I came here April 30th, with my Jeep loaded full of gear, clothing and boxed food as if i was planning on outlasting the British. Originally I was to work at a very busy restaurant called The Oar, as a waiter. Against the very nature of my soul, i decided to give it a try because it was supposed to be a very high paying job. I was given a small room for the mere price of 150$ a week, and began serving islanders and travelers their overpriced wines, calamari and sushi. For almost 6 weeks I outlasted the very torture of my being, as I maneuvered the ways of working in what i came to think of as “The People Industry”, because clearly these people came first. I procured two more jobs as well, and started working 90 hours a week, with midnight beach runs under the stars. I biked the circumference of the 11 mile wide island more times then i can remember, exploring the hidden bluffs and finding pick up basketball games on the rare half days off. I lost some of the “road weight” i had gained over the last 6 months, back into top physical shape between the constant working and little food intake.
But eventually the ugliness of the industry unloaded on me and i decided to get away from The Oar. I lost my provided housing, along with its tear rendering rent price. I moved my other two jobs into full time, consisting of days as a landscaper and stone worker, nights as security and salesman at the local sport shop. Down to 75 hours a week, it made living out of my Jeep a little easier tho still plenty interesting. After finishing a couple $50,000 driveways and patios, my life settled into what could almost be called a routine (a terrible concept). Working 13 hours every day between the two jobs and finding different places to park the Jeep to sleep every night, each day was still plenty interesting. I gained the title “Official Vagrant # 28” by the local police force, though somehow always managed to never have any instances with them, besides getting a warning about riding wheelies on a dirt bike through town. My bank account started to grow healthy, and I set a date for myself to escape the island, to head north to the land of tall trees and green mountains. I missed the sound of silence, the feel of my bike beneath me, the freedom of no requirements. But i knew the money I was saving would guarantee my lack of worries for quite a while and took the onslaught of social madness. Slowly new friendly faces found their way into my life, and i enjoyed the island life as much as I could. I ordered new motorcycle parts and had them shipped to my cabin, in preparation for the overhaul I would be giving the bike when I got back. I shipped money to a friend and had him buy a snowmobile I found online for sale, to have as a toy for the cabin whenever I returned in the winter. On the occasional day off I perfected my basketball skills, swam in the ocean, planned future adventures and watched the sunset over the ocean.
That is where i find myself now, with a month of Block Island life still before me, thousands of dollars to come and the open road beckoning to me like a winding trail through a flower rich meadow. Soon the rain will die down, and I will journey back out among the flower pattern shirts, rental mopeds and screaming children, past the maze of bicyclists and ice cream shops to a quiet job site where I’ll finish installing a patio. Having not slept in a bed in 5 weeks, nor climbed a mountain in 3 months , life is still always an adventure. Looking at the experience from afar, I remember the small things that left such large memories in m mind. The 12 year old boy named Hector who i swear is one of the best basketball players of his age I’ll ever meet. The feeling when i found one of the glass globes, small orbs hidden on the island that many people search years for and never find. The seagull that just loved eating trail mix out of my hand on the beach. The startled jump of the deer in the road a couple feet from the front of my bicycle in the darkness of dusk. The amazing flavor of the 99 cent doughnuts from the docks. The hum of the crickets when sleeping in my hammock on the porch of an abandoned cabin. The terrible, blistering heat on my back as i laid thousands of paver stones in a driveway for the owner of Buffalo Wild Wings. The stranger that took his picture with me after playing 4 hours of basketball with me, having heard some of my crazy stories of life on the road. Puppies in my jeep, pretty girls smiling, the whirl of bicycle tires on pavement, the sight of a moonlit beach with wave crashing upon each other. So many small things that left an impression on my mind, some to be forgotten and some to ponder. Soon enough I will be on that ferry, moving onto my next adventure with all the world before me, and I can only wonder where I will wind up next. Until next time my friends, Road Hermit signing off.
“Do not go gently into that good night.
Rage, rage
Against the dying of the light.”
Dylan Thomas
