r/vagabond

That evening I finally convinced Pablo to return to the station and try to leave once again. We needed to sneak our way to the right consist under the cover of darkness so that no guard would notice us. We settled beneath a lone sprawling tree near the fence. Around the perimeter of the station stood tall towers with cameras and floodlights. I found a weak spot where the concrete fence connected to the wire one. You could squeeze through there and pass directly beneath one of the camera towers, right through a blind spot. The problem was a deep ditch immediately behind the fence. It slowed our way into the station considerably. The only way to cross it was by helping each other.

A few hours later a southbound consist arrived at the station with open hoppers. You can’t just climb into a car like that without checking it first. You need to know whether there’s cargo inside. If the car is empty, you can’t ride in it, and getting back out without help is nearly impossible. That meant someone first had to secretly sneak into the station and scout the situation, to understand whether there was anything inside those wagons. My companion hates operations like this. So if I didn’t do it before sunrise, we definitely weren’t leaving anywhere.

— Pablo, I’m going to need your help. The ditch is too deep, I need you to give me a hand climbing back out. I want to go check what kind of cargo is inside those cars.
— Okay, man, — he answered, already half asleep.

Old tires were scattered beneath the tree by the roadside, drivers often changed ruined tires there. We threw several of them into the ditch so it would be easier to climb back out later. I squeezed through the hole in the fence, crossed the trench, walked directly beneath the cameras, and hid in the shadow of the nearest railcar. At that exact moment a railroad workers’ truck slowly rolled past me. It was carrying the new crew for the train that would take it to Torreón. Then I climbed across the next consist and immediately heard footsteps somewhere nearby. I had to hide on a neighboring grain hopper until the sound faded into the distance. After that I quickly climbed the ladder onto the consist I needed. The car was filled with chunks of stone. Not very comfortable, but good enough for the ride.

With the good news I returned to Pablo, and together we sneaked back into the station along the same route, climbed into the wagon, and fell asleep on the rocks while waiting for departure.

I've been staying up til 1 am and drinking every night. Lots and lots and lots of light beers. Latey I've taken up tha habbit of flirting with townies at random bars with no intention of hooking up and then goimg work at 6:30 in the morning. (leaving the sleep spot at 5:45). working my ass off for 12 hours. Ive got a couple of bitch ass coworkers whose asses I could kick 7/7 days a week while hungover as a muthafucka. Currently on a island in the middle of nowhere making a shit tom of money for the company and jack shit for myself. Shoutout to the working bums.

Today I was lucky enough to get enough cash for a new phone. My dog broke my other one. Thankfully this phone has tap to pay and I was able to receive some cash from an old friend in GA to get a little bud and a drink which she would throughly approve of. Currently going to have to wait out a week worth of rain before we travel on, but with the Tennessee River so close we are gonna enjoy the weather.

Low-key love this small town, the work ethic in these small towns are amazing and the people are nice as fuck.. probably going to try and hitch a ride for an hr and see how far I can get, if not I'll find a place to set up my hammock.. seems like a safe little area! Got a lil money from panhandling so I said fuck it and got Wendy's.. thank you everyone that's been following my adventure and all the positives comments!!

Stay golden Dirty Kids!!

The good: sidewalks to walk on. The bad: millions of vehicles clogging the road. The ugly: my sweaty sunburnt face.

It takes me an hour to reach a Taco Bell near the city limits. I eat a cheesy bean and rice burrito and chill out. When the heat breaks I make a sign for Newport. I’m certain I’m in the clear, that I’ve escaped the tourist trap unharmed. The highway goes straight to Newport, and rush hour is still underway. One of these drivers lives there. I’ll get a ride within minutes.

It’s the most traffic I’ve ever seen while hitchhiking. Thousands of vehicles pour past me. A few drivers give me the straight ahead point: “I’d pick you up but I’m not going very far.” Yeah right. People waiting in the turning lane for the light to change stare at me and take pictures. A few wave.

I’m still feeling positive. There’s probably 40 minutes before sunset, another 40 minutes of gloaming after that. I have time.

I’m looking toward the sinking sun when a police SUV passes me. The driver and I lock eyes. He wags his finger at me, “No, no, no.”

I tell myself it’s fine, keep smiling, keep holding my thumb out. But the expressions of the people passing me changes—they look terrified. I turn my head slightly to make sure Hog-head kept going. He didn’t. He’s in the turning lane behind me with his blue lights on, like I’m about to run and he’ll have to chase me down. I lower my thumb and wonder how bad this is going to be.

The cop leaps out of his cruiser and strides toward me while muttering into his chest radio. He barks this big introduction at me like he’s a drill sergeant, like I care about his title or rank or name.

The energy he’s putting out is atrocious, vile, combative. He’s only about five foot five, even with his SS boots on, and he’s wearing Nascar fan sunglasses. His front left tooth is dead and gray. Bullies probably tortured this guy in high school. If there is ever a public awareness campaign for Little Man Syndrome, he’ll be the poster child. I’m in for it.

“Sir are you aware that it is illegal for you to be soliciting a ride out here?”

“Are you sure of that?”

I’m not trying to argue, but I’m fairly sure what I’m doing isn’t illegal. I was born and raised in Tennessee, and I know about the hitchhiking laws, but maybe he knows something I don’t.

“100 percent,” he says immediately.

I might as well have started walking right then. He was already on a power trip and immune to reason from the moment he got out of his car.

”I don’t think it is illegal.”

“It 100 percent is.”

”How sure are you about that?”

“100 percent.”

”Can you show me the law?”

”I sure can, buddy. You got an ID?”

I hand him my license, even though he has no reason to ask for it.

“How’d you end up in this part of this country?”
“I hitchhiked here.”

“Of course you did!” He rolls his eyes, whips around, and marches to his cruiser.

I turn around and watch the sunset. I feel l’m facing down a firing squad. The people passing me look afraid. They didn’t look that way until the cop stopped. It really says something about public perception that most people are more alarmed by a cop than a roadside vagrant.

He comes storming back, my ID in one hand, his phone in the other. He’s already talking before he reaches me.

“Got it pulled for you right here, boss. I don’t make the laws, just enforce them.”

There is victory in his voice, satisfaction.

He shoves his phone toward me so I can see. I instinctually reach for it, as one normally does. He jerks it back like it’s his gun. I lean closer and read the law closely.

I begin to slowly read it a second time aloud, but he’s impatient and pulls his phone away.

”Hold on a minute.”

He sighs and moves it back.

When I finish reading, I say, “What this says doesn’t apply to me.”

”It 100 percent does. What you’re doing is 100 percent illegal.”

”It’s not. You’re misreading the law.”

I take a small step toward him so I can read the law aloud again. He jumps back and puts his palm on his gun.

“You’re crowding me! I’m gonna need you to step back!”

I step back immediately.

”There’s no reason for you to be treating me like this. I’m not a criminal.”

“I didn’t say you were a criminal but you can’t be out here doing this!”

“I can.”

“Listen buddy—you’re holding me up, wasting my time arguing. There are other things I need to be out there taking care of.”

“Obviously not.”

“Obviously so!”

”I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You have! I’m telling you what you’re doing is illegal! I’m telling you! I’m telling you right now!”

This isn’t the kind of guy who’s used to being told no.

“It doesn’t matter what you tell me. It’s either illegal or it’s not—and it’s not. Listen, I’ve been doing this for a while and nobody’s ever given me any trouble like this.”

“That doesn’t matter!”

“Cops have even given me rides before.”

“Well that’s good for you!” He violently shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. There’s a city ordinance against panhandling.”

“I wasn’t asking for money.”

“That don’t matter! You were soliciting!” He points at the word "solicit” on his phone. “It says it right here!”

“That’s the title of the law. That just says what the law is concerning. What I’m doing isn’t illegal.”

“It says it right there! What do you mean it’s not illegal?!”

“You’re misreading it. It doesn’t say what you think it does.”

He points at the title again—it says it right there.”

“It doesn’t.”

It’s pointless. This guy probably hasn’t read a book since high school. And he certainly hasn’t learned how to admit he was wrong yet, and unfortunately for the general public, probably never will.

He’s gesturing with his phone, yelling, and trying to stand as straight as he can in an attempt to stare me down without looking up. His demeanor reminds me of the version of the Rumpelstiltskin fairy tale that ends with the odd little man getting so angry that he stomps himself into pieces while throwing a temper-tantrum.

“Well you can’t solicit a ride within city limits. It’s a new ordinance. You have to go out there to the county line and do it.”

He points up the road, which stretches on for miles.

“How far is that?”

Grinning, dismissive: “Don’t have a clue.”

“Could you give me a ride there?”

“I’m not a taxi service.” He crosses his T-Rex arms and smirks. “But I can give you a ride to jail if you want.”

His dead tooth looks black in the fading scarlet sunlight.

“Obviously I don’t want to go to jail.”

“Then you better start walking.”

There is nothing more I can say or do. Some people are immune to reason. I’ve fought the good fight, but I never had a chance of winning. There are a million laws on the books. Cops can arrest anyone for anything at any time in this country. We live in an authoritarian state. Whether or not the charges will stick is irrelevant. It’s the threat of jail time, public embarrassment, court costs, and potential lost wages that keep people in line. And nothing will happen to this guy if he unjustly arrests me, besides maybe a brief talking-to from his boss.

Pigeon Forge tourists don’t want to see vagrants on the streets, and the local pigs have been trained to run them off or lock them up. This one thought he’d get in my face and I’d tuck tail and run, like the other vehicle-free people he’s encountered before.

I never had a chance.

“Then it looks like I’m gonna start walking.”

“Good decision.”

We disengage. I amble up the sidewalk, shaking with adrenaline. He walks toward his car. 

He barks again to let me know he’s won: “Now you have a nice day!”

I get a few hundred yards down the road and turn around. He’s still sitting there watching me. I guess the other calls he needed to take care of sorted themselves out.

I keep walking.

15 miles out of Savannah, I met another traveler and he ended up giving me $3 and some ciggies 🙏

Off into deeper South Carolina, I'm hoping to hit another trucker area soon and maybe get closer to the SC/NC border.

got a guy at the station i managed to get down to to hook me up w $10 to doordash for a little bit today. just long enough to get the tank filled back up and get some cold beers and cigs. now i’m back at the beach access for the night comfy and cozy, although hoping i don’t get asked to leave seeing as i’m the only one not in an RV lmao. cheers y’all!

At least I have a bed and a shower for the night, and I washed some cloths in the tub 🙏

There is enough detail and drama to fill a reality TV show. A modern feudal landlord clashed with his peasants. A tiny lively village is now a ghost town. Yet, unquantifiable value was still gained, regardless of how hard we were scammed. I invite you to come to your own conclusion. Ant village may be the perfect place for you to hunker down under a dictator, drink some rotten koolaid, and waste your savings.

In Fall 2015 I moved onto Paul Wheaton's property called Ant Village. I rented an acre to compete in the Ant village challenge. I built a cabin and lived in it. Two years later, at the end of this summer, Paul took actions to evict a couple of us in the village, threatened others, and most everyone has left. At one point I considered Paul a friend. But now, the guy forced us out of our self built houses. So I will attempt to share all the dirty secrets over the course of a few posts.

The tenants of Ant Village formed a union in the middle of this summer. We had three major concerns.

1. Be less secretive (aka culty). Residents were prohibited from making friends with neighbors off our property. It was presumed that all people in Superior were evil and were out to get Paul. And if we made contact with them, they would remember we existed and come to get us. At one point I mentioned at a potluck that I talked with a guy in town who was building a passive solar house about my underground cabin. Paul exploded at me, often yelling, for thirty+ minutes about his psychotic paranoia. Before moving onto the property I was not aware of the secretive rule. We were not allowed to tell people where we lived. We were supposed to say "near missoula" an hour away. Even when friends and family visited I was supposed to tell them they had to be secretive and give them a form letter to read.

2. Negotiate long term rental contracts. The plots were rented on a verbal contract. Which still qualifies as a contract in Montana. But it makes it much harder to have any future certainty. Paul threatened to raise the rent on one Ant when he came by to make a video for his profit. The Ant said Paul either had to pay or could not video. We had no idea what rent would be in a few years. It was likely to keep going up as we improved the village. We were likely to gentrify ourselves out because we had no wages.

3. Earn Wages. Residents were prohibited from holding a job in town. We were not allowed to leave the property more than twice per week. We could work for Paul, but he only paid in scrip. Paul created a currency called fysh. Fysh were stored in some unknown ledger. It was always a mystery how many we had. But at least I did not have to pay rent this year because I had some mystery fysh from repairing vehicles. Those fysh could be used to eat some rice and bean meals. Many residents resorted to eating at the food bank.

Montana Tenant Law protects tenants that form a union. We weren't doing anything illegal. We were just voicing an opinion. And pointing out that certain rules were illegal. It is illegal for a landlord to evict or retaliate against somebody for forming or joining a union. It is not like we called in some national unionizing body. This was an adhoc union just for the simple legal protection. Paul held all the power, and we felt that maybe, if we came together he would realize and reason with us.

Anyway, Paul's lawyer forced us to leave. He claimed we were not tenants and had no legal protection. He even did it during the Sunrise forest fire when we were away and it would be hard to get legal advice. Ant Village had been under evacuation for several weeks. Paul and his lawyer gave us 30 days notice when we could not even be in our homes. We did not have access to our belongings or know when we could get them. It took a few weeks before I was able to get some straight answers from a lawyer. The tenants lawyer I spoke to said we were definitely tenants. Paul had to file a legal eviction with the sheriff. It is illegal to pay people in scrip. A landlord cannot prevent you from holding a job. By the time I spoke to her I already made up my mind to get out and had planned a move. It was not going to be worth the costs to take Paul to court. Instead, I publish this information hoping that less people in the future fall for his scams.

Random facts, gossip, and opinions

• People were allowed to build their own composting toilet only if it was pauls design, which is a fail.
• The poop barrels still had visible toilet paper and poop 2+years later. Nothing composted.
• This does not meet the county's sanitation standards (which even allows for outhouses).
• We were only allowed to eat organic food. So the poop would be organic.
• There is a structure with ~50 barrels of human waste stored called the willow candy warehouse.
• Paul has the most natural stockpile of human waste around. Maybe he has a scat fetish.
• Mice would climb in and out of the poop barrel. Flys would easily go in and out.
• Every time we entered the lab (property were ant village is) we had to open a huge metal gate.
• The gate was locked. The lock would get iced up and stuck regularly.
• We had to immediately relock it behind ourself. Keep others out... or us in.
• The ant village challenge prizes were removed because one competitor had to go be with his father as he died of cancer during the competition's winter.
• The bermshed had two collapses during construction. One worker fell through the roof during the collapse. I heard pictures of sagging and broken timbers were censored from permies.
• Paul threatened to kick out one of the Ant's girlfriend because she would not listen to 200 podcasts.
• Paul would not visit the lab for 2 months at a time in winter. Paul never stayed on the lab after dark.
• I have never seen pauls overalls dirty
• Paul closed a historically public road that crosses his property. It accesses national forest and connects two rural neighborhoods. It has rightfully upset many longtime neighbors.
• A third forest service road that accesses the lab mysteriously (paul minion?) had ditches dug in it and trees fell across it to keep people away/in.
• The earth bermed cabin known as Alerton Abby(or wofati 0.7) should be condemned. The building is unevenly sinking. There is massive deflection in supporting beams (>6 inches). The doors constantly don’t work because they become out of square. The spring snow melt caused a mud slide that collapsed a section of retaining wall. Rodents live in the walls and shit everywhere (including on the cookware). There is too much dirt on the roof! At least double what is recommended in Mike Oehler’s engineering tables. Some sections of the roof (where the low points of each gable meet) have ~5+ feet of dirt on top of them.

In July 2017, the sheriffs department raided our property. A visitor had reported somebody's children to CPS. I think all 8 of mineral county's deputies, 2 highway patrolmen, and a forest ranger stormed the property with warrant. And hands on their guns. They kept referring to the property as "the compound." They would ask every new person they met where their guns were. They seemed to think we were a militia. It felt like this could be the next Ruby Ridge. We were all put under temporary arrest until all the children were found. CPS was willing to set this woman up with shelter in town for her and her children. They also said she could bring her kids back once she had 4 walls a roof and a door for them to live in. I hear that Paul said she could no longer be on the property because he did not want the government checking on them. Sounds like discriminating against a parent with children.

Nice things

• Few other places I could have gone on such an adventure for 2 years.
• Paul let me sell my cabin. It fetched $900.
• Paul finally paid me real dollars for a bounty I completed in 2016.
• Jocelyn hosted and cooked for tasty potlucks
• I'm probably a spiteful dick for writing all of this

We used to get along all lovely. But now I got kicked out. And maybe you guys wonder why all the ants stopped posting on permies. Its because wheaton labs is a slum city. And anything not inline gets us shadowbanned from permies. I am now off the property and can speak freely. Fuck permaculture and fuck my permaculture reputation.

Jim

God damn this town is amazing, went around a did a bunch a free shit and chatted it up with the local home bums.. now I'm in some crack hotel called the Thunderbird and a local prostitute already tried soliciting me.. I must be cute af 🥰 lmfaoo God the lifestyle is full of surprises

Stay golden you little shit heads!!

Philly to Bangor Maine in only 15 days, and most of the time I was bumming around, not going anywhere.

Philly -> Trenton NJ -> Jersey City -> NYC -> Boston -> Bangor ME