Caveat: these folks had to confine themselves to living in the woods, so maybe only consider this if you are comfortable with the fresh air, the forest, and the bears.
First there was the North Pond Hermit, also known as “Chris.” He managed to live for three decades off the grid in the woods of Central Maine, an area that is all green, glorious, moose dropping-filled woods. But Chris managed, even in Maine’s nasty winters, by being a perfectly practical burglar. He never even built a campfire. About forty times a year, give or take, from 1986 to 2013, Chris would burglarize residences—mostly vacation cabins—for supplies. He was no master criminal. He took food, the necessary kitchen implements needed to prepare it, and fuel in the form of propane. He might also grab a book or two just because you can only commune with the ghosts of the New England timberland for so long before they have to return to their home inside Stephen King’s head. He took clothes, too—but just what he needed. Chris was so deft about all this that some people didn’t even realize he’d burgled them at all.
Second guy who managed to make it off the grid and stay wasn’t quite as benign as gentle Chris. Troy—again, first name only—survived a solid decade well out of society’s hair in the Utah mountains. Again, a seriously forbidding environment, if you’re looking for a pattern to these semi-successful stories of staying out of sight. Go somewhere nobody wants to look for you.
Troy said “see ya” to society some time in 2004. He was on parole at the time. From that moment until his capture in 2014, Troy remained coy with the rest of humanity, stating that it wasn’t that he didn’t like people, he just didn’t want to be near them. Troy managed by kind of colonizing remote vacation cabins. He’d live in them. Sometimes he did just like Chris and took only what he needed to survive. You know, essentials like whiskey. Other times, Troy shot up the residences and left vaguely threatening notes. Rangers and cops finally tracked him down, then snuck up on him quietly, clad in snow shoes.
Once again, don’t try this at home. More specifically, at other peoples’ homes. It’s illegal, and sadly there’s one fewer great lawyer out there these days to represent you if you get caught.
Hacking for Fun and Profit. No, you are not going to learn the inner secrets of hacking from the former Saul Goodman. Just as I didn’t hip you to the how-tos of burglary, I sure can’t tell you how to steal passwords by casually browsing books at a library while eyeballing someone using a computer at a desk nearby, or that there is easily available software right there on the Internet that will grab all the keystrokes off a public computer, including any number of passwords and bank accounts. I will say that lessons for absolute beginners in the basics of unauthorized computer use are all over the place, including the World Wide Web. So a smidge of knowledge about computer-based chicanery could be a useful tool to have in your kit.
At bare minimum, you could use the password-eyeballing trick to do what’s otherwise a real no-no when you’re on the run, and get on the Internet to figure out what’s up in your old life. If the cops are hitting up your friends on social media with questions, distributing photos of your face, that kind of thing.
By the way, since we all have handheld supercomputers in our pockets these days, it’s worth pointing out that they’re totally hackable, too.
A phone like that is a double-edged sword. For the grid-skipper fleeing troubles aplenty, a tutorial on how to get into a “borrowed” smart phone is pure gold. However, owning a phone like that can be a lot of trouble, too. In a little bit we’ll get into the phone issue in more depth, because these fine little companions we keep in our pockets to see weather conditions and pornography on tiny screens could end up hanging the desperate traveler out to dry.
We’ve traveled down the muddy, rutted road of the rapid bug-out as much as we have time for right now. What it comes down to is planning. Even if everything I’m putting down is for entertainment purposes only, don’t take it for granted that one day you may need some of this advice.
The bug-out bag, for example: what harm is it to order one today then pop it under the bed, or in the back of the closet? Sure, you might be in the middle of a move years from now, find it, and laugh at your paranoia, but an asteroid might drop on the closest major city tomorrow. If that happens, everyone squiring shih tzus and toddlers through the suburbs in their compact SUVs will be screwed, but you’ll be the smart one with a few days’ supply of food, water purifying tablets, and a cozy mylar blanket tucked into a pack on your back.
Most folks aren’t worried about an actual dinosaur destroyer of an asteroid, though—they’re worried about whatever figurative asteroid of trouble might be shooting their way. Whatever sinks your boat, I hope you’re ready with a life vest and some dried apricots.
There’s always a roadblock somewhere. Let’s say you’ve done just about everything right, so far. You carefully picked out a dead guy or gal and copped their birth certificate. You quietly acquired a state-issued identification card. Then let’s say you locked down lodging—perhaps a weekly hotel to start, paid for in cash or with a pre-paid debit card. You are on your way. Maybe you’re at a point where you’re focused on laying down a firmer foundation in your new home. The kind of thing that takes a little time and attention.
Here’s where I hit you with a little bit of cold water: Roadblocks. Actual real ones and a few mental speed bumps as well.
Here’s a scenario, a very simple one. Say you’ve settled into innocuous, out-of-the-way neighborhood X on the outskirts of middle-of-nowhere town B. Very good place to disappear. Maybe you’ve been living under your new name for several months and have grown… comfortable. Anyone would. No, you’re not letting your guard down. Digitally, you’ve completely left your old online persona behind. You have a landline phone under your new name and you’ve made sure that number’s unlisted. If you were an author, you’d fall somewhere between “Salinger” and “Pynchon” on the publicity scale.
One morning, you wake up feeling pretty good and want to celebrate with a half-dozen donuts. Just because you’ve taken on a new name and identity doesn’t mean you have to lay low and hide in your darkened split-level ranch all the time, right?
You head into town to get your Homer Simpson on—and when you come back, you’re met by a blockade at the only road leading into your neighborhood. There you are, carrying a driver’s license that the first friendly officer who stops your ride might examine carefully for signs of fraudulence.
If the roadblock is for a certain criminal element known to reside near you (drug dealer, wanted felon who happened to live one street over, etc.) it may be no big deal! Quick glance, the appropriate hologram burned into the ID’s plastic coating, and you’re good to go. You’re not what’s on the menu today.
But then again, what if you’re not waved right along? No matter what you’ve heard about duty-sworn officers of the law, most of them are not easily nor readily swayed by a half-dozen donuts. Hell, not even a full dozen. You may well be boned after you’ve only just begun, my friend. The most innocuous irritation—a routine checkpoint meant to roust one lone weed dealer—can potentially trip you up.
And here we come to that cold, hard catch-22 about life off the grid: just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.
So: the house you found to rent from a landlord who didn’t care about background-checking you because you had the cash to offer up front? The one in a neighborhood with a one-road entrance? Who the hell normally plans around that kind of thing? No one but criminals and volcanologists. Folks with all their proper papers have no need to worry about how many roads lead away from their pleasantly beige home base at the end of a cul-de-sac. But you? You have to brace yourself for the unexpected catastrophic eruption.
The closed-lipped suburbs where no one expects a lone wolf to attend the bi-monthly HOA meetings seem like a great place to hide out, but it might be more wise to invest in the anonymous week-by-week extended-stay motels that sit right off a major interstate and usually offer a free continental breakfast between six and nine AM. If that’s too much excitement for you (and you can’t convince yourself that the highway sounds like a soothing river lulling you to sleep every night), at least make it a habit to study the maps of whichever neighbor-bland ’hood you’ve decided to retire to. A few different routes in and out, only the most tasteful graffiti—why plop down in a heavily monitored neighborhood if the main thing you’re trying to do is avoid attention? Keep in mind that cops will run background checks on witnesses to crimes, too.
I’m being discouraging, I know. But—and this is a big old but—it doesn’t have to be this way. Just make sure to align yourself with the philosophical styling of “K.I.S.S.”
We all want to rock and roll all night and party every day, but I’m not referring to the pyrotechnic-loving, blood-spitting brothers Paul, Gene, Peter, and Ace. I’m talking about that old military tenet of “Keep it simple, stupid.” It’s always a good idea to examine your options and take the cleanest, most simple one. When launching a second life under a new name, you need to take Occam’s razor and whittle everything down to the basics.
We’re talking money, shelter, sustenance. Go someplace out of the way, distant, unsung—but unlike the cabin-plundering hermits I told you about, don’t drill that down to a permanent tent in the woods. Most people can’t handle that life.
Gather All the Intelligence About You. Spy stuff again. The moment you lock in on a new destination to reboot your existence, the first thing you should do is doctorate-level research on that locale. If you’ve never been the best student, fix that! And here’s the great thing: the Internet is a huge help in such an endeavor. Become a historian, cartographer, and an avid fan of the soap opera starring your new neighbors. Fact is, pretty much anyone can utilize a search engine and gather enough data about even the smallest town to fill an entire home library.
Unless you take the very chancy chance of hiring someone to map out the whole deal in advance, then you will have to be the hunter-gatherer of your own intelligence. Put together aerial views, stats about demographics, income, and crime. Read letters to the editor in the local paper. Target the part of town where you want to live. Remember: you don’t want flashy; you want bland. Avoid mansions; avoid broken windows. Don’t take it personally—this choice won’t make you bland at all! Doing the whole “new identity” thing automatically puts you in the category of “Very Interesting Person” for life. Which brings me to my next point…
Don’t Be So Damn Interesting. Whoops, sorry. Are you a charismatic character? The kind of gal or guy who warms up the room the moment you arrive at the party? Take it from Saul, friend: put that light under a bushel, ASAP. Don’t be colorful. Look back on the folks I’ve already told you about who remain total mysteries to this very day—what ties them together? I’ll tell you: they were boring as hell. Remember Joey Newts? From 1978 till 2003, he could have won his workplace’s award for Most Vanilla Employee. Dial down that inner party monster, and channel your inner introvert.
On one level this seems easy: just don’t talk to people. Restrict daily communication to the necessities related to whatever practical business you’re up to, and only that. Say you grab a job as the lowly attendant at the morgue, one of those guys who helps haul the dead bodies around. Whatever you do, don’t start making observations about the transitory nature of existence. Avoid deep thoughts. Embrace the shallow. If someone says the local single-A baseball team is interesting, do not debate this. Try not to have polarizing opinions about things. This is not the time to reach deep into the recesses of your mathematics degree and go all Moneyball on your coworkers. Your only reply should be, “Yeah, baseball’s cool, man.” Your safety and anonymity is at stake. It’s shocking how easily that can turn on its head when you become a person of interest to the interested persons around you.
The Three R’s—Routine, Routine, Routine. The moment you’ve settled anywhere for any length of time and mapped out your typical day, just stick with it. Aspire to be like Mr. Rogers, who came home at the same time every day, swapped his jacket for a sweater, and slid on his comfortable tennis shoes. And you know what? Every day was a beautiful day in his neighborhood.
This can be a little confusing if you’ve been under surveillance in the past, I know—because a great tip for anyone who feels they’re being followed is to throw surprising blips into the daily grind. And if you are concerned that someone is on your tail, may have nefarious reasons for eyeballing you too long over a cup of coffee in the mall food court, go ahead and drop a little unpredictable turn in your route home. Duck into a gym like you’re ready to take a spin on the stationary bike, then scan the parking lot for still shapes sitting and watching behind the wheel of a parked car, that kind of thing.
If you’re feeling secure in your new day-to-day, adhering to a routine keeps you locked in your anonymous groove. No waves made means no flash flooding your new life.
What about roadblocks, though? I’ve already gamed a literal roadblock scene to gift you with a little taste of an issue you may have to confront as someone who has taken the non-societally approved move of adopting a new name, life, even persona, if possible.
The roadblocks encountered doing this, though, are obviously not all literal cops standing in the middle of a suburban side street ready to rob you of your freedom and donuts. Let’s have a fun and eye-opening look at all the ways this could go bad for us!
Talking! Say you are in the final stages of getting out. Say you’ve got all the papers in place and now all you need to do is execute the exit strategy. Then say it occurs to you that you’re pretty proud of what you’ve got set up. Seriously, some people—in spite of the fearful reasons that often prompt a move like this—might be tempted to brag. Maybe call up that one cousin, Timmy, who never truly believed in you, to impress him with this incredibly clever move. Your ego is your own worst roadblock. You’re doomed to fail the moment some operator—be they cop or bad guy’s henchman—comes to Timmy’s door to casually inquire where that slugabed cousin of his might be. The cops will definitely go that far if you are facing charges, and the bad guys will, too. They might even throw a little murder in for good measure. So then you’ll have poor Timmy on your conscience and some cut-rate cutthroat on your tail.