Lonesome Cowboy : He Rides the Trail of Adventure, Roams the West and Stays in Town Only Long Enough to Scrape Up Cash to Move On

Cowboy Neal Harp rode into this seaside town the other day on a horse named Blackfoot, flat broke and hunting for work.

That’s nothing new for the self-professed saddle tramp. For half a decade, the 43-year-old trucker-turned-trail rider has roamed the West, only tying up in one place long enough to scrape up the cash he needs for moseying on.

He’s not headed anywhere in particular. That he landed in Ventura, clip-clopping along Main Street with a Marlboro dangling from his lip, was simply a matter of chance: He flipped a coin in Palm Springs a month ago and ended up heading north.

His is a life ripped out of the Old West, a longing for a simpler time when a man could saddle up a horse and ride off into the sunset leaving his troubles behind.

“I got fed up with the rat race so I dropped out,” explained Harp, resting with Blackfoot and his dog, Pudge, last week outside a downtown coffeehouse.

The animals have been his only companions over the years, accompanying him every step of a journey that has covered thousands of miles, stretching from Oklahoma to the desert valleys and coastal highways of California.

“There’s something about the adventure of it, to see if you can make it,” he added. “Life’s too short not to do what you want to do.”

In the old days, Harp would have been called a drifter. Today, he is called homeless. But he is homeless by choice, pitching his camp for now on the Ventura River bottom where he will live on donations until steady work comes along and he can move on again.

Good thing for him that acts of charity flow steady for cowboys who are down on their luck.

Sidling down Main Street leading Blackfoot by the reins, he draws plenty of attention. Motorists slow and crane their necks, doing double takes at the site of the tall stranger and his horse. Merchants poke their heads out of their shops to see what all the fuss is about.

People run up and push dollar bills into his hand, wishing him luck on his journey. Last week, a couple walked up and after chatting a few minutes offered Harp a place to stay while he was in town.

“We’ve got a spare bed and a hot shower if you want,” said Louise Lampara, 26. “We’d love to hear your stories.”

Harp thanked her for the offer but politely declined. He doesn’t go anywhere where Blackfoot can’t go. Besides, what need does he have for a bed and shower?

He long ago rejected the idea that four walls and indoor plumbing are standard issue for the American dream.

Even in his other life as a truck driver, he didn’t have a steady home. By day he would speed across the countryside, hauling whatever needed to be hauled. And at night he would sleep in his truck or flop at a motel.

The regimen ended his marriage, he said. And eventually, it got to the point where he just couldn’t take it anymore.

Drawing on past experience working horses, he bought Blackfoot for $500 five years ago and set out on a great adventure. It was like stepping back in time.

It took six months to get from Oklahoma to California, but he got to see plenty of countryside along the way. When he got tired, he tied Blackfoot to a tree and camped beneath the stars. And when he ran out of money he stopped and found work, doing construction or breaking horses.

He first rode into Ventura three years ago, on his way to San Francisco. He spent a lot of time in the Bay Area, following a path laid down by the coastal highways.

And now the highway has led back to Ventura, where he will bunk down until it’s time to move on.

“I’ve got all that I need right here,” he said, patting a hand-made saddle weighed down with a tent, a bedroll and a couple of sacks of feed. He has three pairs of pants, three shirts and a ton of socks. He also carries extra horseshoes, which need to be replaced about every three weeks.

He roams Ventura’s downtown district during the day, posting a crudely written cardboard sign on the back of his horse advertising his need for work. He also earns a few bucks now and then by allowing tourists or the locals to snap his photo.

Late in the afternoon one day, Harp walked Blackfoot and Pudge down Main Street, past City Hall and the San Buenaventura Mission, to a shopping center near Ventura Avenue.

He tied the horse to a tree and the dog to a fire hydrant. The crowd gathered immediately. Security guard Tera Gay French ambled over and set a shopping cart in the parking stall in front of Blackfoot so the horse wouldn’t be disturbed.

“The first time he came in here I was completely thrown,” French said. “The more I tried to keep people away, the more they came around.”

A grocery store clerk ran out and fed the horse carrots and greens. Seven-year-old Socorro Lopez walked up and handed a dollar bill to the cowboy.

“Me and my family thought he was nice so we gave him a donation,” she said.

Finally, with the sun getting low, Harp mounted his horse and made his way to the river bottom. The white sand floor was once home to hundreds of transients like him, men and women looking for a place where they wouldn’t be pushed out or moved on.

But flood waters wiped out that vagabond village last year and officials did not allow the squatters to resettle. Now Harp has the place to himself. And he kind of likes it that way.

When it gets down to it, he’s a loner at heart. He doesn’t really know why. He just knows that eventually he’ll get the itch to move.

And when he does, he knows that he will slip on his bluejeans and cowboy boots, his wool vest and cowboy hat, and flip another coin to decide where to go next.

“You can travel on a horse for 10 years and never even see this whole state,” he said. “I’ve got a whole lot of time and plenty of places to see.”

’ There’s something about the adventure of it, to see if you can make it. Life’s too short not to do what you want to do.’