Jeff Yeager - The Cheapskate Next Door: The Surprising Secrets of Americans Living Happily Below Their Means

M y first book, The Ultimate Cheapskates Road Map to True Riches, came out in 2008. Ironically, that was also the year that the U.S. economy imploded. The Age of the Cheapskate started just about the very day that my little book hit the shelves.

But Ill always remember 2008 as the year I slept in some mighty strange places. I hit the road in early January, shortly after Road Map was released, on a series of book-tours-by-bicycle, cleverly dubbed the Tour de Cheapskate. I bicycled nearly 3,000 miles on those trips (bringing my lifetime pedaling total to more than 85,000 miles), and I traveled many thousands more by plane, bus, train, and occasionally functioning rental car over the course of the year.

I convinced my publisher to let me travel on the cheap, not just bicycling but staying in the homes of fellow cheapskates and other total strangers I found through CouchSurfing.com. I wanted to take what I saved the publisher on my expenses and donate it to local libraries along my tour routes. At first the publisher was skeptical. They asked me, Jeff, do you think it will be safe? I assured them that I had no intention of hurting anyone or stealing anything from the folks who were kind enough to put me up along the way.

The venture raised nearly $3,000 for public libraries and other local nonprofit groups, but I admit that along those many miles I had my moments of doubt. When I couldnt find a cheapskates couch to crash on for the night, Id often pitch my tent along some lonesome highway, falling asleep to the sound of passing semi trucks and the late-night howls of beer-swilling teenagers in their souped-up Chevys.

One night in Ohio I was camped in a dry creek bed just off a bridge abutment, when a group of late-night party animals just happened to select that very spot, on that very bridge, on that very night, to stop their car and relieve their beer-laden bladders into the darkness over the side of the bridge. Their tinkle fell on my tent fly like raindrops on a lily pad, the urinators never the wiser for it. The next night I made sure to set up camp under the bridge.

Once in southern Florida, it looked to be a perfect night to sleep under the stars, so I rolled my sleeping bag out on the velvety green grass in a small public park. I slept soundly all night, face down on the manicured lawn. But as dawn broke, I felt the most horrifying physical sensation of my life. It felt as if all the internal organs in my abdomen had spontaneously rupturedlike someone was taking a Mixmaster to themand I was suddenly hemorrhaging by the bucketful.

I jumped to my feet, half trying to shake off the nightmare, half expecting to see myself covered in blood, but the blood was clear, like water. Only then did I realize that the parks automatic sprinklers were set to come on at dawn, and a pop-up sprinkler head had been strategically located directly under my navel as Id slept peacefully. The next night I treated myself to a Motel 6.

And while I will always love and appreciate each and every one of the kind folks who opened their homes to me along the way, many of those home stays came with stories of their own. Like the time I stayed with an elderly couple during my tour of the South-west desert. Waking up in the middle of the night in unfamiliar surroundings, I felt the midnight thirst that often comes with long-distance cycling. I needed water, now.

Stumbling into the bathroom, unable to find the light switch, I finally fumbled upon a drinking glass on the nightstand next to the sink. I filled the glass in the dark with the coldest water the tap could deliver, and then tipped it back and chugged the whole thing without stoppingwell, until I reached the bottom of the glass, that is, and a pair of dentures belonging to one of my hosts came sliding along with the last gulp. The next morning I skipped breakfast.

Most of all, I slept in lots and lots of kids bedrooms, and I want to once again thank all of the kids across the country who were evicted from their rooms by their parents when the Ultimate Cheapskate came to spend the night. I spent so many nights in these now-familiar surroundings that I can exactly describe the requisite decor of a childs bedroom circa 2008:

• A galaxy of glow-all-night-long stars and planets (including multiple Saturns) pasted on the ceiling above the bed
• A snake or other amphibian/reptilian thing lurking in a not-so-secure-looking aquarium in the corner
• Regardless of the childs gender, an Asian boy bands poster staring at me each morning when I awoke in the munchkin-sized bed, my half-naked 64 frame hanging out from under a Shrek bedspread

Several weeks into my tour, I woke one morning in a kids bedroom and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, a paunchy profile shot, wearing only boxer shorts. I did a double take. I could have sworn I had morphed into Shrek overnight. The next day I bought myself some real pajamas and went on a diet.