by Denver Risley:It must have been the escape artist in me trying to escape that drove me to driving. More like riding and walking. My life at sea while in the Navy never far from the front of my thoughts. I was fed up with every penny I toiled for going to my lousy apartment, utilities, my car, and every expense associated with a car. There was nothing left after the bills were paid. Is this what life is? Slaving my butt off so I can pay for the expenses that allow me to slave my butt off? Ridiculous! I spent long cold nights sitting at a picnic table in the park along the river across the street from my Tulsa apartment. I'd listen to classic country songs on a little radio. I'd drink beer to the light of the candle I brought along. Thinking, thinking, pondering, dreaming and wandering. It was settled. I put in my two week's notice only because that company had treated me fairly other than offering no chance to move up. I sold most of my possessions or gave them away, bought a bicycle and some camping gear, and left the door open as I made for the paved trail along the muddy Arkansas River.Two-and-a-half months later I stepped off the ferry from Vallejo onto the questionably solid ground of San Francisco. I found the hostel I had looked up online at the library in Davis. They were full but directed me to another hostel not far away. A bed. A shower! A Star Wars cantina of beings from all over chattering in their native tongues, cooking, in the common-use kitchen, meals made from market ingredients, over-stuffed backpacks over-stuffed into every unused space.My strange ideas were not only not ridiculed, but embraced and considered to be genuine answers. These people wanted to hear what I had to say. These people considered me. I reciprocated. I listened and learned and was inspired to travel further on less. I gave the bicycle to a hippie couple at the hostel and continued my wanderings by bus and by train. Learning how to generate funds from simple things to perpetuate another form of vicious circle. Only this circle is round on my terms. I have learned how to make fire from nothing. I have learned to use old tires to pluck trout from the rivers. I have learned to eat prickly pear and how to keep clean. I know how to hide from the bulls in train yards and I know how to stealth camp in the urban wastescapes. Life I lived before is a fading Polaroid.Here it is, four years later and still I am a homeless vagabond. I have learned how to live this way and I am king. My love is true and mine are the only acceptable terms. I go where I please and my friends are many. There is simply no reason to return to the surface.
by Dan Gypsy Dad SauveTo understand what a real vagabond is we must look at what is the opposite of being one. Let us define the opposite of a vagabond as followed. In today's modern world, most people become permanent citizens of a community providing service for corporations and governing authorities in trade of materials and homes. Some people just accept it, becoming stagnant, complacent, obedient, and they usually live to work for the corporations. Others become part of the entity they are serving and live their whole life devoted to their roles within that entity. They are a mostly competitive and tend to become amalgamated into the corporation they represent. They enjoy activities that promote money, competition, achievement, and common interests. Due to their spirited nature, in the extreme case, they tend to have unremorseful destructive and protective patterns. For instance, if a neighbour of such type has a bigger decorative rock in their front yard, the competitive characteristics of his peers next door will compel them to acquire an even bigger and nicer rock. This can even reach a point where it can damage individual identities. Whether these individual are of the stagnant or of the competitive nature, most of them eventually don't have control of their own destination and even start living a lie.The modern vagabond, for instance, are the people who eventually retire from their fixed career or even choose not to enter the working communities. They detach themselves from the 'Rat Race' and start living life at their own pace. Most are free spirited and are sometimes branded by the members of working class as free loaders, social menaces, beggars, and bums. As defined in books and dictionaries, a vagabond is a travelling person. Such people may be called drifters, tramps, rogues, gypsies, or hobos. A vagabond is characterised by almost continuous travelling, absent a fixed home, temporary dwelling, or permanent home and community. Vagabonds are not bums, as bums are not known for travelling, preferring to stay in one location.There are many ways a vagabond can get around and travel. Backpacking, walking, and hitching rides are the most cost effective, but yet are less reliable ways. In today's modern world, for the more accomplished vagabonds, there are options like automobiles, motorcycles, and even recreational vehicles. The ladder of these methods allows the wander to be able to carry more of their personal items without straining their backs, and getting to their destination in a quicker and safer way, not to mention that it also provides them with a mobile home.Here is a motto all modern vagabonds can live by, "Put on your backpack, grab your walking stick, and join us on the excursion of our lives. No alarm clocks, no suit and tie, and especially no "Working for The Man". Just plain old road trips, and good old Mother Nature to fulfill our daily lives."
