DO SOMETHING COOL

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Car trouble, the bane of any road trip, has been no stranger on this trek in The John Muiracle. Toyota Chinooks are known for the solid engine and overall reliability on the road, and mine has been a perfect example of that up until about 3 months ago when I started having problems. Small things at first; a little leak, some electrical stuff, minor overheating. But at all came to fruition outside of Dubois, Wyoming when my truck’s back left axel broke away from the drive component at 2am leaving me stranded in the wilderness for a few hours, and now stranded in Jackson looking for a way to keep the road trip going.

As they say, it’s all part of the journey.

Here is a running tally / map of my car troubles up to this point.

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Cool Guys Cool Cars

Being Broken down in Kingston, NY for 8 days means I get to crush on other cars for a little. There are some rad rides out here, but the best was from a couple driving from Oregon.

Their 60s VW bus is an eye catcher, mostly because it is towing a smaller replica behind it. That cut little toy car is actually a go cart that pushed 120 mph. And they have a whole Russian doll situation of cars getting smaller and smaller, until one is made out of a grain of rice.

These two travel out of here and sell love beads, and were eager to have their picture taken. They used to not do photo but recently they had a change of heart.

“Yeah, my dad saw a photo of me on the internet recently so now he knows I don’t have a job. So you can take pictures and post whatever you want.”

Damn Hippies...

Expect a John Muiracle Version of this tattoo soon...

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How To Live To Tell The Tale

A Survivalist’s Field Manual to Better Story Telling by Michael Weybret

Chapter 1: Do What Makes for A Better Story

The circumstances that lead to the purchase of my ’82 Toyota Chinook, The John Muiracle, are a bit fuzzy in my memory. Probably because that time period involved a lot of lying to myself about things I knew deep down not to be true. Primarily about what my own definition of happiness was. Let me explain.

Following college I lived in Los Angeles for about two years starting in early 2013. Living there was never really an intention of mine, but rather a side product of wanting to work in the film industry. Through some contacts a met a man who offered me my first gig in LA which turned into an apprentice/assistant role that I am still grateful for to this day. While I found work right away, friendships were hard to come by in the city, for me at least. Soon I found myself diving into work more and more. Who was I to complain? I landed a good gig in Los Angeles less than a year our of film school. This was the dream, right guys?... Guys?... Hey where did everybody go?

The work yourself to the bone strategy was a much more fiscally responsible coping mechanism than, say, crystal meth, but both options are employed to hide the same unhappiness. Loneliness consumed me while I lived in LA and it began to drag on all aspects of my life. My work began to suffer (loss of passion, inspiration, ext) so I worked more. I got into a serious relationship that I was not prepared for, so we moved in together. Lots of smart decisions were made. How I stayed sane was by dreaming up adventures, plans to escape LA and do something I was really passionate about. In the back of my head I secretly knew I would never do these things, but I needed to get lost in the idea of them so I had some hope to hold onto. Sounds healthy, I know.

Can I use the expression “house of cards” without you guys reading the rest of this in a Kevin Spacey fake South Carolina accent? Eh, I’m gonna use it anyway.

The bandaid fixes I clung to were the perfect house of cards to hide behind for a while. Each card I piled on helped strengthen the illusion and allowed me to feign my happiness for a little while longer. It was never real happiness, however. Which is why that toxic relationship came to an end in September 2014. It was bad for both parties, in fairness, but when the final words were spoken it hit my house of cards like a ton of bricks. The same deep down fear and emptiness fell over me as I was forced to ask myself the question we all do at a pivotal point in our lives: what the fuck am I supposed to do now?

Timing has always been a strong suit of mine, as well. The break up came just a few days after learning that a well of freelance work in LA was soon going to be drying up as my mentor/boss was moving to Texas. Also, since her and I had been living together, the break up meant I would need to find a new place to live. October 2014 was shaping up to be quite the month.

Do you ever get so stressed out and scared that the world sort of becomes tunnel vision? You can just hazily focus on one thing at a time as everything around you is a blur. For me, that one thing was buying a van. I had been dreaming of living in a van and traveling since I was young, sort of that bucket list item that you hold onto as a back burner idea without ever really working towards or giving it a chance. Suddenly, I was homeless and jobless in a city I didn’t like with nowhere to go but everywhere. Escaping LA via a nomadic lifestyle was the last hope I had to hold onto. What was once my perennial plan B was now starting to look like the most logical option.

So, I started doing it the only way I knew how. By talking about it. Telling people I was gonna go before I even knew if I could. In the back of my head was this fear that I would chicken out or find an excuse not to do it, but I knew I had to keep talking about. Hoping my friends would hold me accountable. Each day I tried to make a small step toward the goal. Pretty soon that turned into looking at rigs. It wasn’t long before I found my dream home in a ’82 Chinook (maybe it found me) and my list of reasons not to do it kept shrinking.

Let me try and make this clear: I was scared shitless to do this. Going mobile means losing a lot of things, comfort, security, hot water, a lot of your shit that you don’t want to pay to store in some shed. The upfront investment is substantial and the lifestyle doesn’t become finically effective until after you get really, really good at it. I have lots of friends and family that would love to see me move “home,” whats it gonna be like to turn my back on that and just do... well... who really knows what. My mind was constantly racing, a blur of fears, anxiety, and worries. But at the center of it all, the only thing that was clear to me was a 1982 Toyota Chinook.

I know I couldn’t let this just be another dream. Never did I fully convince myself it was a good idea. Nor was I sure I was going to enjoy the lifestyle. But there was a burning desire to do it. I had to chase after this. I told somebody once “I need my hero’s journey.” If nothing else, I knew this would make for a good story.

It started taking shape gradually over time, then, all at once in a wild purge of fear and doubt, it was done. at 24 years young, I, Michael Weybret, became a home owner. Success, I often joke, is relative.

It would have been easier to stay in LA. It would have been simpler to just find new work and continue with my life. It would have been easier that continue to lie to myself. That wasn’t a path I wanted to take again. That was too safe, and being too safe can be so dangerous.

Any good story requires sacrifice. I’m not talking about the story about how a friend got free ice cream because somebody liked his smile and then he found $20. I’m talking about when Lee Gill traded his David Bowie t-shirt off his back for $20 at a Canadian diner at 4am. There needs to be conflict, something at stake and a real fear of losing it. When you are really scared or worried about a consequence of an action, it makes the reward that much sweeter if and when you get it.

Despite the process nearly driving me insane it is safe to say that buying the John Muiracle has set my life off in a new exciting direction full of adventure. I am thankful every day that I didn’t let my doubt control me. I did what I felt was going to make for a more exciting journey. That is the basic cornerstone of good storytelling; to simply live a life full of better stories.

Oh, some advice. Hang onto all your merchandise from aging rock gods. Or at least make sure you get a good price. Especially for Bowie.

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How To Live To Tell the Tale

a field manual for epic story telling by Michael Weybret Chapter 0: An Introduction

“Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.” - Ben Franklin

I was raised on stories.

Each day of my childhood started with a newspaper. A fresh bundle of stories and information hand delivered to our doorstep every morning. And not just any newspaper. The Lodi News-Sentinel, my family’s newspaper. My father was the publisher and each morning when I came down the stairs for breakfast he could be found reading the latest issue at the end of the dinning room table. My grandfather bought the paper in 1958 and worked there everyday for the better part of a century, distributing countless stories to the masses over the years. Still, each day would likely end with him telling old stories about a herd of his stolen cattle, learning to weld with prison inmates, and hopefully a few of his timeless “Sven and Ollie” jokes.

Perhaps I didn’t realize it was happening at the time but I was developing a deeply rooted love for stories, and a profound respect for anyone who can tell a good one. Storytelling is how I share my feelings. Any “how are you” will certainly be returned with an answer riddled with events when a simple “good!” would have sufficed. Stories are how I form relationships. A friendship is only set in stone when we have a good tale or inside joke to share. Remembering stories is the only way I can tell time (a trait surely stolen from my grandfather). Nothing ever happened to me “around noon” but always “just before that rattlesnake almost got us.” Life for me has always been a series of stories.

And if life is just a story you better make it a damn good one, don’t you think?

That is a large part of the reason I am setting out on my next adventure. A great American road trip from California to New York and back (hopefully back the long way, through Alaska) hitting every tourist trap, national park, dive bar, and friend’s couch I can find along the way. I decided long ago that I wanted to live the best stories I could. More importantly though, as I was taught as a kid, I want to share them with the ones I love. This is my hero’s journey; and I want to bring you with me.

And so in this series of writings, whatever it may become, I want to share with you my stories and more importantly what I learned from them. Everyone’s life, passions, and stories are and will always be completely different from those of another, that’s what’s best about sharing them. My hope is that by sharing mine I can help inspire other’s to live a life full of adventures and stories. Ones you cherish and are proud to tell your grandchildren about around the dinner table one day. Or at least ones that get a good laugh around a campfire on the weekends.

One part travel journal, one part explorer’s guidebook, with a dash of gypsy memoir. Add spice. Season to taste. And enjoy my field manual for epic story telling.

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This work is dedicated to the ones that taught me everything I know about good stories. My mother, Christi, my father, Marty, my grandfather, Fred, and the long line of story tellers from whence I came. Thank you. I love you.

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Drive By Shooting: portraits from the back of a scooter

Part of the fun of thailand was ridin’ bitch while teaching farang (google it) turned local Michaela Scranton drove me around the sites. It totally ruled.

I was constantly looking at the people passing us by, wondering who they are, where they are going, what the fuck they had on their head. Eventually I started shooting pictures on the back of the bike. Most of them were blurry. Some of them were cool. Some of them were blurry in a cool way.

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Jodie O’Shea

The best part of traveling is the unexpected moments of magic that no travel guide or Lonely Planet book can predict. On a recent stop over in Bali, a place I mostly associate with good surf, bad pollution, and, now, pickpockets, I got to see a part of the island I don’t suppose many do.

If you have been there, you have probably noticed the growing numbers of children panhandling on the streets, particularly in the bigger cities. You may have, like me, been warned against giving them money because they children are a part of a corrupt system of abuse that needs to be defunded and stopped. When I was first told this 4 years ago I was left feeling helpless. Something about those children has stayed with me ever since.

Through the connections of a friend, Lisa Kenny and Erik Metanomski, I was given a tour of the Jodie O’Shea Orphanage in Bali and it was simply remarkable to see the wonderful things being done there for these local children.

I don’t want to overdo this with fancy prose, but I hope that my photos can convey to you the sense of joy, humility, and respect I had while taking them. I am very happy to have a new, hope filled memory of this beautiful island.

Please scroll through my last few posts to get a look into the Jodie O/Shea Orphanage.

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All photos taken at the Jodie O’Shea Orphanage in Bali.

www,careforkidsbali.com

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All photos taken at the Jodie O’Shea Orphanage in Bali.

www,careforkidsbali.com

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Soot and Sake: The Nozawa Onsen Fire Festival

I have been following The Adventure Handbook for a while now. And I mean following like how a 15 year old girl follows Bieber (even before the last album). So needless to say I am incredibly honored to be featured on their website right now.

Please head over there and check it out! Link is bellow, or if you hurry you can just go to their homepage theadventurehandbook.com and I’m the header, which is pretty fucking cool for me.

Cheers!

http://theadventurehandbook.com/soot-and-sake-the-nozawa-onsen-fire-festival/

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Hindus and Hin-don’ts: Tips for your 14 hr layover in Kuala Lumpur

En route from Tokyo to Bali I had a 14 hour layover in Kuala Lumpur. Layovers are the worst. Locked in an airport with nothing to do but fight over comfy couches and power outlets with other travelers, like hyenas on a dead wildebeest.

This time around Alex and I decided we weren’t gonna waste a day just sitting in the food court at the KL airport. Without knowing much (or anything) about the Kuala Lumpur, we set out to make the best out of our long layover. In the end we learned a lot about touring the Malaysian capitol city.

Allow me to share. Here are my Hin-dos and Hin-don’ts for your 14hr layover in Kuala Lumpur.

Do: Talk to airport information.

Our first worry was the language barrier, but as soon as you step off the plane you will realize that english isn’t that foreign in this fairly western city. Most of the signs and airport announcements are provided in english, and most people speak at least a little.

So do yourself a favor and talk to the information desk / concierge at the airport. The lady we spoke with spoke better english than me and was very helpful. The people at these desks are paid to help you, but more importantly they live here. They can be really helpful with finding the lockers to store our bags, suggestions of what to do in the city, transportation, any information you think you need, and surely some you didn’t know you would.

Don’t: Take out / exchange too much cash.

The USD goes a long way in Kuala Lumpur and airport currency exchanges are a famous rip off, and I think I got extra screwed this time around. So do yourself a favor do a little research on costs of transport (the wifi in the airport is lightning quick) and don’t get carried way when pulling out your ringgit (Malaysian currency) for the day.

Also, this is a layover, not a main feature on your trip. Challenge yourself to spend as little money as possible on your day so you can have a fun story without digging too far into your budget. I think my whole day, including transit to and from the airport and three meals was well under $30.

Do: Take the bus into town from the airport.

It is really easy to find, very clean, and only takes about 30-40 minutes. The train saves you maybe 10 minutes but costs way more ($3 vs about $15 I believe). No brainer, if you ask me.

Don’t: Go straight to the Patronas Twin Towers.

The tallest twin towers in the world are the symbol of KL and really are pretty amazing to see. They top most of the online lists of “Things to do in Kuala Lumpur” and I am sure the view is amazing. But at 80 ringgit (about $20 when I was there) I would rather stuff my face with Malaysian street food all day then take an elevator up the countries tallest tourist trap.

Do: Batu Caves.

Now that I have told you to stay away from a pricey tourist trap, please make sure you make time to go to this free one. The Batu Caves is the most visted Hindu Temple outside of India. Now, admittedly I am a bit of a snob about cultural experiences that seem overrun with tourists, as many people are. But don’t let that fear stop you from making the trip to the Batu Caves and climbing the 272 steps to the main Temple Cave.

The train from the KL Sentral Station is only about a dollar and drops you off right in the middle of the action. Take the time see the caves, the markets, take photos of and with statues, and swap smiles with the countless Hindus using this beautiful monument as a daily place of worship. Just keep your eye on those monkeys, they are crafty devils.

Dont: Just hang out around Sentral Station and the mall all day.

We got trapped in the mall for a little during our brief time there. It is attached Sentral Station and is a labyrinth of western shops and information desks offering bad directions. We wanted to grab a quick bite to eat in the area around the station and long story short, we stumbled around Little India for a while before finding anything that seemed authentic. Doing any city in 14 hours is a tough task as it is, so unnecessary delays are the enemy.

Happy accidents though, we made friends with some local kids in Little India and watched them play soccer for a while before moving on (the game ended 1-1 and was admittedly much more entertaining than the Manchester United game that same day).

Do: Partake in the local customs.

I was eyeing a street side barber shop that was shaving heads and faces of worshippers before they entered the temples. One of the barbers asked if I wanted to shave my head. These gorgeous locks? You’re dreaming bro. I laughed and told him maybe my face (my travel beard is pretty uninspiring). He replied “Yeah, make you would look better. 10 ringgit?” thats like $2.10 for a straight shave. Hell yes.

Smooth as a baby’s bottom. I kept the mustache, though.

Don’t: Rush Back to the airport.

The bus from Sentral Station gets you to the airport really quickly even in traffic, and leaves just about every 20 minutes or so. We didn’t have trouble checking in at the airport and made it to our gate in plenty of time (thanks to the life saving English signage).

In conclusion, Hin-Do Kuala Lumpur. Always Hin-Do while you are traveling. It is why you came, no? So lock up your bags at the airport next time you get stuck with a long layover, and stumble out into the wide world out there. Don’t let the highlight of your story about a once in a lifetime stop in Malaysia be the airport bathrooms.

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Coming Clean: I Am Not An Expert

I get asked a lot of questions. Lots about travel, which places to see and how to see them. Cameras too, which ones to buy and how to use them. Flattering as it may be that people trust my advice, I must admit that it makes me a bit uneasy. I am no expert.

Big surprise, I know.

While I do have a college degree in Film Production, everything I know about cameras has been from reading online reviews, articles, and picking the brains of people whom I believe to be much more qualified than me. Nearly all of my advice when it comes to travel is in some way shape or form “don’t do what I did.” Any knowledge I have on these subjects has mostly been obtained from trial and error, and not always in the most graceful way.

If San Diego State was to award me a more accurate degree to my skill set, it would be a Bachelor of Arts in Bull Shit. To earn a BA in B.S. (can I Trademark that?) you must first admit that you are not, have never been, and never will be an expert. In that you are admitting that as much or as little as you know, you could always know more. It is okay to strive for it, but do not ever expect perfection. With that weight lifted off your shoulders you can begin your real objective in the field of B.S. which is to become proficient in the art of winging it.

Let me explain what I mean by winging it, because it is certainly not making it up, mailing it in, and going home early.

Nobody is magically born an expert. With a few exceptions made for savants, Matilda, and the like, we all have to work towards that goal. How do we do that? Curiosity, my dear Watson: we ask questions. We first admit that we know nothing, and then we can begin to change that.

The most advanced expert is just the idiot that has asked the most questions. Bonus points for asking the right people. Double bonus points for remembering to write down the answers. But it all boils down to this point: before you can become an expert, before you can get B.A. in BS, you must admit that you know nothing. At least in a relative sense.

Strive to better yourself. Ask questions; tough, probing ones that challenge authority and the conventional way of thinking. Listen and learn from the pros as well as the cons. Keep your mind open as you seek out this knowledge and feed your curiosity. This concept can be applied across all fields and any quest for betterment and progress. For you it may be travel, fitness, formal education, post-formal education, pre-formal education, and certainly the eternal non-formal education. I am quite certain the people we widely acknowledge as experts in their field as still seeking more knowledge and asking more questions. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single question, so to speak. I implore you to adapt this sense of curiosity into your life.

But then again, I’m no expert.

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Throwback thursday to a video i did with Margaux Arramon-Tucoo a little while back. Still one of my favorites.

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Thoughts: A Year With John

As of Nov 1st it has been one year since I moved into “The John Muiracle.” It really seems like yesterday that I was loading surfboards out of my apartment in Venice Beach and into my 1982 Toyota Chinook while trick-or-treaters ran through the neighborhood. I think the phrase life changing is probably over used, but there really is no other way to sum up that moment, that transition, into this new lifestyle.

Since that day nearly everything has changed. I feel closer to my friends and family, and for reasons much deeper than my increased reliance on them for hot water and air conditioning. I’ve made new friends. Countless new friends, whom I can’t imagine my life without. It certainly hasn’t always been easy, or fun, or even safe. Not everything gets posted on social media, you know. How many nights have I laid awake listened to the mysterious sounds on dark city streets wondering why I am doing this to myself? It can be hell. But, how many nights have I looked up at stars wondering how I got so lucky? I may not have much at the moment, but my new life is a wealth of inspiration and a magnet for opportunity. What more in the world could I want?

54 sq ft. Thats how big my living quarters are. I sleep, work, cook, and spend nearly all my indoor time in a space roughly the size of a walk in closet. Needless to say, I’ve had to get down to the essentials. Being forced to downsize and limit what you take with you has slowly shaped my frame of mind and at this point I can’t fathom having to fill an apartment with... stuff. The Chinook forces me to be resourceful. To organize. To take inventory. To conserve. To, in all these ways and more, be a person I am proud of being.

I probably get equal numbers of people asking me “how can you stand it?” and telling me that I’m “living the dream!” The contrasting outlooks are endlessly entertaining, but also perhaps where I find most of my inspiration on this topic. Maybe the best way to stay motivated and focused is to find our own thin line between too safe and too crazy. What if that is balance in life that everybody has been talking about?

Or maybe we are all just 50% out of our minds.

Either way, heres to you, John. To a great year, and to many more to come.

-MW

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North bound. Beaches, Ferry’s, and dirty business.

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Portland in a nut shell.