I’ve been homeless on and off now by choice for over three years so I can constantly travel. I work seasonal jobs and wander between while looking for work, which until recently only involved an ID. But, because businesses in America care about the entity instead of society and its people this is becoming more difficult especially with the Patriot Act, instituted by George Bush, one of the great ones, soon surpassed by the legacy of Trump or Hillary. We all know America is going up in the world especially with such worthy, exemplary candidates…
So I arrived in Hawaii on September 9th to start my job at Pacific Skydiving Center as a tandem parachute packer. I felt intimidated moving from a small drop zone to a big turbine operation where speed meant everything, but all worked out well, so far anyway. The bus does not run up this way so walking and hitchhiking became my main modes of transportation. I am living out of my backpack again. I found this job on an ad on dropzone.com. After speaking to Jay I bought a one-way ticket knowing my job started on the 13th of the month with no living accommodations. Where am I living then? The beach, bushes, government property, hiking trails, mountains, anywhere I can feel well rested for my long work days of non-stop tandem packing.
As I traipsed the streets of Sausalito I watched the riches of both the land and the architecture unfold in front of my eyes. Waterfront properties guarded the bay like immaculate fortresses of military prowess. Their sheer size signified dollar signs, authority and prestige, but the truly rich and powerful resided on “The Hill” across the bay. Those homes towered over the mansions making them look like dollhouses.
People snubbed me as I walked past giving me a look of disapproval, but whatever, I just wanted to continue north towards Washington. After all, I spent the last three years on a journey there, which originally started out on my bicycle. I planned to cycle from Delaware to Seattle, Washington, only making it as far as Colorado. It felt like the right time to wander there, hopping trains, catching planes, hitching rides and bussing it all became an individual piece of the puzzle.
I woke up in a boxcar in the Fresno train yard practically peeling my eyes open with every last bit of energy. I never made it to Stockton, hoping the train might roll on through, but when I came to the realization it was a low priority work train, I expected nothing more than to stay dry. It worked, for the most part, sleeping in 30-minute spurts in tons of metal, bouncing along 2-inches of steel slowly rolling along the tracks. It was less than ideal, in fact, quite nauseating. But waking up in the yard took me by surprise and a sudden fear enveloped my body. I hid in the dark shadows of the boxcar, lurking in the corner, for the upwards of an hour. From my peripheral vision I noticed the bull drive by the train in both directions after some time, waiting for any train hoppers to exit the unit. I stood there still and shivering from the cold steel walls blanketing my body. No matter how many layers I felt a tingling sensation electrify me, my hairs shot up on their ends, spreading Goosebumps everywhere as I mustered the courage to peep out of the boxcar. I leaned out as the rain pelted my naked face; the only area of my body not covered in jet black material, and made a run for it between the trains. I knew nothing of the yard, other than the low priority of my train and noticed nothing stopped on the main lines for a crew change. I desperately climbed the ladders to get through each string of trains, safely looking both ways on the track for any slow moving trains, as I shuffled my way towards a bundle of steel I-beams for cover. I heard too many horror stories of broken ankles or even death from precarious situations of hopping over pressurized couplers. I took my time and safely found an exit from the yard as I peeped out towards the roadway. Vehicles cautiously squeaked by on the back country road as they drove to work and I patiently waited to break free of trespassing charges as I found my window of opportunity. Gripping my hands against the perpendicular fences, I forced my body between the “T” for just a split second. I stood there just long enough to hop over the barbed wire fence, hitting the ground with a loud thud. The slippery fall soaked my pant bottoms and shoes in the process. I stood up from my squatted position and casually walked down the street as the rain laughed at me.
“This post goes back to over a year ago when I was hitchhiking through Southeast Asia to meet up with my friend in Chong Phli Village to go rock climbing for a few weeks. I am up to 127,000 words in my book and this is a small excerpt from one of the chapters. I have almost completed my rough draft of “Jungle: Wanderin’ West” and just need to edit it before I start sending it out to publishers. Wish me luck. I am hoping it turns out to be a great read for all of you who have been interested in my stories and whereabouts over the past few years.”