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Backpacking By Bus
Eight Months On The Road
By David Rice
Eight Months On The Road
By David Rice
| Backpacking By Bus Backpacking for Eight Months On The Road Confessions Of A Traveler |
Confessions Of A Traveler
Eight Months On The Road
By David Rice
Chapter One, Africa
I live in Missouri care taking a 100-year old house in the
countryside. I tend a small garden while caring for the 100-
acre farm and take a small rent from my house in the city. I
have always loved the hills of Springfield in late winter and
although I live comfortably in the rural house for most of the
year, at times I get restless and feel the need to travel. Since
this account is a confession of sorts, to tell you the truth,
travel is more obsession with me than need. You Pisceans
and Sagittarians will, I hope, empathize with one born under
the sign of the compass rose. I have been around the world
more than once and would love to do it again, this time
staying completely on the ground. My tale is one of the
traveler. While I neither boast nor apologize, this is my story
and for convenience rather than contrition, I will call it the
confessions of a traveler.
Planting
The warm winds across the prairie in March usually start the
feeling. I will be out planting a vegetable garden and it
comes on like a soft caress at the back of my neck, the suns
warm breath like a kitten. I know, however, that before June
ends, this kitten will become a tiger that will claw up the dust
in my dooryard and scorch the grass and garden beyond my
toleration. By July, blistering heat will smother the hills and I
will long to be somewhere else. My thoughts will be all about
air conditioning and unfortunately, my old house has none.
A hot afternoon in April had me sitting on the porch
wondering where I was going to go next. I have made many
long trips throughout the world and I know that to make an
extended trip, I would need to arrange many details. Africa
kept coming to mind as I read the guidebooks and I started
to make plans for a trip to the southern parts of Africa.
Details
First I arranged to visit a doctor and get the needed shots.
Rabies topped the list because of the wild dogs in Africa and
it was followed by yellow fever, hepatitis, and tetanus. I called
friends and asked them to collect my mail and to look in
occasionally on the two houses for me while they harvested
my plot of onions, carrots, and corn. I needed a new passport
and ordered one right away realizing that there could be a
waiting period. After many nights through April on the porch
looking over itineraries and Lonely Planet guidebooks, I
made up my mind; I would soon be hiking in the southern
parts of Africa.
The month of May smothered the land with sticky heat and
as May neared its end, I had made all arrangements to
leave. On the first day of June, I went to the Greyhound bus
terminal and bought a ticket.
Changes
Change rules a traveler and a traveler rules change.
Freedom is like the air that I breathe and the world seems
like my back yard. My mother must have swaddled me in a
Rand McNally bunting because a map brings me new life.
Change is part of that excitement, new places, new people,
new customs, new dress, new food, and new music. And the
freedom to change itineraries is at the heart of it all.
I leaned back in my seat on the bus watching as Missouri
sped by the window and I thought back to those nights on the
porch of the old farmhouse planning my trip to Africa. As it
turned out, I did not need the rabies shot, Africa had faded
from my plans. For the next eight months, I would take a very
long bus ride. A drastic change of plans, yes, but this is the
confession of a traveler and that is what a traveler does; a
traveler is free to change plans at any moment.
Yes, I would leave the hot winds of Springfield behind me
and travel for the better part of the next year but I would not
be going to Africa, I would head south instead and take an
extended trip aboard countless local and long-haul buses on
an eight-month tour of South America and I vowed not to
stop until the roads ran out. Indeed the road did end at a
dock in the southern reaches of Tierra del Fuego but I kept
on south by boat and fulfilled the dream of every traveler,
planting my hiking boots on new turf. No turf crunched
beneath my boots an landing, however; I found only
icebergs. Antarctica’s treasured stamp on my passport would
elude me, at the southern end of my journey, only the
penguins greeted me and they had no customs inspector.
Eight Months On The Road
By David Rice
Chapter One, Africa
I live in Missouri care taking a 100-year old house in the
countryside. I tend a small garden while caring for the 100-
acre farm and take a small rent from my house in the city. I
have always loved the hills of Springfield in late winter and
although I live comfortably in the rural house for most of the
year, at times I get restless and feel the need to travel. Since
this account is a confession of sorts, to tell you the truth,
travel is more obsession with me than need. You Pisceans
and Sagittarians will, I hope, empathize with one born under
the sign of the compass rose. I have been around the world
more than once and would love to do it again, this time
staying completely on the ground. My tale is one of the
traveler. While I neither boast nor apologize, this is my story
and for convenience rather than contrition, I will call it the
confessions of a traveler.
Planting
The warm winds across the prairie in March usually start the
feeling. I will be out planting a vegetable garden and it
comes on like a soft caress at the back of my neck, the suns
warm breath like a kitten. I know, however, that before June
ends, this kitten will become a tiger that will claw up the dust
in my dooryard and scorch the grass and garden beyond my
toleration. By July, blistering heat will smother the hills and I
will long to be somewhere else. My thoughts will be all about
air conditioning and unfortunately, my old house has none.
A hot afternoon in April had me sitting on the porch
wondering where I was going to go next. I have made many
long trips throughout the world and I know that to make an
extended trip, I would need to arrange many details. Africa
kept coming to mind as I read the guidebooks and I started
to make plans for a trip to the southern parts of Africa.
Details
First I arranged to visit a doctor and get the needed shots.
Rabies topped the list because of the wild dogs in Africa and
it was followed by yellow fever, hepatitis, and tetanus. I called
friends and asked them to collect my mail and to look in
occasionally on the two houses for me while they harvested
my plot of onions, carrots, and corn. I needed a new passport
and ordered one right away realizing that there could be a
waiting period. After many nights through April on the porch
looking over itineraries and Lonely Planet guidebooks, I
made up my mind; I would soon be hiking in the southern
parts of Africa.
The month of May smothered the land with sticky heat and
as May neared its end, I had made all arrangements to
leave. On the first day of June, I went to the Greyhound bus
terminal and bought a ticket.
Changes
Change rules a traveler and a traveler rules change.
Freedom is like the air that I breathe and the world seems
like my back yard. My mother must have swaddled me in a
Rand McNally bunting because a map brings me new life.
Change is part of that excitement, new places, new people,
new customs, new dress, new food, and new music. And the
freedom to change itineraries is at the heart of it all.
I leaned back in my seat on the bus watching as Missouri
sped by the window and I thought back to those nights on the
porch of the old farmhouse planning my trip to Africa. As it
turned out, I did not need the rabies shot, Africa had faded
from my plans. For the next eight months, I would take a very
long bus ride. A drastic change of plans, yes, but this is the
confession of a traveler and that is what a traveler does; a
traveler is free to change plans at any moment.
Yes, I would leave the hot winds of Springfield behind me
and travel for the better part of the next year but I would not
be going to Africa, I would head south instead and take an
extended trip aboard countless local and long-haul buses on
an eight-month tour of South America and I vowed not to
stop until the roads ran out. Indeed the road did end at a
dock in the southern reaches of Tierra del Fuego but I kept
on south by boat and fulfilled the dream of every traveler,
planting my hiking boots on new turf. No turf crunched
beneath my boots an landing, however; I found only
icebergs. Antarctica’s treasured stamp on my passport would
elude me, at the southern end of my journey, only the
penguins greeted me and they had no customs inspector.
| Backpacker and Ardent Traveler David Rice Leaves his Home in Missouri for Eight Months of Backpacking Through South America |
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