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NOTE:  This was first published in 73 Amateur Radio, October 1988, during the cross-country school-bus tour described in the Miles with Maggie series (PDF available here), a strange cusp between the bi-coastal Winnebiko II adventure and the 3.5-year BEHEMOTH project.  The story languished for 15 years in a binder of old articles, offline and forgotten, until I recently noticed that it's as timely as ever... and much more urgent.  I have painstakingly re-typed it here in the hopes it will spark more interest in amateur radio; please feel free to link directly to this page if you find it useful and/or inspiring.  I am leaving the technical and political references just about as they were in 1988: the contrasts and similarities are eerie.

The antenna farm of Pete, WB0DRL, near Salina, Kansas

In these days of insane politics, candidates of dubious motives, terrorists, scattered invasions, and earnest discussion of mad Star Wars pursuits, it is tempting to dedicate energy to the elimination (or at least the avoidance) of governments.  Forget your nationalism for a moment and join me in a quick fantasy...

We're cruising the galaxy in a starship, and broad-spectrum electromagnetic activity with a higher-than-normal autocorrelation function suggests life on a blue-green planet.  Discreetly we hover, all sensors on.  Initial conclusion:  a single intertwined ecosystem, dominated by a single intelligent species.

Looking closer and extracting meaning from the jumble of transmissions, however, we begin to observe that the planet is criss-crossed with boundaries, some following natural geographic features, others imaginary.  Different abstract regions, populated by the same species, spend 10-20% of every individual's income on the tools of warfare.  Humans crossing imaginary lines are harassed, searched, taxed, imprisoned, or killed.  Artificial trade restrictions exist, raising the overhead of living.

Radio waves have no respect for borders.  When they are wielded by humans who feel likewise, the result is a refreshing sense of freedom from the artificial constraints of government policy.  Even though an American ham can't ask an Irish ham to call a friend in Dublin, the capability is there; even though there are places where ham radios are considered spy equipment, it's good to know that if it all hits the fan, we amateurs will be there to help knit humans together.  Every new station, be it a packet BBS or 1.2 Gig HT, adds to the general ability of our species to keep itself from dissolution.

Closely related to the Anarchist is the Survivalist, but the motives are more personal, less related to politics than preparedness.  We have recently seen the effects of massive single-point failure in communication systems, when that switch in Illinois crashed and left thousands without information links.

There is genuine satisfaction in owning equipment that will work when commercial services are shut down by disaster, war, or economic collapse.  This is one of the pleasures of my bicycle, in fact.  Not only does all the equipment run on solar power, but so does the bike itself (I am part of the food chain...).  The personal effect of an American information/power/fuel disaster would be softened by the presence of radio systems that keep right on working under natural power, assuming that no nuclear EMP has come along to blow away all my chips.

Culturally, ham radio can be described as a global door-opener.  Peace and understanding among various aggregates of Earth's citizens depend more on communication than anything else (something fully realized by certain world leaders who do their best to prevent it, or at least control and channel it while preserving the illusion of openness).  We have been conditioned to believe that difference equals danger, that at any level of magnification, world affairs reduce to a paranoid US versus THEM formula.  "You're either with us or against us."

Politics aside, the easiest way to fix this illness is to simply communicate (interactively, not just by watching the "news" or one-sided documentaries).  The Network notwithstanding, hams are in a unique position to spread a demystifying awareness among their fellow citizens -- spending hours in relaxed conversation with new friends worldwide (assuming they're not pressured off the channel by a DX pile-up), they realize that they're not all that different.

Talk to aliens beyond the QTH and signal-report level.  Discover that they're not aliens after all.  Share those insights with ethnocentric Americans, and realize that you're helping save the world.

Of course, not all hams want to think globally; there's nothing intrinsic to a radio that forces its user's mind to open.  That's OK... there are plenty of other good reasons to do this.

Consider the neighborhood.  If yours is like the ones I knew before moving to a bicycle, it is a random assemblage of people cast together by economic strata and chance.  The contrasts can be absurd.  Both Jims mentioned earlier are harassed at some level by their neighbors for antennas and unsightly visiting nomad buses, while the neighbors' goal in life is a perfectly manicured lawn.

This seems a strange way to live -- to be cast into physical proximity with those of incompatible natures.  It's one of the driving forces behind my continued wandering:   I prowl the land in search of exceptions and interesting community.

The social ham, like the computer networker, has discovered a solution to the problem.  When you go on the air, your neighborhood becomes virtual, whether the scale is global or repeater-wide.  Your contact is brain-to-brain (not face-to-face), and the effects are interesting.  First, when it doesn't matter what your friends look like, you can make some astonishing connections.  Second, when their location is no more important than their alma mater, your relationships are not constrained by geography.  From the folksy Possum-Trot Net to the Sunday morning meetings of old friends on 40 meters, hams have found ways to step outside the boundaries of their physical neighborhoods.

This has led me to make my home in Dataspace, a not-land where bigotry is obsolete and geography falls apart.  Hams have known this for decades, and often see the physical reality of suburbia as an insignificant backdrop for their real life, instead of the mind-numbing trap it can so easily become.

Then there's the other side of the same issue:  some people don't have a choice.  They are shunned.  Perhaps scar tissue or deformity makes them hard for style-conscious Americans to face.  Perhaps they're overweight, ugly, or confined to a wheelchair.  Maybe their speech is made tortuous by cerebral palsy or stuttering.  Maybe they're of a minority race in the wrong part of town -- or female and techno-brilliant in a culture that frowns on that tendency in "girls."

The point is, ham radio can open communication channels while hiding whatever it is that makes normal socializing difficult.  While anonymity can be abused (especially online), it can save they very lives of those driven into desperate loneliness by matters beyond their control.

There's a brain in every body, even if the face doesn't meet current standards or the peripherals don't all work.  If you know someone like this, dying slowly of intellectual neglect, take the time to demonstrate ham radio.  You may make a life worth living...

I've always been fascinated by this much-publicized aspect of ham radio.  Individuals build communication systems on behalf of society, out of pocket, without pay, often taking time off from work when volunteer radio duty calls.  It takes a variety of forms, ranging from building packet mail-forwarding systems to manning a disaster-relief nerve center, and the motives behind it are among the most noble of any in our culture.  There really are people whose need to help other people, even strangers, is a major personal priority.

Actually, there are two forces at work here.  One is the humanitarian support of those in trouble (or practice for real emergencies by helping at public events), and the other is the creation of systems that keep communication flowing without cost or corporate substrate.  The former is easy to understand; the latter is not so obvious.

What, exactly, drives a ham to spend thousands of dollars to bring a reliable packet node online?  I think we'll find that it spans most of the other motives in this article, from being the biggest digital signal on the block, to the seductive delights of technology, to the hope that all our communication eggs don't end up in an expensive and volatile government basket.  When you consider the cost of such a station (radios, computers, TNCs, antennas, towers, solar power system) can run $10,000 or more, the power of the motives behind it becomes obvious.

And what about AMSAT?  The packet satellites (Microsats) were cheap at about $40,000 each, and OSCAR 13 was estimated at about $2 million.  This is not casual tinkering, folks, this is passion.

Of course, there are thousands of low-budget hams who live far from the high-profile projects.  They never participate in emergency preparedness exercises, and may even grumble when their favorite repeater is tied up all day by logistical support for a 10K run.

But these same folks would elbow each other aside in the rush to help a stranded motorist or call the police about a drunk driver.  It may be hard to tell whether it's our familiar need to help our fellow man, or a less-noble desire to justify the money spend on radios or enjoy a moment of transient glory... but the net effect is an ad hoc cadre of concerned citizens with radios.

I have felt deep satisfaction in stopping my bicycle to help stranded motorists, and though I am of little use when it comes to towing or jump-starting, I can sure do something about calling for help.

Perhaps this sort of thing also exonerates us a bit, making our obsession with new geek toys seem a bit less selfish...

And then there's the scoring culture.  For many hams, DX contacts are not so much cultural interconnections as fodder for the coveted "Worked More Than 100 Countries on Less Than 33 Watts on Super Bowl Sunday" award.  These contacts have a formula look about them, and there have been rumors of robot contest ops that compete effectively.  "Copy the 5-9.  You're also 5-9.  QR-Zed?"

Some people run contests for the glory, others for the exercise, others for a concentrated dose of that enchantment that comes from working every new state or country (I ran about 150 QSOs on Field Day as a casual 1-Delta for this reason).  Some do it to receive external, objective feedback on the effectiveness of their station.  And still others do it to add excitement to the process of advancing the state of the art in communication techniques (collecting meteor-scatter grid squares).

As with most aspects of ham radio, the question of motive is mired in complexity.  Clearly, there is thrill in competition, and some of the more sophisticated forms of radiosport reward not the bucks spent on big guns, but the hours spent on fine-tuning receive efficiency and operating skills.

But some people have no such motives -- or if they do, they're secondary to the feeding of an overgrown ego.  You meet them occasionally on the air; it seems that every club has one.  Outlandish claims of technical derring-do are always afloat when this bozo is around, and be careful lest you become drawn unwillingly into a battle of one-upmanship.

Ham radio can be appealing to the egotist, for a new audience is only a CQ away and verification of lies is next to impossible.  This kind of person cannot survive in a closed community, and so turns to short-term relationships to feed the habit of trying to impress everyone.  And with the full range of this complex hobby available as the substance of invented experiences, he can get away with it for quite a while before other hams start experiencing mysterious local QRM after being dragged into a QSO with him.

This one's easy, and also common.  There are four common ways to stay in touch with the world from your car: cellular phone, CB, business radio, and ham.  The first is expensive and non-social, but reliable and quiet near cities; the second is culturally useless, but occasionally handy on the Interstates ("eastbound, the county mountie done a flip flop and is comin' up on yer donkey"); the third involves business licensing and expensive hardware; the fourth is easy, fun, reliable, and affordable.  I have met a number of hams who got their license only for the ability to autopatch home every afternoon and say, "Honey, I'm on the way.  Need anything?"

Maggie KA8ZYW joined me electronically as a condition of the high-tech nomad life.  Getting there was a big challenge for one whose life had been spent far from technology, but she did it and it has not only kept us in constant contact, but nearly doubled the range of on-the-road relationships.  Ain't technology wonderful?

I would broaden this category to include safety.  I have often pedaled into the ragged end of an unfamiliar city, paused by the road to store all the local repeaters in memory, then pressed on with the reassurance of an occasional kerchunk in response to my left thumb.

And for some people, ham radio is all that's available.  In the wilds of Nevada, there are whole communities without telephones that are linked together via a mountaintop repeater and local hams.

Any comparison between ham radio and other communication modalities brings up another point.  Some hams have discovered that routine long-distance personal conversation is free via radio and expensive via phone.  That sounds like a good stand-alone reason for getting a license, even if you're not interested in socializing or exploring the technology.

Ahhh, the urge!  Tinkering goes with radio the way clambering goes with mountains.  The combination of the latest magazines and a robust junkbox is seductive and irresistible.  The acrid smells of solder and silicone, the warm convective flow that spells victory in the smoke test, the probing touch of meter of meter and scope.  Graticules in the night.  Dragging a clip lead from the clutter of your bench, shaking off a litter of excised caps and unnamable bits of electronic detritus from past projects.  Stepping barefoot with a shout on an upended DIP.  Ripping open padded bags from mail-order parts houses.  Poring through flea-market bins, your mind a confusion of possibilities locked in mortal combat with economic reality.  Hauling your new widget-framus over to a friend's house to use the signal generator.  Enhancing the Argonaut.  It never ends, and never should.  This is ham radio's essential nature, and may there never be a day when we all become appliance ops!

But there's another side to the love of hardware.  Did you sit in the numbing torpor of grade school, keeping awake during the drone of history class by drawing magnificent pictures of your future laboratory?

Do you thrill to the IC-781, reach across hamfest vendor tables to feel the dials, and imagine your house bristling with log periodics, discones, rhombics, and helices?  Do you periodically clean up the shack (especially upon receiving a new piece of gear), then sit back and gaze at all in a sort of marveling fog?

If so, you're a gadget freak.  You want all new electronic toys, and find their acquisition at least as exciting as their use.

Early in this article series, I related an event that took place during one of my first forays into bicycle-portable HF QRP.  I spoke of the blue-sparkling sliced rock in the Virginia sunshine that pumped a few hundred mA into a box of chemicals, in turn conjuring a few Megahertz of RF modulated by my wiggling fingers and shoved into a tuned wire in the trees.  Across the ocean, 6000 miles away, a stranger heard the disturbance in the ether and responded.  Soon we were becoming friends through something best described as magic.

Despite Maxwell's equations and the sciences of propagation and antenna design, there is something arcane and wonderful about radio.  Computers work with digital perfection, cars run as long as you keep 'em oiled, but radio waves behave on the whims of sunspots, meteor trails, ionospheres, and tropospheres.  You can never know everything about it, and thus there are always surprises and confusions, wonders and delights.  Hopping around the globe through a little box on your desk, hearing exotic places calling from deep within a tangled spectrum of voices and carriers... this is as much in the blood of radio as the triode-burned fingertip and the dittybop of code practice.  And now we have EME, OSCAR, and much more to keep our eyes wide with excitement as we refine our skills and peel away the obscuring mysteries.

For the scientist, of course, all this translates into invention and discovery.  How much effective bandwidth can be crammed into a 5 kHz channel, anyway?  Will a lot of spread-spectrum stations raise the mythical noise floor?  Which is better, a lot of directors or a phased array?  How can the packet network become interwoven so deeply that it becomes self-maintaining, adaptive, and invisible to the users?  Can you predict tropospheric ducting?  Ham radio can keep you exploring for a lifetime, even if you couldn't care less about today's WX in EA8-land.

For decades, of course, ham radio has had a life of its own.  It has become populated by people of such diverse motives that it is increasingly hard to make generalizations.

But some hams, in love with the spirit of the hobby, dedicate themselves to keeping it fueled with new blood.  School programs, video tapes, Elmerizing... all this reminds me of Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 in which people "became" their favorite books so that literature wouldn't die under a repressive regime.  Keeping the spirit alive is a tradition in ham radio, and has a lot to do with preventing our median age from advancing even faster than it does.

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