HD Open Road

By Coach, sprinkled with comments from Scooter Tramp Scotty, Michelle Hope, and James (Jimi Dean) Bagwell

The morning sun warmed the back of his neck as he rode slowly along the small and mostly forgotten highway of some barely known town. Enjoying the wind and the scenery around him, the Gypsy cared not where the road would lead. Nor did he worry over such details as where he would lay his head this night. For when evening came—and as it had been a thousand times before—he would simply seek a secluded place to lay out the basic accommodations of a drifter’s simple needs; all of which now lay comfortably attached to the flanks of his trusty steed. No rent would be collected; for the road was his kingdom, the path his own choice, and done in his own time

As I ponder these facts, there are a lot of my brothers and sisters in America that are truly hurting. Unemployment is climbing as more of our jobs are ushered overseas. Home foreclosures are now greater than in the last depression. And energy and food prices are shooting through the roof as an out of touch political class tries in vain to print their way out of the economic morass that they have created.

I too have been hurt by the economic realities that have been bestowed upon us and our children. My clients have struggled, as have my friends and family. And it is from this that I seek not blame, but a new understanding of the world in which we live. And I question the paradigm that has been bestowed upon us by greedy corporations and corrupt political officials.

In recent months I have had the privilege to spend time with a small group of individuals that freely roam our country without many of the concerns and fears that hamper our daily lives. These nomadic bikers live by a few simple truths that enable them to enjoy those things that God granted us, rather than the things that corporations sell to us.

Scooter Tramp Scotty Kerekes has been on the road since 1994. An accomplished writer of many magazine articles about his adventures on the road, he was originally a roofing contractor in Southern California. What follows is a piece of his story as he tells it.

“There was a time when I believed that my spirit existed mainly to make possible the journey of the stuff. My weekdays revolved around the earning of money to make the payments on said stuff, while weekends were often reserved for the general maintenance of that same stuff. And although these daily toils offered a great measure of satisfaction to many of my friends, for me they seemed only as slow poison. It felt as if I had no life.

“Depression became a familiar friend. Then, through a series of events, I came to suspect that just maybe I had things backwards. Perhaps it was the stuff that existed only to make possible the journey of my spirit. For the commodities of food, shelter, clothing, wheels, and such, are all fundamentally necessary to make the human experience possible.

“In a single day I liquidated almost all of my possessions, keeping only those things that I actually use. No longer would I do one sided relationships. If an item did not serve me, then I would not serve it either. If a thing was not performing an outright and useful service to me, then I’d let that thing go quickly and without reserve or regret—usually to make its final debut at the trash can. This new action brought an unprecedented sense of freedom. It was a thing I had not known before. I wondered then why the decision had been such a hard one…and taken so long. The big house I no longer had; for now I lived in a small Airstream trailer set beside a friend’s house and on his property. It was something my mother used to do when we were kids. The rent was only $150 a month. The big truck was gone too, replaced by a smaller economy model. The bike of course, did not change. But I was working too much now. For, rather than earning money to stuff into someone else’s pocket, I was simply putting it into my own. Although still in the roofing business, I began to cut back my work load. Now I only worked two to three weeks, and then took two months off. It seemed strange to work less yet have more money.

“With this new freedom I began to indulge in far more recreation and leisure; for alarm clocks were a thing of the past and no longer did I have need to be home and in bed by a certain time. This system worked well, and it was for five years that I lived the easy life of Riley.

“But it was sometime during those years that I began to grow bored. Boredom slowly turned to pain and pain eventually brought desperation. The search for answers began. I attended many events and started to comb the city at night as well as day. Very soon I had friends everywhere. At the invitation of some of them, I began to take motorcycle trips. This experience was most wonderful and, with a yen to travel more often than many of their jobs would allow, I began to travel alone.

“It was while on one of those early solo forays that I crested the mountains then rode slow and out into the vast stretch of desert warmth on a sunny day. Then it happened: Freedom enveloped my being like nothing I’d felt before. Adventure loomed ahead and the passion for it seemed to ooze from my every pore. And I knew. Just like that I knew that this was the true call of my heart’s desire. Would I follow such passion? Of course I would, for no longer was there even a choice. It seemed then that it would have been a sad affair had I spent a lifetime working a passionless job only as a tool to maintaining the needs of a few common possessions.

“A deal was worked out with my friend and landlord whereupon where I would pay only $30 for each month that my truck and trailer sat vacant on his property. The trips became longer then, and life’s adventures continued to grow larger. In time I began returning to San Diego to work for the winter only that I might again set out for a summer of travel in the spring. But I was beginning to hate coming home. Then I began to hate being home.

“Next came a season that marked the epoch of a great change. For business had been bad that year and even my meager possessions had plagued me with uncommon demands for attention and money. By springtime I was left with only $500 available for the season’s travel.

“There was a time in the not so distant past when I endured a life that offered to me a constant twist of emotional pain. But it was a dull pain, a familiar pain and, of course, a safe and, I believed, responsible pain. Eventually this pain intensified, and although I am not a religious man, I turned to God. It was then that a quiet inspiration came and whispered something like this: “That’s okay Scotty, you can stay inside the little prison you’ve built of fear for the rest of your life if you so choose. For like any other you have freedom of will. I am no puppet master who would see you dance at the end of a string. I am no slave keeper who would insist that you venture on to someplace you do not wish to go. But your heart calls you to more, doesn’t it my friend? And if you ever decide to follow the small voice inside—the place from which I call—then know that I will stay with you for the journey’s duration. And although the road may become bumpy at times, as life often does, as we travel you will come to know and love your true self such as never before. And I won’t leave you man. After all, is it not my job to be your guide in this life?”

“It was time to put this philosophy to the test. So, much inspired by the book “The Peace Pilgrim”, I looked to the sky and said, “Okay. You know my situation. I’m going to take this $500, step out into blind faith, and see if it’s really possible for you to keep a man and motorcycle going across this great country.

“I left with the $500, traveled the U.S. and Canada for nine months, and then returned to San Diego in the fall with $550 in my pocket.

“Something changed in me that year.

“In the spring of 1994 I set out to see if it was possible to stay gone for an entire year; and in the spring of 1995 returned to liquidate the remainder of my possessions, save those that would fit aboard the motorcycle.

“But it was not a life of hardship and sleeping under a tarp on picnic tables in the rain that I sought, but rather a life that was, dare I say, comfortable enough to work well as an everyday lifestyle. That objective was long ago realized and this crazy life still remains the greatest I’ve ever known.

“In reality I am only a humble homeless guy with a sleeping-bag and an old motorcycle. But if this seems like a lame and useless existence to you, then think again. So excited was I with all the wondrous adventures that were now becoming almost commonplace, that I began to tell stories to those who were interested. Some said that I should try to get these stories printed. So I did. Almost immediately this work began selling to some of the largest magazines of their kind in the world, and over time, I was paid very well for these articles.

“I do not advise that anyone without the twisted mentality to wish such a thing should attempt to live from the back of a motorcycle; for the following of one’s heart is truly an individual matter. Yet I have seen so many men and women who’ve achieved the deepest fulfillment of their own individual desire. For in this world it often seems that there are those who would follow their hearts… and those who choose instead to follow their fears.

“The choice is a personal one.”

Michelle Hope has been traveling the road as a Gypsy Biker for 6 years now. Many people are astonished to hear of a woman traveling the roads alone on a motorcycle. But Michelle has found her home on the highways and by-ways of America. Michelle tells her story here:

“I worked for a global corporation; at first supporting a highly technical website, its executive partner, and its developers; then as a freelance graphic designer as the corporation graciously paid for my education.  In fact, I was working in Manhattan on 9-11.  Still I didn’t belong in the corporate grind and the structure was killing my soul, as was my addiction to consume. I had grown empty and dependent on the paycheck; shopping became my answer to the misery.

“And so it was that when I got laid off, I was actually relieved. At some point I pushed all of the antique furniture and shopping spree treasures I had been accumulating, onto the sidewalk outside of my New Jersey Flat with a sign that read “Free”. It went quickly. It was some nice stuff, too.

“I loaded up my little Honda car with what would fit and was most important to me and hit the road; traveling first to stay in South Carolina for a few months, then on to the west coast. After the layoff I had gotten a gig illustrating six children’s books, yet my well-meaning friends and family knew I needed to settle down and get a regular job. But the life that was given me by default no longer functioned for me and I needed something new and different. There was no way in hell I could ever live that way again. What was I to do?

“I was patiently searching for something else. And then, just in the nick of time, I met this interesting dude, Scotty, who offered a glimpse of a lifestyle that may just work for me. A lifestyle that was built on a foundation of freedom, removed from the corporate paradigm of the house, fancy car and all the bills that go with it. I was no longer working my life away for no other reason than profits of corporations; this to me offered purpose, meaning and a cure for my consumerist need to fill the emptiness I had created within myself by not honoring the voice of my muse, the beat of my heart, or the breath of my spirit.

There is nothing like being out in a storm, in my tent, tarp over bike and tent, dry, warm and secure. I have been into self-development for decades now, but in these past few years I have experienced a tremendous amount of growth, partly through some of the wonderful people I have met along the way. Life is good, my needs are met, and I am looking forward to what tomorrow may bring. I am no longer seemingly stuck on that proverbial hamster wheel going round and round, questioning my purpose, direction and thoughts of life. I am closer to me then I have ever been.

“I will end with a reminder to us all, this piece of personal truth ‘Freedom is an inside job, follow the path that leads there’.

In this last year, Michelle’s son, James Bagwell (AKA Jimi Dean) has joined the cadre of Motorcycle Drifters. Mentored both by Scotty and Michelle, Jimi Dean offers a new perspective into this lifestyle. His approach has been one of an adventure to be had each and every day. And he has learned the tools of the Gypsy Biker well. A few years ago Jimi Dean met his ex fiancé and decided that he wanted to be a dad and husband. Being stationary for the last five years Jimi collected all kinds of “The Good Stuff” you could say. Jimi was the facilities maintenance manager at an international hunting organization.

“The politics were to the point that every employee was afraid for their job. The work was everything I could have ever dreamt for, and the people I worked with were amazing. I truly loved what I was doing. I just couldn’t take watching my fellow employees fear the possibility of loosing their jobs for no apparent reason, getting blamed for things they were not responsible for and treated like they were children, so after 5 years I left.”

 Jimi signed the house over to his ex, sold his good stuff and filled a small storage unit half full with his tools, a dresser, and some electronics. With a couple thousand dollars from liquidating the majority of his assets he set off on the road to join his mother and Scotty. He says that it was going to be just a few months to get the feel, and to get to know his mom on her leve, yet his restlessness to see this new view of the world started to take hold of him.

“I think that this is what I am supposed to be doing. The more I travel, and the more I learn about the road, the more I am intrigued with the lifestyle myself. I have always loved to be in nature, whether it was hunting, hiking, mountain climbing, off-roading, or simply watching the sunset. Now I feel as if I am part of this nature.”

James sold off the majority of his stuff and now has his tools and a car in California “just in case” he says.

“I think that over the past hundred years people have been given this false sense of need. To live, all someone “NEEDS” is food, water, and sunlight. Everything else is a gift that we have been able to acquire, tools if you will, to make life a little easier. Where do you draw the line? I draw the line at the point where I become my stuff.  What do I mean by becoming my stuff? Well, like any other young man, I like to impress the ladies. And like a lot of other young men, I was under the impression that the more nice things I had, the more I would impress them. Believing this I bought a Jeep Cherokee that looked nice. I bought another one that was lifted 6 inches and I bought a nice little street race car. I had stuff, and lots of it. I ended up with nice furniture, and everything started looking up as far as my having things. That meant I was doing good, right? Not really. I was, for the most part, miserable. My things were nice but they didn’t make me happy. I had to wake up at five in the morning and work till the end of the day, come home to my stuff and be so tired I would just sit back and watch TV., only to go to bed and do it again. “Weekends I spent cleaning, maintaining and fixing my stuff. I was working to afford my stuff and spending my weekends taking care of my stuff. My stuff owned me. If I wanted to take a few days off and do nothing, I still had to worry about getting my stuff paid for and keep it cleaned and maintained.”

“What is my life like without all the stuff now? Since I now have a smaller amount of stuff, I have been so much happier. I have been able to give up worry for the most part. I play all day and maintain my stuff maybe once every couple months. I work maybe a week every couple of months, too. And I get to sleep in a new place whenever I feel its time for a change, or I’m done exploring my new surroundings.

“How does it feel to be a vagabond? At times it feels a little lonely. When I say it’s a little lonely, what I mean is I would like to share some of these great moments with another person. I don’t always travel with my mom, and there isn’t always someone there with me. Sometimes I’ll be camping and amazing things will happen. So surreal that it could be a dream. Like once I had coyote’s drinking the rain runoff that had accumulated on my tarp while I was camping. Or I was out following a deer and it seemed he was playing with me. Or the time a snake dropped out of a tree right next to my tent. All amazing experiences that I never thought may happen.

“And as far as living out of a tent, all I can say is it feels great.  I have been able to camp in the beautifully unmanaged pine forest’s in California, where the trees towered over me and I was an insignificant speck in a world that had little human traffic. I have camped in the hot arid deserts of Arizona, where the sunset’s and sunrise’s light dances along the clouds in a perfect menagerie of brilliant reds, oranges, and sometimes greens. I have been in the glorious and spiritual Black Hills of South Dakota, where the forests would come to life and turkeys, deer, blackbirds, bluebirds, and other small animals appeared to live in harmony. I have slept in the wet, sticky swamps of Louisiana, where moss grows on the ends of the tree branches creating a beautiful canopy around the edges as the light filters through to project a beautiful array of sun beams that gently touch the ground. And of course there is the occasional abandoned house, where it looks as if Mother Nature has forced some people to give up their American dream. I get to experience nature in a new and exciting way by making it my home for the night, week or even month if I choose. Life is good, life is free, life is beautiful.”  

Living on the road has its own challenges, and there are many methods that the Drifter uses to make his road more pleasant, comfortable, and enjoyable.  One of the key ideas that Scotty has impressed upon me is “Slow down!” He said that on those occasions when Michelle rides with him, she has perfected the art of the quick U-turn. Scotty frequently will turn around to inspect something of interest. An old building or barn, an unusual bridge, a roadside rally, party, car show, Indian Pow Wow, National Monument, historical marker, point of interest…the list goes on.

Once, Scotty called from Rapid City, on his way to Kansas. “How far do you need to go,” I asked? “Oh, about 700 miles” he replied. “Hmm, that should take you what, a day or a day and a half?” “No,” he said, “it’ll take around three.”

The Gypsies carry their homes on their bikes. When I last saw Michelle, she commented in fun that Scotty had bought her a new home awhile back. She was referring to a new tent.

While you or I may seek out a reasonably priced motel (good luck if near a rally), or a campground where we can pay for the privilege of laying our head on the ground, the Gypsy Biker seeks out the odd turnoff or unused drive.

They make their homes in a stand of trees, valley, forest, against a mountain, or any other piece of land that offers good coverage from the elements, and  just as important, all but complete privacy. Sometimes, especially when traveling through the plains or open deserts, they’ll take advantage of an abandoned shed or barn. Almost invariably these riders stay in beautiful places. Although it might seem an unlikely oddity, they generally live very, very well.

Upon observing a homeless man carrying a wet sleeping-bag after a night’s rain, Scotty once remarked to me that “These guys ain’t too good at being homeless, are they.”  That says volumes to the level that the Gypsy Biker lives comfortably.

Scotty has  also remarked, “There are three kinds of homeless, 1): the drunks and crack-heads, 2): the outright mental defectives, and 3): a class of folks pretty much normal in every way except that they don’t care to be caught up in the race anymore, and don’t really mind staying on the land to achieve this certain measure of relaxed living. These men and women often occupy vans, trucks, campers and RVs; some of these have been nicely crafted with their own hands. This third class is undeniably the minority.”

“I myself can come to your town, and in no time find a nice place to make camp. Once a home is established, I’ll simply hook up with a local gym for access to daily showers, hot tubs, and any other facilities they might offer. Often times I locate an inexpensive movie theater for an occasional evening of TV, and always a place of social gathering at which to hang out and make a few friends. I call this ‘wiring the town up’ and it generally takes less than three days. Once these few ‘accommodations’ are established the town is mine. I can stay as long as I like and live uncommonly well while doing it. These visits may last only a few days but have yet to exceed two months.

Recently there was an ongoing question regarding how the Gypsy Biker funds his lifestyle. You and I know how much just riding to our favorite rally costs, not to mention room, food, beverages and entertainment. Well, take a good look at that rally, because the Gypsy Biker is probably working there.

I have known Scotty to work as skilled labor installing tires on motorcycles at the Sturgis Rally. He’s also a roofer by trade, makes a little money writing, and has been known to wash windows of homes and businesses in the past and still carries an extension pole securely fastened below his left saddlebag.

Michelle works for various vendors at the rallies, selling items such as sunglasses, and has a couple of web and administrative clients across the country, as well as another illustration gig.

Their daily needs are small in comparison, spending little and conserving without effort. “When you do not have the car payment, rent, utilities, satellite TV, and all the other expenses that go with suburban America, you would be surprised how inexpensively you can live” says Michelle.

Although few who read this would ever consider selling all of their “worldly possessions” and taking to the road (though I am sure many would like to), we can all learn from some of the lessons of the Gypsy Biker. Lessons regarding our possessions, and how much is enough. Lessons about the trade-offs between those things that we own, and those things that own us.

Scotty once told me, “It’s like a scale: on one side is stuff while the other holds freedom. And the more one puts in one, the more he gives up of the other. There’s no real gain; it’s only a trade, pure and simple. Fortunately however, there’s plenty of grey area, and although I may lean a little heavily toward the freedom side these days, this scale is adjustable for the individual. But only a blind man will believe he’s going to possess both of these commodities simultaneously. Even the rich tell me that their stuff owns them.”

This is the reevaluation of the corporate society, and just exactly what it is that we need to live comfortably. And of course the knowledge that if we hit hard times and lost everything, as many of our brothers and sisters have done, we could still live exceptionally well.

So when you come across that heavily laden motorcycle, buy the rider a drink. Spend some time with them, and talk to them about their travels and experiences. And listen to how they manage their own challenges, and make sure that you read their stories in magazines and on http://www.hdopenroad.com. Those stories and the challenges that they meet are about freedom and the open road.

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