My homeward bound life as a hobo

This hobo's primary mode
of transportation.

Since January, I’ve become a bit of a hobo.

I’m slightly better dressed than your average hobo, and I do have steady income, but I’ve been riding the rails - and buses and planes and cars - at least twice a month to travel hither and yon.

The image of hobos -- as the homeless vagabonds of the 1930s who hopped boxcars to get from place to place -- isn’t well regarded. But hobos, as itinerant workers, are different from tramps, who work when they are forced to, and bums, who don’t work at all,and there is a romantic, literary notion to the hobo life, a la Jack Kerouac and his “The Vanishing American Hobo.”

The etymology of hobo is worth exploring because it provides some context for Baby Boomers like myself who get the urge for going.

One etymologist suggests hobo may be derived from hoe-boy, meaning farmhand. Another suggests - and this is the one I like - that hobo is derivative of homeward bound.

Now, my Mom always said that “home is where the heart is”, so the hobo in a sense is just someone following his or her heart home, wherever home may be.

My heart leads me in a variety of directions these days. With my wife having taken a job at the University of Notre Dame and with my continued itinerant work and family in New England, my heart has been dividing its time between here and there.

I don’t hop a freight car and ride for free from rail yard to rail yard. I amass air miles and credit card points to and from  Portsmouth, N.H., Boston, Chicago, and South Bend, Ind.

My heart is with Jane in South Bend. My heart is also with the people I love, admire and respect in New England. I need them all - in the bars where we share our stories, on the golf course where we play against ourselves and each other, and in the offices where I reconnect with my professional life.

The itinerant work I do as a working retired Baby Boomer allows me to pack up my bindle, stow it in the overhead compartment, and move back and forth.

I’m not alone. There are others who do essentially the same thing, who are less rooted to fixed address.

Jane and I a few years ago rented a motor home for a weekend to get a sense of what living life on four wheels would be like.

We stayed at a campground and parked next to owners of a land yacht. Ours was a Class C motor home. Theirs was a Class A motor home that, honestly, was more nicely furnished than our house.

And the couple in their 60s had no fixed address. They moved about as hobos in their condo-on-wheels, visiting friends and family as their hearts moved them, or they visited various parts of the country as their wanderlust moved them. They called it “the life”.

There’s a bit of a hobo in all of us as we get older. Our empty nests make us less rooted. It’s why we Boomers do bucket lists. It’s that need to wander, to discover, to reconnect with someone or some place.

Wrote Kerouac: “The hobo has two watches you can't buy in Tiffany's, on one wrist the sun, on the other wrist the moon, both bands are made of sky.”

Could I live here?

When my wife Jane and I travel to different areas these days, I have a question in the back of my mind: Could I live here?

It's not that we're actively looking for another place to live. But as I think about where I want to spend my so-called "retirement years" I look at the places where we travel as a potential new home.

The classic retirement move isn't so classic among Baby Boomers.

The stereotype had been to retire, pull up stakes and get thyself to the Sun Belt -- Florida, Nevada, Arizona ... anywhere folks could escape the cold and snowy parts of the country.

But the first wave of retiring Baby Boomers hasn't followed the stereotype.

The migration to the Sun Belt states has cooled as Baby Boomers like myself, because of finances and other considerations, take a more analytic view of where we want to reluctantly grow older, if indeed that's anywhere different from where we are right now.

Certainly, there's a lot of research that's available in this analytical approach. There are any number of "10 Best Places to Retire" lists out there.

It's an interesting shift of sensibilities, a process of age.

When we graduated from college, we went where the jobs and opportunities were. When we were married and had kids the quality of the school system was a consideration.

But as much as you can assemble data about a place you have to have a good feeling about a place.

It's like when my children were looking at where to go to college.

They could do all the research they wanted about a school's academics and tuition and acceptance standards. But they also had to have a good feel about the place.

It's why my daughter Elizabeth never got out of the car when she got to the University of Connecticut at Storrs. She just didn't have a good feeling about the place. It's why my son David never applied to Brown in Providence, R.I. He didn't have a good feeling about the place.

You have to know in your gut that something is a good fit to who you are.

So when we visited various places in Florida a couple of weeks ago, I assessed the locales both in my head and from my gut. I did the same thing when we spent some time in Alabama and Delaware.

There are some places on my radar that I want to check out, such as Cape May, N.J. We traveled through there after getting off the ferry from Lewes, Del., and I'm curious to spend some time there.

One component in the process is the availability of work. Retiring for Baby Boomers doesn't mean shutting down professional productivity. It might mean a shifting of gears and doing something different, but it doesn't mean we just idle as we age.

Certainly the internet and the ease of access has made work much more portable. The work I do in my study in New Hampshire I could also do from another study in another state.

The other important component, at least for me, is the proximity of family.

Jane and I can get to a good chunk of our family -- and they can get to us -- within a half a day's drive.

There's a comfort in this access to my mother, and some of my siblings, and nieces and nephews, and my children and some of my stepchildren, and someday to grandchildren.

Do I want to be a plane ride or train ride away from that? I'm not sure. Probably not.

But I'll keep investigating in the meantime. If nothing else, it gives us a good excuse to get away from where we are to maybe appreciate where we are a little better.

No left turn allowed

I've been known to make a right hand turn to go left.

I've always thought it's because of my impatience.

Now I can say it's because I'm eco-friendly, I'm green, I'm lessening my carbon footprint.

There are many places in my usual driving routes in my neighborhood where I hate to make left hand turns either because the light is way too long or because the traffic is way too heavy.

So I turn right, find a convenient place to pull a U-turn (sometimes legally) then merrily continue on my way.

This no left hand turn idea, I found, is all but institutionalized in the state of New Jersey.

My wife Jane and I spent a few days in the Monmouth area recently and I was surprised frankly in the many instances where I was forbidden in making a left hand turn, even along your average two-lane road.

For example, I needed to withdraw from cash from my bank that had an office near the hotel where we stayed. I was traveling north on the two-lane road but was prohibited from making a left hand turn into the bank's parking lot. I had to continue on, turn into a convenient parking lot to turn around and make the allowed right hand turn to the bank.

There are a lot of places in New Jersey where you have to turn right to go left by using turn out lanes from congested roads in commercial areas.

When gas prices started to get a little crazy, delivery companies such as FedEx started finding ways to get more mileage from a tank of gas. They made sure tires were filled to the proper pressure. They made sure engines were tuned up. And the logisticians determined that their companies could save more fuel if they didn't sit idling at traffic lights or waiting for traffic to make left hand turns.

As long as there's right on right, we're good for the environment.

It gives a whole new meaning to the thought that two wrongs don't make a right. Three lefts make a right.

The need to upset the routine

Even in retirement there is routine.

It's not like, as some people believe, you retire from a career of work and begin a career of loafing around. At least that's not the experience that Baby Boomers, including this one, want for themselves.

We need to be doing something. In general, this is a generation of achievers -- over-achievers, in some cases -- and the idea of doing nothing is not an option.

In retirement we want to decide what to do with our time, not have someone decide or dictate for us what we do with our time.

My time is goes to writing and data mining as a contractor and sub-contractor. And my time goes to keeping myself healthy by going to the gym. And my time goes to keeping myself engaged in the outdoors by golfing, surfing and skiing.

And my time has a routine to it.

I'm in my home office between 6:30 and 7 a.m. each day to boot-up my computer and start writing for a couple of hours. I get to the gym usually by mid-morning. Then I get home for lunch and spend the afternoon doing rest of my contract and subcontract work. Within that routine I'll make room for the round of golf, a few hours in the surf, or some time on the mountains.

Even that routine, as appealing as it might be, needs to be broken up every now and then.

Which is why I've been happy to have been on a road trip this week to Maryland, Delaware and New Jersey.

It is said that writing is discovery. Writers explore their surroundings and discover something of themselves when they put words to paper (or words to screen). It is a mental journey.

Travel is discovery too, a tactile journey of the five senses:

• The feel of warmth of a late September sun in the left field seats at Camden Yards in Baltimore;
• The scratch of sand in my toes on Rehoboth and Dewey beaches in Delaware;
• The fleeting glimpse of dolphin leaping from the water;
• The taste of crab in the dip at Striper Bites in Lewes, Del.;
• The gentle roll of the ferry from Lewes to Cape May, N.J.;
• The glimpse through binoculars of the migrating raptors at Cape May Point.;
• The hum and clang of slots inside Caesar's and Trump casinos at Atlantic City;
• The aroma of the frutti de mare that came from the kitchen to my plate at Basil T's Brewery and Italian Restaurant in Red Bank, N.J.

In writing I can take myself so far. Travel outside of the routine takes me the rest of the way there.

Baby Boomer's call of the road in an RV

The biggest question I get now that I've taken an RV trip with my wife Jane is whether we're still married.

The answer is yes ... and better for it because of the long weekend in the 31-foot recreational vehicle.

The call of the road seems ingrained in Americans' DNA. We have a lot to see. We have the roads to get us there. We have the motivation of "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac or "Travels with Charlie" by John Steinbeck or, for a real twisted take on the theme, "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" by Hunter S. Thompson.

And we Baby Boomers are positioned with our sense of adventure and empty nests to continue to take up where Kerouac, Steinbeck and Thompson left off.

One vision I had of my retirement is packing us up into an RV to follow my beloved Red Sox around on a series of away games. Go from park to park to park. I want to re-see America with older, wiser eyes than back in the 1970s when I took a cross-country trip in a Dodge Dart.

A retirement gift gave me the chance to get a taste of the RV lifestyle, one that maintains its pace despite the recession. Even though the sales of RVs is down, according to the Recreational Vehicle Industry Association, RVs are still on the road, their owners determined to keep on truckin'. The trade group says that 64 percent of RV owners plan to travel over the Labor Day weekend, a slight increase from last year.

The gift certificate for a three-day rental gave us the opportunity to trek north to a campground in New Hampton, N.H., near Pemigewasset Lake.

Steering the 31-foot Winnebago Chalet on the highway was a bit like navigating the Queen Mary on the high seas; it felt more like floating than driving. And, despite a cursory demo by the rental agent, the hook-ups at the campsite of electrical, water and sewer were a bit daunting.

But the folks at the Twin Tamarack Campground were extremely helpful to a couple of newbies like Jane and me.

There were no disasters, a la the Robin Williams movie "RV".

In truth, for a few days we had the comforts of home -- albeit a small home -- but a home with running water, a shower, flush toilet, electricity, cable TV, internet access and the ability to cook the same meals that I would in my own kitchen.

We ate well, we explored, we entertained ourselves with good books to read and Scrabble.

We met a couple in their 60s who live the lifestyle full time in their fifth wheel rig: summers in New Hampshire, a site at a favorite campground in Florida and in between trips to various places throughout the country for Habitat for Humanity building projects. They are genuinely happy with a life that isn't anchored to a house, a life that allows them to roll with whatever urges the road offers.

Getting ready to leave meant dumping the gray water (basically the shower, kitchen sink water) and black water (from the toilet) -- black water first through the hose, then gray water to wash out and rise the black out of the hose. Then fresh water from the water hook-up to finish the job.

Would we do it again? Yes, with the caveat that we tow a car. Once the rig is parked, leveled and hooked up, you don't want to undo it all to travel around and sight see. We wished we had a car to do that because there was a lot to see that we didn't.

And that's the lure. There's a lot to see out there.

A week to be distracted

It's great when a college graduation speaker offers specific advice to the graduates. It's even better when a graduate is able to take the specific advice of the speaker.

So it is with my son David, who graduated this week from Boston College.

His commencement speaker -- documentary filmmaker Ken Burns -- talked specifically about the kinds of things the graduates should make an effort to do.

"Travel," Burns said at one point in his remarks. "Don't get stuck in one place. Stand on the rim of the Grand Canyon, and go to Yellowstone and Yosemite. After all, you own them. Whatever you do, walk over the Brooklyn Bridge. Listen to jazz music, the only art form created by Americans, and a daily proof that that exceptionalism, no matter what the pundits say, is alive and well."

David plans to stand on the rim of the Grand Canyon, and go to Yellowstone and Yosemite as part of a six-week, cross-country trip that started this week.

David is the second of my two children. In the process of preparing to graduate (a process that always involves the parents) he was also in the process of preparing for his trip (also a process that involves the parents).

So I guess I can be forgiven if I've been a little distracted with both the preparation to graduate and the preparation for the trip. Now that he's on the road, I am at once anxious and jealous. I'm anxious for the obvious reasons of just being a parent, having him and his two traveling buddies out there somewhere; jealous because I'd love to be along for the ride.

It's actually a ride I took with David's mother in the 1970s. We saw the same sites that David will see, but I hope for him that he'll see and experience much more of the road.

It's great that David is driven by a similar wunderlust. For me it was driven by the best known of the road books -- "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac, but more so by the lesser known "Travels with Charley" by John Steinbeck.

It'll be different for David. For one, if he chooses, he can be in touch through texts, or cell phone calls, or emails. My parents, according to what my Mom said recently, had no clue where I was during my trip in the '70s. Like we did, he'll have trip maps from the American Automobile Association, but unlike us he'll also have a GPS.

If he is in touch and tells me where they are, I'll be able to remember as he visits the waterfront in Seattle and eats the alder-smoked fish. I'll be able to see in my mind's eye the natural stone arches at Arches National Park in Utah.

I'll be a little distracted in worrying that he and his buds are safe. That the 2002 Mazda sedan (pictured above) he is borrowing from me will hold up to the rigors of the road. That they'll be responsible, make the right choices. That they'll have a great time and assemble memories for a lifetime.

I'll be distracted because I'll be thinking of standing on the rim of the Grand Canyon.

Have time, will travel

Here's one advantage to my being semi-retired while my wife Jane continues to work away in the salt mine: I get to be the eye-candy when I tag along with her on a business trip.

It was a role reversal to be sure. During my working life, Jane would often accompany me on business trips. A recent trip to Alabama was my first opportunity to tag along with her. She went to meetings. I went to the golf course.

I blogged recently on the do's and don'ts of being eye candy.

The point here is that one of the consequences of retirement and the empty nest is having the time and making the time to travel. And it's all made easier by the fact that technology makes it possible to stay connected to the part-time writing I've been doing to fill in the gaps of my semi-retirement.

I contribute to four blogs, writing about 15 posts a week on cooking, Baby Boomer issues and New Hampshire politics.

Being on the road with Jane gave me the best of both worlds. She worked and I played. And I worked around my play.

I look at travel as a form of continuing education. And what an education we received during our tour of Birmingham.

The city was once considered the most segregated in the country, a city where the separation of blacks and whites, the so-called "separate but equal" doctrine was played out for decades after the city arose from literally nothing soon after the Civil War.

In my years, I wasn't exposed to the kind of segregation that was so ingrained in Birmingham. I'd read about it growing up, heard about it on the news. But a tour of the Civil Rights Institute and some other civil rights sites in Birmingham gave me a peek at a way of life that, while foreign to me, was all too familiar for so many.

Voting rights subjugated. "Colored Only" bathrooms and drinking fountains and a way of life dictated by whites. Protests and demonstrations put down by police dogs and fire hoses. The fire bombing of homes. The bombing of the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church in which four girls died.

The attainment of civil rights was a civil war of its own.

Has it improved? Segregation is illegal, but like most cities, Birmingham is segregated by poverty. There are the business districts and the areas of the well-to-do, and there are the impoverished areas inhabited most often by blacks. It was that way in Birmingham.

While segregation is illegal, and the civil rights efforts of the Sixties and Seventies in Birmingham helped make it so, economic segregation is still hard at work.