sign inscribed with my next relative destination. It would have been more productive had my headphones been working, as I had a tall stack of audiobooks & podcasts awaiting my ears.

A backpack is sitting in the shoulder of an on-ramp with a cardboard sign reading "NYC". A sign indicates that the on-ramp is Interstate 95.
Thumbing my way back to NYC

The sad reality of my hitch hiking experience on the East US is that it was slower than riding a bicycle.

Of the time I spent in cars, everyone I met was quite benevolent. It was a mix of the coolest truck drivers imaginable, old hippies that have done lots of hitching themselves, religious folk living by the word of Jesus trying to help someone out, and friends who just wanted someone to talk to on their arduous, long-distance drive.

Contrary to what I’ve read, the only offers I got from the uniformed gangsters that patrol the streets was threats to take me to jail–specifically from the dumbest Men in Blue who couldn’t differentiate a pan handler from a hitch hiker..

A suspension bridge with many lanes of cars. A sign hangs that reads "Welcome to NEW YORK. THE EMPIRE STATE."
Back to NYC

My last ride dropped me off in Philadelphia by the airport. I walked from there to Chinatown (gorging on a crate of mangoes scored from a wholesale produce market I passed en-route), and met a Chinese-American woman by a plastic sign tied to a post that said “NYC one-way $10”. I boarded the bus, and found myself emerging from the Tunnel connecting New Jersey (one of 5 States where hitch hiking is illegal) to Manhattan a couple hours later. I bought a subway pass, and headed to Brooklyn to meet an old friend.

Finally, I arrived to NYC.


Hitchhiking Florida to New York

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Tomorrow I’m going to the I-75 on-ramp, sticking out my thumb, and hitchhitching 2,500 km from Florida to New York City. I’ve never hitchhiked more than a few hundred km, so this multi-day adventure is a long-awaited trip. Tomorrow I’m picking up a cardboard box, ripping it to size, and painting “I 75 N” with my magnum permanent marker–the hitchiking essential.

A backpack is sitting in the shoulder of an on-ramp with a cardboard sign reading "NYC". A sign indicates that the on-ramp is Interstate 95.
Thumbing my way back to NYC

It’s my second week living unemployed, and I’m wasting no time jumping head-first into my first adventure as an American Vagrant. I have some paperwork to file in the Big City, then I plan to stick out my thumb again–hitching WB from New York to San Francisco. My hope is to make it in a week, but yahoo answers says 4 days to 1 year 😉


A Hobo Becomes Vagrant

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For the second time: I arrived to Peru, began planning my trip to Cusco, and–suddenly–had to make an emergency trip back to the States. This time, it’s not for a work trip to India–it’s because my employment has abruptly come to an end.

A document is shown that reads "Spirit Boarding Pass. From Lima. To Fort Lauderdale, FL. Boarding Time 10:15 AM. Depart 11:00 AM. Arrive 05:54 PM."
Unexpected flight back home

ho·​bo  / ˈhō-(ˌ)bō /
(n.) a migratory worker

After my weekend trip to Foz do Iguaçu, I arrived to Lima to discover that my department’s Director, myself, and many of my colleagues had been laid off. While it was a total surprise, I’m thinking positive. Though I can’t call myself a hobo anymore, I can now be free to wander as a proper vagrant.

va·​grant  / ˈvā-grnt /
(n.) one who has no established residence and wanders from place to place without visible means of support

I’ve had many projects (including this blog) that I’ve wanted to dedicate more time to, and now I should have ample time to complete. I’ve had to scrap my plans for Cusco once again, but I’ll be back to Peru. And–next time–likely with a bicycle. I haven’t been on a proper (>1 month) bicycle tour since I started working full-time, and I think such an adventure (and new blog!) are due in the coming months 🙂


USA East Coast

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I’ve crossed the US by bicycle. I’ve crossed by plane. And now–I’m taking a train from the Atlantic to the Pacific.

I’ve crossed the US by bicycle. I’ve crossed by plane. And now–I’m taking a train

I just bought an Amtrak ticket from Atlanta -> New Orleans (for Mardi Gras!) -> Los Angles. It’s ironic to realize that I’ve never done the good-ol cross-US road trip; I’ve never driven across the US (or taken a bus), but I suppose I shall one day (update: I did !). For now, I look forward to seeing the South via rail.

Mikey as a child wearing a buttoned-up collared shirt and holding up 2 floppy disks. Behind him, a girl sits at an old laptop wearing a hat labeled "F" for Florida.
I may not have always been a hobo, but I’ve always been a hacker.

In any case, an update is due: After 4 magical months in in India, I came back to NYC just before the winter cold set in. After visiting friends & family, I traveled down the US East Coast.

I left a big duffel bag of possessions with a friend in NYC, and–due to price gouged bus fares ($700 flight from NYC to Atlanta? I don’t think so) over Christmas–I tried my luck at hitching from DC to Asheville with a backpack and 2 oversized duffel bags. I could hardly walk 0.1 km without needing to rest my back hauling that much shit.

Several people stand around an enterance to a building with a sign that reads "TRUMP TOWER." One person holds a sign that reads "TRUMP. Make America Hate Again." A uniformed gangster stands nearby with a hat that reads "NYPD."
Trump Protest

Within 10 minutes of holding up my cardboard sign indicating highway 81, a couple of southern boys (welcome back to Virginia) in an unmarked van stopped, started clearing junk out of the way in the back behind a full-size US flag strewn between the back and the cab, and told they could take me as far as highway 81, but wouldn’t be able to drive me South. I declined their offer. In the next 6 hours, another 4 people offered to take me part-way.

Having too many bags to be able to walk my way out of a bad spot, I left for the DC greyhound, slept the night in Union Station on Christmas Eve, and took the next Greyhound to Atlanta.

After a week exploring downtown Atlanta (read: where Martin Luther King Jr was born), I took a bus down to Florida–where I currently sit, a true NY snow bird.

After I hit LA, I’ll head north to Vancouver for Spring–traveling by train & bicycle along the majestic US-Pacific coastline. I’ve never spent much time in Canada; I’m sure looking forward to Vancouver!


A hobo is born

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After I graduated college, I sold or gave away most of my possessions. As a young US American following the footsteps of many before me, I headed west to California.

ho·​bo  / ˈhō-(ˌ)bō /
(n.) a migratory worker

With just a few duffel bags of cargo, my 21-st century move from Florida to California lasted only a few hours on an airplane. My destination: San Francisco — where, in a few weeks, I’d begin a new job as a software engineer.

During my time living in California, I visited Yosemite National Park and went on my first-ever overnight trekking trip. This experience taught me much about self-sufficiency and packing light–something that I later refined to an art.


I was in San Francisco for just over a year, but I never spread my roots too deep. Before my second year, my feet were itching for something new, and I found myself on a plane again — this time destined for New York. With Guthy’s voice singing through my earphones, I flew from the Redwood forests to the New York islands.

After some time, I was off again, heading down the US east coast back to Florida, and I hopped a plane to the furthest city in America that had an international airport — Santiago de Chile.