I left home the first time riding my tricycle–with a peanut butter sandwich tied to the back of my bike–when I was four years old. My parents found me beside Interstate Route 40, too afraid to cross, and eating my peanut butter sandwich. All I wanted to do for the rest of my life was to follow that road wherever it was going. Or follow that path. Or walk down that alley just to see where it went.
I left home the second time in a ’56 Chevy coupe with a V-8 engine and glass pack mufflers. I was a little-better prepared, but still carrying peanut butter sandwiches in the cooler. I turned west on Route 40 and drove all the way to Santa Monica. And I’ve been ‘moving on’ ever since. I’ve lived in a dozen states (visited all but 4 states), and I gave up counting visas after sixty countries in my passports.
I’ve been collecting sunsets and avoiding dysentery for years now, decades actually. And I’ve been taking photographs of places and people in various locales. I’ve got stacks of notebooks full of thoughts and traumas. I’ve got boxes full of 35mm slides, and external hard drives, and stacks of notebooks filled with notes and stories of my journeys. I always thought I’d end up writing a book and displaying my photographs in it, but I do not seem to possess the discipline it takes to actually sit your butt down long enough to write the thing.
So if you like what you read, or like the photographs you see here at Badfish and Chips Cafe, that will make my life of vagabonding all worthwhile. Things are always just what they are. Sometimes, as they like to say, you have to go with the flow, and be happy with what is.
This is what is today: I’ve been living out of the USA for the past 16 years; I’m currently basing my journeys, and life, in Abu Dhabi with hair turning gray — still roaming, still gandering down strange paths, still eating peanut butter sandwiches.