The Great Escape

It seems surreal, I suppose, to even contemplate abandoning just about everything you've ever known and running off into the unknown. I think everyone has gotten fed up enough with life at some point to envision something similar, and to most I'm sure it sounds divine. It did to me, at least. And it's not that my life was so terrible -- on the contrary, I'm sure many people would kill to have a life filled with so much comfort and security. But I knew there was something more; I had glimpsed it, and despite the giant hurdle glaring at me, I had to do it. I had to try it out, even at the risk of failure or realizing my giant mistake.

I guess it was about a year in the planning stages. And like all good plans, it started with a dream, a vision. I told a few people about this wild idea I was kicking around, and was greeted with many variations on the look of, "You're friggen nuts." I wish I could somehow extract these images out of my head and mash them all up into some sort of collage, or maybe line them all up like they were spewed out of some sort of psychotic photo booth. However, all of these hints at disapproval or misunderstanding only helped to fuel the fire and my adolescent need for rebellion. Step 1: find an affordable Volkswagen bus.

After many weeks of research I learned a few things: 1) 1971 was the coveted year for the old-school bay window variety, 2) Michigan possessed no rust-free buses, and 3) I knew nothing about automobile mechanics. This was not going to be easy.

At least 6 times a day I would search eBay and Craig's List for VW buses, using about 6 spelling variations of the term "volkswagen bus" and checking all the surrounding states. This went on for 6 months. Finally, this past spring, I stumbled upon a beautiful, rust-free, California bus right in my home town of Royal Oak. I called the guy 45 minutes after he posted the ad on Craig's List. He seemed kind of shocked or weirded out that I called so quickly after he had posted it, but I shrugged it off and crossed my fingers. We met up the next day so I could look it over, my bud and old-school car enthusiast Colby in tow. It was practically flawless, an immaculate find in the suburbs of Michigan. The only problem was the price, of course, and he wasn't willing to negotiate much. I took a deep breath, ran some numbers in my head, and decided this was the one. Despite having to wipe out my entire bank account and then some, this was my golden ticket, and it had to be bought.

Bus in hand, I quit my job, gave all my stuff away, packed 'er up, and hit the road. Yeah right. Nothing is that easy. I did quit my job, though, but only to work somewhere else -- sorry ePrize, it had to be done. In preparation for the big adventure, I went over every system on the bus, ensuring it was ready for the long haul. As it turns out, most of them weren't, and I probably wouldn't have made it out of the state before something failed catastrophically. Over the next three months or so I overhauled that beast, from the engine to the brakes to the electrical, making sure it was all up to snuff. What better way to learn about automobiles than to just dive right in?

I had, in the mean time, found a dream job for a Software Engineer, but the lure of the wild west was too much. I notified them about a month ahead of time what I ultimately wanted to do, and they were extremely understanding and supportive -- I'm telling you: dream job. With that out of the way I began telling friends and family that my departure was imminent. I'm not sure if they believed me six months prior when I told them the wild adventure I had planned, but they believed me now! Why doesn't anyone ever believe me when I tell them what I plan on doing?

So this was it, the final month of preparation. I can't even explain the myriad of emotions one goes through when saying goodbye to everyone and everything they've known for the past 15 years. I would love to tell you that in that last week I was more excited than I've ever been, like a kid finally tall enough to ride a roller coaster, but I was actually pretty sad. I guess there were two competing emotions during that time: the excitement of venturing off into the unknown, and the sadness of leaving so many loved family members and friends behind. I guess it's tough to get overwhelmingly excited about the unknown, so sadness won out. On those last few days as I packed up my apartment, I was borderline sullen, morose. No turning back now.

I hate goodbyes. Absolutely 100% hate them more than almost anything else. They just seem so final, when in all actuality they rarely are. Why can't people just stick with the less absolute, "See ya later?" No sense making a bigger deal out of it than you have to, right? So Monday morning, after my last goodbye (sigh), I fired up the bus and drove off, hoping that all the work I'd done to it would be sufficient enough to get me across Ohio, if not across the country. To be honest I really didn't feel a sense of liberation or much of anything -- it just felt like another trip down to Cincinnati to visit the grandparents. I guess something of this magnitude takes a while to really settle in. Perhaps it will kick in when I'm standing on top of a 1,000 foot tall sandstone spire in the deserts of Arizona? That would seem appropriate.