I just spent 2 weeks living in an intentional community in the forest ~20 miles outside Eugene, OR. This is my first time in Oregon. My-oh-my, is it beautiful! Just a bit cold & wet for my tastes (welcome to the Pacific Northwest!). I give massive cred to the crusties living on the streets here. How do they ever dry their clothes?
Bootstrapped moar leik bikestrappedGiving Tree
I spent a wonderful week with a new friend in Sacramento. I was surprised how much I enjoyed Sacramento. The weather was great, the dumpsters were full of gifts (two unopened 4-packs of Pilsner Urquell?!?), and the streets were easy to navigate by bicycle. Coworking offices were pretty ridiculous ($192/day are you mad?!?), but fortunately I was able to work from home.
I was just finishing dinner, planning to see a friend play a folk punk show in Sac when my friend in Eugene asked what time I’d arrive tomorrow. Looks like my calendar was off-by-one day; my train leaves in a few hours. Whoops! I made a call to a friend, packed my stuff, rode-off to amtrak, and quickly boxed my bicycle. When I awoke on the train the next morning, I was crossing a gorgeous lake via causeway with snow-capped mountains in the distance. Everything was green, and–as we climbed in elevation through the cascades–there was snow on the ground.
I’ve been living with my friend in the SF Bay Area for the past month. I’m writing this from a cozy, finished room in the corner of a large, leaky warehouse hosting a datacenter and massive library of books in Richmond, CA. The building is owned by a nonprofit library that digitizes books and makes them available online, and my friend has become something of its caretaker while in school.
Big Basin Redwoods State Park
Last weekend, on my friend’s Spring Break, I went on my first bicycle tour in over a year. From the Bay Area, we took a train down to San Luis Obispo, and started riding ~300 miles along highway 1, through Big Sur, back to San Francisco. It was a trying journey–both physically & emotionally, but also really really really beautiful. And I needed the Vitamin D. But I could have been spared the Poison Oak and sunburn…
The SF Bay Area is always a great place to be. It was great to spend time with Friends & Family I hadn’t seen since I moved from Berkeley to travel the world over a year ago. I’d like to stay longer, but there’s still so much of the world to see. The weather is getting warmer, and Canada is calling!
Mikey Pacific Ocean Cliff
J + Ocean Cliff
Welcome to Big Sur
Tour w J
San Francisco 249 Miles
San Luis Obispo
California Amtrak
Saturday morning I plan to wake up at the crack of dawn, load up my bicycle, and ride ~80 miles to Sacramento before Sunday evening. I’ll spend a week staying with a new friend in Sacramento, then I’ll be going up to Eugene, where I’ll be staying with a friend at the Lost Valley Eco Village.
My 46-hour train ride from New Orleans (through Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, & California) finally arrives at Union Station LAX at 06:00.
I paid my respects to Mahatma Gandhi whoose ashes…are located in a sarcophagus in Santa Monica.
After spending an hour wandering through the massive station, I finally find my bicycle behind an Amtrak employees-only locked door. I present my luggage claim ticket, slide my bicycle out of the box, reassemble it, and load my panniers on. By 07:00, the February sun is high & warm in LA, and I’m happily rolling through the streets. I don’t bother to check a map. I’m headed to Santa Monica; a compass indicating “west” is all I need.
After passing through chinatown, I wheel into the first grocery store I find for breakfast, which turns out to be in Echo Park. This is home to PETA’s headquarters, where one of my college friends lives & works. We meet for tea, catch up, hit up a couple thrift stores, and I head back down hill.
Mahatma Gandhi Sarcophagus
I biked through Hollywood. This reminds me of Times Square, but it was interesting to see. Then I rode through Beverly Hills. And finally, Santa Monica.
LA is a massive city. Even though it was down-hill, it took me far longer than expected. It was a fun ride, and my friends were relieved when I showed up (mostly) unscathed. I took a long-needed shower, and enjoyed a bowl of their delicious vegan curry 😀
The following weekend I paid my respects to Mahatma Gandhi whoose ashes–little known fact–are located in a sarcophagus in Santa Monic
I’m on a train pulling into New Orleans on Mardi Gras, and the conductor informs us that the streets will be so grid-lock with traffic from the Endymion parade that we won’t be able to leave the Amtrak station.
Train from Atlanta to New Orleans
3 hours later, I manage to traverse the 10 miles down-river to the lower 9th ward, where I’m pitching my tent for $15 a day, less than a football field away from the levy that broke in 2005. When I unlatch the front gate and enter, I find a maze of a few dozen tents and a mix of mostly dirty, white travelers in their late 20s. In the middle is an unfinished, 3-story structure. Many long-timers here are doing a work-exchange building it. Much of the wood was dumpstered, needing nails removed.
After settling into my new tent city, I roll my fully-loaded bicycle into the grocery store and start hunting for nuts & bread. I fill my water bottle & go to checkout. The cashier is wearing a white fetish in the shape of a penis around her neck; I suppose it’s a whistle.
a hand pops up from the ground…and apparently there’s 2 bodies in there. I notice a roll of colorful condoms on the road a few feet from their discrete sex hole, and we leave them to their business.
Around 9, I roll out of my tent to the community around the wood fire. Someone asked about my bike, and I claim ownership, but inform him (S) that I came in via Amtrak. He tells me of his journey bikepacking through SE Asia & China, and—after preparing some food and a visit to the compost toilet, we bike together towards the French Quarter.
The route we took was different than how I came the night before, and probably safer too. After crossing the draw-bridge over the industrial canal, we dash down a grassy hill. A man sleeping by the tracks at the bottom of the hill asks if we have a lighter; we don’t.
Mikey at Marti Gras in New Orleans
We meet the street at its dead end, and my new friend from Montreal goes to investigate a bicycle unattended by the road. Alarmingly, a hand pops up from the ground, and I can see the matted hair of someone hiding in shallow drainage ditch. It’s broad-daylight, and apparently there’s 2 bodies in there. I notice a roll of colorful condoms on the road a few feet from their discrete sex hole, and we leave them to their business.
When we get to Canal St, I part ways with my riding partners. I want to go checkout my cowork office at Lafayette Square; they want to sneak onto a cruise ship.
Mardi Gras itself was crazy. Indeed, I’d never been to carnival before. I had come ill-prepared without a costume, but there was so much waste cluttering the streets that I was able to decorate myself sufficiently before the sun set.
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.
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.
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.
Surveillance State
Birthday pancakes
Grandma
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!
I’m laying on my bed in a small room on the 4th floor of my new room in Miraflores. In 2 weeks I plan to be in Cusco, exploring ancient ruins like Machu Picchu for my week off. I’ve grown to like this place; I’m sharing it with ~6 other International travelers, it has a nice rooftop right outside my window, and it’s no-frills cheap. $280/month rent. Beats the hell out of $850/mo in NYC.
Drop Machu Picchu. Drop Patagonia. Drop festival in Rio de Janeiro. I’m going to India!
I’m switching tabs back-and-forth between launching nodes in aws and researching bus routes for my next 6 months in South America: Valparaíso, Buenos Aires, Los Ríos, Christmas in Torres del Paine (Patagonia), Montevideo, Festival in Rio de Janeiro. I’m excited as I read through the internet travel guides and multi-day, international bus routes.
My boss sends me a message. I expect he’s going to yell at me for signing-off for an hour during lunch. Instead, he asks, “Would you be interested in working in India for a couple months?”
Drop the phone. Drop everything. Drop Machu Picchu. Drop Patagonia. Drop festival in Rio de Janeiro. I’m going to India!
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.
Mikey looks North across the Golden Gate from Golden Gate Park, San Francisco
Bicycle Rack in Lothlórien
Mikey and J outside the Grassroots House in Oakland showing letter to Barbara Lee in wake of Operation Protective Edge
Jason King arrives in SF after cross-country run for Bitcoin & Homeless
Mikey’s bucket-and-door, work-from-home desk with linux, windows, and mac laptops. And an Android phone.
Mikey’s desk at work
Mikey’s fully-loaded bicycle on BART for ride to Santa Cruz
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.
Bicycle ride from Merced to Yosemite National Park
Top of half-dome
Mikey’s first overnight backpacking trip. In Yosemite.
The cables of half-dome
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.
Bicycle boxed-up and ready to be shipped from the West Coast
Brooklyn Bridge, NYC
Stonewall Inn
Winter in Brooklyn
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.
