There are two essentials you need for smooth living. First of all, a desire for something beyond mere existence. Second (and this is funny to me) you have to have proper identification. This is our world. The rest is optional.
I’ll say this again later, but it’s fair to tell you now. I can’t teach you how to do exactly what I do because I can’t teach you to be me. I’m a writer, I created an online magazine about travel. I’ve used contacts I’ve made through writing and publishing to gain extraordinary experiences. There are other people who have done more with less and plenty of people who have done less with more.
Ultimately, you have to be willing to look at what you have and figure out how to make the most of it. Simple as that. You still think you want an adventure?
To find out more about Smooth Living, you’ll have to buy the book. For now, let’s move on to the tales of a Rough Living vagabond. You’ll find more tips and resources in the appendix at the back of this book or at my website at http://www.vagodamitio.com. Enjoy the tales!
VAGABOND TALES
No Baba, No Bobo
My mom was working as a waitress and my dad was painting houses, playing music. I was almost two and my brother was about seven. One evening Dad was watching us because Mom was working and he had no gig that evening. Mom and the baby sitter followed a similar routine in making me a bottle (ba-ba), ensuring that I had a pacifier (bo-bo), and then tucking me in my crib (night-night) before helping my brother with his homework. Dad threw all of that out the window and propped me on the couch watching TV while he helped my brother with his homework at the kitchen table.
It was at this point that I first heard the haunting melody of what might lie beyond. Obviously, I recognized that something lay outside better than what the talking heads on the magic box were babbling about. Dad’s first clue was a whoosh of cold winter air blowing my brothers papers from the table.
He looked up and realized that I was gone as the screen door slammed in the wind. He ran outside and was terrified to see that I was running down the road next to two busy lanes of nighttime traffic. He sprinted after me and though I ran as fast as my tiny legs would carry me he caught me as I attempted to dart between fast moving cars.
He picked me up and shook me asking, "Chris, what are you doing?"
It was only then that I spoke my first sentence as I tried to explain it to him. "No ba-ba, no bo-bo, no night-night, bye-bye." If I had been a bit more articulate I might have explained the call of the road like this "I’m pretty sure there’s a better life out there for me somewhere because sitting around watching TV sucks."
$100 Volkswagen Bus
The bus I live in as I write this, was broken down on the side of the road in Seattle with a ‘For Sale’ sign listing $400 as the price. As I was wistfully looking at her, her owner came running out of his house explaining that he would give her to me for $100 right that instant.
I was in my friend Kevin’s car and between the two of us we were able to come up with exactly $100 when we found some change under the back seat. We towed her to the house I was going to be moving out of a week later.
The bus wouldn’t start. A next door neighbor who was a VW enthusiast came over to have a look and within ten minutes had diagnosed and fixed the problem. All he did was tweak a few wires. I named her Turtle, since she would be my home and didn’t move too fast.
The next day, I paid $30 to get a temporary registration for the bus. That left me nearly broke. I was unemployed and a week from homeless, but I was starting to live smarter by far. I had a home.
I needed to drive to South Center (about a 60 mile round trip) to get her inspected by the State Patrol to make sure she wasn’t stolen before I could get her registered and licensed. She drove like a charm on the way there. I’d already fixed the stereo, so I was pretty happy about the trip down. I was nervous that the bus would be stolen because I’d only paid $100 for it and it had no title, but she passed the State Patrol’s inspection with flying colors.
I was driving on a three-day trip permit, which allows unlicensed cars to be driven for three consecutive days. I was jubilant on the way back and that’s when Turtle broke down. First she stopped in a busy intersection and finally restarted only to die alongside Highway 99, I coasted to the small shoulder wedged between the highway and the railroad tracks just South of Seattle.
A busy shipping yard was on the other side of the tracks. Shipping containers stacked four high. I tried to get her started for fifteen or twenty minutes and then knew that I would have to call a tow truck.
I hopped over the tracks. I ran through the yard and looked for an exit, a payphone, or an office.
Finally three rednecks in a company pickup pulled up next to me, I asked politely, but they said I couldn’t use their phone. A crane driver pulled up and yelled at me “This is private property, you’ve gotta leave.” He seemed to have a little more of an idea of what was going on than the boys in the pickup who had begun muttering things like ‘stupid fucking hippie.’
“My car broke down on Highway 99 and I need to find a phone to call a tow truck.”
“Take him to the office and let him use the phone” he bellowed at the pickup boys and then sped away in his crane.
The ladies in the office were nice if not comforting.
“Sure, use the phone, you’re not the first to break down out there. It happens all the time. Most of the time the cars get hit by other cars while they sit on that road.”
I used my mom’s AAA card to call a tow truck ( Thanks Mom! By the way, other people’s AAA cards are great because AAA never seems to check and never charges for limited distance towing.)
Now I had to get back to the car, they wouldn’t let me go through the yard again. I tried walking to an on ramp, but there wasn’t one. I walked north hoping for an off ramp…no luck. In an alley an old man was wiping bird shit off of his Honda Civic with a dirty handkerchief. I said hello as I ran past, then I stopped.
“Hey could you do a stranger a huge favor?” I asked German accent as he wiped at his windshield then ran to a puddle to dip his handkerchief in. “Vhat do you vant?” He eyed me suspiciously.
“My car broke down right over there on 99 and I need a ride to it.”
“Vhy don’t you valk?”
“They won’t let me through the yard.” I told him.
“You’ll have to ride in the backseat. I’ve got a bunch of stuff in the front.”
I was grateful. He drove me to my car while telling me about how he hitchhiked 30 years before when he first came from Germany. He still picked up hitchhikers, but there were fewer of them in recent years. He dropped me off and I waited for the truck to tow Turtle back to the house.
It took me a day and half to figure out that my ignition points had closed. It took 15 minutes to replace them. My future home was running strong again. I drove to register the bus at the Licensing Department. I told them it wouldn’t be driven so that I wouldn’t have to get a smog check. They didn’t ask what I’d driven to the licensing department.
Once I had the plates, it was time to do some maintenance. I replaced the plugs, rotor, air filter, and cleaned her up a little. I started her up. Perfect.
I took a trip to the junkyard. It was incredible. Dozens of VW buses lined up and ready to give up whatever I needed. I felt like a kid in Candyland taking things apart and digging through the waste. I love junkyards. Infinite possibilities within a budget. I bought a table, a latch for the engine, a glove box, and a few odds and ends that the bus needed like taillight covers and door handles.