Biking Home: Haines City, FL to Largo, FL

Stats: 95.33 miles, 15.7 avg, 6 hours

This was the home stretch.  I had ~100 miles to get home and surprise my mom.

My South African friends, Scott and Ross, wanted to meet me in Plant City to bike with me the rest of the way home.  I started from Haines City where my CouchSurfing host, Bekah, dropped me off.  I hauled ass ~30 miles –  I remember I was really killing it that morning!

It was awesome meeting up with Ross and Scott.  And their dad took my gear in his van so my bike would be a little lighter on the ride.  The pedestrian bridge across the Tampa Bay was closed so we had to take the Gandy.  The speed limit is pretty high, but the shoulder was wide, so it wasn’t a problem.

We made it to Scott’s house without many problems.  I picked up my gear and then the three of us rode down the Pinellas Trail towards my mom’s house.

It was strange biking on those really familiar roads, returning home.  It felt only half-real.  I pulled up into my mom’s driveway, a few minutes before she would probably be home.  I got a key from the neighbor — he was shocked to see me — and opened up the garage.  Just after I took this photo (using a ladder as a tripod), I saw my mom’s car coming around the corner.  I ran inside and tried to hide to surprise her, but she was too quick.  I saw her face as the car pulled in.  She was amazed.  She couldn’t believe I was home.  It was a great moment for both of us.

My mom and I celebrated by going out for a humble pizza party.  It was great to be back, and not have to think about biking any more.

My sister, Eleanor, knew when I was coming home, and she kept the secret from my mom.  But Eleanor wanted to surprise her too.  Eleanor arrived the next day.  I picked her up from the airport and then we drove over to pick up mom from work.  Eleanor hid in the trunk …



Cycling through a Storm: Orlando Airport to Poinciana

It was about 140 miles from Orlando to Tampa.  I was lucky to find a CouchSurfing host that wasn’t too far off my route, about 40 miles from the airport.  I was arriving into Orlando at 2pm, and it took me a couple hours to get all situated and get my bike re-assembled.  I left at 4pm, and I had to bike 40 miles to my host, Bekah.  There was a really dark cloud looming.

Biking on the ramps to exit the airport was bizarre.

My cell phone had been robbed months before in Guatemala, and I never got it replaced because it wasn’t necessary.  But now that I was back in the US, I stopped at the AT&T store to get a new phone, as I was probably eligible for a free one.  But the AT&T rep told me I wasn’t.  She gave me a SIM card though! 🙂

There was a Subway in the same plaza.  Mmmm meatball marinara.  It had been a while.  I took it to eat it at the tables outside.  There were some homeless people hanging out there.  The lady was friendly, and worked up to asking me for a sandwich.  I was feeling great, really pumped by this returning-home adventure, so I handed her my credit card and told her she could get whatever she wanted.  She came out with a sandwich and an extra large drink.  Dumbass buying a huge drink when you can just get refills.  It’s not like she was rushing off anywhere.  I figured that’s why she’s homeless.  Bad decisions like these.

The rain started pouring when I was at Subway.  I figured it would just be about an hour, as Florida storms usually quick. But the rain kept coming.  It was getting close to 7pm, and the light was fading.  I asked the guy at Subway if I could use the phone, and I called Bekah.  I told her that I was waiting for the storm to cool off and she said that she could just come and get me.  I would have felt bad for her to have to drive ~25 miles each way to pick me up, so I refused politely.  Plus it’s an ego thing.

Since it was getting late and the rain wasn’t dying down, I figured I had to just do it, and get out there.  I took off my shirt, said goodbye to my homeless friends, and plunged into the abyss.  Do or Die Baby!!

Right away it was bad.  So much water on the road.  Passing cars were chucking it up at me.  And I was wearing my glasses!  I could barely see through all the water beads on the lenses and in the fading light.  I was a little jittery too, especially when semi-trucks passed spraying mist at me.  I imagined myself slipping on my bike, getting crushed and killed under a truck, and my mom finding out that I was only a couple hour’s drive away.  “Just don’t fall.  Don’t fall.”

It got worse as I turned off from a lighted strip of road with plazas onto a country road in pitch black.  The only light was from the headlights of passing cars.

I was looking for my turnoff.  There weren’t many cross-streets, but when I checked my cyclo-computer again, I figured that I had gone ~3 miles past the turn, but maybe not.  I wasn’t sure.  I wanted to ask someone.  But there was nothing on that road.  I stopped at a gated community that was under development.  There was no one around; no one was living in the houses yet.  I think I yelled at that point.  Then I stood by the road and tried to wave down a car to ask directions.  No one stopped.  Remember though, I was a shirtless cyclist out in the middle of nowhere in the dark.

So I decided to backtrack.  A couple of miles back, I saw a residential area, so I turned in there.  I pulled up to a house that had a light on, put on my shirt, and knocked on the door.  I tried to come across as harmless as possible because I knew this was weird.  A middle-aged guy answered the door, and I told him the situation and asked directions.  He invited me inside to use his phone so I could call my host.  This guy was really trusting.  Once I got the directions down, I headed out.

I think I arrived at my host’s house at around 10pm.  Bekah was outside waiting for me and said she was worried I wouldn’t show up — that I got killed on the way.  Bekah and I had a pasta dinner, talked for a while, and then went to bed.  Pretty standard, but really perfect; I was exhausted.

Going to Mexico, Again

Rod offered to drive me 50 miles to Casa Grande to meet up with Kevin, my rideshare to Costa Rica.  Before we left, we jumped.


We ate at Del Taco, my treat.  Then Kevin arrived in his 1983 Mercedes Benz Diesel.


I had bought a bike rack through craigslist for $25; basically, my ticket to Costa Rica.  While I was packing my bags into the car, Rod, Nathan, and Kevin were really interested in attaching the bike rack to car.  Too many guys working on a simple task.


It was time to say goodbye to Rod and Nathan.  I gave them each a big hug, but an especially big one for Rod; he had saved my ass in Texas, and helped me out a lot in Phoenix.

Kevin and I drove to Tucson.  I had arranged a place for us to stay through CouchSurfing.  Fess was able to host us, but the bad part was that we arrived really late, like 11:30 pm and then got up and left early at around 7:30 am.  So, I felt bad because it was bad CouchSurfing etiquette.  We were basically using Fess’s place as a free hotel.  Fess said he didn’t mind.


Fess was kind of odd.  He’s about 40 and living with his parents.  He told us that he hasn’t worked since 1999 because he likes traveling, and he was happy to showboat his travel knowledge. “I’m more comfortable in third world countries.”  Whatever dude.

Kevin and I crossed the border in Nogales, AZ the next morning.  No problem.  No grenades either.  Kevin was pumped we were in Mexico!  Party boys!


The Traveling Roses

The Traveling Roses

One of our hosts in Louisiana told us about a mother and daughter team that are cycling the coastlines of North and South America. That’s ambitious! They call themselves The Traveling Roses. They came to stay with our host for a day or two, and just kept staying. Apparently they are very picky about weather conditions by biking. “Oooooh, it rained last night and it’s wet today. Biking in the wet is miserable. Let’s stay another day to let it dry up.” At about five days into their stay, they said they’d be leaving early the next morning. The next morning, they delayed. More bad weather conditions. “It’s overcast. I hate gray days. I hope there’s blue skies tomorrow.” At this point, the host couldn’t take another day of them. He drove them and their bikes 60 miles to their next destination.

But they’re not all bad. One night they offered to make their world famous spaghetti. Giving back for overstaying their welcome. They delayed. The host got anxious because it was getting late and they hadn’t even started. Their world famous spaghetti probably involves a lot of preparation. Cutting up vegetables, adding spices, making the sauce, hand-rolling the pasta. He prompted them and they got to it. They boiled pasta and added Ragu sauce. WORLD FAMOUS!

They started in New Orleans a year ago. And they just got out of Louisiana recently. They hitched rides a number of times, and then overstayed to the extreme in Gueydan, LA. The Methodist church allowed them to stay in their guest house and the Traveling Roses freeloaded for 9 months. There was probably an extended period of morning dew on the ground. You can’t bike in that!

They’ve extended the duration of their coastline trip from 4 years to 6 years after their year long pace to get out of Louisiana. Texas will probably take them 2 years. Maybe they should change their mission to be to bike the coastline of two states. That would save a lot of generous people from being abused.

Reading their website is frustrating. They’ve got ads, a list of “Sponsors,” an “Amazon Store” where you can buy the same gear they’re using, and a few places where they urge you to donate money to their cause. Here’s their sales pitch:

Many folks we’ve met have asked how they could help us, so in late autumn of 2007 we wrote a fundraising letter telling our story, liberally lacing it with movie quotes. Our idea was to ask for a $30 minimum donation and to give away a t-shirt to each person who could identify all the movie quotes hidden in the letter. When we realized how time and cost intensive it would be, we scratched the t-shirt idea, but we still really loved the movie letter.
So, since we know most of you probably have too many t-shirts anyway, we’re going straight to the heart of the matter – and asking for your donation of $30, $50 or more! We hope you enjoy our letter, and we hope it inspires you to click on the button below to help us out by sending us a donation of any amount. Let us know if you can identify any of the movie quotes!

So they’re not giving t-shirts to people who donate? Why make an empty reference? They want everyone to know that they intended to give send t-shirts for donations, but they have no follow through, and are good for nothing. A tease. Empty and parasitic. And a $30 minimum?! That’s asking a lot for supporting a pipe dream.

Ryan and I developed a seething hatred for The Traveling Roses. The mission, “cycling to celebrate life,” seems more like “mooching and lying to take advantage of generous people.” Ryan and I adopted a temporary mission: to warn our hosts about the mother-daughter deadbeat combo coming through

Ethics: Stealing a Can of Beer

This is the incident that set off a four hour argument. It involves this CouchSurfer, Chris, a wannabe troubadour from Memphis. Free spirit.

So then we left to go out. We came to a Circle K. Chris was jumpy, “Hey let’s stop here and get some beer.” Dawid pulled in and we got out. “I’m not gonna buy beer, but I’ll watch you guys buy some.” Dick comment. I follow them to the back refrigerator. I see Chris take a big can of PBR and slip it into his back pocket. I call him on it. “Dude, are you serious?” All sly and sneaky but with a big smile on his face, he says proudly, “I do it all the time.” “That’s bullshit dude.” I get pissed.

Genessa buys a six-pack and then we return to the car. Chris broaches the subject of his stolen beer. My heart starts thumping. “Dude, you just stole that beer. That’s wrong. Why do you think it’s okay to do that?” He gives me some abstract explanation of how his conscience doesn’t think it’s wrong, so it’s not wrong. I get riled up about it. I noticed my voice get emotional at the end of some of my statements.


Look at the bandana tied around his boot, and his mesh sleeve over one arm. Give me a break.

He thinks he can customize some bizarre morality for himself where it’s okay to steal from a business, and that if he’s happy with it, that’s all that matters. I tell him that he’s selfish parasite. That if everyone used his morality, there’d be no Circle K’s and there’d be no beer in a can. Chris said that would be fine; he doesn’t like or respect a business like Circle K. Dude, you benefit from it. They provide you certain products in exchange for money; that’s the agreement. If you don’t to support Circle K, don’t be a patron of their stores.

Chris started telling me that “money is a construct that we’ve assigned certain emotional value to” and that in a primitive society, people would barter. Oh God, free spirit. Stupid open-minded ideas. Money exists to make bartering easier. What you did in there is *take.* Nothing was bartered or agreed upon. It wasn’t a gift either. And this isn’t a primitive society. You’re in fucking Phoenix dude. It’s a modern society with laws. To live here and benefit from it, you need to respect the laws that allow people to live together. If you want to act like you’re in a primitive society, go out to the damn countryside.

He kept talking about primitive society and eating from the land, like picking an apple from a tree. Dude, what you stole is a canned beer. It’s a manufactured product; not primitive at all. The beer is mass produced, it’s been canned, there’s a label printed on the can, and it’s been refrigerated. There’s a value to it, and Circle K is selling it.

We talked about how Circle K is operating under an agreement. They are selling beer for money. He broke the agreement, so he’s wrong. He’s fucking them over, and if everyone operated with his morality, there’d be no Circle K. Chris said, “Exactly. I guess I choose who to fuck over.” He went on to say that I don’t even realize how many people and things I fuck over with my purchases. The troubadour used my bike as an example. Talking about low-wage workers and pollution from mills. That my purchase was taking advantage of people and the earth. He got me confused with that one, although I believe Surly is American-made, so it doesn’t involve low-wage workers. Giving some complicated irrelevant example to take the heat off of him. But I thought about it, and realized that everybody throughout that supply chain was operating under an agreement. Low-wage workers were working willingly. No one was forcing them to work, so even though they might not be paid enough, it’s still their choice. The government sets standards on pollution. The factory would be operating under that agreement. We’re citizens of that government and we have to agree that the government will represent us. So we’re operating under agreements. Back to the simple example of him stealing a beer. He broke the agreement with Circle K. He’s wrong.

I asked him how he’d feel if I stole his beloved black troubadour hat. He said he’d be pissed. I tried to make him realize that that’s how Circle K feels too. But Chris sees Circle K very differently than a person. He said he wouldn’t steal from me “because you’re you.” Abstract, free-thinking. I told him it shouldn’t matter whether it’s an individual, an independent, artsy coffee house, a non-profit, or business like Circle K; it’s stealing in each case. Chris told me that his father was a preacher, so he was raised straight. But that now he’s questioning everything. What is good and evil? He threw in saying something about “semantics.” And that he realized that “To get anywhere, we’ve got to just blow it all up. You know what I mean?” “Dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re arguments aren’t coherent.”

And it’s true, his arguments sucked. They were based on free-spirited questioning and romantic ideas of primitive society. What he had going for him was confidence. He remained calm, maintained eye contact, and used bullshit, meaningless vocabulary to try to explain his way out an obviously wrong petty crime he committed.

The other thing that pissed me off about it was that he was so proud of it. “I won’t buy beer, but I’ll watch you guys buy beer,” and “I do it all the time” with a big smile on his face. If you’re so proud of it, and you speak so righteously about your behavior, you should act righteously too. Next time you go to steal a beer, instead of sneaking out with it in your back pocket, you should hold it up to the clerk and tell them your taking it. Go on dude, see what happens.

He could have just waited for Genessa to buy the six-pack and give him a one. A gift.

We argued about it off and on for about four hours probably. We went around and around, and I realized it was pointless. If he can’t accept the most basic ethical principle, that it’s wrong to steal, we won’t get anywhere. Taking his hat, or taking his life, would be wrong, but he didn’t think taking a beer from Circle K was the same thing. IT’S TAKING DUDE. STEALING.

I didn’t want to be pals with him, but we both agreed that the argument was the highlight of the night, and it was time to lay it to rest. I hope I crushed his spirit a little though, just enough for him to think about it next time he goes to steal.

Phoenix: Thieves, Troubadours, and Wannabes

Leaving Rod and Teresa

I spent a couple of nights with Rod and Teresa. I didn’t want to overstay my welcome, and I wasn’t even sure what my welcome was — I had hitched a ride to El Paso and kept stretching it: motel room, continuing to Phoenix, and then accommodation in Phoenix. I had definitely pushed it. Rod and Teresa had been really good to me. So, to give them a break, I contacted a CouchSurfer, Dawid, who said I could stay with him no problem.

I proposed the idea to Rod. I didn’t want to just bail on him and reject his hospitality, but I knew he wanted some private time with his wife, without an extra, strange body in the house. Rod was like, “Yeah, that might be a good idea.” It was a funny response. He was straight with me. I was expecting, “No dude, no, not at all. You can stay as long as you like,” and I was going to interpret it as “Dude, I need a little space.” I guess it didn’t matter how he was going to respond; I was going to give him a break no matter what. Guests are like fish; after three days they stink.


“Psychotic” Host Dawid

Dawid doesn’t have a cell phone, so I just showed up. Luckily, he was around. And he gave me a great welcome. When I walked through the door, it was high energy. He’s traveled a lot, including a trip down through Central America, and also a backpacking trip in Eastern Europe, like me. He was rattling off a fresh, new vocabulary. “Dude, this shit’s psychotic in the Summer.” He kept spouting off this shit, and I just listened. It was entertaining.

Dawid was pumped I chose to go South to Central America. He wanted to come too, but he’s gotta hang out in Phoenix for some business. He was telling me I’d be living like a king in Nicaragua, and that “Central America is like elementary school. When you get into South America, that’s some serious shit. That’s like high school or college. It’s a whole different level, bro!” I don’t really know what that meant.


Dawid and his now ex-girlfriend, Kristin, bought the house a few years ago. Then they broke up, but they’re still living together with some other roommates. Pretty cool they were able to work that out. It speaks to their easy-going nature.

He made it clear that “Mi casa es su casa.” Dawid had some hair clippers in the bathroom, so I gave myself a fresh cut. #3. And I didn’t fuck it up, Ryan; I kept the guard on the whole time! ;P


I went out to Safeway to get some essentials, including a gallon of milk. When I’ll be somewhere a few days, I like to get milk and drink the shit out of it. Nourish my body. I love milk.

I also found a deal in the brownie aisle. Duncan Hines buy 2, get 3 free. Holy shit!! 5 boxes in my basket.

Then I went on a brownie baking binge. First victims: Dawid and his girlfriend, Janessa. They just got browned!


Wannabe Troubadour

Dawid told me that another CouchSurfer would be coming by, “a real morbid nomad.” Knock at the door, and a low-energy, skinny shit with glazed eyes drifted through the door. Dirty backpack, gallon jug of water, guitar slung over his back, troubadour black hat, worn down black boots, bandana tied above one of his boots, sunken cheeks, boney bastard. His name was Chris. He didn’t introduce himself, and waited for people to ask him questions. He was from Memphis.

The three of us headed out to Tempe, the nearby university town. Chris took his guitar. He wandered ahead of us, swaying from side to side. Man in black. Johnny Cash, Jack Kerouac wannabe. Bad boy.


We were going to take the light rail to Tempe. Dawid forgot his wallet and was going to ride the train illegally. My attitude towards riding public transportation for free changed a lot when I got caught on MARTA in Atlanta. That was a bad deal and I had to pay it back with community service. I paid for Dawid’s ticket. Chris didn’t buy a one. I let the free spirit be free.


When we got to Tempe, Dawid and I split with Chris, who wanted to play street corners for coins.

Bizarre Time in Tempe

We walked around Tempe, which was a weird, ultra-clean, outdoor mall. A black guy sitting on stoop with his friends asked us for some money for food. He had bizarre pale blue eyes. I had brought brownies along with me, so I offered those. He didn’t want any. Hypocrite. But a couple of his friends did, so I handed them out. The weird-eyed guy shouted to his friends, “Take ’em all!” an odd, selfish outburst. And then he yelled out to Dawid, who was wearing a hat with feathers, “Hey man, gimme sum of dose feathers man!”

Dawid and I decided to avoid wasting money at a bar, so we went to a Jack in the Box to drink a bunch of refills. Two fat guys were in there watching the parking lot, busting non-customers. While we were there, they had a car towed. They told us they were “contractors. “Shitty job. Sitting around all day trying to bust people. The guy whose car was towed came in and confronted the fat guys. Their sweaty, pudgy faces tried to shake off the blame.


Dawid and I walked back to meet up with Chris. “Hey, do you guys listen to hip hop?” I denied any interest in hip hop. Dawid got sucked in and put on the headphones. A minute later, Dawid told the guy it was unoriginal stuff. The guy and Dawid got into a long discussion that was going nowhere. “‘Black’ and ‘African-American’ are both names given to us by the oppressor, so if I get to choose, I’ll choose to be called ‘Nigger.'” I walked away.

As they were talking, I noticed an overweight belly dancer dancing on the side street. She was dancing for money, but no one was interested, and she didn’t have any musical accompaniment. It was a lonely sight.

Across the street, there was some sort of Bible awareness group. I saw some alternative types in their parachute pants stop to get into some stupid religious argument with these guys. Is it really worth it?

As Dawid finished up his talk with the hip-hop guy, and we continued walking, I was immediately solicited with a fake $1 million dollar bill asking the Million Dollar Question. Oh great. Young guy asked, “Have you ever heard of Jesus? You know the guy who died to save the world. Do you know who he is?” Condescending boring shit. I just shut down and didn’t say much. I said meekly, “I don’t know.” He asked, “Well, do you have a couple of minutes to take a quick test? I’ll ask you the Million Dollar question to see if you’ve got what it takes to get into Heaven.” I was so disinterested but I also felt bad. With a scrunched up face, I said apologetically, “No. I don’t want to.” and left.  I had gotten the same run-down from Shawn, our generous host in Liberty, TX.  Everybody with this Million Dollar Question.

Dawid and I kept walking and came to young guy down on his luck. He sat on a planter with his backpack, his dog, and dog food laid out in front of him. His head was down. Dirty looking dude with nasty dirty blonde facial hair lining his jaw and chin, loose shitty jeans, and a cut-off t-shirt that was cut way down on both sides, football-player style. We offered him a brownie. He perked up and took it. He asked for a light, and told us he’s on probation. He seemed in decent spirits. Then he saw some people coming and ducked his head down again. He was looking for pity and playing his dog for some coins. A few people stopped to pet his dog and that opened up a conversation for him. Pathetic young guy. His parents are probably rich. He’s just rebelling and trying out the homeless parasite life.  It’s like summer camp.

Chris, the Troubadour, found us, and he earned enough money to buy a cup of coffee.

A young sweaty white kid with basketball shorts and carrying a duffel bag came rushing past us. Then he saw Chris and said, “That bitch just sucked my dick.” He was ecstatic, but didn’t stay long. He rushed away.  Chris filled us in. This kid was underage and asked Chris to buy him a beer. While Chris was getting the beer for him, some girl became quick friends with the kid, as he was waiting outside. I guess she wanted to get into his sweaty shorts. Bizarre. I think he was carrying some drugs in his duffel bag. That probably has a lot to do with it.

Then an overweight, really sweaty Native American guy with long, dirty hair came up to Dawid as he was sitting on the bench, interested in the feathers in his hat. “Why’d you kill my morning bird?” He had this deep “duuuuh” retarded sound in his voice, had screwy eyes, and missing teeth. Dawid messed around with him for a little bit, and then weird Native American guy started sniffing the air. “I smell Bob Marley.” He kept sniffing and scooted off, following his nose. “I’m gonna find that Bob Marley.”


We met up with Dawid’s girlfriend, Genessa, and headed back to the light rail. A crowd leaving the Diamondbacks game squeezed into the train. Chris started playing some Johnny Cash. He was great, really good. The crowd started singing, clapping, and dancing.

As we were walking back home, we passed a fenced-in empty lot with a dumpster in it. Dawid was shocked. There had been some art project that he’d helped to build, and now it had been torn down and tossed away. He peeled back a plywood door that had been nailed shut. Chris got interested too. I wasn’t going in there. The plywood door came off. I set it next to the fence, so the nails weren’t sticking up, waiting to be stepped on. As Chris came out, he picked up the plywood and started carrying it away. I said, “Dude, what are you doing? “I’m taking it to the [community art house]; they always like wood.” “You should leave it here.” “Why?” “Because it belongs in the door frame.” “Who says?” “Whatever dude, you can do the work of carrying it.” So, he hauled it off, guitar, black hat, huge piece of plywood, and all.

Dawid, Genessa, and I got back to the house, and sat around for a bit. Then Chris walked in. “Are we gonna go out and get some beer or what?” Dawid said, “Yeah, yeah, we’ll head out in a minute.” There was some delay. Then Chris says, darkly, “If you guys are just going to sit around here, I think I’m gonna head out and round up some trouble.” Cool guy. Troublemaker. Firestarter, twisted firestarter. Who is this guy? Unbelievable.

See [Ethics: Stealing a Can of Beer] for the next piece of the story.

Then the four of us went to Cruisin’ 7th, a tranny bar. That was my first. A weird experience, mostly because I’d see these normal-looking guys with a cross-dresser, or transvestite, an odd, undercover sexual preference. It was like I stepped into a secret.

Pool Party

Rod, who had given me a ride to Phoenix, called me up and told me that his wife, Teresa, was gone to Michigan, and that if I needed a place to stay, he’d be happy to host me again. That was cool since I had been with Dawid for about three nights. Flip-flop so I wouldn’t be burdening anyone too much.

Rod invited me to a pool party that his sister was putting on. I went. They welcomed me in, especially since I brought a box of brownies. The two seven-year-old girls, Anna-Bell and Tessa, were pumped. I was able to load up on food, and my paltry gift of brownie mix made it okay.


I made new friends!  John Mark, relax.



I stayed one more night on Dawid’s couch, making it four nights there. I think Dawid and his roommates got pretty used to me being there. They were sad to see me go.

Kristin agreed with my philosophy to flow like water. She came up with an analogy about how if the ocean is shaken, it keeps flowing. I don’t know. I wasn’t really listening. I was busy flowing like water.


I asked Dawid to come outside so we could capture a jumping shot before I left. We were both unused to the timing of when my camera takes a photo using the self-timer. So it was trial and error for a while …


… until we nailed it.



Rideshare Options from Arizona

While I’ve been in Phoenix, I’ve found some amazing rideshare opportunities on craigslist.  It’s more active here than anywhere else I’ve been.

I found a free ride from Flagstaff all the way up to Northern Idaho.  I thought it would be cool to be dropped off in Yellowstone or somewhere in Utah.  But how would I get to Flagstaff?  I found another free ride from Phoenix to Flagstaff the day before the Idaho ride was going to leave.  It was amazing how these rides lined up.  And I called the guys and they both had trucks and would be happy to take me.

Ride To flagstaff Weds May 06

No gas needed, just paying it forward if anyone needs a ride. Please call me at XXX.

Going North, Flagstaff to Idaho 5-7-09

I will be passing through Flagstaff at 5:00 am on Thursday May 7th, will travel through Kanab UT, Richfield. UT, SLC then up through Idaho and on to Butte Montana, then west through Missula and on to Idaho. I will be stopping at the Safeway fuel station in Flagstaff. I am just looking for someone who needs a ride. I am a former long haul driver and so you don’t have to drive. I will pay for the fuel, if you go all the way to Idaho you will have to pay for your lodging in Butte Montana, yes I drive long hours and don’t make a lot of stops. If this will work for you please contact me, no drugs welcome, if you are friendly and like to visit then this will work. Please responde on the internet or call my cell at XXX daytime.

I was excited about going North.  Linking up all these rideshares was an adventure.

But nothing really stuck out for me as a place I really wanted to tour.  Yellowstone, Utah, some of Montana.  I was even thinking getting up North and then cutting West to Oregon and then taking the Pacific Coast highway South.  I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do.

Thinking about the Pacific Coast option, I looked at San Diego’s rideshare.  A guy had posted about a trip to Costa Rica.  He was looking for a travel partner since he wanted to do some sightseeing along the way, and take a break on driving.  He’d pay all the gas.  Holy shit!!  It was Cinco de Mayo.  I got really pumped.

I emailed him telling him my story and telling him to call me soon so I could secure that trip and cancel the rides going North.  He called, we talked, and then he got excited about it too.  I guess he was expecting the trip to be sort of a burden. 

His name is Kevin Norman.  He’s a white guy whose been having trouble finding an IT job in San Diego, so he’s going back down to Costa Rica to be with his wife.

Travel partner needed: Oceanside to Central America. (Oceanside, San Diego)

Approx on May 7th,, I am driving from Oceanside to Arizona, through Mexico, visiting Ruins, Acapulco, Guatamala, Honduras, Nicagruaga, and ending in Costa Rica. I need someone to travel along with me. This is a one way trip YOU must find own means back if you don’t like paradise! Must have valid US passport and DL/ID, of legal age. I will provide gas, 1 hotel room, food. and don’t plan on staying in fancy hotels. I speak 100% fluent spanish so no worries, just trying to get back to CR where my familiy currently resides. I am a family man just needing assitance with the trip and don’t want to travel alone, if you dare to go and are adventerous enough to join, feel free to contact me anytime. I won’t have a place for you to stay when i reach final destination. I and the governments on the way will NOT tolerate drugs, guns, . If you need a trip and plan to surf then that’s fine but as long as we don’t spend 90% of the time wating for waves. Believe you me, the quicker we get there the better. GOD Speed!

Who can take the trip you say?
1. Legal of age with ID and Passport
2. not wanted by any government
3. someone just needing a very cheap trip to go surfing in Acapulco, or CR
4. Someone who has family in or on the way and wishes to be dropped off at the nearest major city in route.
5. Someone that enjoys open roads, adventures, life stories, seeing culture, history, beautiful people
6. Someone that enjoys talking about darn near anything from music to quantum physics
7. Can be a couple. But may need to pay for your own room if you wish.
8. Backpackers not hitchhikers. no crayzies
9. willing to take 5-10 day trip.
10. Not affraid of virus, and aware that the common flu kills 36,000 people a year in USA. But I will have masks, and hand cleaners.
11. Speaking of Flu. MUST not be sick or have a fevor, these countries will not let you in, and i wont let you in the car.
12. Has a good bladder, or not shy of road side emergency bathroom stops.
13. Once again , Heathly enough and fit to make the trip.
14. Pleasant to get along with. May be a Guy or a Gal,

If you plan to stay someplace part way in the trip and not continue, thats fine too but just let me know in advance. Make sure you have means to come back.

Please contact for further details and things you will need.

God Bless
K, 31, gringo