UT student 'pedals' rides on campus

AUSTIN (KXAN) - Four years ago, after then-17-year-old Spencer Scorcelletti graduated from high school, he left home, literally.

"When I initially left home, I decided to spend my first year voluntarily living homeless," said Scorcelletti. "I wanted to get out and experience the world and just be on my own. I ended up reading a lot of books and for the most part, I was sleeping in the library."

Now a senior at the University of Texas, Scorcelletti would not trade the homeless experience for anything, but he acknowledges it was a lonely time.

"It was a valuable experience but it was a bit lonely," he said. "I realized that having a house is not necessary. You don't need food and shelter; that's easy to come by."

"You need a home. You need a place for your mind to retreat, somewhere where you know that it's OK; you can just relax and do nothing. That was very difficult to come by when I was living that way."

Scorcelletti has a home now. It is an old, two-story house he shares with several roommates in the West Campus neighborhood. The house even has a name: The House of Guys, or H.OG. Not long ago, one of his roommates moved out, leaving a broken tandem bicycle behind. Scorcelletti fixed it and then settled onto the front seat.

"I sat down on the bike and I rang the bell," he said, “"and it was like, right there and then, everything just came to me."

Scorcelletti rode the bicycle down the street toward campus and a chant, like that of a carnival barker, emerged from his gut.

"Free rides to class; get your free rides," he shouted.

Heads turned.

"Free rides, no tips accepted," he added, "no sexual favors expected."

One student accepted the offer, then another. Now, several times a week, Scorcelletti mounts the bike and hits the campus crowd spots, offering free rides to the adventurous, the lazy and the just plain late. He even offers rides by appointments riders can make on his Facebook page.

"I talked to somebody once who is a business major and he said, 'You know, you could charge for this; you could make a really good business out of this.'"

"And I said, 'Anyone can think to charge for something; that's the default of what you do. You provide a service; the default is charging. It takes creativity and insight to do something for free.'"

A new rider aboard, Scorcelletti looks out over the South Mall of the campus beneath the towering UT Tower and shouts, "On the count of three, we're going to start pedaling: One, two and pedal."

The bike lunges forward and the free rides guy keeps up his loud banter.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking, Spencer Scorcelletti. Please keep your hands and feet in the vehicle at all times."

Lots of students turn down the offer. Some of them never even seem to hear it.

"Everybody around me is young, beautiful, intelligent and just in the best time of their life, and we're not sharing with each other," said Scorcelletti.

"You know, you have people, as soon as they get out of class, they whip out their phone, whip out their iPods. It's just isolation. I want to be the ax to break the frozen sea between us."

He pauses briefly and adds, "Actually, Kafka said that," possibly in one of those books Scorcelletti read during his homeless days.

"Hard right!"

The loud call comes from the front seat of the tandem as it rounds a hedge on the mall. A young woman occupies the rear seat, a big smile on her face, as the bike negotiates a crowd of students.

Someone asks, "Why do you do this?"

"I'm trying to get rich," comes the response.

You see, the free rides guy has no agenda, no point to make, no lesson to teach. He's not really a person at all. He's an idea, a dream, a hope that bubbles up from the cauldron of our separate lives and knits us all together. Scorcelletti is merely a man, an actor who plays the free rides guy on the bike.

"I don't consider myself the free rides guy," the student said. "I wish I could be the free rides guy because nothing ever gets that guy down."

Scorcelletti does get down. He gets overwhelmed by the college work load, by the incessant striving for grades, for spots in a hard-to-get class, for the social status search that permeates life on campus.

"Give me some freedom; give me some space," he said. "I want to do something that makes no sense, that's crazy and I want to inspire other people to do something."

"When that happens, we become more human, I think. I mean, right now we're just ones and zeros. I'm just a GPA; I'm just an LSAT score; that's all we are. But when we do something that's pointless, that does not fulfill any gain, I think that's the most beneficial thing you can possibly do."

Back on the bike, the free rides guy hears none of this. He's busy calling out to anyone who will listen: "Impress your friends; shock your professors. Show up to class in style and in a hurry with the 'free ride expressway,' delivering students and smiles all over campus."

The bike rolls past a table on the West Mall, where a group of students are celebrating