ROLLING

Friday. The 27th of February. Got the trailer signed first thing — Dan, the Vice Commander of American Legion Post 23 out of Key West, put his name on it. An endorsement. His way of saying he believed in what I was doing. That meant something.

Rode down to the Atlantic and dipped the tires in. Couple of strangers nearby, good folks, agreed to record the thing. Felt right to have witnesses at the start of a thing like this.

Found a breakfast place after. Four-point-seven stars, they say. Eggs Benedict. The man at the door didn't quite know what to make of me or the rig. Took a spell to get seated. Once I was in, I told a few of the patrons what I was about. Word travels in a room like that. Before long one of the waiters was leaning over asking questions about the ride.

Rode ten miles out and met Omar at our agreed starting point. That's how we do it — leapfrog the truck forward, ride together, part ways, reposition. We put in twenty-five miles side by side from there. Had to learn his rhythm, and he mine. Little banter at the start, then we just rode. The sun was full and merciless — no cloud cover, no mercy. Had an SPF 50 vegan-friendly lotion in the bag. Rationed it like water, applying every couple of hours, making sure it lasted the day.

The terrain offered no resistance — flat and wide open, sea level all the way. Florida doesn't ask much of the legs in terms of hills. What it asks for instead is resolve against the heat and the humidity, both of which showed up in full on day one. Herbie handled the weight of Giselle well for a first outing. No wobble, no drama. The rig rode true.

Said my goodbyes to Omar at mile thirty-five. He pushed on — his fifty to finish, a camp to make for the night. I turned back to fetch the truck and move it up the road. That's the way of it. Sixty-two miles on my own legs by end of day. Landed at the Marathon American Legion, Post 154. Met Kindra, the treasurer, who made me feel the place was already expecting me. Good people there. Felt the same warmth as Key West. Something about this organization — they show up for a man on a mission.

Day 2. Met Omar at the start of the Path — the Path, I call it — and rode twenty-five miles together. At the turnaround stood a restaurant. Said goodbye to Omar there. He wanted to press on. I went in.

Cuban sandwich. Mashed potatoes. Fell into conversation with the patrons about riding across the country. Good conversation starter, that.

The heat had no mercy. A blister opened up on my lower lip somewhere along the way. Sun's doing. Stopped at a dollar store — Family Dollar, Dollar General, one of that breed — and picked up SPF 100. Reached for three bottles. Put two back. A nomad travels light. Still learning that.

The land stays flat — sea level country with no hills to speak of. But flat doesn't mean featureless. There's surf to the side, salt air, palm trees lining the way. It's a beautiful stretch of the world to ride through. The sun and humidity are relentless, but a man could do worse for scenery. The body is starting to find its rhythm. Beginning to understand what this life asks of it.

Fifty miles by end of day. Pulled into Key Largo and camped next to Post 333. Met Trish behind the bar — the kind of person who makes a stranger feel like a regular. Key West. Marathon. Key Largo. Three posts, three nights, three sets of good people who didn't need much convincing to believe in this ride. The trifecta. If the rest of the country is half as welcoming, this'll be some journey.

Day 3. Drove up to South Miami and found the American Legion, Post 31. John was the man there — got around on a golf cart, knew the place like the back of his hand. Got permission to set up camp. Settled in, then headed back out for a forty-mile run — out to the port of Miami and back. Arrived at camp a little late, but arrived.

The heat was oppressive. No other word for it. Made it over a couple of tall bridges, the kind that make you earn every pedal stroke. The bike took it all without complaint. Seems to be finding its legs.

Then the sky opened up. A downpour of epic proportions — the kind that doesn't negotiate. Found shelter in the small atrium of a Catholic church. Sat there a while, made some calls, waited for it to abate. There are worse places to wait out a storm.

First real test of the rain gear. It held. Protective bags over the panniers and the basket — everything came out the other side relatively dry. Good to know the kit can handle what the sky throws at it.

Boogalie Bear rode in the basket as always. Silent companion. Doesn't say much, but he shows up every day. Can't ask for more than that in a partner.

One thing needs tending. The solar panel sits mounted on the trailer, charging cable running up to the bike — good setup in theory. In practice, the connection keeps jumping loose on the road. Rattles free, loses the charge. Something to sort before it becomes a real problem. The trail has a way of turning small nuisances into large ones if you let them ride.

No mechanical failures otherwise. No mishaps. Just the heat, the storm, the bridges, and the miles.

Day 4. Omar had pulled into Post 31 the night before. We rolled out together early, heading north through downtown Miami. Didn't last long as a pair. Omar wanted the sidewalk. Giselle doesn't fit on a sidewalk — too narrow for the trailer. I found a bike path on the opposite side of the road and took that instead. Downtown swallowed us both up in traffic not long after, and that was the last I saw of Omar. He headed north to put in his miles. I had other business.

Turned off to pay a visit to Vivex. Potential sponsors. Rita, the administrative assistant, met me at the door and took the time to hear me out. She introduced me to one of the executives on site — not the decision maker I need, that person's out in California — but the visit mattered. Rita sent me back out into the heat with Gatorade, a hug, and something that felt like genuine belief in what I'm doing. That kind of thing carries a man further than the Gatorade does.

The sun was brutal on the way out. By the time I turned back toward Post 31, it had eased off some. A cooler ride home. Good thing, because the day had already taken its toll.

Sixty point zero nine miles on the day.

One small fix along the way — a zip tie holding Herbie's flagpole snapped. Nothing more than that. Had spares in the supply bag. Back in order inside of a minute. Marcus and Cleopatra were waiting at Post 31 when I got back. Home base. Weary head, met pillow. That's enough.

Rest day. The body said so, and there was no arguing with it.

Found a First Watch along the route and settled in. Had a gift card from another First Watch location — a send-off gift before this journey began. Put it to good use. Eggs, coffee, and a table with an outlet. Spent a good stretch working on the Roll for Veterans website. A cause worth building. Answered some critical emails while I was at it. The ride doesn't stop just because the wheels do.

Made a stop at an urgent care clinic along the way. Right ear had been giving some trouble — pressure, a little pain. Nothing dramatic, but enough to warrant attention. Doctor took a look and sent me on my way with a clean bill of health. One less thing to carry down the road.

Called the Ford dealership in Stuart to set up an oil change and tire rotation for Marcus the next day. Spoke with Serena, who told me to ask for Marissa when I arrived. Said Marissa would take care of me. A man tends to his horse before he tends to himself. That's the way of it.

Ended up at Duffy's, a sports bar with a parking lot and a manager named Dennis who didn't bat an eye when I asked to camp there for the night. Chicken fingers and tater tots for dinner. More computer work over the meal. When it was time, Cleopatra was right outside waiting. Bed had never been closer.

Sometimes a rest day means no rest at all.

Day 6. Dropped Marcus off at the Ford dealership in Stuart first thing. Talked to Marissa and Mike, the department manager, about where to put Cleopatra while the work was done. Drove her around back myself and parked her in the stable with the vehicles waiting for repair. Nobody touches the wheel without my say so.

Donned the gear, mounted Herbie, hitched Giselle, and headed out into Stuart.

Hadn't gone far when I came across three youngsters outside a Walmart. One of them — Zavior — had just graduated high school and was heading into the Marines as an MP. Two others still in school. We recorded a little video together for YouTube, talking about life and its purpose. Good kids asking the right questions. Zavior's got the right bearing for what's ahead of him. The Corps will do fine by him, and he by them.

Stopped into the local bike shop and met Frank. Frank was from France. I floated the idea of company on the road west. He indicated, with the particular clarity of a Frenchman, that he had neither the time nor the inclination to cross the country with me. Fair enough.

Climbed two solid hills over the causeway and spent the day cycling through a pleasant stretch of islands and sandbars, pushing toward Fort Pierce State Park where Omar was planning to bed down for the night. Didn't make it that far.

Made it to Frederick Douglass Park and Beach. Took the shoes off. Walked down to the surf and let it find my feet. Met some good people out there. Jon, who'd spent time in Germany assisting the chaplain when the wall came down in Berlin. Janet and Louise, down from Allentown way for some Florida sun. Then a pair stepping out of their car — Rosemary and Bill. Had a fine conversation about the state of affairs of the union and the mutual understanding that watching the news does a man no good.

Got a call from the dealership on the ride back. Told Marissa 5:30 wasn't looking likely. Fatigue had started to settle in, the kind that turns miles into something heavier than they ought to be.

Then a man passed me on his bike. Steady. Maybe thirteen miles an hour. Not fast — just relentless. I worked fifteen, maybe twenty minutes to close the gap, then tucked in behind him for a couple of miles. Caught him at the turnaround and told him what he'd done for me without knowing it. Gave him my card. He inspired me more than he'll ever know. Probably won't hear from him again. That's alright.

That little chase lit a fire. Pushed through barriers I'd thought were fixed. Hit a few red lights. Took a wrong turn. Pulled into the dealership at 5:30 exactly, breathing hard and feeling satisfied.

Fifty point zero one miles on the day.

Settled up with Marissa and Serena. Left them a Roll for Veterans carabiner to share. Team Bravo, both of them.

On the way to hook Cleopatra back up to Marcus, passed a man named Francis washing a Ford Expedition in the wash bay. Got to talking. Mentioned I'd like to get the road grime off Marcus. Francis offered to do it himself. Took him up on it. Helped him dry when the dirt was gone. We talked about life and its complexities. Gave him a carabiner before I left. A true Team Bravo member.

Went to hook up Cleopatra and realized nobody had noticed me back there. The dealership had locked up around me. So I made camp right where I stood and enjoyed a quiet night in Stuart, Florida. Come morning, I was gone when the gate opened.

Day 7. Drove up to Melbourne wearing my hat from Australia — a gift from my sister Ally. Her way of coming along for the ride.

Stopped at the American Legion first. Nobody there who could help with what I needed. Noticed an empty field across the street. Asked around and learned it belonged to Big Mike, owner of the Burger Inn. Moseyed on over and introduced myself.

Mike said yes without much deliberation. The man runs a tight, loyal operation. While I was there I had the Elvis burger — bacon cheeseburger with peanut butter. Sweet potato tater tots on the side, the kind that make you reconsider everything you thought you knew about a tater tot. Two of Mike's employees pulled me aside and told me how Mike had come into their lives when they were struggling. That kind of loyalty isn't bought. It's earned over years. They mentioned a classic car show the first Thursday of every month. Filed that away for another life.

One last observation on the Burger Inn — Big Mike's son works there. His name is also Mike. A coworker goes by Mike as well. Three Mikes under one roof. Maybe it's a prerequisite for employment.

Donned the gear and headed out toward Cape Canaveral. Over the causeway again, down the sandbar. Didn't quite make it. Got as far as a service station, refilled the water, and turned back. Rolled into Mike's field quite late, then relocated Marcus and Cleopatra over to the American Legion for the night — they had water and electricity. Plugged everything in to charge up for the next day. Boogalie Bear, firmly positioned in his basket as always.

Went to bed around midnight. Worn out. Satisfied. Starting to get a feel for this life.

The ride was sunny and hot. No rain. Herbie is performing well, tires holding strong. One thing to note — the trailer mount on Herbie is spent. Ordered a replacement through Amazon, to be delivered to Daytona. Ralph, my point of contact there, offered to have things sent directly to his house. Good man.

Fifty-two point seven two miles on the day.

They'd mentioned the car show earlier in the day and I'd been looking forward to catching the tail end of it when I got back. Rolled in around nine o'clock. Everything was closed up tight. The Mikes had gone home. The cars were gone. Just me, the field, and the dark.

Day 8. Left the American Legion early. Slipped a carabiner and a note for Big Mike into the door of the Burger Inn on the way out. Wished I could've sat down with him, recorded a proper conversation — the man has a story worth telling. But timing is what it is. Sometimes you leave a note and move on.

Headed north toward New Smyrna and Edgewater, looking for a place to set up camp before meeting the Daytona chapter of Team RWB the next morning. Team Red, White and Blue — a health and wellness organization for veterans that's meant a great deal to me personally. The chapter is led by Ralph Papineau, and they do a regular Saturday ride out of Rotary Park.

Thought it might be worth stopping at the airfield along the way. About a mile from the park. Filed it away and kept moving.

When I pulled into Rotary Park I spotted an Elks Lodge right next door — Club 1557. Drove over. Sign on the door said closed for the weekend. But there were cars in the lot, so I waited. Eventually a woman named Marty came out. She knew the club's leader — a man named Michael, a firefighter out on Cape Canaveral. Marty texted him on the spot. Within minutes Michael called, authorized me to park in the lot, and asked me to send him some pictures of the rig. Fine setup — water, electricity, bathroom in the park right next door. Team Bravo, both of them.

Intended to get a ride in. Sat down at the computer instead. Then Ralph showed up unexpectedly and we spent the better part of the afternoon talking and getting to know each other. Good man. The miles will come — sometimes life has other plans and you just follow along.

Sixty-three and a half miles on the day. Good miles. Flat terrain as always down here at sea level, but the sun and humidity extract their toll regardless. Herbie performed without complaint. Some days the ride is the easy part.

One thing weighs on me from the day. Ralph's car got hit by another vehicle while he was driving around trying to find me. Hard not to feel a hand in that. He was out there because of me. That sits a certain way.

He mentioned a yoga class nearby and I rode Herbie over to join it. Led by Shushana, who clearly knows her craft. First time I felt like I was actually starting to understand yoga — not just going through the motions. At the end she rang a bell. Some kind of harmonic resonance came off it that moved through my whole body like a current. Stayed with me a while.

Rode back to home base in the dark. No moonlight, no street lights — just trees pressing in on both sides of the path and whatever was ahead in the beam of my light. A man gets to appreciate good lights in a moment like that.

A week out of Key West. In some ways it feels like a lifetime. In others, like only a few hours have passed. Time is funny when you're out on the Path.

Got back late. Took a shower. Hit the rack.

Day 9. Joined the Daytona chapter of Team RWB for their regular Saturday ride, starting out of Rotary Park. Good group. The path was wide and accommodating — a proper trail, the kind that gives a loaded rig some room to breathe. Took an overpass and cut through a busy intersection along the way.

The crossing of the causeway bridge was another matter entirely. The phone routed me onto a narrow sidewalk on the wrong side of the cement barrier — maybe a foot of clearance on either side, cars moving past at speed, and the wind doing its level best to make decisions for me. Kept the wheels straight and the camera rolling. If you're going to have a moment like that, you might as well let people watch.

Rode about nine miles out and turned back early. Wanted to make it to the park before the fast movers in the group returned, so folks would have a chance to sign Cleopatra before they scattered. Cleopatra isn't just where I sleep — she's the tribute trailer. Two large posters on her sides, open space for signatures, notes of encouragement, well wishes for Team RWB. Every name on those panels is a piece of the mission riding west with me.

On the way back met a fellow named David on a street bike. Said he had several different kinds of bikes and was just getting back into riding. Told him about Roll for Veterans. He listened. Met a few other older riders at the trailhead when we stopped for a break.

Back at the park the two fast movers had already come and gone. Missed them. But Ralph signed the trailer, along with Dianne, Doreen, and Marcelle. Every signature counts.

Then it was over to Dairy Queen, where the group was gathering for a post-ride treat. I had more miles ahead of me so I kept it practical — chili cheese hotdog, coleslaw on the side, and a Reese's peanut butter shake. No apologies. Met a few more Team RWB members at the table — Don and Anita. Good people doing good work for veterans.

Also met a man named Alvin and his two sons, Matthew and Mark. I asked if they were apostles. Turned out the father's name was Alvin. That's where the biblical references ended.

It's bike week in Daytona. Motorcycles everywhere you look. In the Dairy Queen parking lot on the way out I got to talking with two riders from Ohio — Ben and Bill. Bill launched into a story about a man who'd ridden around Florida on his bike for years. Just when I thought he was about to tell me the man would be perfect to ride with, Bill said he'd quit a couple years back and swore he'd never get on a bike again. Some stories don't end the way you hope.

Met a few more riders in the area — Ziggy, a fellow from France named Constantine, and a woman named Edie, all on motorcycles and wrapping up bike week before heading back to California. They said kind things about the ride. Different road, same direction.

One thing I know about myself out here — when someone wants to talk, I make time. Even if it means getting back to home base after dark. That's just the way of it.

Stopped at a laundromat to tend to the dirty clothes situation. Computer and detergent both safely stowed in Giselle. Got a couple of calls from friends while the machine ran — didn't get much work done, but sometimes that's what a laundromat is for. Folded up the clothes, headed back out and put in another five miles before turning toward home base.

Sixty-three miles by end of day. Got to bed around 0100. Sent a message to Libby before closing my eyes — my best friend's birthday. Some things don't wait for morning.

Day 10. Packed everything up at the Elks Lodge before heading out. Herbie and Giselle had been sheltered in the dumpster enclosure — made a fine garage for the night. Got the back of Marcus sorted to make room, then loaded Herbie up where he belongs for transit. Everything secured and road ready.

Spent some time updating the Roll for Veterans website before heading out. Added miles, added details, and added names to the air support team — the people working behind the scenes to keep this mission moving. Every expedition needs ground crew. Mine just happens to operate from a distance.

Then it was on to Ormond Beach for the main event. The Daytona chapter of Team RWB gathered at the Ormond Brewing Company — the first chance to meet the group at large after a week of smaller encounters on the Path. Ten members showed up. Lani, Ralph, Archie, Michelle, Lisa, Steve, Flavia, and Flavia's husband JT. Good people, every one of them.

Set up the rig outside — flags flying, Herbie and Giselle on display, Boogalie Bear firmly in his basket. Gave tours of Marcus and Cleopatra to anyone who wanted one. They enjoyed it. Truth is, I probably enjoyed it more.

The trailer got signed and I was able to record testimonials — exactly the way I had envisioned it from the beginning. Hard to even get inside the building at one point. Too many people with questions about the ride. That's not a complaint.

Then there was the Englishman. Wouldn't say much about what he did for a living. Couldn't have his picture taken. Spoke in careful terms. But he sat down and gave me more useful guidance about the Roll for Veterans website and how to make this mission successful than anyone has to date. Sharp mind, generous with his knowledge, and gone before I could learn much more about him. Sometimes you meet someone and wish the road had more time in it for them. This was one of those times.

After the social I got on Herbie and headed out. Ralph met me midway on the Path — he'd gone home to retrieve an Amazon package and come back out to find me. One of the two LED magnetic light strips I'd ordered had arrived. The other hadn't made it in time. I told Ralph to keep the second one when it came — a memento of the friendship. He'll put those lights to good use in his own way.

Rode over the causeway onto the island near Ormond Beach and found bike week still very much alive. Cruised up and down the strip with the motorcyclists for a while, taking in the characters and the noise and the spectacle of it all. Somewhere along the way I stopped to photograph a building lit up in blue, found a structure with red lights, then hunted down some white fluorescent lights to round it out. Red, white, and blue. Seemed right for the evening.

Cool night, just a t-shirt, a little humidity working up a sweat. The kind of riding that reminds you why you're doing this. Fifteen miles, starting around 2000 and finishing around 2230.

Got back to home base and met a raccoon in the dark. Came right up close, no fear at all, looking for something to eat. We regarded each other for a moment and went our separate ways.

Was getting ready for a shower when I noticed the train tracks about fifty feet from where I'd be sleeping. A train rolled through not long after. Then another in the night. Fell asleep to the sound of it.

Day 11. Started early, reorganizing Marcus — food moved to the left side of the back seat, charging equipment and computer gear to the right. Small thing, but out here efficiency matters. Every minute saved in the morning is a mile earned by evening.

Was loading up to leave the Ormond Brewery when I noticed the warehouse door across the way standing open. Went to investigate. Inside were JD and Les, two men who tend one of the most extraordinary private car collections I've ever laid eyes on. They didn't have to invite me in. They spent an hour and a half doing it anyway.

Shelby Mustangs. A Sunbeam Tiger — British body, Carroll Shelby's touch, Ford engine under the hood, a wolf in English clothing. A pace car. Trucks. A Jeep with 700 horsepower. Porsches — 911s ranging from vintage to nearly new. And then there was the Cord. A prewar American luxury car so rare and so beautifully strange that most people have never heard of it. There were two of them in the first warehouse, plus a performance variant. Three Cords in one building. Then JD took me next door and there were more. We played a round of golf in the golf room. They made me feel like family. Men like that — generous with their time and their treasures — are rarer than the cars they keep.

One car stopped me cold. Same model as the one John F. Kennedy rode through Dallas. A Nash taxicab with mohair seats. History sitting still, waiting to be noticed.

Departed Ormond and followed JD's recommendation north toward Saint Augustine. Stopped at Captain's Barbecue. Good call, JD. Introduced Boogalie Bear to the staff and a few patrons. Met Kevin outside, who signed the trailer and handed me ten dollars toward lunch without being asked. Used every cent of it. Made a few friends inside and spread the word about the ride.

Found the VFW on the outskirts of Saint Augustine. Mark, the post leader, said I was welcome to stay. They even threw in a bag of ice for the refrigerator. Team Bravo.

Unloaded Herbie and Giselle and headed out for a fifty-mile ride into the city. Saint Augustine is the oldest continuously occupied European settlement in the United States, founded by the Spanish in 1565. You feel the age of it on foot and on a bike — cobblestones, old stone buildings, centuries pressing in from every direction.

Stopped outside the Catholic Basilica in the old town and fell into conversation with a man named Jeremiah. We talked for the better part of half an hour. The kind of conversation that slows a man down in the best possible way. Found a family over by the Castillo de San Marcos — the oldest masonry fort in the continental United States, built by the Spanish between 1672 and 1695 from coquina, a shell-stone native to the area so soft it absorbs cannonballs rather than shattering. Never captured in battle. Still standing. There's a lesson in that somewhere.

Encountered a dog on the beach after dark. On a tether, but a long one. He made a wide circle around me before the leash pulled taut — caught my left foot and lower leg on the way through. Left some abrasions. One more thing to keep an eye on.

One physical note — the middle toe on the right foot started making itself known on the ride. Probably the toenails getting long enough to bite into the neighbors. Something to tend to before it becomes a real problem on the road.

Fifty miles felt like a struggle today. Starting too late, spending too much time on other things before getting on the bike. The math is simple — more time on Herbie, less time on everything else until the miles are in. Something to correct going forward.

Got back and went to take a shower. The water heater tripped the circuit breaker. Not the first time, but this time it didn't come back. Less than two weeks in and the hot water situation has become a creative exercise — microwave and propane stove, heating it up in stages. Got the water warm enough, then the pump battery gave out mid-shower. Ended up dumping the rest over my head to finish the job. Does that make me a wimp for not wanting a cold shower? After fifty miles in Florida heat, the answer is no. A man has his standards. Lesson learned on the pump — when it hits twenty percent, charge it immediately. It drops fast from there.

Day 12. Mark, the VFW post leader, swung by in the morning and signed the trailer. Got a picture with him. Met Ron, who was doing maintenance work on the building. Good people at every stop.

Spent part of the morning hunting for a replacement water heater. Came up empty. Made a practical decision instead — signed up for a Planet Fitness membership. Christine set up the account and showed me around. Showers, workouts, hydro massage. Best of all, the membership follows me across the country. Problem not solved, but managed. That counts for something.

The Samsung phone is still missing. It has things on it I need. Keeping an eye out.

Headed out for what was meant to be a fifty to sixty mile day. Made it about twelve miles before the Lions Bridge had other ideas. It's a drawbridge, and where the sidewalk narrows there's a plate of metal set vertically against the side — just the right height and angle to slide in behind Giselle's wheel and hit it hard. Bent the axle slightly. Still functional, but the tire was wearing unevenly and the math wasn't good for another forty miles. Turned back, loaded Giselle into Marcus, and finished the day on Herbie alone. Ended up with a little over twenty-six miles. Not what was planned, but the wheels kept turning.

Met some good people along the way. Laci stopped to talk while the drawbridge was doing its thing. She'd lived aboard a schooner for years — the kind of person who understands what it means to make a moving thing your home.

Bill came riding by on his own bike while I was unloading Herbie — equipment loaded on the back, a traveling merchant of sorts. Makes his living trading and bartering. Hard to say how much of what he carries has value to anyone else, but in his world it all does. He talked about coming to Florida, ending up in jail, losing everything, and having to learn from scratch how to live this kind of life. Watching him ride off, I looked at my own rig and thought — I still have way too much stuff.

Over at Planet Fitness, met Jen, who had battled her way back from meth addiction to become a functioning, successful member of society. And David, who had gone through stage four lymphoma, endured chemotherapy, and come out the other side in remission. Two people who had stared something down and won. You meet people like that and the bent axle starts to feel like a minor inconvenience.

Getting to bed too late again. The miles suffer for it. Need to find a way back to discipline on the schedule. The road doesn't wait for a man to sort himself out.

Day 13. Woke up in the Planet Fitness parking lot and found a whole community already awake around me. Turns out this place serves as a kind of home base for travelers — people showering, working out, passing through. Met Jake and Megan, a long distance running couple living out of a Pontiac Flex, all the way from Ohio. Hard to imagine two people sleeping in there together, but they seemed to have it figured out. Left bracelets on their windshield wiper and a business card before heading in. Met Noah behind the counter, washed up, indulged in a hydro massage. Ready for Saint Augustine.

Five miles in, passed ANR Auto Electric. Stopped to talk to Tony — owns the place, rides a Harley. Asked him about options for connecting the water pump electrically. He listened, but didn't have much new to offer. Still looking for a solution.

Spent the day moving through historic Saint Augustine, recording content, meeting people. Eventually made it back to the Castillo de San Marcos. Decided on a whim to circle the fort in under three minutes for a YouTube short. Six, maybe seven attempts — the camera kept shutting off or flipping to the wrong lens. Finally got it done. On the way out, hit a deep patch of sand. The bike stopped instantly and I went down on my left side. Prefer the left — less equipment to damage. The bracket holding the entrenching tool bent, mirror needs repositioning, right shin took a knock. Nothing serious. Got up, checked Herbie, kept moving.

Didn't feel like stopping at twenty miles so I kept going. Started playing a game — right turn only. Every intersection, turn right. Keeps the momentum and leads a man somewhere unexpected. This time it led through an opulent neighborhood where a stranger gave me water right when I needed it. Said he ran some kind of environmental business. Didn't catch his name, but the water was appreciated.

Then the right turns led me into a small trailer court — oval shaped, two pointed ends, like an eye seen from above. Went around once and spotted an older woman who seemed to be struggling with something. Went around again and stopped. Her name was Linda. She invited me in and we talked for a while. Then she suggested we go get sushi with her friend Kim.

On the way to the restaurant, spotted two school buses and a car that stopped me cold — painted in color, covered in dragonflies, bumblebees, and rainbows. The man behind it was Hollywood. Puts out social media content — singing, dancing, entertainment — all to benefit homeless people. Said it was his church, something called 11/22. I'd actually asked about that church a few days back when I rode past it. Now here was the man himself. Met his son Sky. Did a quick three minute short with Hollywood, got his number, and rode on to the sushi place.

Had a lovely time with Kim and Linda, talking about life and its complexities. The service was slow and the waiter was finding his footing, but the company more than made up for it. We parted as friends.

Rode back to Planet Fitness as the light was going — no lights on me, didn't want to push it. Back at Marcus, met two more neighbors from the nomad community. Mark, who lives out of an Astrovan and travels the same kind of life. Amy, who drives a larger camper van, works at a pizza and wing place, and handed me a chicken wing without being asked. Invited her to sign the trailer.

Going for the lights, found a note tucked on the driver's side door. Jake and Megan. They thanked me for the bracelets and said they loved them. A small thing that landed well.

Lights on, back into Saint Augustine one last time. Heard hammering and found two men setting up canopies for a musical event starting Friday. They spoke Spanish, not much English. We made it work. Their names were Amado and David — names from another chapter of life that stirred up something on the way back.

Got a strange phone call on the ride home. A woman, not making a lot of sense, said someone had given her my card. Long conversation that didn't go anywhere in particular. The card gets around.

Sixty point four two miles on the day.

Day 14. All driving. No miles on Herbie today, but the rig needed attention and Gainesville had what I was looking for.

Called ahead to the Trek bicycle shop yesterday. Walked in and met Laura at the door. She went and got Rob, the man I'd spoken to on the phone. Rob did what he could, but the derailleur was giving him trouble so he called in the mechanic — Bennett, a younger guy who rode a lap or two around the shop on a bike before asking how he could help. Once he got the picture he got to work. Rob sorted out the front tire while Bennett tackled the shifting. I worked on Giselle alongside them, straightening the axle with a big Crescent wrench. Got it to what I think is pretty good — straight enough to steer and bear loads with grace. She's a bike trailer, not a precision instrument, and sudden impacts don't help. A true team effort. Bennett got the shifting back to normal, Rob got the front tire sorted, I got the trailer back to something like herself. New friends made in the process. That counts for something.

Drove over to look for Monster Press, a screen printing place. The address on Google led nowhere — looked like they may have moved. Wasn't a lead I felt strongly about to begin with, so I let it go.

Headed to Planet Fitness. Met Ken — yellow lens glasses, impressive afro, and the ability to solve a Rubik's cube. All the colors, fully aligned. Thought that was a lost art. Spent some time on the computer updating the website, working on videos, replying to emails. Said goodbye to Ken.

Back at the rig, decided to wire up a longer extension cord to connect the truck and trailer properly. Settled into the camp chair, put on some music, and worked through the Girl Scout cookies I'd bought from Rob at the truck store. A man earns his cookies.

Getting ready for bed when Ken pulled into the spot right next to mine. Hadn't planned it that way. Got him to sign the trailer. The circle, as they say, was complete.

Day 15. Another Friday the 13th. Two weeks out of Key West. In some ways it seems like a lifetime. In others, the blink of an eye.

Another day off the bike, but not a day wasted.

Headed to WrapSpot in the morning — the vehicle wrap shop that made all the graphics for the rig before the ride began. Met them on the way down to Key West and never expected to pass through Gainesville again. Glad I got the chance.

Garrick runs the place, along with Justin and Dominic. And Holly — Garrick's wife, who has memory problems. But she remembered me. That meant a lot.

Spent the better part of the day there. Fixed a misspelling — benefiting had been wrong on the graphics since the start. Covered a QR code that wasn't linking right. And added a WrapSpot logo to the truck as a partner. A real milestone. These people believed in this ride before it started. Having their name on the rig feels right.

Said my goodbyes and pointed Marcus toward Tallahassee. New strategy taking shape — instead of driving fifty miles and riding fifty miles every day, drive a hundred and fifty miles and ride three days in a row without breaking camp each time. More efficient. More miles. Less time managing the logistics and more time on the Path. Maybe even enough breathing room to catch up on everything else that's been piling up.

On the drive to Tallahassee, my mind turned to partnerships. Planet Fitness has been more than a shower stop — it's been a community, a home base, a constant across the changing landscape. Called ahead to the Tallahassee location hoping to reach a manager or franchise owner about a potential partnership. No managers on weekends. Spoke to an employee named Ken instead.

Ken likes Rubik's cubes.

The Ken I left behind in Gainesville also likes Rubik's cubes. Two different men, two different cities, two different Planet Fitness locations. They don't know each other. Maybe they're supposed to. I don't believe in coincidence.

Pulled into the Planet Fitness parking lot and met the security guard — Army veteran, recon. Had a retired Army partner in the nearby lot. The three of us stood there a while, old soldiers talking the way old soldiers do. Good company at the end of a long day.

Decided to stay put tonight, but move to a different Planet Fitness location in the morning — one with more relaxed parking rules. Better for the rig, better for the ride.

Beat. Ready to hit the hay. Tomorrow the Path continues.

Day 16. Started nicely — hydro massage, washed up, brushed teeth, got the day organized. Before driving over to the other Planet Fitness, said goodbye to Tamaya and Reymon at the counter. Both of them signed the trailer and posed with Boogalie Bear. Encouraging people. The kind of send-off that sets a good tone.

In the parking lot met the security guard. His name is George Harrison. Junior. He knows a great deal about the Harrisons — the history, the lineage, even the coat of arms. Saw the trailer and launched into some of his own adventures over the years. Got his signature and some pictures. Promised to send an email to his boss up in Alaska on his behalf.

Drove over to the other Planet Fitness and met Gordon — an employee who was in the middle of dealing with a drunk and an altercation when I pulled in. He handled it well, articulate and calm, talking to the cop while I sat nearby and gathered my thoughts. Once things settled we talked for a while. Friendly, outgoing, positive. Good energy.

Unloaded everything, introduced myself at the pickleball court, then mounted Herbie and rode out to meet Omar — about thirty minutes away. He seemed relatively happy to see me. That made me happy. We sat down to a large burrito. Enough fuel for the Path ahead. Talked to a few patrons about the ride before saying our goodbyes.

Headed out almost due south on one of the finest trails I've ridden yet — wide, flat, and open. Twenty-two miles of it, ending at the Saint Marks National Wildlife Refuge. Met MJ there, a student working at the discovery building. We recorded a podcast episode together. A couple of families wandered in and I told them about the ride. Met Dan and Irene, who were out on their bikes as well. Then a couple from Minnesota, there to photograph birds with lenses the size of small telescopes.

Made good time heading back. Thirty-three miles out, thirty-two back, circled a few times to hit sixty-five miles even. A productive day.

Back at the truck, a man named Cory pulled in, got out, and immediately locked onto the trailer. We started talking before he'd taken three steps. He's a dentist between gigs. Sometimes all you can do is hope.

Day 17. Woke up around 0600 with an unusual amount of energy. Still dark outside — earlier than usual. Made a vow to keep at it, go to bed earlier, get up earlier. The late nights working on the website have been costing miles.

Decided to head north today since yesterday was south. Georgia is only about twenty-five miles from Tallahassee. Prepared for hills and two-lane highways with no shoulder. The wind, however, was an uninvited guest.

The morning was cool enough to warrant layers — a welcome change from the relentless heat of the Keys. Stopped at Goodwill to replace a missing shaker bottle and pick up a new honey pot — the old one disappeared somewhere between the two Planet Fitness locations, probably bounced out of an open door along the way. The road claims things.

The phone routed me through town and onto side roads heading toward Georgia. The side roads had ideas of their own — aggressive hills. Hills and wind in the morning. Just the way we like it.

Eventually the curves and climbs resolved into a straighter two-lane highway with a canopy of trees arching overhead. No shoulder, but the cars were accommodating. Nobody seemed to get overly upset about sharing the road with a man and his loaded bike. A good sign.

Made it almost to the Florida-Georgia line before pulling over at an AM/PM for water. Met Adrian there — had a good talk, finished up with a three minute YouTube short together. He took off just as I went inside, where I met Danny, who either owns or works the store. He's from India, super friendly, and handed over some money for the cause without being asked. Dave, a patron heading out the door, did the same. Strangers showing up when it counts.

Pushed on, took a wrong turn, and eventually found the Florida-Georgia border. Rode over to the convenience store on the Georgia side. Inside, met Jordyn while she was paying for her gas. Told her what I was doing and she lit up. We went back out together and met her husband Mike. Recorded a YouTube video with them both. Then turned back toward Tallahassee.

That's when I noticed the wind. Headwind on the return, hills that had been manageable in the morning now feeling like something else entirely on tired legs. Kept pushing through.

Had the family Zoom call today. Mom, Janelle — who made Boogalie Bear with her own hands — Gavin, and Ally. Everybody seems to be doing well healthwise. Always good to hear their voices. Gavin and I stayed on late to talk about an AI project. Good conversation.

Stopped at the newer Planet Fitness for the cryo bed — alternating cold and warm zones. Strange and wonderful. Haven't found it at any other location so far. Worth seeking out.

Swung by the grocery store on the way back. Pulled into the Planet Fitness parking lot and met Taryn while putting Herbie away — encouraging, kind, exactly the kind of person you want to run into at the end of a hard day. Spotted Cory the dentist again too. He liked the cut of my jib, he said. The feeling is mutual.

Inside the gym, met DJ — new employee, deep voice. Hard to miss.

Fifty-five point eight miles on the day. Florida touched Georgia today. That counts.

Day 18. Woke up to rain in the wee hours, and it only got darker and more ominous as the morning wore on. No riding in that. Went to the gym, took a shower, and headed to the Canopy Road Cafe for breakfast. Nicole seated me, Casey served me, and Cassi was working the floor. All three of them took pictures with Boogalie Bear. Left them a five star review on Google. They earned it.

Stopped at a locksmith before leaving — two copies of the trailer door key. Four dollars each, which felt a little steep, but it's done. No more relying on a single key out here.

Called Caliber Collision in Destin and set up an appointment for the next morning at 10 AM. When my truck was stolen back in June and repaired, the camper shell wasn't reseated correctly. There's a gap letting rainwater into the bed. Time to fix that properly. Decided to drive to Destin today rather than risk any morning complications.

As I drove west the sky began to clear. Stopped at a Lowe's for gas and a Subway sandwich. Fifty-three degrees outside despite the billowy white clouds and bright sunshine. Met Amp — short for Anthony — behind the counter. New to the sandwich making process, but we made good conversation while he figured it out.

On the drive, called Adrian — the fellow from near the Florida-Georgia border yesterday. We got to talking about finding a driver for the cause, and he mentioned the homeless shelter in Pensacola. The idea took hold. People in a shelter don't have a car or a house tying them down. Maybe one of them has the freedom and the grit for something like this. Called the Waterfront shelter in Pensacola and was forwarded to the chaplain — a man named Palmer. Told him what the endeavor entails, pointed him to the website, made sure he had my number. He said he'd ponder it and be in touch tomorrow. Good conversation. I don't know what might come of it. But I don't know what might come of any of my conversations and interactions on the Path.

Also spoke with Ralph at Team RWB and with Adam Dreyer — a volunteer who found the ride through the website and has been working on my behalf, contacting bike shops and media outlets along the route. Good man to have in the air support team.

Stopped in a town called Niceville to take a picture in front of the sign. On the way over I spotted a man working on a utility box and asked him if it was really as nice as it sounded to live there. He looked up and said — snarky as you please — I'm on the phone, dude. Not very nice, for Niceville. Went into the Marriott nearby to use the bathroom and met three very pleasant people. So on balance, I think they're mostly nice in Niceville.

Got to Destin with enough daylight left for a ride. Got the bike out, opened the trailer to change — and found the thermos had tipped over on the bed. Soaked the sheet, the sleeping bag, and the mattress. Hung everything up on the truck to dry, fastened the mattress to the trailer. Then turned around to grab the lights from the charging container, and Herbie fell over. Right onto the wet mattress. Fell on his better side — less damage that way — and the mattress broke the fall. But the suspicion of a hole in the mattress is hard to shake.

Went out anyway. Rode over to Caliber Collision to scout the location for tomorrow. Twenty-five point two miles. Came back sweaty, which meant sweaty clothes on top of wet clothes on top of wet blankets. The panniers got wet too. A lot of things need to dry out. Hoping for sunshine tomorrow.

But the day ended better than it deserved to. Getting dressed after the shower, a young man came up and said good luck on your ride. Asked him how he knew about it. He said he'd seen me on TikTok. His name was Rakeem, a junior in high school. We went out to sign the trailer and he brought three friends with him. Four signatures. Got to talk to some young humans standing right at the edge of things, about to graduate and step out into the wide open world. That felt good.

Day 19. Morning at Caliber Collision in Fort Walton Beach. Unloaded everything from the truck bed into the trailer so the technicians could get to the clamps holding the camper shell. Cleared everything off the roof too — couldn't have it too heavy while they worked. Bobby was the man at the counter.

They fixed it properly this time. More gasket material between the camper shell and the truck, the way it should have been done back when the truck was repaired after the theft. The gap is closed. The bed stays dry. That's one less thing to worry about on the road west.

Got a ride in starting around 1:30, finished around 4:30. Thirty miles. Flat panhandle terrain, the Gulf not far off.

Went back to say goodbye and found a couple of kids in the parking lot working on a car. Nick and Chloe — good friends. Chloe works at Caliber and was helping Nick put a wrap on his Civic. Looks black straight on. Catch it from the side and it goes red. The kind of thing that makes you stop and look twice.

On the advice of the mechanics, headed over to AJ's — a local seafood place. She crab soup, garlic bread, and grits loaded with cheese and bacon. Spotted Bob and Sharon at a nearby table and asked if I could join them. They said yes. Turned out to be genuinely good karaoke singers — recorded them doing I Cross My Heart together, dancing like nobody was watching. The copyright police had other ideas and killed the footage. Made my rounds before leaving and got up to tell the room about the ride, then sang Sweet Caroline. At another table, someone stopped me and said they'd started following me online. Found me by googling Roll for Veterans. That's the mission working.

Back to the gym to put the bed back together and get ready for a cold night. A couple of chair massages, a hot shower, and said goodbye to Lonnie, who works nights behind the counter.

Day 20. Cold night in the Planet Fitness parking lot. Waited until around 0730 for the sun to come up before moving. Washed my face, got a couple rounds in one of the massage chairs, then hit the road.

Found a First Watch on the way to Pensacola and stopped to eat. A woman at the neighboring table asked about Boogalie Bear. Told her what I was doing. Her name was Barbara, and before I could finish the story she'd paid for my breakfast. Got a picture with her and Boogalie together. My server Hannah got one too. The bear has a way with people.

Then it was on to the Waterfront Rescue Mission. People in wheelchairs lined the block around the building. People on bikes, people with bags. A lot of people with nowhere else to be. Palmer, the chaplain I'd spoken to on the phone, was in a meeting. Walked around and talked to whoever would talk back.

First person was Randy — a coach from Tennessee, down with his track and field team for a competition and to do some volunteer work. Interviewed him and his assistant coach Brooke. Something about seeing that many young people devoted to good work stops you in your tracks.

Met Tess, a woman on a bike who turned out to have been quite the athlete in her day. Interviewed her too. And Rhonda — who expressed real interest in driving the support truck for the expedition. A name to remember.

Eventually got in to see Palmer and another chaplain named Sparky, who handles veterans specifically. Talked to several other chaplains as well, and a maintenance man named Rusty. Laid out what I was looking for, asked them to think about anyone who might be a good fit. Left the door open.

Then headed to find Alan Como — chapter captain for the Pensacola Team RWB. He made me feel at home right away. Started unloading, getting laundry going. A neighbor named David walked by and we talked for a while about veterans and trailers and the road ahead. Met Mark, another neighbor, before long.

Five point seven miles on the day.

Day 21. Got up a little late — we were up late the night before. Alan took Xena for a walk while I stayed back and learned how to use Repurpose.io, a tool for pushing video content across platforms automatically. When he got back we got ready to ride, but the morning felt rushed and I don't like starting that way. Left without my extra lights. Noted.

Alan and I rode out to Pensacola Beach, passing through Veterans Memorial Park on the way. A place worth coming back to. There stands the National Memorial to Missing Children — a sculpture of hands reaching up toward the sky, right in front of the ocean. Something about it stopped me. The hands reminded me of the Songseeker hands. Beautiful and quietly heartbreaking at the same time.

Alan had real estate business to attend to and peeled off. I kept riding. Met a family on vacation from St. George, Utah — Rick, Kim, and Caleb. Having lived in St. George myself, and knowing I'll be passing through on the way west, running into three people from there felt like something more than coincidence. Out on the pier met Thomas and Jill, also visiting.

Riding down the island I met Johnny, cruising in a golf cart. He offered Gatorade and gave me detailed directions to my turnaround point. Found a yard along the way that looked straight out of Dr. Seuss — a figure holding up the mailbox with one hand. Stopped to take a picture with him. Herbie fell over. Again. Met two Brazilian men working on the house — Fabrizio and Flaviano. Fabrizio spoke Spanish, so we talked for a while about our lives.

Near the turnaround met Jamie, who pointed me toward lunch and mentioned almost in passing that he's preparing to walk from Croatia to England. About three thousand miles. Made my own ride feel modest by comparison.

Ate at the Windjammer. Met Austin and his girlfriend Bella — did a podcast together, then Austin turned the mic around and interviewed me for his channel. Met NobleAnn, the server — one of the most unique names I've come across on the Path. The bartender was Kyle. Lots of tattoos, not much for chitchat. Coming off the pier on the way out, met Gil — Air Force, retired, loaded down with fishing gear.

The temperature was perfect — about 75 degrees, the kind of day that makes you forget you're working. A little briskness in the wind, which was fine going east. Turned around to go west and it became a different conversation entirely, especially climbing the bridge inclines. Had to make it back before sundown without the extra lights, so I put my head down and pushed through. No long stops. Just miles.

Rode straight back, thirty miles, didn't want to get caught after dark without the extra lights. Alan called and said pizza was happening, so I stopped at Publix for tomatoes and marinara. That's when things got interesting. Met Valerie on the way in — she wanted a picture and was genuinely excited about the ride. Coming out, got stopped by Deborah, whose brother is in rehab in Pennsylvania right now. She gave me a dollar and said she'd give more on the website. Then DK came over — just back from overseas, thinking about motorcycle overnights but said maybe riding along on bikes would be cool instead. Then somehow Deborah, DK, and Hudson were all there at once, all with questions.

I love it when that happens. Telling people about this ride is always a good conversation starter — but it's better when the curiosity comes from them first.

Got home, made plans with Alan for tomorrow and for the ride to Biloxi, Mississippi together next week. Pizza. Bed.

Sixty point eight miles on the day.

Day 22. Three weeks from Key West. Spent it in Pensacola in grand fashion.

Started toward Veterans Memorial Park around 11 o'clock. The morning had been slow and Alan had a few things to catch up on, so I headed out anticipating a solo ride. Then he appeared out of nowhere, dressed head to toe in cycling gear. A pleasant surprise.

Stopped at the park first and recorded two videos showing the world how good that place is.

At a sandwich shop we met Hale and Stephanie — locals who told us exactly why Pensacola is as good as it sounds. Got them on video for YouTube. Boogalie Bear found a table with a sign that said do not sit on the table. Bears, apparently, are not included in that rule. Got the picture.

Met Lani and Maggie, locals enjoying their city. Then Ival, an older character who identified the bird that had stopped me cold — a blue heron, impossibly close, standing there like it owned the place. Took a video. That's not normal behavior for a heron and I knew it.

Out on the pier met Al — a grandfather type, out fishing almost every day, eats everything he catches. He had a fish partially filleted on the rail and explained what cut bait is. I'd heard the phrase a hundred times and never knew. Now I do. Found Eric and Tammy on beach cruisers, locals just enjoying the day.

The route took us past a Navy ship and a couple of large seagoing vessels before we found a pickleball court. Kenny was running it. Turned out he'd downloaded the Team RWB app but hadn't done much with it. Didn't know we were there representing RWB until we told him. Alan and Kenny started talking about hosting an RWB event at the court while I circled it with the camera for YouTube.

Alan headed back to get ready for the evening. I kept riding. Needed a bathroom and backtracked to find one — ended up climbing slippery stairs in slippery shoes to a fish restaurant on the second floor. Used the facilities, talked to a man at the bar about Roll for Veterans, and got back on the road.

Crossed the bridge into the wind — a solid ten miles an hour pushing back the whole way. On the other side met Debbie and Dennis. Debbie is a long distance cyclist. Dennis was supposed to be her support vehicle for a cycling event. He watched a sports event instead. She said good support is sometimes hard to find. We both found that out the hard way.

At the far end of the bridge met Sally and Mark. Sally went inside to check in for a memorial — a mid-air collision between two military aircraft that killed over twenty people. Mark stayed outside. His license plate said I FLY P3. Thirty-two years in the Navy, a pilot. We talked about the memorial and what it means to carry that kind of loss. Then I turned back across the bridge with the wind at my back. Ten miles an hour pushing me home. Like flying.

Passed the cemetery on the way back. Quiet and still in the afternoon light.

Twenty-five miles on the day, but it took hours. Sightseeing and talking to people will do that.

Got home at 1615. Team RWB event at Alan's at 1700. Put Herbie and Giselle in the backyard, charged what needed charging, jumped in the shower, changed into clean clothes. People started arriving.

Gloria and her husband Mike. Jason and his wife Kelly and their daughter. Two of Alan's neighbors — Gina and Carla, one of them with a dog, one of them who looks after Xena. Three cyclists stopped by during the tour. Gave everyone a walk-through of Marcus, Cleopatra, Giselle, and Herbie. Boogalie Bear got a little overlooked in the shuffle — something to correct going forward. Live streamed the whole thing for practice. Don't think anybody watched, but that's not the point yet.

Learned something too. From now on I'll tell people the bed folds down. I won't try to demonstrate it in real time with stuff in the way. Some things are better described than performed.

After everyone left, Alan and I talked for a long time. The whole day had a magical quality to it. A wonderful vibe from start to finish.

The ending to an absolutely best day ever.

Day 23. Up early to make the start point for a Team RWB bike ride — Navarre Beach to Fort Pickens and back. About 56 miles round trip.

Around ten riders joined at the start. Jason and Kelly were among them. One by one they turned back before the full distance. Only Alan, Gloria, and I went the whole way.

The wind was in our face going out — eight to ten miles an hour, steady and unrelenting. The kind of headwind that doesn't let you forget it's there. When we turned around at Fort Pickens and pointed back toward Navarre, the whole equation changed. The wind became a partner instead of an opponent. One of those return rides that makes you feel like you've got something figured out, even if it's just the wind.

After the ride, joined a cross training event at Pensacola Beach for chicken and waffles with a good crowd. Then a proper lunch at Juana's Pagodas and Sailors' Grill — live music, tacos, burgers, pizza, all under one roof. Navarre Beach used to be a sleepy little town. A few years ago something changed. Now it's crowded and alive and has a lot going on.

Stopped by Gloria and Mike's on the way back to Alan's. Took a look at their RV — smaller than Alan's, nicely done. Saw the house and the swimming pool. Got to know Mike a little better. Good people.

Back at Alan's, started pulling things out of the truck in preparation for tomorrow's project — building shelves in the bed under the camper shell and running the wire for the water pump. Long overdue. Also talked to my mom, had a couple slices of pizza, updated the website. Then went out to the truck to get some medication and the door locked behind me. Spent the night in Alan's camper. Slept like a baby.

Pushed further today than I ever have before. Set some new personal records. No regrets.

Day 24. A workshop day. No miles on Herbie, but the truck is better for it.

Made significant progress on the water pump situation — ran the wire from the battery to the pump. Still need to make the final connection to the battery and install a switch. Getting closer. Fifteen gallons on top of the truck will be worth the effort when it's done.

Spent most of the rest of the day building shelves in the back of the truck, modeled after the toolbox already back there. Got about eighty percent of the way through. Kitchen items will have a proper home — easier to reach, better organized. Tomorrow should finish it.

Alan and Gloria were out hiking most of the morning. Training for some kind of race. The house was quiet and I worked.

Had the weekly family Zoom today. Mom, Janelle, Nathan, and Randy all on the call. Everyone doing pretty well. Those check-ins matter more out here than they did back home.

Met Jerome in passing — an older gentleman making his way along with a walker, looking for the neighbor. Pointed him toward Mark, the neighbor, and exchanged a few words with him before getting back to work.

Worked outside most of the day. Applied SPF 100 twice. Still came in a shade darker than I started. The Florida sun doesn't negotiate, even in March.

Day 25. Alan and I had planned a little overnighter today. With the pantry and the water pump still unfinished, we agreed to postpone. The projects had to come first.

Spent the entire day on both. Met Dylan along the way — an Australian, cool as you'd expect, riding a bike from the Netherlands with a 29 inch tire on the back and a 20 inch tire on the front, with a cargo platform above the front wheel. A unique setup. We talked for a while. The Path attracts interesting people on interesting machines.

The water pump got finished. Ran the wires through a watertight box, made the final connection to the battery, and installed the switch — the one bought specifically for this purpose. Alan was out there filming when I pressed it for the first time. The switch lit up green. The pump hummed to life. And the showerhead that was hooked up to it promptly exploded from the pressure. Alan got the whole thing on film. Probably the funniest thing that happened all day. The water works. The showerhead is a casualty of war. A small price to pay.

Then came the shelves. After painting them, the final assembly usually involves some amount of finagling — things that almost fit, adjustments, compromises. Not this time. Everything lined up. Everything worked. The pantry in the bed of Marcus is done. It's the kind of moment that makes a man grateful for the small victories on a long road.

Day 26. A near perfect day.

Spent the morning getting ready and hit the road with Alan toward Gulf State Park campground in Alabama. Not a heavy people day — most of it was spent riding, which was exactly right.

Dan at Florabama started a conversation about the bikes and where we were headed. He'd recently ridden from here to New Orleans himself — a couple of days' worth of road. Good to talk to someone who understands the flow of the Path.

Walking into Florabama, a group had a bingo game going. The woman calling numbers looked up and asked if we were there for the bingo or the senior citizens swimsuit competition. I said both.

Stopped at an ice cream place and met Michelle. Two scoops. Alan had one. No further comment needed. Had dinner at a Mexican restaurant — servers whose names didn't make it into the notes, but the food did its job a little too well. Ate enough to carry me through the rest of the evening without any interest in more.

Checked in with Roseann at the park. She was quite amazed about what I was doing. Said three things worth remembering — didn't write them down fast enough, but the look on her face said it all.

Set up camp when we arrived. Then rode another eight miles to get to sixty on the day. Collected some firewood on the way back — Alan wanted a fire, and so did I.

Got back, took a shower. Alan made himself some dinner. I passed — still full from the Mexican restaurant — but sat with some hot chocolate and called Sean Palmer. Met Sean when we became health coaches together at the University of Health Performance. Our paths have gone different directions since then, but he's coming out on March 29th — one month to the day from when I left Key West on this inaugural Roll for Veterans trip. He'll be driving support and riding alongside, a cook and a social media force in his own right. He may also make it for the 28th in time for a newspaper interview and pictures in Slidell, halfway between Biloxi and New Orleans.

The fire crackled. The day wound down. Near perfect.

Day 27. The last full day in Florida.

Started in Alabama, broke camp with Alan, and rode back toward Pensacola. We parted ways near Veterans Memorial Park — the same place we'd set out from the morning before. Alan headed home. I needed more miles, so I kept going.

Crossed the three mile bridge and found a nice bike path on the other side. That's when I saw them — three youths, each holding a tuba. Not something you see every day on a bike path, or anywhere else for that matter. Turned around immediately. Their names were Jaden, Trotter, and Carter. All go to the same high school. Not sure what the future holds for them, but right now they're out on a bike path playing tubas, which seems like a fine way to spend an afternoon. They played me a song. Got it on YouTube.

Rode back through downtown Pensacola to Alan's house. The traffic was about as unfriendly as city traffic gets. Made it through. Started organizing the truck when I arrived. Alan came back with cheeseburgers. He has been a genuinely great host — the kind of hospitality that's hard to repay and easy to remember.

Washed all the dirty clothes, took a shower, updated the website and fixed an issue that had been nagging at me. The mileage on the site now reflects Pensacola. Another hundred miles needed to account for Biloxi. The Path keeps moving whether the website catches up or not.

Fifty-six miles on the day. Tomorrow, Florida is in the rearview.

Day 28. Woke up relatively early and got to work. Several hours of packing, transferring videos from cameras to the hard drive, sorting through the truck. Got around to washing Marcus at about 1230.

Alan had work to get to. Said goodbye when he left — thanked him again for breakfast, for the hospitality, for everything. Hard to overstate how much that stop meant. Both Marks — the neighbors on either side of Alan's house, each sharing the same name — got a goodbye too. A strange coincidence that somehow felt right to note.

I don't like goodbyes. And after an extended stay somewhere, there's always a moment of anxiety or trepidation before getting back on the road. But as soon as the wheels start turning, the groove comes back. Every time.

Made a UPS stop to return some Amazon purchases, then hit Walmart for essentials. Breakfast sorted for tomorrow.

Arrived in Biloxi around 1700. Michael was waiting — Mississippi state rep for Team RWB. He'd arranged parking at the brewery that hosts a weekly fun run. Got Herbie ready to roll. That's when it hit.

Boogalie Bear was still in the bedroom at Alan's.

Called Alan right away. Felt terrible. He's only an hour and a half back, so the situation is recoverable — Saturday is the plan. But the ten miles I rode that evening weren't the same without him in the basket. The ride doesn't feel the same without him.

After the run, hung around with the Team RWB crew — Michael, Jason the brewery owner, Laura the bartender, Norma the chapter captain, Leslie the biologist, Jennifer, Ashley, and Greg the cyclist. Empanadas and tamales. Good people, good food, good cause.

Heated up water for a shower — and used the tank on top of the camper shell for the first time. Turns out if you're not in a hurry, the water siphons out on its own without the pump. Gravity doing what gravity does. Useful information for the road ahead. Inflated the bed. Ready for sleep.

Day 29. Woke up and started getting ready to ride. Met the second half of the Altered Reality Brewing partnership — another Michael, out back cleaning kegs with a pressure washer. Introduced myself. Turned out Jason had already told him about me.

Three firemen came by for a safety inspection. Got them to sign the trailer and took a picture with them. Their names are on the trailer — I'll have to look at the signatures to remember them.

Finally got on the road and started making my way through Biloxi. Small town vibe despite its size. Recorded some YouTube live footage riding the quaint streets.

One building caught my eye — turned out to be City Hall. Old, ornate, the kind of building that makes you stop. Went in and talked to Amber at the front desk. The two people who handle public relations and visitor interactions were both out. She gave me the email for one of them — John Mejure — and I sent him a note before leaving.

Rode across the bridge from Biloxi to Ocean Springs, destination Tri Hard — a bike shop I'd contacted on the way to Biloxi. The place was stretched thin, a triathlon coming up that weekend keeping everyone busy. But the mechanic, Chuck — who rides in a wheelchair — said he could take a look at Herbie. Ended up recording probably a dozen YouTube shorts with him as he worked through the bike. Good energy, good material.

Bryan came in while I was there — an endurance cyclist, and we got to talking about RAGBRAI. The Register's Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa, the oldest, largest, and longest recreational bicycle touring event in the world — a seven-day ride across the entire state, drawing thousands of cyclists every July since 1973. I mentioned that Alan had done it five times. Bryan was impressed. Hard not to be.

Also met Randy, Anne, Russell, and Chris on the group ride. Chris had a very expensive and unique bicycle — the kind that turns heads even in a bike shop full of cyclists. He mentioned he'd be in California when I roll through. Maybe our paths cross again out west.

Thirty-one point six miles on the day.

Spoke with Sean Palmer in the evening. He confirmed he's heading toward Biloxi tomorrow, ETA in the evening. Having Sean join Roll for Veterans is going to be a game changer. He can drive the truck, he's a chef, a health coach, and he's my good friend. One month into this ride, the team is about to get stronger. I think we're going to have a lot of fun together.

Day 30. Started with some returns at Kohl's, then stopped at the IP Casino to pick up some water. Met Gina and Mike there. Found my way to Newk's for lunch — chicken sandwich and tomato bisque soup. The kind of meal that makes you slow down and appreciate it.

Stopped at Goodwill and met Chris, who told me a great story about a bike ride he'd been on. Also found a green shaker bottle that fits the color scheme nicely. Small win.

Rode over to Ocean Springs — hadn't gotten a chance to ride along the water the day before, and that needed to be corrected. Found an art festival in the middle of town and met Cynthia, the public relations representative for Ocean Springs. Turns out she's the twin sister of Cecilia, who does the same job for Biloxi. Two sisters, two neighboring towns, same calling.

Got the recommended potato donuts. No regrets. Then rode along the waterfront — shorter than I would have preferred, but enough to say I did it. Went up and over the bridge on the way back so everyone could see what Biloxi looks like from that vantage point.

Twenty-two point four miles on the day. Then it was time to pack up — because Lancelot was on his way.

Sean Palmer. I've given him the nickname Lancelot, and I plan to use it often. A reminder of how much I regard him as a friend. We met becoming health coaches together and our paths diverged for a while, but today those paths converged again on the Gulf Coast of Mississippi. He picked up pizza on the way in. I got gas. Fair trade.

Parked the truck and trailer and met Will while I was getting settled. Will is a boat captain with several vessels to his name. His wife Kerry is Michael's girlfriend — Michael, the Mississippi Team RWB state rep who made this whole Biloxi stop possible. Their daughter Juliana was there too. While Will and I talked about the rig, a gleaming black Toyota pulled up. Lancelot had arrived.

Pizza. Juliana drew a butterfly and a dragonfly on the back of the tribute trailer — a piece of art added to the mission. Will gave us a tour of the boat we'd be sleeping on and we sat together talking for a while. Juliana's younger sister arrived with her boyfriend — she had narrowly avoided dying in a horrific car accident not long ago, and her boyfriend is preparing to join the Coast Guard.

Before the night was done, I offered a toast. To Juliana, to Will, and to Lancelot. Got a little emotional. Some moments on this road catch you off guard like that.

Sean hasn't slept on a boat in a while. He's from Key West. Felt like the right way to welcome him onto the team.

Grateful doesn't quite cover it.

Day 31. Started on a boat. Lance and I did a few videos and pictures before saying goodbye to Will, his daughter, and a foreign exchange student from Poland who was staying with them. Before we left, Will told us about taking his children around the world on boats and trains and every mode of transport in between. I found myself wondering what it would be like to grow up like that.

Departed and headed to Waffle House for breakfast with Michael, the Mississippi Team RWB state director. Our server was Daisy. She told us that starting tomorrow she was quitting Waffle House, moving into her car with her dog, and heading into the woods to camp and travel. I wished her well, told her about the ride, shared the website. Two people at the same table, each about to go their own direction into the unknown.

Said goodbye to Michael and hightailed it to Slidell, Louisiana. A reporter named Kevin was waiting — we think he writes for the Slidell Examiner. He took pictures, wrote down a lot of notes, and we had a good time with him. The pictures didn't come out well, so he texted later and asked to come back tomorrow morning for another shot. Fine by us.

Only a few casual miles on the bike during the photo shoot. Then we went looking for a place to stay. Found an American Legion with a large yard nearby. Went over and asked. The Commander wasn't in, so we went to get some food while we waited for word.

The American Legion folks recommended the Southside Café. Good call. Nice ambience, excellent food. Our server Alyssa talked about liking sports. I tried to share with her the importance of really going after what you dream about. Had a wonderful roast beef sandwich with gravy. While we were eating, Rich came in — he and his wife had come over to eat and brought the message that we were welcome to stay at the Legion. Got some pictures with Rich and Kerri before they headed off.

Back at the American Legion, we started setting up the tent. Ronnie, one of the bar's regulars, was sitting in his van watching the whole operation. Stayed for about an hour — laughing, talking, keeping us company while we figured out the tent. Good man.

Joined the family Zoom late, trying to be in two places at once.

Then Eddie showed up, and that's when the night got good. Eddie has built a camper van out of a Safari van — a proper rolling home, his own design. He liked what I'd done with the rig and we traded notes. He should be a stand-up comedian. He also has leukemia. He was a little guarded at first about sharing contact information, but once he realized we just wanted to be genuine friends, he came around. The kind of person you're glad the road put in front of you.

Lance and I talked for a while after everyone left. About tomorrow. About the blessings of the day. Then said good night.

Day 32. Woke up in the parking lot of the American Legion in Slidell with Lancelot. The morning took on meaning quickly.

Tammy stopped by first. She runs a nonprofit that fills little neighborhood food pantries before work — the kind of quiet, unglamorous generosity that keeps people fed without fanfare. She loved what we were doing. Signed the tribute trailer, recorded a clip for her social media, took pictures with us. The right kind of start to a big day.

Kevin the reporter came back — the photos from the day before hadn't turned out. We took another shot at it. Then the post commander, Steve, finally appeared. We'd missed each other the night before and he'd still let us stay. I gave him a hug. Before we left he handed us two large soft military blankets — one Army, one Navy. A thoughtful sendoff from a man who didn't have to do any of it.

Drove into New Orleans before the ride, knowing the roads closer in were too chaotic for a clean start. Parked near the French Quarter, wandered into the market area. The first beignet place had a line that wasn't happening. Found another spot. Beignets and po'boys. Sean didn't care for his po'boy, so I took care of most of his along with mine and the beignets. A proper fuel load before the real work began.

The ride launched near Audubon Zoo. Used the restroom, said goodbye to Sean as he headed ahead in the support truck, and stepped onto the levee trail system. Miles and miles of elevated paved bike path with almost no traffic. Overcast sky, occasional sprinkles, wind coming off the Mississippi from the left — manageable. The levee stretched out ahead and I just rode.

Then came the refineries. Refinery after refinery after refinery, the landscape going industrial and staying that way. Water became a real concern. The first critical refill came at a mobile home with an Easter bunny out front. A woman answered — suspicious, tense, yelling at her husband, who yelled back. I just wanted to fill my bottles from the hose. Instead he went inside and brought out three bottled waters. I poured them into my bottles, handed back the empties, thanked him, and got out of there. Sometimes kindness comes wrapped in discomfort. I was grateful either way.

Hours later, deep in the refinery corridor with nowhere to refill, I found a small Baptist church. Rode all the way around it until I found a spigot tucked into the corner of the building. Filled up. That water felt like a gift from the building itself.

The levee kept shifting — paved path to dirt road to street with no shoulder and back again. I bounced between surfaces, staying safe and keeping momentum. Somewhere in there I met Tyreek, helping mark the turnaround point for a youth running group on the levee. I rode up to the larger group, introduced the ride, and told the kids to keep getting outside, staying in nature, using their bodies. They listened.

Then a lucky mistake changed the whole ending of the day. I accidentally called my friend Brian Allen in Baton Rouge — only to find out he'd come home early from a trip and was actually there. He offered us a place to stay. Sean got the address and headed over. By the time I was in the final miles, Sean, the truck, Cleopatra, and Boogalie Bear were already waiting for me at Brian's. Camp was handled. Food was coming. All I had to do was finish.

That has become the emotional center of this ride — the gratitude of knowing someone is waiting. That the truck is safe, the trailer is parked, and all I have to do is turn the pedals and get there.

Physically, the first-ever 100-mile push was taking its toll in the final stretch. Right knee a little swollen — kept the gears easy, focused on spinning instead of grinding. Neck tight — put on music and nearly danced on the bike to loosen it up. A few moments of weakness and wobble, but I stayed on top of water, electrolytes, and pace.

I made it. Sean and Brian were outside waiting when I pulled into the driveway. Brian looked up — clearly past his bedtime — and said, hurry up, RoboCop.

One hundred miles. First century. Done.

Day 33. Rain made the decision for us. No riding today. A maintenance and reset day instead.

Sean took charge of the kitchen setup — food, dishes, keeping that whole area organized and functional. I focused on the trailer and the truck. By end of day we'd opened up a lot of clear space in both. The kind of work that doesn't make for exciting footage but makes everything that follows easier.

Herbie got a proper cleaning and a few repairs on things that had broken along the way. The bike is ready. The rig is ready. Everything is positioned well for tomorrow.

Dinner was crawfish. Tried it again. Still not my favorite. The red beans and rice with good sausage, on the other hand — that was a different story entirely.

Quiet day socially. Brian and his girlfriend Dawn were around. The mail carrier stopped by and signed the tribute trailer, which felt like a very on-brand interaction for this journey. Otherwise it was just the work, the rain, and the road waiting on the other side of it.

Day 34. April Fool's Day. The road had its own jokes to tell.

Up fairly early, packed everything — trailer, truck, bike setup. The big river bridges around here aren't safe to cross by bicycle, so Sean and I drove across first, recording a video about the day ahead as we went. On the other side, he found a paved roadside spot to unload the rig safely. A couple of people stopped before I even got rolling and signed the trailer.

Got underway around 11:30. Partly overcast, slight tailwind, good cloud cover keeping the temperature manageable. One of those days where the riding just works. Stayed on top of sunscreen anyway.

First real stop was a community center — topped off water, used the bathroom. Met Brenda, who was cleaning, and her supervisor, Prince Edward Gray. Mr. Gray has spent years working in parish health, wellness, and youth activities, and he's still doing it despite some medical challenges of his own. Did a podcast interview with him. The kind of conversation that reminds you why you stop.

Rode into Livonia and pulled into a gas station for water and something to eat. Got a pizza. Told the cashier Lauren what I was doing — she pointed me toward the water fountain. Met Milton there, a young man in his twenties with a cast on his arm and stitches in his head. He'd been hit by a car on his bike just a few days earlier. Moving slowly, but moving. That conversation drove home the importance of staying safe out here in a way nothing else could.

The manager, Kylie, came out and we filmed two YouTube Shorts together. She talked about her work strengthening the sense of community in the area and helping neighbors connect more meaningfully. Same heart, different path.

Called Kevin the reporter to check on the story — he said it was scheduled for Thursday. Since it was April Fool's Day, I told him I didn't want to ride anymore, that I was quitting, and that I didn't want the story published after all. He got genuinely concerned for a moment. Then I let him off the hook. He thought it was hilarious.

Stopped at another gas station hoping for Wi-Fi to upload videos. No luck. Used the bathroom and got back on the road.

Picked up several roadside treasures along the way — bungee cords, a little dinosaur, a pair of pliers. While grabbing the last bungee cord, I turned around and found a man standing right behind me. He'd watched me stop and wanted to know what I was doing. After I explained, he warned me there was a four-mile bridge a couple hundred yards ahead — essentially impassable by bicycle.

His name was Paul. I accepted his offer to load the bike and trailer into his truck. During the drive across, we had one of those deep, searching conversations about life and its complexities. Mid-conversation, his phone rang — his friend Ken, an avid cyclist, who immediately got interested in what I was doing.

Paul gave me his address and we agreed to meet at 6:30. I arrived right on time. What followed was a tour of a house that felt like something out of a fairy tale — larger than life, beautiful, ornate, filled with remarkable things. Including mastodon tusks he'd found in Alaska. We walked the grounds, looked at the pool, and saw several small outbuildings. The kind of place that makes you stop and wonder about the life lived inside it.

Then we drove south to Ken's house, where Sean was already waiting. Paul had to leave before long, but not before I invited him to the end-of-trip celebration planned for the end of June.

Ken and his wife Kim showed us an impressive outdoor building — full kitchen, connected shop with a bathroom, serious cooking equipment, several beautiful Dutch ovens. Kim heated up leftovers from the freezer, made rice and corn, and it turned into a proper meal after a long day on the road. While we ate, Ken worked on building a Garmin route for the next stretch of the ride.

Before turning in, gave Ken and Kim a carabiner, and set one aside for Paul.

Fifty-three miles on the day. Four of them were in Paul's truck crossing a bridge that would have ended the day badly. Sometimes accepting help is the smartest mile you ride.

Day 35. A long, wind-battered ride from the start.

Headed south into a fierce headwind, especially brutal in the first fifteen miles. Early on, I spotted a perfect apple on the ground. Passed it. Then circled back and picked it up. Found a horse behind a fence and shared it with him. Felt his warm breath, those big nostrils against my hand. In that moment, with the fatigue already setting in, he felt like a friend who had been waiting. Sometimes the road puts exactly what you need right in front of you.

Pushed on but the depletion came fast. Then I came across an old cemetery — all the caskets above ground, because the land floods too often to bury them below. Stopped and read through the tombstones. Some dated back to the Civil War era. One used the word consort, which stopped me cold. Another had a list of family names with a note at the bottom: do not open the casket. The whole place carried a heavy, historic weight that made the ride feel like more than a ride. It became the way I ended that section of the recording.

About an hour and a half later, running on empty, I turned a corner and there was Sean. The support truck. Marcus and Cleopatra waiting in the shade. That sight gave me a spark of hope that carried me the rest of the way.

Found a peaceful lunch on a freshly cut tree stump — tuna on crackers, surrounded by the sounds of nature and the distant hum of a leaf blower. Some meals are better than they have any right to be.

Pushed through a neighborhood looking for water. A kind stranger named Fay let me fill my bottles and handed me twenty dollars without being asked. Didn't know her five minutes before. Team Bravo.

Rode toward the evening's destination — a Thursday fun run hosted by the Lafayette chapter of Team RWB at The Corner Bar. Didn't even know this chapter existed until right before arrival. Scrambled to get the word out in time. Cut the ride short at forty-one miles, but it was worth it.

Met Colin, his wife, their daughter, Kurt, and Reese with his mom. Couldn't get a clear read on Kevin, but connected well with Paul — one of the fastest runners there, kept telling me how inspiring the ride was. After the run, the whole group gathered in front of the truck for a picture. Biggest group we've had yet.

Sean and I shared a salute.

Evening led us to Planet Fitness, where Ace gave me a long massage chair session that worked through the knots from the day. Shower, then back to the trailer. Sean and I joked about the day for a while. Before saying goodnight I told him I loved him. Then we settled in — me in the trailer, him in the truck — ready for whatever comes next.

Forty-one miles on the day. The wind took more than that.

Day 36. Good Friday. Most of the repair shops knew it.

Spent the morning parked at Planet Fitness with Wi-Fi, working on the website. Uploaded videos from the phone, added health coaching content under the Purpose subpage, and published the Purpose Pathfinder and Purpose Guidebook — both now viewable online. Planning to ask friends for early feedback before expecting any broader response. The website work ran long. Lunch didn't happen until around 1500.

On the walk back to the truck after eating, noticed the trailer axle is bending. Seriously. Not the kind of thing you can ignore on a cross-country ride. Called around — most shops were closed for Good Friday. Got through to White's Trailer Repair and spoke with Drake. He said bring it in at 0830 tomorrow morning, expects it to be a quick fix. Left the trailer with the support vehicles for the night and tried not to think too hard about what a bent axle on Giselle means for the miles ahead.

Got Herbie ready and chose to ride without the trailer today — the brutal wind from yesterday was reason enough. Rode past a fire department and a skateboard park. Talked to several people along the route. Most memorable was a man who had built a BMX and skateboard hybrid — a one-of-a-kind machine. Watched and recorded his son trying tricks on it. Good moment.

Kept to the steady Eddie approach on the heavy bike — no unnecessary risks. Every fall out here costs more than it would back home.

Sean got a workout in. By coincidence, ran into him while riding through the neighborhood — he was out walking and I rode past. The kind of thing that makes you laugh. He also returned some items to Home Depot and picked up more almond milk.

Twenty-two miles on the day. Tomorrow: Drake and the axle at 0830.

Day 37. Started with a shower at Planet Fitness, then headed to Drake White's trailer repair center. Drake was the one who handled the work and he was a rock star — had everything wrapped up before noon. Six hundred dollars out of pocket. Cleopatra has a brand new axle. That's a relief that's hard to put into words when you're still hundreds of miles from the finish line.

After the repair, pushed to reconnect with the bike path route and made it all the way to DeRidder — not far from the Texas border. If everything holds, tomorrow is the crossing.

Not a big mileage day, but the new axle on Cleopatra made it one of the most important days of the trip.

Rain moved in right as the ride finished. Took shelter in a park pavilion. Before arriving, had called the police department and gotten permission to stay overnight — one of those calls that makes the difference between a dry night and a long one. The pavilion has electricity, which helped. Heated up some soup, settled in.

Spent a little time in the hammock. Needed it — it's been a run of late nights. A lot of gear got wet and needs to dry out, but overall the day delivered what it needed to: major repair handled, route regained, Texas within reach.

Day 38. Easter Sunday. Biked out from the park in DeRidder heading west toward Texas, toward Jasper, toward Sean and a hot meal.

One of the most meaningful stops of the day came in Merryville, Louisiana, at Merryville Methodist Church. Met Pastor Alex — a woman and a 32-year Navy veteran — along with her Aunt Tibby, who is ninety years old, Mary, also ninety, Joe who was Mary's friend, and Kyle who helped Aunt Tibby to the car. They shared leftovers from their Easter potluck. That visit filled both the physical cup and the emotional one. The kind of moment that reminds you how much kindness is still woven into the road.

Shortly after leaving Merryville, I left Louisiana. Stopped to take pictures at the Texas state line. Marked the moment.

A little further in, came across two massive oversized trucks with escort vehicles pulled to the side of the road. The side of the truck read Project 666, covered in wild painted symbols and almost hieroglyphic markings. Strange enough to turn around and ask. The truckers said they were being inspected by Louisiana State Police. Walked over and thanked the officer — turned out he was from DeRidder, which made it feel like the day was circling back on itself in a good way. Told him and the truckers about the ride, then got back on the road.

Moments later, Sean came rolling by in the truck, honking as he passed. Just a little too late to catch the roadside moment. Almost perfect timing.

Passing through Newton, Texas, stopped at the water tower and a few spots around town. Then the Butterfly gas station, where a KitKat wafer with fudge seemed like the right choice. Met Regina at the register — she handed me a quarter. A small gesture that fit the spirit of the day exactly.

Inside the Butterfly bathroom, there was a sign that said never give up. The word never was repeated about twenty times across the sign. Went back in to take a picture. There are moments out here when giving up crosses the mind. That message felt like it had been posted specifically for those moments.

The oilfield road was rough and bumpy through stretches, making the ride more demanding than the miles suggest. Dogs came up along the way — not bad, but a good reminder that the real danger isn't the dogs themselves. It's what happens when they show up and you're already running on empty. Fatigue is when situations become trouble.

The cattle were a different kind of company. Cows looking over from the fields, me looking back, both of us moseying in our own direction. There's something grounding about that quiet exchange. It makes the miles feel connected to the land.

Joined the family Zoom toward the end of the day. Forgot about the time change — joined an hour late. Still turned into a great visit with Mom, Janelle, and Randy. The best part was that Janelle stayed on through the final forty minutes of the ride, rolling through Jasper with me on the phone as I made my way to the campground.

Sean was waiting when I arrived. Pasta and a hug. The right way to end an Easter Sunday.

Sixty-four miles on the day.

Day 39. Started at the reservoir campsite Sean had found the day before. Sean went over and introduced himself to the family at the neighboring site. They came over to visit, brought us breakfast, signed the trailer, and took pictures. A generous and unhurried start to the morning.

On the way out, stopped at the park office to say thank you and get a few pictures. They were warm about the thanks but let us know they have a social media policy — no photos. Fair enough. The gratitude still landed.

Crossed the bridge over the reservoir. About halfway across, the road turned into a construction zone. Rode up to the front of the line and worked through. Two workers at the far end seemed genuinely happy to see me — their energy stood out enough that I turned back to talk. JD and Joel. Good moment.

Made it to Woodville and stopped at the Dogwood Diner. Jo took the order, Vicky brought it out, and Leslie the manager came over to chat. Small interactions that somehow always add up to something.

Crossed the street to Cypress and Creed. Their tagline caught me: Gear for the wild-hearted. Talked with Virginia, the owner, for a while, then stepped outside for some pictures. Mid-conversation, a truck went by and a ramp on its trailer struck a parked car right next to where Virginia was standing. Huge noise. Both of us jumped. Damage looked limited to the tires on the parked car and the truck — a relief given how sudden and loud the whole thing was.

Virginia introduced me to Chris and Beth from The Booster, the local newspaper. Chris took down the story, said he wants to feature it, and got my contact information.

Headed out of town toward Livingston along Highway 190. Noisy road — cars going by constantly, the tire sound relentless. Still haven't found the AirPods, which made phone calls nearly impossible. Planned to look again that night, especially in the dirty clothes and the bicycle shorts, which is where they sometimes end up.

The sun was full and direct, so I made the smart call and put on the arm and leg sleeves. Surprisingly cool whenever the wind moved across them.

The hills through this stretch were more moderate than punishing. Climbing at about five miles per hour, then flying down the other side at twenty-five. It felt like paying for the privilege of going fast for a little while.

Then the road changed. A newer stretch of pavement began, and as soon as the cars hit it, the tire noise almost completely disappeared. The asphalt absorbed the sound. After miles of highway roar, the sudden quiet felt like riding into a sound tunnel — a kind of beautiful sensory deprivation.

The pavement itself seemed to sparkle in the sunlight ahead. Almost like glass was mixed into it, catching the light. With the sun right in front of me and the world gone quiet, it became one of those moments that makes the whole ride feel worth it. Rode that stretch for several miles and didn't want it to end.

Added a few extra miles around Livingston once I arrived. Then realized we could have a fire, so I rode out for firewood.

Sixty-two miles on the day, from Jasper all the way to Livingston.

Day 40. Started at Lake Livingston with Conroe as the target. The route has taken me through quiet, sparsely populated country — manufactured homes, long stretches, and relentless hills. I've been trying to reframe the hills as a reward system. Pay the toll going up, collect the reward coming down.

The right knee is uncertain — not fully protesting but clearly unhappy. The right arm soreness got worse overnight instead of better. Both are being watched. Also forgot to start the watch on time again, so the early miles leaving camp went unrecorded.

Called Daniel at the custom racing shop in Conroe early in the day. They said they could still see me if I made it before 1800. Goal became 1600 to leave enough time for spokes, tires, and whatever else needed attention.

First obstacle: the dam crossing road. Both Garmin and Google Maps showed it as passable. A gate disagreed. Spoke with a woman named Amy, who confirmed I could cross farther down the river. Said goodbye, started moving — and the gate swung open right behind me, probably out of habit on her part. Already too far away to joke with her about changing her mind.

Pushed through Cold Spring, refilled water, kept moving toward Conroe. Stopped at an Exxon and met Tim and Joe outside. Impressed by the trip. When I asked where they were from and they answered in perfect unison, I told them they should start a band.

Then the big mechanical moment. After a bridge crossing, a loud scraping noise. The left tire on the trailer had come off. Searched the tall grass — couldn't find it. Worried it had rolled toward traffic. Backtracked, went the wrong way up and down a hill, then finally spotted it in the grass about a quarter of the way down. Still there. No traffic. A wave of relief that's hard to describe.

Something has been surfacing all day — a thought I keep returning to. The recovered tire. The safe descents. The timely encounters. Small gifts that show up exactly when they're needed. I've been wondering whether these moments are something more than coincidence. Whether those who've gone before us might be quietly sending grace, protection, and wonder to help us make it through. Whether all souls are connected in ways we can't always see. Today felt like evidence for that idea.

One downhill stretch especially made the case. Fast, bumpy, shadowed, borderline dangerous — downhill skiing on pavement at twenty-five miles an hour. Hidden potholes, gravel, debris — any of it could have ended the day badly. Made it through clean. The thrill came directly from the risk, and surviving it made the hill feel earned.

Made it into Conroe around 1630, reached the shop by 1645. Beat the clock. Sean was already there. At first it sounded like the shop might not be able to help — then I spoke with Daniel directly. He looked at Herbie and simply said to bring it in.

The culprit turned out to be a bungee cord that had wrapped itself around the rear wheel when I arrived at camp the night before. It had taken out two spokes in the process. Daniel replaced the broken spokes, trued the wheel, and replaced the chain. The bike is in better shape now than it's been in days. After everything the road had thrown at me today, that felt like a major win.

Met a guy named Praxis at the shop who mentioned a group ride leaving at 1830. The timing worked. Stayed and joined.

That ride became another sparkle. Met Kim, Eric, Josh, and Allie — Josh and Allie there as a married couple. Praxis rode too, and afterward his wife Mel joined the group for dinner. Chimichanga. A couple of wings from Sean's plate. A taco from Kim. Beans. By the end of it I was completely full and completely content.

What started as a race against time to get mechanical help turned into restored equipment, new friends, a community ride, and a shared meal. Eric invited us to stay at his house. We're here now, washing clothes, and there's a shower. After a day like today, that's everything.

The kindness of strangers on the Path never stops surprising me.

Sixty-nine point six miles on the day.

Day 41. Before we left Conroe, Eric gave me some helpful expectations about the route ahead. That context shaped the start of the ride in a good way.

Hungry early, so we stopped at The Breakfast Place in Conroe — the diner covered in butterflies. Met some wonderful older ladies there who were genuinely interested in what we were doing. A warm and memorable start to the morning. Breakfast was big enough to carry me through most of the day without another real meal — just snacks along the way.

The sky was full of billowing white clouds, and the wind was mostly at my back. Occasionally at my side, rarely in my face. One of the better wind days of the trip.

Parts of the road were sketchy — long stretches with almost no shoulder, construction zones where traffic was stopped and I had to carefully work my way through. Even so, I thoroughly enjoyed the ride. Some days the challenge is part of what makes it good.

The highlight of the route was an apiary I passed along the way. Got there a little late to buy any honey, but walked around and filmed it. There's something about a place dedicated entirely to bees and what they make that slows a man down in the best possible way.

Arrived in Navasota to find about eight members of Team RWB waiting. Tim was there — the leader of the Houston-area chapters — along with Punch, Eric, Tiffany, Raul, and Elizabeth. A warm welcome after a long day on the road. The place had chickens wandering around the hen house, which added a certain character to the stop. After the miles, I ate heartily.

Afterward, got the bike secured to the trailer, cleaned up, and took a shower with the portable setup. Satisfying way to close out the day.

Sixty-two point eight miles. Billowing clouds, tailwind, butterflies, bees, and Team RWB waiting at the end of it.

Day 42. Started with breakfast tacos in Navasota with Rosemary. She was my very first health coaching client, someone I'd met in San Antonio before this journey began. Sharing a meal with her here, now, on the road — that meant something. Sean joined us, and it was good to see how naturally the two of them hit it off.

After breakfast, we made our way to the small town where Rosemary had once lived with her second husband. Met Sean and Rosemary at the graveyard there. Then I took off first — I'm the slowest of the group on the bicycle — which gave me space to settle into the rhythm of the day.

The ride felt magical. Soft white clouds stretched across the sky. A hawk circled overhead riding the wind and I filmed it. The fields were full of pretty flowers, and animals grazed in the pastures on either side of the road. I kept stopping to record pieces of it, wanting to share the beauty with everyone following along. As the temperature climbed I pulled on the arm sleeves to keep the sun off. One of those rides where everything comes together — sky, wildlife, open fields, warmth — and it starts to feel almost dreamlike.

Met Sean for lunch at Rosita's. The Mexican food hit the spot. While we were there, a girl named Alys signed the trailer, took a picture with Boogalie Bear, and followed him on Instagram. Seemed genuinely excited about the whole thing, which made the stop feel extra special.

After lunch, Blue Bell Creamery in Brenham for ice cream. A perfect follow-up to the meal. Made a few new friends there too.

When we left the creamery, the sky had turned ominous. Still had about an hour and a half of riding to reach the rest area — about eighty miles outside Austin. Took the most direct route and pushed as hard as I could. The rain caught me anyway, but not too heavily. Made it to the rest area, parked Herbie under cover, then walked down the hill to where Sean had the truck and trailer.

Sean showed me the little creek running behind the rest area. Quiet, almost hidden. He's planning to film a workout video there tomorrow using it as a backdrop. We sat in the trailer and listened to the rain come down, talking about our past lives, getting to know each other better. An honest, grounding conversation — exactly right after a day that full of movement and weather and connection.

The rest area had no other guests. Showered by a picnic table. Bananas and graham crackers before bed.

Forty-four point eight miles on the day. At peace with stopping short of forty-five given the rain and the hour.

Day 43. Departed the rest area near Brenham around 0900 and followed the phone's suggested route — sixty-two miles to Bastrop.

The route wound through the back roads of small Texas towns, and the surface kept changing without warning — pavement, then dirt, then pavement again, then more dirt. Sandy, bumpy stretches interspersed throughout the ride. The sand coated Herbie and coated me. By the time I reached Giddings a little past the halfway mark, I was tired and covered in the stuff.

Stopped to eat a peanut butter sandwich while waiting out a rain shower. While I was there, recorded the veterans park in Giddings and sat down for an interview with Jason, the city's emergency services director. The kind of stop that reminds you why slowing down is sometimes the best thing you can do.

Pushed on toward Bastrop. Hawks circled overhead a couple of times during the afternoon — one of those quiet, moving moments that stays with you.

Then came Bastrop State Park. The ride through it was magical. The trees, the light, the road winding through all of it — that stretch became the emotional high point of the day. One of those places that makes the whole journey feel larger than itself.

As I entered Bastrop city, the rain started. By the time I reached Planet Fitness, where Sean was waiting, I was completely soaked. Took cover under the entryway roof while the heavy rain came down. Went inside and climbed into the hydro massage chair — warm water, still air, the storm outside. That did the work of warming me back up.

Waited for the storm to ease before unloading the shower gear. Sean had made dinner: chicken, green beans, and macaroni and cheese. It tasted great, but sixty-two hard miles have a way of outpacing even a good meal. After showering we headed to a Mexican restaurant for fajitas to finish the job.

Wrapped up the evening updating the website on the gym Wi-Fi.

Sixty-two miles. Rain-soaked, sand-coated, deeply earned.

Day 44. Tim Garcia, the Texas leader for Team RWB, reached out early to let us know there was a ruck competition happening in Austin that day. The original plan was for Sean to attend while I handled logistics, but the locations ended up close enough that I was able to take part in both. We spent time at the competition, taking in the energy and the community there, before heading toward a bike shop meetup.

On the bike trail I met a man named Sonny. Brief conversation, but he said he'd bring a roommate and a friend to meet Sean at the shop later. The day had that quality — pulling more people in as it went.

At the bike shop, owner Jacob and Olivia at the counter inspected Herbie and found two additional spokes had broken. Jacob explained that when newer, higher-tension spokes are mixed with older, weaker ones, the stress can cause the older ones to fail. I'd picked up two extra spokes ahead of time just in case — we're in a race against mechanical issues to get to San Antonio and can't afford to fall behind. The repairs were covered by Chris, a craftsman I'd met at an art festival in Pennsylvania while visiting my sister Ally and her husband Larry. Chris makes wooden phone amplifiers — elegant little things, you set your phone in the slot and the sound fills the room. We'd bought two of them at the festival. For him to reach across that distance and cover the repair bill was an unexpected and deeply generous act.

Also met a small family at the shop — Rusty, who already knew Team RWB, his wife Amber, their son Jack, and their dog Doc.

From the shop I headed to Academy Sports to look for sixteen-inch tires for the bike trailer. One of the current tires is already showing through the tread. They didn't have the size. Plan shifted to sourcing them at Austin Proper or, if necessary, later in Salt Lake.

The stretch between the bike shop and Academy hit harder than expected — steep, prolonged hills that Austin had been hiding until now. Not long after, the rear tire began to wobble. Pulled over and found it low on air. Removed the tire and tube, inspected everything carefully. No clear puncture or thorn. Best guess is a sharp rock or glass — the tire already has several small cuts on it.

Many hills throughout, but the wind was mostly at my back, which helped.

Sean had returned to camp ahead of me and already handled the remaining bike situation and made food. Sliders, corn, and green beans. Solid and grounding after a long and unpredictable day.

Fifty-four point two miles on the day.

Day 45. Woke up at McKinney Falls State Park after a night of on-and-off rain under dark, ominous skies. The rear tire was flat — the recently replaced setup. Moved Herbie under the roof of the park bathroom and worked through both tubes carefully. After inspecting everything, the conclusion was that the spare tube had likely already had a hole before it was installed — the tire itself looked clean with nothing protruding. Reassembled, put the repaired spare back in the Salsa bag, restored the original setup, and had oatmeal before heading out. Departure pushed to around 1030 instead of the intended 0900.

Set out southbound toward San Antonio. It became clear quickly that the original mileage goal wasn't happening. Rain came and went, and a persistent headwind was there almost the entire ride — the kind that doesn't relent and doesn't negotiate.

Stopped periodically along the way to take pictures. Reached San Marcos and rode through the Texas State University campus just as the weather turned violent. Lightning, thunder, heavy rain — all at once. Pulled under the archway at the entrance of a student apartment complex and waited it out. While the storm raged, recorded a few YouTube shorts to share with everyone following along.

The building was open until five. Stepped inside, got some water, and talked to the girls behind the counter. One wasn't particularly interested in chatting. The other was — her name was Carley. We took a picture together before I headed back out into the headwind.

Kept tabs with Sean throughout the afternoon. He made it to Buc-ee's and got some shopping and photo opportunities in while I kept pedaling toward him. We eventually agreed he'd wait there until I caught up — about an hour behind.

Had the family Zoom at five o'clock, which helped keep the mind occupied through what had become a real grind — headwind, monster hills on the access road running alongside I-35, shoulders that appeared and disappeared without warning. The only genuine close call came when a Lexus pulled alongside me with almost no clearance. Inches. I don't know how I didn't clip the door or the mirror. It was that close.

After catching up with Sean, we made the call to push on to San Antonio and skip the planned stop for now. Time was running short. As we made our way toward Veterans Park, a text came in from Don — a good friend made at 10 Bit Works. He was the only one who showed up in the inclement weather to welcome me back to San Antonio. Grateful doesn't cover it.

Don signed the trailer. Then a Walmart run to pick up what Michael needed for breakfast in the morning.

And then — the house. The one I lived in before this journey began. Ross had already gone to sleep by the time we arrived, but Michael was waiting and made us feel right at home. Started a load of laundry. Took a shower.

Standing in that house again, after forty-five days on the road, felt like something that doesn't have a simple name.

Forty-six point eight hard-earned miles.

Day 46. Started with breakfast at Wells Edge before riding downtown to 10 Bit Works Makerspace to meet up with Don.

What began as a repair stop became a full, meaningful day. Don spent time showing Sean how to use the laser cutter and the 3D printer. Sean seemed genuinely energized by it — the kind of exposure that opens something up in a person. Practical repair work mixed with creative exploration, and it clearly left an impression on both of them.

The gear got the attention it needed. Repaired the pegs that hold the chairs in the trailer. Fixed the front bike rack that carries the e-tool. Reinforced broken weld points that had failed under load. By end of day, both the trailer and the bike setup were back in solid working order.

Before leaving, we met John, who mentioned a bike fiesta happening tomorrow. After looking into it, it felt worth staying for. Decided to remain in San Antonio an extra day.

Don is one of those people who carries a particular weight. He reminded me of my father, my brother, and a close friend, all at once. The way he showed up — investing time, teaching Sean, sharing a meal, being fully present — meant more than the practical help, as valuable as that was. The connection went well beyond convenience. I care about him deeply.

After the work wrapped up, we all went to dinner at Bill Miller's. Don paid. After dinner we went our separate ways — Sean drove, I rode. Along the way, fell into conversation with several younger AT&T sales reps, which led into a couple of good YouTube and web exchanges.

Later in the evening, got to know Paul, the new tenant at Ross's house, and spent some time updating the website.

Tomorrow brings the bike fiesta. A shift into something more social and celebratory after a long stretch of work, repair, and forward motion.

Thirty-seven miles on the day.

Day 47. Started by getting Marcus and Cleopatra washed. They'd collected a lot of road grime and needed a proper reset before the day ahead.

Rode out to REI and found Josh — the mechanic who had helped prepare Herbie before this journey began. Good to see a familiar face from the before times. Then over to Sports Clips for a haircut with Jasmine. Took thirty, maybe forty-five minutes of rare, complete mental rest — calm, present, light conversation. The kind of pause the road doesn't often offer.

Then twenty miles into San Antonio against wind and hills to reach the Bike Fiesta meetup point. Some gear bounced loose on the rough ride, causing a slight delay, but I arrived close to on time. Met Becky at the park. Lorraine joined the group not long after — there was some humor about a rain song connected to her name, which landed well because my cousin shares the name. A family from Colombia came too. As the group rode toward downtown, more and more cyclists appeared from every direction, the energy building with every block.

Then we entered the closed street. Cyclists of every kind filled it — distance riders, trick riders, casual riders, families. I felt it immediately: a deep sense of belonging among people who understand this life. And then I saw them. Sean, Michael, Marcus, and Cleopatra waiting right there. The whole team, together, in the middle of it all. That hit hard in the best possible way.

Things got busy fast. People lined up to sign the tribute trailer, take photos, and hear about the mission. Donations came in. The website was shared widely. Jeff, a YouTube coordinator, interviewed Sean and me on camera — both of us gave recorded statements about the project. The outreach momentum through the evening was as strong as anything we've experienced on the road. The challenge was balancing all of it with basic human needs — food, recovery, changing clothes — while the crowd kept coming.

The event wrapped around 9:30. Returned to Ross's for the final night there. Covered and secured the bike. Started laundry. Showered. Went to bed.

Some days fill every available space with meaning. This was one of them.

Day 48. Packed up, said goodbye to San Antonio, and headed toward Boerne with Sean. Stopped at Walmart to resupply. Lunch was rotisserie chicken and tortillas eaten in the parking lot — simple and exactly right. Then I said goodbye to Sean and set out for Enchanted Rock, about sixty miles away.

The ride was long and exposed. Little to no shoulder for much of the route, sharing the road with passing vehicles for most of the day. At this point that's become part of the rhythm — not ideal, but familiar. Hills were constant, demanding steady effort from start to finish. The tailwind was the saving grace, keeping momentum when the terrain pushed back.

After about six and a half hours of riding, Enchanted Rock came into view. Sixty-one miles completed. Likely a personal best, especially given the terrain.

The campground gate was closed when I arrived. Stood there for a moment not entirely sure how the evening was going to unfold. Then a car exited from inside and the gate swung open. Slipped in and found Sean.

He'd made it there ahead of me with a pizza, and I really appreciated seeing him there and having something to eat. We talked and had a meaningful conversation that was worth the long day to get to.

Cleaned up with a shower and turned in.

We decided to stay at Enchanted Rock for two days. Time to rest, reset, and appreciate a remarkable place before facing whatever comes next on the road west.

Sixty-one miles on the day.

Day 49. A full reset day at Enchanted Rock. Less about miles, more about order, connection, and being present in a remarkable place.

The morning went into the trailer — sorting, organizing, consolidating, repacking. The kind of maintenance that isn't glamorous but keeps everything functional. Cleared out two dresser drawers for Sean to use. Small gesture, but making the space feel shared matters on a long trip.

Sean went for a walk around the park — about five miles — and met someone along the way. When he got back, we caught up and I showed him the progress on the trailer.

On the way toward the rock, we passed a man named Carlos. He was reciting Hebrew and blowing a horn. I asked if he was Jewish. He said — no, but my God is. That stopped me for a moment. We invited him back to the trailer to sign it before heading up.

Packed some snacks, headlamps, and chairs, and started the climb. On the way up we met Sangeetha, visiting from India. Her birthday was the next day. She wanted to watch the sunset and see the stars from the summit. We ended up hiking the rest of the way together.

At the top, the wind was relentless — around thirty miles an hour, steady and strong. Not comfortable. We stayed anyway, waiting for the sunset. Clouds rolled in and muted the view. Not the spectacle we'd hoped for, but we held our ground for about an hour and a half, taking the moment for what it was.

The hike down got interesting. Took a wrong route and ended up navigating a more technical path than expected. Sean went down once, Sangeetha once. Nothing serious. Somehow I kept my footing the whole way — and more importantly, the right knee held. That was a quiet win.

Back at camp, we finally cooked a proper meal. Sausages, bacon, chorizo with eggs, and tortillas. Sangeetha mentioned she was vegetarian and passed — with good humor about it. The rest of us made and devoured hearty breakfast burritos.

The logistics got a little frustrating toward the end. We'd been assigned a different campsite for the night — far from the showers and with no water. Not worth it. Made the call to relocate closer to the main area. Sean worked to extend the stay, which came to forty-four dollars for a pretty primitive setup. Steep for what it was, but the experience here has been worth every cent.

Moved the truck, reorganized, left a bit of cleanup for tomorrow.

Not every day on this ride is a milestone in the traditional sense. But this one was full — of effort, people, and moments that stuck. One of the better days of the trip.

Day 50. Enchanted Rock to Fredericksburg. A tough ride, but a meaningful one.

The morning started with one last shower before packing up. As we got ready to leave, several people passed through and stopped to talk. One of them — Jim, an Air Force captain traveling with his family — donated ninety dollars to the cause. More than the money, it was the connection that stood out.

Also met Vernon, a Marine Vietnam veteran, and his little dog. Vernon had a book about birds and was looking for the best spots to sight them around the park. He signed the trailer and asked us to send him a copy of the picture we took together. The kind of man you're glad you slowed down long enough to meet.

Cleared out the accumulated trash before heading out. Several bags had built up around the truck and trailer. Small thing, but having it done felt like a proper reset.

Met Alec and Simone before leaving. Simone has been driving across the country — Florida to San Diego, currently in Austin — searching for what she calls glimmers. I talk about sparkles. Different word, same pursuit: moments that reveal something deeper about the journey and about ourselves. Meeting someone chasing the same thing by a different name felt like one of those moments in itself.

The ride to Fredericksburg was a grind. Strong headwinds the entire way, combined with brutally steep hills. Pulling Giselle through that made it even more demanding. It confirmed something I've been considering — on terrain like this, staging the trailer and riding lighter is the smarter play. That's the plan for tomorrow.

In Fredericksburg, handled a few tasks. Stopped at the post office and shipped out remaining items. Checked Ace Hardware for tie-downs to secure the spare tire on the trailer roof — came up empty. Will try Home Depot next. Picked up a couple of pots and pans at Goodwill.

Parked behind a Lutheran church near Marktplatz for the night. Dinner just before closing — one of the only spots without a long line. Burgers, sweet potato fries, and wings. Simple and exactly what was needed.

Tomorrow morning, time to map out the next stretch — mileage and pacing for the days ahead as the route gets more remote.

Twenty-six miles on the day. Physically challenging, full of connection. Met good people, had real conversations, kept moving forward. That's enough.

Day 51. Woke up in Fredericksburg and made breakfast for Sean. We ate under cover near the church. Slow start — weather kept shifting. Sunny at first, then clouds, then cold and rainy by the time I pushed out.

Pushed out anyway. The goal was Hunt, heading toward Del Rio. The phone had other ideas. The route it gave me led straight into a dead end — a closed road I didn't know about. Getting around it would've added at least two hours. Not worth it.

That's the downside of GPS. It doesn't know about gates, closures, or no trespassing signs. You find those out the hard way.

Rerouted to I-10 and followed it until landing in a tiny place called Mountain Home, Texas. Soaked by then. The town had almost nothing — a post office, a fire department, a few houses. Tried knocking at one place. Only found dogs.

Then a property called Moon Shadow Haven. Something about the name pulled me in. There was a wedding happening. Spoke to one of the caterers, who quickly brought over a sheriff — Trudy.

She made it clear we couldn't stay on the property. Kept calling it the venue. Fair enough. But she didn't leave us stranded. She arranged for us to sleep in front of the fire department instead. Signed the trailer. Took a photo with us. Didn't have to do any of it.

Sean met up with me there. We settled in for a soggy night in Mountain Home.

Forty-four miles on the day — rain, wind, hills, two dead ends, and a sheriff who came through when it counted. Not every day goes to plan. You adapt, find a place to land, and then take off the next day for new adventures.

Day 52. If the 18th started wet and ended dry, the 19th flipped it.

The morning began just about perfect. Cool air, but the body warmed up quickly once the wheels started turning. Tailwind at the back, relatively flat roads, and Giselle pulling without much resistance. One of those days where everything clicks into place. Covered seventy-three miles and it felt good all the way through.

Had the family Zoom right as the ride was winding down. Gavin was looking up temperatures, weather, and places to stay near the observatory for when we get that far. Sigourney was doing the same — finding lodging options along that stretch. Everyone on the call, everyone contributing something. Wonderful to feel that kind of support from the road. Gavin was still on the phone when I found Sean at the rest stop.

Made it to a rest stop outside Roosevelt just before the rain started — almost on cue. It held off long enough to shower and get settled. Sean's shower was its own kind of entertainment. Cold air, hot water, his body getting confused about what was happening. Plenty of interesting sounds from that direction.

Then the rain came down overnight and didn't stop.

By morning it had settled into a cold drizzle — about 54 degrees, but feeling closer to 45. Stayed mostly warm except for the fingers. Always the fingers. Part of the deal out here.

Stopped at a small barbecue spot called Lum's. Used the Wi-Fi, loaded up on food — chicken, bread, pickles, sauce, whatever else was on hand. Refueled, refilled water, got ready to head back out.

Not much of a social day, but we met one man worth noting — also named Sean. He signed the trailer and donated a hundred dollars. In construction, traveling to Arizona in an F-150, hauling his son's Corvette behind him. A solid interaction that broke up an otherwise quiet stretch.

Most of the day was heads-down, make-miles kind of riding. Less conversation, more movement. That's the rhythm sometimes.

Some days are soaked and heavy. Others feel like you could ride forever. You don't really know which one you're getting until you're in it. That's the magic of it. Even in the quiet — at a roadside stop, in the middle of nowhere — it still feels like something bigger is unfolding. You just have to be paying attention.

Day 53. The rain carried over from the night before. Waited it out as best I could, eating cereal under an improvised tarp roof off the back of the truck. Cocoa and oatmeal. Talked through the plan with Sean. Got on the road later than intended — around ten or eleven — but the conditions weren't exactly inviting.

The ride to Sonora was wet the whole way. Constant spray from passing vehicles, soaked through more than once. Manageable, but not comfortable.

Met Sean at the Cactus Laundromat in Sonora. Not the best setup — run-down, no bathroom, change machines that took money and didn't always give tokens back. Still, the clothes got clean.

Met a few interesting people while waiting. One man had ridden in on a motorcycle from Big Bend, heading back to Austin — completely soaked, trying to dry everything out. A few others came through as well. Shared the mission, collected more signatures on the trailer.

After laundry, moved over to an abandoned bank with covered drive-through lanes. It worked perfectly. Parked the trailer under one lane, the truck under another, and set up a temporary base. Chained the bike in one lane, used another as a workspace.

Knocked out a small but important project while we had the space. Sean's air mattress had a leak, so we built a support base out of leftover wood to keep it usable. Turns out there's another hole in the top mattress too — that one needs a proper replacement. Will need to order one and have it shipped ahead.

Ate, talked, reset. Haven't heard back from El Paso yet, but things tend to come together as you get closer.

Despite the wet start, it turned into a solid day. Rode through tough conditions, met good people, made progress on the setup, and spent some quality time with Lancelot. And if the forecast holds, this should be the end of the rain for a spell. That's a win.

Twenty-five point five miles on the day.

Day 54. Started the morning in Sonora with leftover pancakes and got on the road around nine. Sean followed shortly after. The original goal was Sheffield — about seventy-two miles out.

But plans changed.

Sean called from the Caverns of Sonora and convinced me to stop and check it out. It added time, but it was absolutely worth it. The team there was incredibly welcoming. They signed the trailer, and we ended up recording forty-one YouTube Shorts covering the tour — something I didn't expect, but a great opportunity.

Louise, the owner and manager, John at the register, and Ezra, who led the tour, all stood out. A few others made the stop feel personal too. Lisa hooked me up with a donut and a kolache — simple, but appreciated. Took advantage of their Wi-Fi to update the website and handle a few digital tasks while I was there. Didn't get back on the road until around five.

From there, a late push — riding until about 8:45. Made it to Ozona, where Sean had found a park with a pavilion and electricity. Solid landing spot.

Dinner was tortillas, sausage, and ground turkey. Took showers and settled in while people drifted through the park throughout the evening. A quiet, steady rhythm to the night.

The weather started overcast and drizzly, but after leaving the caverns it cleared up. By end of ride, conditions felt just right — not too hot, not too cold.

Fifty-two miles on the day. Not the day I planned — but better than the one I would've had if I'd stuck to the plan.

Day 55. Started at the park in Ozona with a couple of meaningful connections before hitting the road.

Met Beth, who gave us two leads worth following: Jefferson at Fort Lancaster, and Cheryl at the Tin Cup Café in Sheffield. Also met Mark and Dennis, who were cooking breakfast nearby. Mark talked about feeling unfulfilled on motorcycle trips — a familiar kind of restlessness. Talked with him about purpose, suggested health coaching, and connected him with an app. Dennis spent more time talking with Sean. Good morning conversations that set the tone.

The descent toward Fort Lancaster was long — about seven minutes of downhill. Before dropping in, changed shirts and put on the cowboy hat for some photos. What I didn't notice until later: an AirPod went missing somewhere in that transition.

Fort Lancaster itself was worth the stop. Explored the fort, asked questions, connected with people. Sean and I walked barefoot for a stretch to toughen the feet — Sean handled it easily, I moved more carefully.

Then there was Jesse. A local character who took one look at us and handed out nicknames on the spot. Sean became Speedy Gonzalez. I became Despacito Rodriguez. Later, as he drove past us on the road, he leaned out and yelled — can't you go any faster?

Realized the AirPod was missing just before leaving Fort Lancaster. Sean went back and searched until he found it. Crisis avoided.

The climb back out after the descent was tough. Hit about forty miles per hour at one point. The navigation transmitter started acting up too — one more thing to manage.

Stopped in Sheffield at a place called Trinkets and Treasures to refill water. Met the owner. Turned out to be Jesse's mother. The road has a sense of humor.

Continued to the Tin Cup Café. Made an entrance — the door slammed behind me and startled everyone in the room. Delivered Beth's message to Cheryl: have a pleasant day. Broke the tension immediately.

Sean had arrived ahead of me. Also at the café: four travelers from Russia, touring multiple U.S. destinations — California, the Grand Canyon, Nevada. We signed the trailer, took photos, shared the mission. They may turn into a future connection somewhere down the road.

Outside the café we met Robert. He'd actually spotted me riding through Boerne about a week earlier — remembered the cyclist on the loaded bike. He spent most of his time talking with Sean while I was with the Russians, but before we left he came over, donated fifty dollars to the cause, and asked if he could pray for us. We formed a little huddle in the middle of the parking lot. He offered a lovely prayer. We had a group hug afterward. A wonderful way to end our time at the Tin Cup Café.

Departed with about forty miles remaining. The tailwind was the difference — a headwind on that stretch would have made the finish extremely difficult. Made it to the rest stop.

Physically exhausted. Mentally reflective. Seventy miles, two nicknames, one recovered AirPod, and a full-circle moment with Jesse's mother. Strong day.

Day 56. Started with a solid plan: meet Sean at a laundromat early afternoon, clean up, hit Walmart, prep for the next stretch.

About an hour in, everything flipped.

The wind turned into a direct headwind and the shoulder became a minefield. Over the course of the day I got seven flat tires — thorns and shredded steel wire from blown semi truck tires, scattered across the road. Constant stops, constant repairs. Progress slowed to a crawl.

Food ran out early. Water became the real problem.

I wasn't carrying enough for a day like this — long, exposed, no services, heavy resistance. Had to start rationing with Fort Stockton still more than ten miles out at one point.

Along the way, a semi blew a tire on the freeway. The driver — Valdemar — was safe but shaken. Helped clear the large debris from the road to prevent more accidents. We took a photo before I moved on.

Met Victor, a rest area worker, and his coworker Yolanda. He let us refill water and mentioned he might see me again in Fort Stockton. Filed that away.

Running low on water later, flagged down a truck driver named Jesus. He and his companion Jorge gave me two bottles without hesitation and took photos. Kept moving.

Nearly dry again a while later. Found an RV park and asked a resident for water. Drank two full bottles on the spot and refilled before pushing on.

Then Valdemar appeared again — his truck repaired, back on the road. He handed me three more bottles of water. That was a huge moment.

Finally reached a Love's with a Carl's Jr. attached. Ordered a triple guacamole bacon burger — high calorie, though not the most efficient fuel in hindsight. Refueled, refilled all water, stabilized.

Victor was there. Exactly like he said he might be. One of those full-circle moments that just happens out here.

Rolled into Fort Stockton just before sunset. Took photos at the town sign, the roadrunner statue, and the caboose. Recorded a short reflection video.

This was the hardest day so far. Not because of the distance — because of everything else. Poor water planning. Low-quality food that didn't sustain energy. Underestimating the wind. Hazardous road conditions throughout. Lessons locked in: always carry enough water to cover double the expected range in remote stretches. Prioritize dense, real food — peanut butter, tuna, things that last. Don't trust wind patterns. Expect debris near highways after truck traffic.

While all of that was unfolding, Sean was at the laundromat in Fort Stockton, where he met BJ — an Air Force veteran and serious cyclist. BJ stepped up and got us a room at the Days Inn by Wyndham. Tomorrow: breakfast with BJ, full resupply at Walmart, and preparation for the long gap ahead with no services.

Exhausted. Steady. Adjustments already in motion.

Fifty-four point five miles. Ten and a half hours. Hardest day on the road.

Day 57. Real sleep, hot shower, and a full breakfast with BJ at a local Mexican spot. Good conversation, content recorded. A steady stream of people came by and signed the trailer before we rolled out. Exactly the kind of reset the previous day demanded.

Walmart stop brought more unexpected connections. Met a traveler planning an off-grid container home in New Mexico — the kind of person the road keeps producing. Then met an Air Force pilot who goes by Gearbox. He'd seen the freeway debris moment from Day 56 and recognized it. Small world out here.

Tried something new on the road — drafting behind Sean in the truck. Held twenty-one to twenty-five miles per hour for stretches at a time. Covered ground noticeably faster. The repeated breaks where frontage roads forced stop-and-go routing interrupted the rhythm, but the experiment paid off. Speed strategy is now part of the toolkit.

Around midday we stopped and made it official. Sean and I agreed to a formal partnership on Roll for Veterans — working toward setting up a 501(c)(3) together. Recorded it on camera and put it on YouTube. The mission just got bigger. Now we figure out the paperwork.

Split from Sean after that and rode the final stretch solo. Mid-ride, the rear tire went flat. Without the trailer, there was no bike holder to stabilize Herbie during the repair — the bike fell, and the derailleur took the hit. Damaged but not dead. Field fix got Herbie rideable, but the drivetrain is now limited to a partial gear range. Something to address at the next opportunity.

Stopped at a gas station and met Angel, a truck driver who shared food, support, and good conversation. Then stopped at a fire station — met the crew, exchanged patches and stickers. The kind of interactions that break up a long solo stretch in the best way.

Late navigation error sent me to the wrong lake location. Cost about ten extra miles before correcting. By the time I reached base camp, fatigue had done its work.

Refueled, cleaned up, shut down.

Drivetrain compromised, navigation costly, body tired — but the day moved forward with intention. The drafting experiment opened up new possibilities. Multiple meaningful encounters. Mechanical issue managed without stopping the mission.

Sixty-one point six miles on the day.

Day 58. Rest day. The body needed it and the day delivered.

Before the day got going, a car pulled up. The driver had noticed me riding into camp the day before and wanted to say hello. His name was Rand Horn — from Van Horn, as it turns out. He mentioned he liked Van Gogh. He was on his way into town so it was a brief exchange, but a friendly one. The road keeps sending people.

Started with a full breakfast — bacon, sausage, eggs, and pancakes. Ate heavily, deliberately. Recovery from the previous days required it. Sean woke up and ate well too.

Left the trailer and bike at the lake and drove out to the McDonald Observatory. Had been looking forward to it — but stargazing is fully booked in advance and we hadn't planned ahead. No show for us. Spent time walking the grounds and exploring the exhibits instead. Hard not to stand there and think about scale — the universe, the journey, our place in both.

Drove down to Fort Davis National Historic Site in the afternoon. Arrived about thirty minutes before closing. Met Robert, a staff member who gave us a short informal tour. He declined an interview without supervisor approval — federal regulations. Understood. The grounds were worth the visit regardless.

Stopped at a small local supermarket in a nearby valley for propane, salsa, and a few essentials. Then back to camp.

BJ had left us some meat. Cooked it up with tortillas for dinner. Cleaned dishes, took a shower. Sean worked on social media while the evening wound down.

Quieter day overall — minimal interaction with strangers, which felt noticeably different. Something about being without the bike and the trailer shifts the whole dynamic. The routine that usually anchors the day wasn't there. A mild disorientation, but a useful one — a reminder of how much the rig and the Path define the rhythm out here.

Tomorrow's key variable is wind. Route options range from thirty-five miles to a full sixty-mile push to Van Horn. Water availability along the stretch is a concern — may need midpoint support from Sean. The uncertainty is real, but the support network has proven itself. Confidence remains.

Physically recovered. Mentally resetting. Ready to execute.

Day 59. Woke up to damp, slightly sour laundry — no washer access ahead. Small discomfort to manage and move past.

Then Rand Horn showed up again.

Turns out there was a lot more to Rand than a brief roadside hello. He's a painter himself — recreates Van Gogh-style works with his own personal interpretation. Knows the local history deeply: the spring-fed lake, the pre-settlement era, the land's long memory. He's collected over a thousand arrowheads from the surrounding desert. We filmed YouTube content together. Sean stayed longer, reviewing the artwork and the arrowhead collection. We gave Rand a carabiner — Team Bravo, Roll for Veterans. He gave Sean and me a print of his artwork. One of those encounters that keeps unfolding the longer you stay.

At the gas station in Balmorhea, met a group of bikers heading out of town and got a picture with them. Then met a man, his wife, and his wife's father at the gas station — their vehicle broken down, waiting on repairs. Rolled along with them to the Cactus Motel where they were staying until the car was fixed. Brian, the father, led me to a quiet rocky stretch along a canal nearby where at least five huge turtles live. They came right up close — must be hand fed, because they had no fear of people whatsoever. Got a little nervous they might take a finger off. Touched one anyway — the shell, and the neck, which was wonderfully wrinkly. Up close they reminded me of sloths. Ancient and unhurried. There was something in their eyes that felt like wisdom accumulated over decades of quiet living. If they could share what they've seen from that canal, I think it would open my eyes in ways I can't quite imagine. Filmed as much of it as I could. Back at the gas station afterward, two more biker groups and a handful of curious strangers wanted to know what was happening. Took the last picture and got out before anyone else could show up.

Ride conditions were ideal at the start — calm air, birds active, the flag barely moving. Around noon the wind picked up aggressively. Typical West Texas. Coordinated a midpoint meetup with Sean for water and support.

On the road, came across an RV pulled to the side of the freeway. Met Jesus — a Marine Vietnam veteran who was nearly deported after his service. A movie was made about him and his brother. Brief encounter, but the kind that stays with you.

Arrived in Kent after thirty-six miles. The town is largely abandoned — hollowed buildings, heavy graffiti, minimal signs of active life. Quiet in a way that feels permanent.

Met JJ, a truck driver, in the evening. Friendly conversation. Got to meet his two dogs. Ate, began recovery.

Water is running low. Midpoint resupply helped, but there was no full replenishment. Seventeen miles to the nearest gas station tomorrow. Wind direction will determine the route. The mindset is shifting — wind out here is no longer an enemy. Learning to work with it.

Physically taxed but stable. Mentally stronger. Preparation, especially water logistics, now has a whole new weight to it.

Day 60. Woke up in Kent — a town that's mostly memory now. Before leaving, explored a nearby building with an open door. Inside: what looked like a former mailroom or lounge. Easy chair, scattered furniture, an old TV, a wall of bookshelves. Evidence that someone had stayed there not too long ago. Eerie, but human. Remnants of a life that didn't quite finish packing up.

Got on the road around 0830, after sunrise. Wind inconsistent early — manageable.

Midway stop at a gas station on a plateau. No potable water available, including the bathroom — confusing situation made stranger by the fact that the fountain drinks were still fully operational. Ate hot dogs, a chicken fajita item, and drank a blue sports drink from the fountain. The cashier, Michelle, was guarded and suspicious. Sean arrived later and had a warmer interaction — and came away with a leather vest with a shearling-style interior. Sean's going to look the part out here.

The main effort of the day was the climb. Significant elevation gain up to the top of a mountain range, then a long descent into a service road stretch. Extended drafting opportunity on the way down — strong forward progress. Seventy-one miles by end of day. A high effort push.

Rolled into Sierra Blanca feeling accomplished. About eighty to ninety miles remaining to El Paso — two more days at forty to forty-five miles each, depending on conditions.

In Sierra Blanca, met two bikers traveling from Fort Stockton on a mission to do prison revivals and baptisms. The trailer collected more signatures. Met Mason — fifteen years old, already skilled in blacksmithing and knife-making. The kind of discipline and craftsmanship mindset you don't expect to find at that age. Talked with a man dealing with anxiety and depression. Discussed nature, movement, meditative activity, the value of being outside and in the body. He was receptive. Those conversations don't always go anywhere, but sometimes they do.

Water sourcing remains unpredictable. Wind still dictates everything. The wind also knocked Herbie down twice during the day. Doesn't appear to have sustained much damage beyond a broken mirror. Could have been worse. But the terrain strategy and drafting are paying off. Momentum is strong heading toward El Paso.

Day 61. Woke up at the park in Sierra Blanca as local school kids started arriving. Good energy to wake up to.

Rolled out around ten. Met Andrew just after departure — a cyclist heading eastbound. Short exchange but meaningful. Filmed a YouTube video together and shared contact info. Two people going opposite directions on the same kind of road.

While I was getting underway, Sean had a moment of his own back at the park. The kids gathered around, asked questions, got curious about the rig. First real moment of visible public interest from a younger crowd — the kind of thing that reminds you the mission has reach beyond the people you directly approach.

One more thing from the day before worth noting. Jenny — the woman from the gas station who told us about the stars — signed the trailer after I'd already left. Sean showed me later. She signed the front, which makes her the only signature there right now. It says: Keep riding to your Happy Place. She drew what looked like a peace sign, with the Y forming part of the design and H and P in the lower left and right quadrants. I really like it.

Sierra Blanca gave a long downhill on the way out. Hit about thirty-eight miles per hour. Found an access road running alongside the freeway and settled in.

Reconnected with Sean after he moved ahead and made a strategic decision: draft off Cleopatra. Held that for roughly thirty miles. Intentional pacing — sustained speed, better efficiency, and more flexibility for social stops when they came up. That thirty-mile draft was a major factor in reaching seventy-one miles on the day.

The intent shifted clearly during this stretch. Less grinding between towns — push efficiently toward El Paso, open the city up, meet people, expand the reach. The distance closed quickly once that decision was made.

Arrived in what turned out to be Clint — but the VFW sits about 8.3 miles northwest, well within El Paso city limits. We've actually made it to El Paso. That landed quietly at first, then louder.

Held an air support team meeting — shared the upcoming route from El Paso to Las Cruces, focused on media and partnership opportunities ahead. Recovery stop at Dollar Tree for foot soak supplies.

At the VFW, met Joe, Juan, and Manuel. They were unloading heavy tables when we arrived and we lent a hand. Turns out Manuel manufactured mattresses, Juan has a custom car shop, and Joe works tirelessly to provide health and wellness support for veterans. Needless to say, we had a lot to talk about.

After Manuel and Juan left, Joe and I kept talking. He called his wife, who came down to the VFW and walked us through their proprietary health program — she had dozens of examples of how it has helped people in the past. I still don't fully understand it, but I'm willing to try something that promises health benefits and see how it goes.

Also learned about The Long Walk Home. An older white man and a younger black man — one walking, one driving a truck and trailer they live in — traveling together along the southern tier, coast to coast. The similarity to what Sean and I are doing is almost unsettling. And the fact that we hadn't heard of this until now, this far into our own trip, is something I'm still processing. Going to have to look into it.

Seventy-one miles. Strategy and teamwork paid off. El Paso — we're here.

Day 62. Slept in after a late night. Light breakfast — cereal. Worked on the website until the data ran out earlier than expected. Data usage is becoming a real limitation to manage.

Moved the trailer into a shaded patio workspace and spent the middle of the day on a proper systems overhaul.

Built an elevated shelf near the roofline for the charging box — accessible but out of the way. Removed older wooden dividers that had been crowding the space. Installed an outlet directly into the wood structure, eliminating the need for an extension cord. Modified the ten-port charger by cutting and hardwiring the cord into the system to reduce redundancy. The goal throughout was the same: less clutter, simpler setup, better reliability, quicker access. The result is a cleaner and more functional layout — pending a real-world test on the road.

Also reinforced Sean's bed support for better load-bearing strength, and repacked and consolidated the trailer. Still crowded, but measurably better.

Before leaving, gave Joe a carabiner as a token of appreciation for his help at the VFW.

Rode 7.3 miles from the VFW to David's house. More hills than expected — slower progress than the distance suggests. David is the Deputy Captain of the El Paso Team RWB chapter. Low-energy arrival, so kept conversation light while waiting for Sean. Showered and began recovery.

Physically tired but stable. Systems stronger. Entering the El Paso phase with a better setup and a solid support connection.

Day 63. Rest day in El Paso, hosted by David and Margie.

Started the morning at the American Legion for breakfast with David. Shared the Roll for Veterans mission with the group. Sean recorded it and posted to Instagram — strong engagement, views and reactions coming in. One small moment worth noting: spilled orange juice at the table. Cleaned up quickly with Sean's help. Some things don't make the highlight reel but happen anyway.

Back at the house, washed clothes and prepped Herbie for maintenance. The bike has developed a squeak while pedaling — needs attention. Loaded him onto the truck after disconnecting the trailer and covered him for protection during transport. Coordinated with a local bike shop whose owner may join tomorrow's ride. Potential for additional riders — could be a good group turnout.

Stopped at Northern Tool and Equipment looking for a trailer hitch. Nothing suitable. Picked up pizza for dinner on the way back.

Then word came from Don — the San Antonio Makerspace friend who has shown up consistently throughout this journey. He made a significant donation. Unexpected and deeply meaningful. The support network keeps proving itself at exactly the right moments. Want to publicly thank him and keep building that collaboration.

Dinner with David and Margie. Strong conversation, warm company. Opened Amazon deliveries afterward — cycling shoes for Sean, and a three-inch foam mattress to replace the air mattress that had been failing. Both long overdue.

Finalized the ride plan for tomorrow. Weather looks favorable — no afternoon rain expected.

Rested, resupplied, supported. Momentum building with the El Paso community. Grateful.

Day 64. Overnight rain cleared into a beautiful morning. Dark storm clouds rolled in quickly afterward but kept their distance — no impact on plans.

Spent the early part of the morning cleaning the truck and trailer for presentation. KVIA-TV Channel 7 had reached out and we were meeting them at Old Glory Park, the turnaround point for the day's ride.

Stopped at Vital Minds on the way — only had thirty minutes instead of the planned sixty, since we needed to get to the media appointment on time. Sean sat down with headphones and an eye shield that bombarded closed eyes with colorful lights. He was asleep within minutes. I could hear him snoring. He was groggy for about an hour afterward. Whatever that machine does, it works fast.

The cameraman set up and covered the full rig — Cleopatra, Herbie, the whole setup. Mic'd up for the interview. Talked about the mission and the journey. At one point the mind went briefly blank on Louisiana — Sean stepped in and backed me up without missing a beat. That's what a partner is for.

Also tried to get a decal done for the Veteran Mobile — contact was unavailable. The location was in a tight alley, which made maneuvering tricky, but Sean spotted me out successfully. Quick stop at a Walmart Supercenter that was extremely crowded — high friction, minimal gain. Some errands just cost more than they're worth.

Back at David's house in the afternoon. Continued the laundry rotation and staged gear for a quick departure in the morning.

The ride itself covered about twenty-one miles at a social, steady pace. Built some good local connections along the way — David, Kristen from Team RWB, Manny, and his crew.

Dinner at Chili's to close out the day. Good food, good reflection.

Tomorrow: Team RWB monthly meeting, bike shop, breakfast stop, and then the push toward New Mexico begins.

Local news coverage secured. Equipment and presentation dialed in. Team operating smoothly. Clean exit ahead.

Day 65. Packed up at David and Margie's and headed out early. Rode to the Team RWB monthly meeting — arrived a little late, and forgot to start the watch, so about four miles went unrecorded.

David and Lila from Team RWB rode with me through El Paso for about twenty miles. The route took us through downtown, past views of the border fence into Mexico, and up toward Cristo Rey standing on the mountain above the city. Strong group energy and a proper send-off from El Paso.

Broke off solo and pushed hard to make a 1630 arrival in Las Cruces. Hit the target. Crossed out of Texas for the last time on this stretch and into New Mexico. That's a state line worth marking.

The Las Cruces Team RWB chapter was waiting. Roleen, the New Mexico state coordinator, was there to welcome us — and she didn't come alone. Team RWB members had driven in from Alamogordo, about forty-five minutes away, and from Albuquerque, a three-hour drive, just to be there. That kind of dedication to the mission means something. Roleen brought supplies and made us feel genuinely special. We collected signatures and testimonials from everyone who came out. The trailer got a little heavier with meaning this evening.

Stopped at a local bike shop after hours. Pablo opened up and helped anyway — replaced the chain and fixed a broken spoke at no charge. Herbie back in service the same day. That kind of generosity doesn't go unnoticed.

Ate at Long John Silver's — limited options at that hour, but it filled the tank. Kristen from Team RWB spent some time with us before heading out. Then another 5.5 miles to reach the VFW.

Collected testimonials and trailer signatures from the New Mexico chapter. Ghost, a man at the VFW, helped us get squared away for the night.

Attempted to stay at the VFW but a nearby homeless encampment raised some safety concerns. Decided to stay on-site with the secured gate, bike locked inside to reduce risk. Plan for a morning exit with staff assistance.

Skipped the shower — fatigue and setup time won that argument. Planet Fitness in the morning.

Sixty-five and a half miles on the day. Physically exhausted but accomplished. Texas is behind us. New Mexico begins.

Day 66. Rolled out early from the VFW once the gate opened. Stopped for donuts and a breakfast burrito before getting moving. Sean caught up a little later and shared an apple fritter. A good start.

Midday was logistics and planning. Planet Fitness stop for Wi-Fi — worked on the website and route list, coordinating upcoming Arizona stops starting with Sierra Vista. Data ran out before everything was done, so we pivoted and kept moving.

Errands along the way: Harbor Freight for a socket set. Walmart for groceries, though propane wasn't available — machine was down. Back to Planet Fitness to finish up the website work, including upgrading JT's Journal to HTML for easier updating. The plan going forward is to push fresh content every five days or so to keep it current for everyone following along.

Also spoke with Chris Killingsworth — he'll be joining us in Tucson. Flexible arrangement: ride as able, swap between the truck and bike as needed, keep the momentum without burning out. Good addition to the team.

The original plan for the afternoon involved a state park, but the cost wasn't worth it. Met up at an abandoned fire station to regroup, then decided to head to Radium Springs instead.

The Blue Moon Bar and Grill turned out to be the best decision of the day — and nobody planned it. We stopped initially just to ask about parking. That's when we noticed the cowboys. A horse trailer in the lot, about ten horses. Started talking, the trailer got signed, and somewhere in the conversation I mentioned an upcoming birthday. The energy shifted. Next thing we knew, Sean and I were both riding horses in the parking lot.

Inside, a band called Vegas Pretty was playing to a very quiet room. BJ, the manager, said crowds are unpredictable. That night it felt like a private concert. The kind of thing you can't buy a ticket to.

Dinner was a Hatch green chile cheeseburger. Sean had wings. Leftover wedding donuts rounded it out. The band signed the trailer. The bar staff signed it. Most of the guests signed it. The cowboys signed it. Strong local connections from every direction.

Before leaving, Brando mentioned a slot canyon nearby. Got a restaurant recommendation that's open on Mondays. A connection to the next stop. The road keeps handing things over.

Nineteen point one miles on the day. You can't plan the best moments — but you can position yourself to find them.

Day 67. Fifty-sixth birthday. Woke up behind the Blue Moon Bar and Grill in Radium Springs and started the morning with a flat trailer tire. Fixed it, noted the ongoing issue — no tire liner in place, which means flats will keep happening. Plan is to install a liner, possibly layered, before the next long stretch.

Breakfast was day-old donuts left over from a wedding at the bar the night before. Not a bad way to start a birthday.

Rode about three miles north to the slot canyon Brando had mentioned the evening before. Met Brian, a drone pilot, and Ty and Betty near the entrance. The canyon itself was narrow — tight passages, loose rock walls, visible erosion. Climbed to several ridge points and stood looking out over the desert and mountains. Spent some time alone up there, quiet, grounded. That's the kind of moment a birthday is for.

Left the water bottle behind on the way up. Recovered it on the way back. Also scaled a roughly twelve-foot rock ledge — controlled on the way up, more careful on the way down.

The ride to Hatch was a grind. Strong headwinds the whole way. Sean provided an extended wind block that made a real difference — without that support, the day would have been significantly harder. Energy was running low early, the light breakfast taking its toll.

Both the Pepper Pot and Sparky's Burgers were closed on arrival. Settled at the Hatch Corner Store — double cheeseburger as a recovery meal, plus tacos saved for later. Used the Wi-Fi to update the website, adjust travel dates based on actual mileage, and refine the plan toward Sierra Vista, Tucson, and Phoenix.

Short recovery nap in the afternoon. Sean scouted lodging — the first park was closed for renovation. Found an alternative nearby: a dirt lot with picnic tables and a building with power. Set up, organized the trailer, showered with the improvised setup, shared the remaining food.

Then kicked a log. Left big toe — bleeding, painful. The kind of injury that sounds minor until you remember every pedal stroke involves pushing off that toe.

In the evening, Sean sang Happy Birthday. Celebrated with a donut. A call from my daughter and strong support from friends and social media came in throughout the day. One trailer signature — a Border Patrol agent at a checkpoint.

Twenty-three miles on the day. Worn down but grounded. Grateful for every mile of it.

Day 68. Cinco de Mayo. The goal was fifty-six miles for the fifty-sixth birthday — one day late, but the intention was set and the road was waiting.

Woke at 0400. Wind and cold pushed that back. Up again around 0600. Made a proper breakfast before rolling out — oatmeal, eggs, nuts, cereal. Fuel for what was coming. Rolled out around 0830.

The climb out of Hatch started immediately. Not far in, the front tire picked up two spikes and went flat. Rode it briefly to crest the hill before stopping. Replaced the tube and kept moving. The headwind was already there.

By midday, about sixteen miles had taken roughly four hours. The wind was not negotiating. Sean linked up, filmed clips, scouted alternate routes — there weren't many. The miles kept coming slowly, each one requiring more than it should have.

No meaningful relief the entire route. No drafting advantage. The kind of day where the mental battle runs parallel to the physical one, sometimes ahead of it. The goal of fifty-six miles became the thing to hold onto when everything else was grinding down.

Arrived in Deming as the sun was setting over the desert. Fifty-six point eight miles. The sunset was the reward — wide, quiet, the kind of sky that only shows up when you've earned a look at it.

Found Sean and regrouped. Dinner was tortillas, ham, mayo, and American cheese. Simple, calorie-dense, exactly right. The body was depleted. The spirit was still standing.

Hardest physical day to date. The Hatch to Deming corridor is a serious stretch — wind, exposure, no shelter, no shortcuts. It will be remembered.

Fifty-six point eight miles. Goal achieved.

Day 69. Still carrying the weight of Day 68. The body hadn't fully recovered and the road knew it.

Woke up in a grassy public park in Deming — electrical hookups at the picnic tables, water available, a significant homeless population in the area. Made a proper recovery breakfast on the electric grill: turkey bacon, sausage, eggs, and pancakes. Vernon, a local man who was living in the park, came over. Invited him to eat. We shared food and conversation. He knew Deming well and filled in some of the local picture. The kind of exchange that reminds you that a meal shared is worth more than a meal eaten alone.

Considered catching a movie to let the body rest a little longer. Showtimes weren't until 1600 — too late. Decided to keep moving west instead.

The plan was to ride alongside I-10 with Sean providing drafting support. Sean needed a Walmart run first. We separated and didn't reconnect during the ride. Sometimes the road requires riding alone. That's just how it is.

Another flat mid-ride. The tube had multiple punctures and wasn't worth patching — discarded it. The replacement tube had a Presta valve instead of Schrader. Adaptable with a converter, but a mismatch to sort before the next long stretch.

Arrived at Gage — a small truck stop community. Asked permission to stay overnight. Flora, one of the staff members, approved it, sorting out a small misunderstanding about the truck and trailer setup in the process. She signed the trailer before the end of the evening. Met Minnie at the jewelry counter — she signed it too. Small gestures that reframed the whole day.

Cold shower, kept it simple. Took trazodone and turned in early. The body needed it.

Twenty-one miles on the day. Depleted but steady. Gratitude still outrunning the fatigue.

Day 70. The day that changed the numbers.

Started at 0530 and got out of the trailer around 0600 after a rough night of sleep — woke in the middle of it, fell back hard enough that getting up was difficult. Bundled against the cold morning air. Already getting light outside, which means future starts need to happen before 0600 to consistently beat the sun.

Rode into Lordsburg and stopped at the Veterans Park. The nearby ghost town was full of flies and mostly closed, though signs indicated tours happened later in the day. Sean stayed and got the noon tour while I kept moving. Went through downtown Lordsburg and got good footage — statues of a policeman with a little girl and a fireman with a little boy. Planned to stop at Love's for water, but after navigating several dirt roads to reach it, found the location under renovation.

Right next door was a jewelry and gold shop with a Volkswagen Beetle parked outside — painted like Herbie the Love Bug, number 53 on the hood and trunk. Had to stop. Met Linda, the owner, and Stephanie from behind the counter. Took pictures with the Beetle and shared the website. Chose not to push for an interview — sometimes the instinct says let the moment be what it is.

Stopped at a Days Inn and asked about ice. The staff member pulled up the website on the spot. We recorded a short video together. Another genuine connection made in Lordsburg.

Around 1300, with a strong tailwind at the back and good energy in the legs, the decision point arrived. Could stop short. Or push all the way to Willcox, Arizona. The conditions were right. The body was willing. The call was easy.

Kept going.

One hundred twenty-three point four miles by end of day. A new personal record by a significant margin. Somewhere along the way, the Continental Divide was crossed — the spine of the continent, the point where water decides which ocean it's headed for.

Arrived in Willcox and found Sean at the community park. Before putting Herbie away, walked the bike the final stretch. A small gesture of recognition — more than 2,500 miles together on this road. He's earned it.

The park was excellent: electricity, bathrooms, water, families and kids out for sports activities. Several kids came over and signed the trailer, asked questions about the bike and the journey. Ate heavily after arrival. Soaked the feet. Took a sink bath with hot water.

123.4 miles. Long day. Hard day. Beautiful day. And tonight, more than anything, grateful.

Day 71. Bittersweet from start to finish.

The day began with real excitement — Chris was joining the journey. Met up near Exit 322 and made our way off the freeway together, climbing and descending rolling hills through constantly shifting winds. Some stretches pushed us forward, others fought back hard. Once we reached Sybil Road, Chris got fully geared up and ready to ride.

Three miles later, everything changed.

Chris crashed badly and broke some bones. Sean took him immediately to the emergency room in Benson. Eventually Chris's wife came to pick him up. Not the outcome anyone wanted. The whole day shifted emotionally after that.

Earlier in the day, the cell phone had launched itself out of the mount after hitting a bump on I-10 — possibly even run over afterward. Somehow it survived and kept working. Under any other circumstances that would have been the story of the day. But Chris's accident was the weight that stayed.

Kept moving toward Tombstone anyway, because Sierra Vista was still the commitment for tomorrow. But mentally and emotionally, things just felt off.

Tombstone also marked the first time an American Legion post turned us away on this entire trip. Went in and spoke with them directly. Against the rules, they said. No flexibility.

Wandered around town and talked with a few locals. Someone pointed toward a small camping area near the San Pedro River — also the site of something called the Battle of the Bulls, tied to a Mormon Battalion story that needs more research when signal allows.

Even after arriving there, something still said keep moving. There have been multiple moments on this trip where plans seemed settled, only for reality to unfold differently. Tonight felt like another one of those lessons. Maybe part of this journey is learning to stay steady when expectations fall apart. Learning to stop gripping so tightly to how things are supposed to go.

There's something about uncertainty that forces you to open your mind, your heart, and your spirit wider than comfort ever would.

So I pushed on. Another hour outside Tombstone, exhausted from the previous day's 123.4 miles. Couldn't fully explain why. Just knew that campsite wasn't the place for the night. And once farther out, things felt better.

Tonight became the single best night of stargazing on the entire trip.

The sky out here is incredibly dark. The Big Dipper pointed clearly toward the North Star. Beyond that, the sky was overflowing with stars and constellations I couldn't name yet. Time to download a constellation app and start learning what's up there.

Took a bucket shower using water from the truck tank that had warmed during the day. Not hot — shivering while drying off. But it worked. Reminded me of bucket showers in Honduras years ago — sometimes freezing cold, but you dumped the water over your head and accepted it because getting clean mattered more than comfort.

Sixty-nine point seven miles on the day.

Day 72. Up at 0500 to watch the sunrise. Tea, pancakes, eggs, and half a Danish while slowly waking up. Fixed the trailer bike tires, got everything hooked back together, and was rolling by 0630.

On the ride into Sierra Vista, Craig called and invited me over to work on the website and troubleshoot some glitches. The day opened up from there.

Dropped the bike off at a shop for a look. In hindsight the other shop in town — M&M Cycling — probably would have done a more thorough diagnosis of the ticking sound coming from the pedals. Still, the first shop put sealant in the front tire to help with the lightweight thorns getting through the liner, which was worthwhile. The tire had been slowly losing pressure all morning and the leak wasn't even visible when I stopped to inspect it.

Craig and I went for a combined breakfast and early lunch — hadn't eaten since the morning and was well past hungry by then.

One of the day's major highlights was visiting the Warrior Healing Center and meeting Erik Zieba. He interviewed me for a podcast episode that ran about thirty minutes. The conversation felt natural and meaningful — talking about the journey and what it represents. Erik showed us a second studio they were building: darker aesthetic, leather couches. Professional setup. It honestly felt like stepping into a world I never imagined I'd personally occupy.

Returned to Craig's to continue the website work. Craig even printed flyers with the QR code to the site. An awesome thing to do without being asked.

Later we visited an axe-throwing venue that also had escape rooms and billiards. The owners work closely with Team RWB and the owner himself is a 28-year Army veteran. Welcoming people from the first moment.

Met Martin and Mike from M&M Cycling while there. Picked up a pair of Shimano cycling shoes that already feel significantly better than the ones I had been using — the old pair was often restrictive and awkward. These performed well on today's rides. Final judgment reserved until more miles are in them.

The evening ride came together smaller than planned, but it turned out great. Several people from Velo Vets showed up, though only two actually rode with us. Craig rode, along with Celeste, Adalia, Kimberly, and others. The original plan was twenty miles. It evolved into eight because one of the riders was eighty years old, and we followed his pace and lead.

That felt exactly right. The point was never mileage. The point was community.

Afterward, pizza at the axe-throwing venue. Sean, Celeste, Craig, and another friend whose name slipped away before morning sat together talking about life, relationships, and the idea that genuine love isn't measured by time. That if you love someone with a pure heart, the number of years matters less than the depth of the connection itself.

Rode with Celeste back toward her house, then continued on to Craig's. Took a shower. Finally crawled into bed. Before turning in, finished off a small watermelon that had been chilling in Craig's fridge — perfectly cold and exactly what the body needed after a long day.

Thirty-five miles spread all across Sierra Vista. Not a massive mileage day. Something different — one of the most socially rich, supported, and protected days of the journey so far. Tonight Sierra Vista feels like a blessing.

Day 73. Mother's Day. Started it at Craig's — slept in the trailer, Sean on the couch. Worked on the computer for about an hour, then rode to Denny's for a group breakfast: crepes, French toast, bacon, sausage, hash browns, four eggs. The kind of meal that means business.

Before the day goes any further, Craig deserves a proper acknowledgment. The Sierra Vista Team RWB Chapter Captain hosted us, scheduled multiple events across two days, arranged a podcast interview, and did all of it with class and panache. That kind of generosity and organizational effort doesn't happen by accident. It takes someone who genuinely cares about the mission and the people carrying it. I take my hat off to that man.

The morning ride group was a good one. Celeste from Team RWB, Travis — an Army cyclist — and two VeloVets riders, ages 79 and 82, both with pacemakers. We rode together toward Mustang Corner. The older riders turned around after about ten miles. Celeste and Travis pushed all the way to Benson — roughly a sixty-mile round trip for them. Remarkable.

In Benson, stopped at KFC for a Famous Bowl — mashed potatoes, corn, chicken, cheese — and focused on hydration and recovery.

Met Jerred and Josh from Utah at the stop. They work with RV properties and pool maintenance and know the terrain ahead well. Good conversation about the route — Los Angeles, St. George, Page, Arizona. Shared a Team Bravo salute. Recorded a YouTube short together. Both signed the trailer.

Also met a man named Lou, who carried a lot of resentment and spoke at length about conspiracy-related experiences. Tried to encourage some peace and emotional healing. Sometimes people aren't quite ready to hear it. That's something to sit with too.

Back on the bike, entered the I-10 corridor toward Tucson. Initial conditions were manageable — crosswinds, decent pavement, ice water helping significantly. Then the road changed.

The freeway pavement deteriorated into cracks, construction zones, severe vibration, and debris-covered shoulders. The shoulder and arm took a constant beating from the jolts. Equipment started showing it too — phone sluggish and damaged from repeated impacts, gear loosening. The construction corridor narrowed to a single lane with barriers, frequently pushing me into the traffic lane. Vehicles were generally cooperative and respectful, but it demanded full attention the entire stretch.

Somewhere in there, the realization landed that the day was actually eighty-two miles, not the sixty anticipated. Faced the choice — stop early or push through to the Planet Fitness rendezvous. Kept going.

Exited the freeway after an exhausting stretch and stopped at In-N-Out. Double-Double, a cheeseburger, fries, and a drink. Met Frank and Joe and their large family group — made a joke about the Hardy Boys that landed well. The meal and the laughter were both necessary.

Rode the final 1.6 miles to meet Sean. Recovered at Planet Fitness — showers, massage chairs, hydro bed. The massage chair made clear just how significant the right shoulder pain had become from the freeway impacts.

Heat, traffic, fatigue, mechanical stress, and human kindness — all of it in one day. Grateful to have come through it safely.

Eighty-two miles on the day.

Day 74. Up at sunrise around 0500. The truck and trailer were already heating fast under the Arizona sun. Spent the morning inside Planet Fitness - about two hours on website updates while Sean worked on social media. Another massage chair recovery session before heading out.

Stopped at Walmart for aluminum foil and a few other necessities. Ate chicken protein bowls at Angie's before rolling out.

The ride toward Chris's house was supposed to be short. Navigation confusion added significant mileage. On the upside, the route included a scenic green bike trail that covered much of the way - a welcome contrast to the freeway shoulders of recent days.

Along the trail, came across a man named JR - a cyclist or pedestrian who was vomiting beside the path and complaining of stomach pain. Asked if he wanted paramedics called. He said yes. Called emergency services and stayed until responders arrived. JR was transported with his bicycle and belongings. Some stops on the road aren't planned and aren't optional.

Further along, met a cyclist named Kurt. He was riding to lose weight and spend more time in nature. Shared the website and the philosophy behind the journey. Kurt gave me a sucker. I gave him sunscreen. A fair trade out here.

The ride took roughly two hours between the heat, the stops, and the emergency delay. When I finally reached Chris's house, a realization landed - he actually lives southeast of where I'd been the night before. I could have ended the previous day's ride much earlier. Tomorrow that means retracing some extra miles before pushing on about forty-eight miles toward Picacho Peak State Park, then eventually into the San Tan Valley area before Phoenix.

Chris hosted generously. A large comfortable bed, laundry, a good meal, water frozen and prepped for the desert riding ahead. We spent real time together, talking and reflecting.

Somewhere in that conversation, something clarified. The difference between preference and necessity. The grip loosening around how things are supposed to go. Less black-and-white, more open to the unfolding path. The road has been teaching that lesson for seventy-four days - it just took sitting still long enough to hear it clearly.

Chris carries his own challenges with grace and faith. Watching how he does that is its own kind of instruction. He's a genuine inspiration, and his support of this mission means more than he probably knows.

Sean's support throughout all of this deserves recognition too. It's easy to notice the hardship on a day like today and miss the fact that someone has been showing up, every single day, making it possible.

Grateful for all of it.

Day 75. Up as early as possible, got ready, and ate an oatmeal, granola, egg, and yogurt concoction before heading out. On the road by 0615 - tomorrow's goal is 0530. The plan was to make it halfway to San Tan Valley outside Phoenix. Ended up a little over halfway at sixty-eight miles, partly because we had to backtrack after I had entered Chris's address incorrectly and thought he lived north instead of southeast.

Before leaving, gave Chris a blue Team Bravo carabiner and spent a few minutes talking with him. He mentioned he may come help in Utah near the end of the journey - driving the truck so Sean and I can ride through the canyons and mountains together. That idea made me smile.

The beginning of the ride was rough getting to the bike path - all that bouncing taking its toll. But eventually I found The Loop, a beautiful green trail system around Tucson that lasted about forty miles. It was exactly what I needed. Before reaching it, rode down Kolb Road near the aircraft boneyard - rows of decommissioned Air Force planes sitting preserved in the desert, waiting in case they're ever needed again. The sight reminded me of an old friend with the same last name who passed away from a terrible disease years ago. Some things find you on the road without warning.

Stopped at a Circle K for ice and water. As the heat intensified, I finally tried something Martin the bike mechanic in Sierra Vista had suggested - soaking my clothes with water. Took off both shirts, the long-sleeve sun shirt and the Team RWB jersey Celeste gave me, soaked them completely along with the balaclava and cap, and put them back on. The cooling effect was incredible. Later doubled down and soaked the leggings, shorts, shoes, and socks too. Riding in soaked clothes under the Arizona sun felt like survival technology. Keeping the head cool made the biggest difference of all.

My friend Mikey stayed on the phone for a long stretch while I pedaled through the desert. Friends calling during these rides helps more than I can explain.

Visited a veteran cemetery near a pizza place stop and took videos of the grounds and wildlife. A roadrunner came very close - got a little video of him. The place felt peaceful.

At a Circle K stop, met a woman named Lori. She gave me a string of beads that read 22 a day and another strand attached that read give a damn. Twenty-two veterans a day commit suicide. A somber thought, and one of the biggest reasons for being out here. If this journey prevents even one, it's worth every mile.

Eventually reached the pizza place and ate an entire medium barbecue chicken pizza - white sauce, pineapple, bell peppers, ham, and cheese. Saved the crust for later. Linda, the woman working there, gave me bananas and chatted with me while I uploaded videos and talked with customers.

Left for Picacho State Park with full ice water bottles and soaked clothing again. Only a couple miles from the Dairy Queen where I had stopped for shade in the worst of the afternoon heat. Arrived to find Sean waiting - truck running, engine fans screaming from the heat. Asked if we could shut it down and let it cool. Desert driving and idling with AC puts enormous stress on a vehicle. Marcus needs to make it through this entire journey.

The campground had electricity but no water. Still a blessing - everything could recharge without running the generator. Managing refrigeration, ice, battery banks, and power in the desert has become a constant balancing act.

At sunset, Sean and I climbed partway up Mount Picacho. From above, the desert valley looked absolutely magical. Sean keeps wondering why anyone would choose to live in this heat. From up there, you understand it. The desert has its own beauty that can't be explained unless you see it yourself.

Adaptation is everything out here. Wet clothes, early starts, managing the heat, respecting the vehicle, respecting the desert. Nature doesn't care about comfort - but if you work with it instead of against it, it gives you incredible moments in return.

Sixty-eight miles on the day.

Day 76. Fairly early departure from Picacho State Park. Rode along the access road until civilization appeared and stopped at a gas station for water and ice. Met a woman named Charmin there, took a picture together, and she told me not to stop being the kind of person I am. That meant a lot to hear.

From there, the long ride toward Uncle Dana's house in San Tan Valley. The heat was intense again, and multiple times I found myself thinking about how much this entire journey revolves around managing water, food, shade, and energy. Made good time regardless. Fifty-five miles on the day - technically it should have been fifty-six to match the age, but the watch had the wrong setting enabled and missed about a mile leaving Picacho State Park. The road giveth and the road taketh away.

At one point a truck pulled up beside me and blasted its air brakes right next to me. Extremely loud and unnecessary. Later, someone yelled from another vehicle - couldn't make out what they were saying, and they weren't even close to me on the road. Moments like that still confuse me. Most people have been supportive. Every now and then somebody seems bothered just by the fact that I'm out there riding. Hard to explain.

By the time I arrived at my uncle's house, I was exhausted and overheated. Pretty much collapsed onto the couch - not feeling well physically. After resting, cooling down, and getting fluids in, things improved considerably.

Aunt and uncle got home from a doctor's appointment later and we all had dinner together. Sean arrived afterward. The evening turned into a genuinely pleasant one. Sean and I went for a short bike ride around the community to check out the pool and the nearby park. Came across a huge food truck with a pizza oven built inside and talked for a bit with a guy named Cody who was working it.

Tomorrow is shaping up to be a maintenance day. The desert has been hard on everything - the bikes, the truck, the trailer, the electronics, and our bodies. Before the next stretch, a lot needs attention: get Marcus's tire repaired, organize Cleopatra, install tire liners in the trailer tires, put a protective case on the phone, install the new handlebar phone mount since the old one broke, clean and lubricate the bike, and general organization throughout.

Plan is to leave again Saturday morning after rest and repairs. Taking care of the equipment now is taking care of the miles ahead.

Fifty-five miles on the day.

Day 77. Maintenance day. No riding. No major adventures. I even took a nap, which tells you how much the body needed the recovery. I was sitting there falling asleep and finally just went and laid down for a while.

The day started with breakfast with Sean - eggs, bacon, and pancakes. While cleaning things out, we decided to throw away the chicken that had been sitting in the refrigerator because it was starting to seem questionable. Sean checked the steak still in there and it appeared to still be good, so at least not everything had to go.

Spent a good amount of time updating the website and reaching out to a bike shop so they can inspect the bottom bracket on Herbie tomorrow while we ride through Phoenix. The clunking and noises have been concerning me, and I want to stay ahead of mechanical problems before they become real problems.

Mary helped me print out corrected QR codes to place over the incorrect ones on the flyers. Hopefully that means more people will actually reach the website successfully.

We finalized several events for Phoenix: a morning ruck and walk at the Riparian, breakfast at First Watch, and an evening social gathering at Oso, the brewery and distillery.

Going back to First Watch feels poetic. The very first time I ever ate at one was near the beginning of this journey, and the waitress told the rest of the staff what I was about to do. They all gathered around the table talking with me before the ride even began. Now here I am, roughly seventy percent through the journey, heading to another First Watch. Life has a funny symmetry sometimes.

The temperatures here are only supposed to reach the nineties, which somehow counts as fortunate in Arizona. It still feels brutally hot, but survivable if you manage water and timing correctly.

I really appreciate Uncle Dana and Mary opening their home to us. I had become exhausted physically and mentally, and now I feel much more stable and optimistic about the next leg of the trip.

Toward the end of the day, Sean helped me begin mounting a propane tank holder onto Cleopatra. While we were working, a young kid named Jeffrey rolled up on a scooter and started asking questions about what we were doing - probably around thirteen years old. He signed the trailer and said he planned to scan the QR code later that night. Even without traveling anywhere today, it still felt meaningful to add another signature to the journey.

Also received a text from JR - the man I found sick on the bike path back in Tucson. He said he's doing much better now, was discharged from the hospital, and is recovering at his ex-wife's house. Hearing that brought a real sense of closure and relief to that part of the story.

Spent some time trying to contact wrap companies to put Veteran Mobile graphics on the side of Marcus and the trailer, but haven't found anyone open during the weekend. That project may have to wait until California.

Also showed Sean how to repair a flat tire properly and ordered him a bike pump so he can carry his own basic toolkit. Resilience matters out here. Everybody needs to know how to solve problems for themselves when conditions get rough.

Tomorrow we head into Phoenix. Then onward.

Day 78. Another maintenance day. No major riding miles, but a lot of important work done behind the scenes to keep this whole operation moving forward.

Washed Marcus and continued improving the systems on the truck and trailer. Installed a gauge on the water tank so we can finally tell how full it is without guessing - that should help tremendously with water management in the desert and beyond. Finished mounting the propane tank holder onto Cleopatra and installed tire liners inside the bike trailer tires. Hopefully that finally solves the constant flat tire problem that's been plaguing the trailer wheels for much of this journey.

Cleaned Herbie's chain thoroughly. The dust, heat, grit, and rough roads have been taking their toll on everything mechanical. Regular maintenance is becoming more important the farther west we go.

Spent time printing corrected QR code stickers to place over the brochures that had the wrong code on them. Also designed and printed some Roll 4 Veterans stickers featuring the route map showing where we've traveled so far. The map came out a little washed out visually - I had intentionally faded it to make the lettering stand out, but the words didn't pop the way I hoped. Still, the QR code works. If people scan it and find the story, the sticker accomplished its mission.

By end of day, completely exhausted. Maintenance days sometimes end up being just as demanding as riding days because there's always something to repair, organize, improve, troubleshoot, or prepare for.

Only a few hours of sleep before getting up for the Team RWB event a couple of hours away tomorrow morning. Tonight is short and simple.

And now I'm sitting here wondering: is this a diary? A journal? Is there really even a difference anymore?

Whatever it is, it's becoming a record of a life fully lived, one day at a time.

Day 79. Tomorrow marks eighty days on the road. Today started early.

Left Uncle Dana and Mary's house and somewhere along the way realized the little shower scrubby was still hanging up back there. Another Walmart errand for another day.

Ran a little too late to catch the beginning of the ruck march. Then, riding down the street, somebody yelled my name. Looked over and there was Brian — from my time with UHP. Back then he helped me constantly during training and never once acted like he was too busy. When he heard Sean and I were coming through town, he came out to see us. That meant a lot.

From there, rode straight to the First Watch breakfast meetup, about fifteen minutes away. People were already gathered and waiting. Slipped into the bathroom quickly — and even though they had already called groups up, they waited for me to come back before starting introductions. That kind of consideration doesn't go unnoticed.

Breakfast was really good, but the people were better. Met Warren, his wife Becky, and their daughter. I kept trying to pronounce her name correctly and she kept repeating it back — apparently I wasn't getting it right. Eventually everybody just laughed about it and moved on. Good moment.

There had been some tension earlier in the morning between Sean and me, involving leaving the truck running while cleaning and organizing things. We worked through it later in the evening. That's part of traveling together for this long — learning to communicate better and handle disagreements without letting them escalate into frustration.

After breakfast, rode all over town taking care of errands: Amazon returns, exchanging a bike tube with the wrong valve type, picking up replacement supplies, general resupply. Also stopped at the bike shop and got a new saddle from Eli. It's already noticeably more comfortable than the original seat. Little improvements add up after thousands of miles.

Rushed toward the Planet Fitness near the evening event hoping to shower first — ran out of time and headed straight to the meetup instead.

The evening gathering was great. Prime rib sandwich with au jus, sweet potato fries, and banana cream pie — or banana pudding pie — honestly not sure which one they called it, but it was good. Most importantly, a lot of people showed up, and many of them signed the trailer. Every signature feels like another thread connecting this journey together.

On the ride back toward home base, Sean and I talked more seriously about our differences in communication and how to handle things more constructively going forward. It was a good conversation and probably needed to happen.

Made it back to Planet Fitness just in time to grab a shower before closing.

Tomorrow: Wickenburg.

Seventy-one point four four miles on the day.

Day 80. Eighty days on the road as a nomad. Still rolling.

Started in a Planet Fitness parking lot. Brushed teeth, got ready, figured breakfast would present itself somewhere along the way. Found a French bakery first — mostly sweets and pastries, no real protein, no bathroom. Moved on.

Found a Walmart Neighborhood Market nearby. Those smaller Walmarts are something — clean, quick, no chaos. Grabbed groceries and headed toward what the map said was a diner along the route.

No diner. Instead, a family gathered outside preparing for a wedding ceremony. We talked for a bit and they signed the trailer. One of those unexpected little moments that seem to happen constantly out here.

A knocking sound from the pedals or drivetrain had been nagging at me, so I plotted a route to the only nearby bike shop — an REI several miles out of the way. Worth it. Michael, the mechanic there, helped take care of the issue without hesitation. That kind of generosity means a lot when you've been out on the road this long.

On the way, found a donut shop that also made breakfast sandwiches. Grabbed a couple of croissant sandwiches. Some of the employees were excited to hear about Roll 4 Veterans. Others didn't really care. That's just part of life — some people connect with what you're doing, and some don't.

After finally getting moving for real, headed toward Wickenburg. Arizona started showing its mountainous side today. You don't get to California on the Southern Tier without earning it through Arizona first. The climbs were steady. All the extra errands and riding around town added roughly ten miles to the day.

Along the route, met some Team RWB folks who signed the trailer. Sean continued supporting everything behind the scenes. The wind blew for much of the ride.

Rolled into Wickenburg around 6 PM. Old western feel to the town — small-town Arizona with character everywhere. An old theater downtown, a calm atmosphere that felt welcoming after a long day.

Found Sean at the park. Electricity, bathrooms, sinks — enough to make camp comfortable. A few locals and passersby stopped to talk. A trio walking laps around the park came by several times and chatted. As we were wrapping up for the evening, I waved to some girls leaving in their car. The passenger rolled down her window and appeared to meow at us. Still not entirely sure what that was about, but it made us laugh. Dinner was soup and sandwiches from the Walmart market earlier in the day. Simple food, but so good after seventy-three miles.

Washed up in the bathroom sink. Laid down for the night.

Eighty days on the road. Seventy-three point one miles today. Still rolling.

Day 81. The more time spent in Wickenburg, the more I liked it. Old western feel, calm and genuine. The kind of town that doesn't try too hard.

Turned off the alarm instead of getting up at 0400. Didn't actually get moving until around 0730. Spent some time working on the bike trailer tires before hunger won out, and Sean and I went to Spurs Diner for breakfast.

Ate a massive breakfast — an omelet and a full stack of French toast. Made friends with Carol and Tom sitting next to us, and talked with our server Tara. Things started off friendly, but somewhere along the way something I said or did must have landed wrong because she kept her distance afterward. The other waitress, Michelle, mentioned it was her birthday, so we spent some time talking with her. On the way out, met a guy named Steve who had a dune buggy that reminded me of my grandfather's old dune buggy. We talked for a while, took a picture, and gave him the Team Bravo salute.

Stopped at a leather and saddle shop I had spotted earlier. Asked if they could improve the strap on my hat — wanted something sturdier and more substantial. They helped find a better strap and installed it right there. Sean found some earrings he liked. We filmed a short clip with the shop owners for social media.

Eventually it was time to split up. Sean parked the trailer at an Ace Hardware lot and drove the truck toward Vulture Mountain, about seven miles down the road. I didn't leave Wickenburg until close to 2 PM.

Loaded up on ice and water at a Maverik gas station on the edge of town, then headed into the desert.

The ride was hard from the start. Constant headwind. Long hills. Slow grinding progress. Most of the day averaged somewhere between five and seven miles per hour. Every hill felt heavier than it should have.

At one point passed a guy on an electric bike who told me his motor had died. Laughed and told him — join the club — and just kept pedaling.

Later came across what looked like a produce stand or roadside barbecue setup. A couple of guys out front looked curiously as I rolled up. Once they realized what I was doing, they became incredibly welcoming.

Met four men originally from South Africa — Bruce, Francois, Frank, and Dwayne. We talked for quite a while and I recorded some YouTube clips with them. Frank is working on his pilot's license. Francois talked about shooting out in the desert behind where they live. I encouraged them to make it up to Flagstaff or the Grand Canyon someday, maybe around the Fourth of July.

The wind never let up. Hill after hill after hill.

After roughly seven hours of pedaling, fifty miles had been covered and I'd reached Wenden, Arizona. Sean met up with me shortly after sunset. We talked about whether to push another eight miles to the next town.

Decided to stay in Wenden and get the rest. Sean agreed immediately.

We drove around looking for somewhere safe and settled near a chapel belonging to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

A hard day physically, but another day alive, rolling forward, meeting people, hearing stories, and seeing parts of America I never would have seen otherwise. And I remain deeply grateful that this is how I get to spend my days.

Fifty miles on the day.

Day 82. Today we made it into California.

The day started back in Wenden. Wanted to get moving early, but the desert had other plans. One of the trailer tires was flat again — repaired it. Then discovered the rear tire on Herbie was flat too.

When I pulled the tire apart, the green sealant goo from inside had exploded throughout the tire. Took a long time to clean everything out and dry it properly before installing another tube. The old tube had multiple tears from small sharp metal wires — the kind that come off shredded retread truck tires on freeway shoulders. I try to avoid them. Sometimes there's just no way around them. Hit some debris again today, but thankfully escaped without another flat afterward.

Back riding alongside Interstate 10 now. Hoping bike trails start appearing as we get closer to larger cities.

One of the most inspiring moments of the day came when I met a cycling group riding toward Phoenix. Twenty-seven riders total, and twenty of them had Parkinson's disease — riding in support of or toward a Parkinson's symposium event.

Seeing those men and women pushing themselves physically despite everything they deal with was deeply moving. It reminded me again that movement matters. Purpose matters. Nature matters. Human connection matters. Stopped and recorded videos with them, asked about their journey and why they were doing it. Encounters like that stay with you.

Around lunchtime, stopped at a place called Black Rock Cafe. Met a man named Tom in bright tie-dye clothing, and met Ramona, who cooked the food and took the order.

Ramona brought out a huge meal — a hamburger with pineapple, mashed potatoes, coleslaw, fries, and lots of water. Then refused to charge me.

Genuinely touched by her generosity.

We talked about health, weight loss, and lifestyle changes. She showed me a picture of herself from before she started taking care of herself physically — the transformation was incredible. We talked about some struggles her husband is going through. I wished there was more I could do. But she's already doing something important: fighting for herself and choosing to live healthier. That matters.

The California border came at sunset. The timing could not have been more perfect. Got some incredible pictures with the bike and trailer against the setting sun. Sean had already gone ahead and gotten set up at the VFW, so the border crossing was a solo moment. Maybe that made it feel even more meaningful.

At the VFW, we were welcomed warmly. Bianca helped us with ice, water, and tacos — exactly what was needed after a long day. A very kind woman named Lica, who is vision impaired, made a generous financial donation to the cause. Everyone signed the trailer. That kind of faith in what we're doing — especially from someone who has their own challenges to navigate — means more than words can express. We are deeply grateful.

The mountains ahead are enormous, looming on the horizon. Hopefully the wind takes the day off for once.

If someone is physically hurting, emotionally overwhelmed, mentally exhausted, or spiritually lost — getting outside helps. Movement helps. Human connection helps. That truth keeps finding me out here, one day at a time.

Sixty-nine point five miles on the day.

Day 83. A tough one.

Didn't get enough sleep the night before. When morning came it was genuinely difficult to get moving — hit snooze several times before finally getting up. Underway around 0630 after oatmeal, an egg, and bread with jam. No toaster available, but if I leave bread out in this dry wind for ten minutes, I make my own toast.

Before leaving camp, walked over to a nearby hospital to use the restroom. They let me in. Packed up and got ready to ride.

Then the day started unraveling.

First stop: a Valero station where I met a very kind young woman named Serena. She gave me a pastry, a banana, and some route advice. Filled up with ice and continued on.

Not long afterward, climbing a hill, the rear tire went completely flat. Fast. Checked it — two separate holes in the tube, and the anti-flat sealant inside had failed completely. That officially ended my relationship with sealant-filled tubes. They make an enormous mess, and while they may have saved me once or twice, they've caused more frustration than benefit overall.

Spotted a fire station nearby and rolled over for shade and stability. Tied Herbie to a tree, propped things up with bricks, repaired the tire in the shade. They even had a chair outside, which felt almost luxurious. The gloves helped too — no green sealant all over the hands this time. Still cost at least thirty minutes.

Then, at the next gas station before getting onto Interstate 10, realized the wallet was missing.

That hit hard.

Called Sean and had him search around camp and the trailer. He couldn't find it. Spent too much mental energy running through everything tied to that wallet — ID, cards, replacement headaches — but there wasn't much to do except keep riding and hope it turned up.

The riding was difficult all day. Wind not directly in my face, but angled enough from the north and east to constantly slow things down and wear me out. Kept moving anyway.

Sean caught up about eight miles before Desert Center, California — roughly halfway between Phoenix and Los Angeles according to Google. After fifty miles and everything else the day had thrown at me, I told Sean I was done. Fifty miles was enough.

We parked beneath an old abandoned gas station canopy that provided shade and shelter from the desert heat.

Desert Center is a strange place. The entrance is lined with palm trees — or what used to be palm trees. Someone had chopped the tops off most of them, and the ones that weren't decapitated had been cut down entirely, leaving only stumps. Half standing, half gone, none of them right. It gave the whole area an unsettling ambiance, like something had happened here and nobody had finished cleaning it up.

The town itself is mostly a ghost town — empty buildings, but not boarded up. You can walk right in and look around. What's inside is mostly garbage and the remnants of lives that moved on without bothering to pack. Sean found a strange monument across the street that added to the general weirdness of the place. A lot of strange things happening at Desert Center. The abandoned gas station canopy we parked under fit right in.

Rested there for a while, talked to my friend Mike, and worked on coordinating with Team RWB folks in Southern Utah for meetups later in the journey.

In the evening Sean and I climbed up a nearby rock formation to watch the sunset. Beautiful. Took several silhouette photos of Sean standing against the fading sky. There's something about standing inside nature's full tapestry that shrinks the earthly pain — the wallet, the wind, the flat tires all recede into the background when the desert decides to show you what it's made of.

Afterward took a shower and finished a small plumbing experiment with the trailer water system. Connected a hose from the outlet of the water tank back into an inlet at the top. Now we can use the hose normally, or circulate the water through the tank — pulling from the bottom and returning it to the top creates a stirring effect that equalizes the temperature throughout instead of having only warm water at the surface. It worked surprisingly well.

Tomorrow the goal is simple. Beat the wind. Reach Indio and Palm Springs. Keep rolling west.

Fifty miles on the day.

Day 84. Started in Desert Center at 0600. The morning was crisp and full of promise.

Early stop at a Planet Fitness to send the press release to Fontana High School — my alma mater — since I'll be passing through Fontana on Monday and Tuesday. Also sent graphic files to a decal producer in Palm Springs to see about getting Veteran Mobile and White's Trailer decals on the truck. Stayed in contact with Team RWB members Aaron and Scott throughout the day, just letting them know I was still alive and moving forward.

Most of the day's ride was incredible. A tailwind and a long downhill stretch that I'll probably remember for the rest of my life. Sections where I hit 36, 37, even 38 miles per hour without pedaling. Absolutely flying, and somehow made it down safely in one piece.

Rode through Indio and realized afterward I'd forgotten to stop for a photo at the welcome sign. We eventually found some very nice bike trails that carried us through the area and toward Desert Hot Springs.

Stopped at a Planet Fitness in Desert Hot Springs to work on computer tasks — the internet was slow, but I got some things done and took a shower before continuing on.

Sean went ahead to look for a place for the night while I grabbed a hamburger and rode another seven miles into Palm Springs. By then the wind had become intense again. Even after sunset the air never really settled down — one of those desert evenings where the wind just keeps blowing.

By the end of the ride I was exhausted and ready for sleep, but the truck was parked on a random street and I wasn't entirely sure if that was where we were staying. It felt exposed and uncertain. Sean wasn't answering his phone, so I sat there recording the day and waiting, hoping the wind would at least keep things cool overnight.

News came in that Mom had gone to the hospital with an abdominal issue. Later updates sounded more positive — it seemed she would hopefully be able to return home soon. Grateful for that.

Throughout the day, stayed connected with friends including Jeff and Rafael. Some conversations brought clarity and encouragement, while others simply became part of the ongoing rhythm of life on the Path.

Another stretch of California conquered. Every day out here brings both uncertainty and grace.

Seventy-eight point eight miles on the day.

Day 85. One of the hardest days of the entire journey. Just me and Herbie out there — no trailer today.

The wind in Palm Springs was unbelievable — not just strong, brutal. Blowing directly against me almost the entire day. At times it genuinely felt like going backwards. At one point a gust blew me off the street and into the dirt. Not toward traffic, thankfully. But a reminder of how dangerous conditions really were.

The overpasses were the worst. Every crossing brought crosswinds that slammed into the bike hard enough that a stronger gust at the wrong moment could have thrown me over the rail onto the freeway below. It never happened. I just kept moving.

The whole day brought back the terrible wind day in New Mexico — twelve hours for fifty-six miles. Except this time, completely alone out there.

Early in the day, passed a rolled-over car being loaded onto a tow truck near Palm Springs. The driver looked young and physically okay. I couldn't help wondering whether moments like that change people — whether they realize how close they came, or whether youth just makes people feel invincible.

The phone tried to reroute me at one point. I chose a more direct road instead, which worked fine until two railroad crossings blocked by an enormously long freight train. An abandoned strip of asphalt ran alongside the tracks, so I followed it. The phone approved for about a mile. Then the pavement turned to rough dirt road.

Looking at the map, I realized the correct road was on the opposite side of the tracks — about 2.5 miles back. By then it was dark. I got off the bike to investigate. A fence line existed technically, but most of the fencing was gone. Between me and the road was a thick field of thorny plants and debris.

I started building a path using whatever trash was nearby — Styrofoam, an old towel, pieces of cushion — trying to create enough protection to roll Herbie across without puncturing tires.

Then a freight train came through. Then another from the opposite direction.

Two massive trains between me and Herbie.

I couldn't see him except for his headlight. He was perched on gravel with nothing securing him. Then the headlight disappeared and I knew he'd gone down.

That train seemed endless.

When it finally cleared, sure enough, Herbie had fallen. Snacks exploded everywhere. Otherwise okay — for now.

Gave up on the crossing and rode back the way I came. The wind that had fought me all day now pushed me hard from behind — barely had to pedal.

About an hour later I stopped to tighten the mirror. Couldn't unclip my right cleat in time and went down hard. The mirror — the very thing I was trying to fix — broke in the fall. Bruised the leg, jammed the wrist. The wrist is definitely painful and I'm not sure yet how serious it is. Murphy shows up sometimes when the guardian angel is looking the other way.

Both falls also knocked the derailleur out of adjustment. Herbie is rubbing and not shifting correctly. Tomorrow morning needs a careful inspection before anything else.

Food throughout the day was survival eating. A 7-Eleven hot dog loaded with crunchy dill pickle chips and fried onion toppings — surprisingly good. Later, a chicken sandwich, macaroni and cheese, and a honey muffin. Before camp, a huge plate of fries covered in steak, chicken, and toppings from a taco shop. Asked what had the most calories and ordered that. At that point, calories mattered more than dignity.

Back on the correct road, the route climbed gradually at about a 2% grade. Don't think I exceeded ten miles per hour for most of the day.

Then, in Banning, something made me turn around. An old movie theater — signs for The Mandalorian and Grogu and a film called Michael, with that classic rounded glass ticket booth out front. While I was there, two guys in a white car called out. Tony complimented the bike. Jason turned out to be the night manager. We talked about the ride, the website, and what Team Bravo is doing. Tony cautioned that the neighborhood isn't the safest. I told him I have guardian angels watching my back, and that seemed to satisfy him. Jason mentioned the theater was celebrating its 100th anniversary the next morning at 0900 and invited us to bring the truck and trailer. Old theaters surviving a century feel important somehow. That sounded worthwhile.

It was after midnight before I finally got to bed.

Thirty-three point five miles. Ten hours. One of the hardest thirty-three miles ever ridden. But I met the challenge. I may be getting older, but in many ways, I feel younger than I have in a decade.

Day 86. Started at Planet Fitness, up early to work on Herbie before heading to the theater. Found a slow leak in the back tire. The right wrist from yesterday's fall was quite painful — hard to do much with it, so I worked left-handed as much as possible.

Fixed the tire, adjusted the gears and derailleur — the fall had bent it slightly. Cleaned and lubricated the chain. Accidentally put the tire on slightly askew, which caused it to rub against the brake housing and squeak all day. Figured that out tonight getting ready for bed.

On the way to the theater, a woman drove alongside me and rolled down her window. She asked if I was hungry. I told her of course I was. She told me to pull over and showed me a backseat full of sandwiches — she drives around looking for people to give food to. She handed me a sandwich and a Gatorade. I asked if I could interview her and she said yes. Her name is Joanne. I called her an angel. She blushed and said she wasn't. But what she's doing is about as close to selfless service as it gets.

Then the theater. Talked to the manager Isaac, Unity in the booth, and Frank the usher. All of them signed the trailer. Took pictures out front. Turns out it wasn't quite 100 years old — it's 98. Two more years to go. Still, that building has history in it, and it was a very nice time.

Afterward we went to Santiago's, where someone had given me the Wi-Fi password. Worked on the website, uploaded YouTube videos, ran out of data. Sean worked on his Instagram.

Then it was time to head down the road. Only went about 12.7 miles today — to a park outside Beaumont on the way toward Los Angeles. The wind wasn't nearly as strong as yesterday, but the wrist pain and accumulated fatigue from the day before affected everything. Didn't want to push it too hard.

The park had bathrooms, water fountains, and playgrounds, but someone from Parks and Recreation came by and locked the bathroom doors. Still had access to drinking fountains, but no electricity and no bathrooms for the night.

I also spoke with someone high up in Team RWB California — or Southern California specifically. The conversation wasn't really translating into actionable things while we're here. At this point it's mostly grassroots outreach since the more established channels haven't been responding. Thank goodness for Adam, who's always out there making calls and trying to make things better for everybody. And for Sean — the other half of Roll for Veterans. What a stud.

Being back in Southern California brings back memories from junior high and high school. Those were formative years, and being here again kind of transports me back. My story is kind of like The Karate Kid — I moved to California around the same age Daniel did. The difference is mine didn't include finding the perfect girl or suddenly becoming popular after beating up the bully. Mine went a little differently than that.

Twelve point seven miles on the day. Full of wonder, excitement, charity, love, and reflection.

Day 87. Woke up at Sorenstam Park — a beautiful little field with water fountains. Cold and foggy at 0530. Stayed in bed. Tried again at 0800 — still chilly. Since the ride was short today, slept in until about 0900. Had tea, yogurt, and granola.

While washing dishes, a man walked up wearing a shirt that said Oneder Church. His name was Jeremy. He invited Sean and me over for donuts and coffee. We accepted, and before long found ourselves sitting with a wonderful group of people at a church gathering in the park.

Jeremy's sermon style was something different — he introduced topics and then had the group discuss them at the tables together. It felt personal and welcoming. Afterward, people from the church and others from the park came over to sign the trailer. A wonderful way to spend a Sunday morning.

One of those people was Tresa, an avid cyclist, who pointed us toward a good bike shop in Redlands. Since Herbie needed checking after the fall, that became the plan for the afternoon.

The ride started lovely — mostly downhill with one decent climb in the middle. The right wrist was still hurting quite a bit, so I tried to limit how much weight I put on it. Tresa met up with me near her son's house and we rode together to the shop. They inspected everything and made a few adjustments, but said I had actually done a pretty good job fixing the fall damage myself.

Recorded quite a bit of YouTube content at the shop.

My brother sent feedback about the videos — said they were too long and the algorithm favors shorter, more direct content. Maybe he's right. But I'm not really trying to make quick entertainment. I'm trying to document what this experience actually feels like. There's probably an audience for the slower pace and the deeper storytelling. Maybe it just takes time to find those people.

There are people who ride across the country with tents and no support vehicle, who ride and camp and keep to themselves. What we're doing is different because the mission is different. I'm trying to meet people. I'm trying to share the message that nature is healing — that the more time you spend outside, the more opportunity you have to recognize the parts of yourself that need work. It helps clarify purpose. It helps people reconnect with themselves and with others.

Also discovered today that Claude bills on the 24th, and because the credit card was frozen after losing the wallet, the payment didn't go through. So the website updates and journal formatting will need a workaround until that's sorted. One more challenge to solve.

Dinner at Olive Garden. Then Planet Fitness where we'd told the Team RWB folks we'd be tonight.

Most people are moderately interested in what we're doing. Some don't care at all. And every once in a while you meet someone who genuinely gets it. Maybe it's about thirty percent in each category. But finding the people who truly understand makes all the effort worth it.

Thank you to Oneder Church, Jeremy, Tresa, and all the wonderful people who made May 24th even more special.

Twenty-nine point four miles on the day.

Day 88. Memorial Day. Woke up in the Golden Corral parking lot in San Bernardino — the only place we could find. California has gotten harder since Desert Center. Finding places to park is a daily puzzle now, but that's part of the adventure.

Spent a good part of the morning updating the website and dealing with lost credit cards and banks that don't exactly specialize in customer service. Eventually shut the computer, turned off the phone, and hit the road toward Fontana — the town where I grew up during junior high and high school. Part of my childhood lives here.

About a mile from my destination, spotted a 1970 Camaro SS parked roadside. Absolutely no way I was riding past that without stopping. The owner's name was Steven. He told me it was his first car — runs about a 14-second quarter mile. His friend Jeremy was there recording him and took some pictures of us together before I continued on.

The only people I really know in Fontana anymore are the parents of my high school friend Rafa. I decided to surprise them. When Rafa's mom opened the door and saw me, she immediately shut it in my face — as a joke. Completely unexpected. Hilarious. Thankfully I recorded it, so the kids will get to see it later.

Meanwhile Sean stayed back in San Bernardino, riding his bike and exploring while I figured out base camp.

At some point during all of that, Sean's bike got stolen.

For a little while, anyway.

Somehow — and this honestly feels like a miracle — the guy who stole it rode back past the exact same spot a little while later. He wasn't moving fast, so Sean followed him all the way to a homeless camp, confronted him, and got the bike back. There was apparently some discussion involved, but in the end Sean walked away with his bike.

I'm really glad he got it back. I can tell he's genuinely starting to love riding.

Rafa's parents were incredibly generous. Trailer on the street, truck in the driveway. We talked and caught up for a while, and afterward I worked on the bike. Repacked the bearings on the front wheel to try to track down the squeak. Not entirely sure if that solved it yet — I'll find out tomorrow when the wheels start turning again.

Eleven point five miles on the day. Not huge, but when you factor in website maintenance, replacing lost cards and IDs, bike repairs, and all the things that come with living this life, sometimes that's exactly the right number of miles.

The Pacific Ocean by Friday. Then east.

Hopefully with the wind at our backs for once.

That would be very nice indeed.

Day 89. Started in Fontana — kept accidentally calling it Day 88 all morning because I graduated in 1988 and the number was stuck in my head.

Spent most of the morning on computer work, replacement bank cards, and the complications that come from losing a wallet on the road. Eventually Sean and I headed over to Fontana High School — where I graduated many years ago. Part of my childhood lives here.

We never found the person Adam had spoken with about our visit — graduation was the next day and everyone was busy preparing. Still, I met administrative staff members Yolanda and Patty, and both signed the trailer. Patty wrote her message in reverse — first time anyone has done that on the trailer. Pretty funny to see.

Then something unexpected happened. Groups of students started coming down the sidewalk toward the truck and trailer, and before long I was talking with dozens of them. Told them I had graduated there before they were born. Many of them signed. About 40 signatures just from students passing by. Returning to a place that shaped part of my life while carrying this mission through it decades later — one of the most meaningful moments of the day.

Stopped at Baker's Drive-Thru for a red burrito with sour cream. It took me back to the dozens of times my friend Mike and I would order the same meal. Cost a buck back then. We didn't have much money.

Then I went looking for the Santa Ana River Trail, which online sources claimed ran all the way from San Bernardino to the beach. That turned out not to be true. Some sections exist, but most of the route was surface streets. City riding all day instead of trail riding.

The route trended gradually downhill toward Orange County, but the wind kept blowing hard against me. I kept thinking about how nice it will feel to finally turn east after the Pacific, hopefully with the wind at my back for a change.

Later I stopped at In-N-Out Burger for calories. A police officer was trying to order 40 Double-Doubles for some kind of team event, and the manager looked stressed trying to figure out if they could pull it off. Also talked with a cashier who mentioned she was moving to Rexburg, Idaho in the fall to study art and cosmetology at BYU-Idaho. That caught my attention — my sister lives in Rexburg, and it's still technically my home of record.

Also received a call from Tahiti Village, a resort in Las Vegas. They're going to make a conference room available when we roll through, and maybe we can plan a bike ride that starts and ends there. Something to look forward to.

Rolled into Anaheim just around sunset. Found Sean, Marcus, Cleopatra, and Giselle parked near Angels Stadium. Grateful they allowed us to park there, and grateful to a kind Marriott employee nearby who let us get ice for the cooler.

As I was eating a burrito wrap with peanut butter and honey, the front tire went flat. Third time recently that a tire has waited until I reached camp before giving up. Decided to deal with it in the morning — I was exhausted, cold, and my fingers were already freezing.

Lying there getting ready for sleep, I started thinking about tomorrow. The Pacific Ocean. After nearly 90 days on the road, the tire dip no longer feels hypothetical — it feels real. Got emotional just thinking about it.

These little details matter. The meals, the repairs, the conversations, the wind, the setbacks, the people who care and the people who don't — together they paint an honest picture of what it feels like to live this nomadic life. And despite all the challenges, I think it's one of the most therapeutic ways to exist. Finding yourself in nature most of the day — there's something mystical about it.

Fifty-one point four miles on the day.

Day 90. Ninety days. Three months on the road. On February 27th I put these tires in the Atlantic. Today I put them in the Pacific.

Woke to a parking ticket on Marcus's windshield. Somebody had come around earlier asking what we were doing, Sean explained the mission, and the fella said we could stay. Somebody else felt different about it. Just another problem to solve down the road.

To keep clear of the expensive beach parking situation that is Southern California, we drove partway toward Huntington Beach and left Marcus near a Walmart. Sean and I pedaled the rest of the way. Originally planned to bring Giselle and the flags all the way to the water, but my mind was already at the ocean before my body got there. Turned out to be a blessing. Even without the trailer, dragging Herbie through that sand was a battle I wasn't expecting. Don't remember it being nearly so hard back in Key West. Maybe the sand there was firmer. Maybe I'm just more worn down than I was 90 days ago.

But I got there.

Dipped the tires into the Pacific Ocean.

And for a moment everything in my head went quiet.

The wind had been pushing against us all morning, but I held to the notion that Providence owed us a tailwind on the way back after everything we've fought through lately. Before heading out, Sean and I stopped at a place called Sandy's Shack. Double hamburger, sweet potato fries, spinach-artichoke dip. A meal that felt earned. Exactly what was needed.

We walked a stretch of downtown Huntington Beach afterward. Beautiful place. On the return I missed a turn — mind elsewhere — and we rode farther than intended. Sean put in somewhere around 20 to 25 miles today. He's doing fine. Been something to watch him grow into cycling over the course of this journey.

Back at Marcus, Sean stayed put while I rode north toward tomorrow's starting point. We planned to link up near a Planet Fitness while sorting out where to bunk.

I arrived first. Sean was still making his way. Overnight parking signs posted everywhere. Then I spotted a mission office for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints nearby. Door was open. I went inside and asked if we might park there for the night.

While talking with the folks in that office, something strange and wonderful became clear: my nephew Antonio is currently serving his mission in the Anaheim area. The woman at the counter told me he had been in that very building earlier that same day. She gave me his number. I got to talk with him a few minutes. Two ships passing in the night — both out here serving something bigger than ourselves, just barely missing each other.

Stepped back outside to another flat tire.

The pattern is peculiar. Holds pressure on the ride, then dies slow once she's parked a while. This time it wouldn't take air at all. That tube is finished. Done with the slime tubes now — back to regular tubes that can be patched proper. One of the brand-new tubes I bought today came out of the box with a bad valve stem. Feels about on brand for this stretch of the trip.

Updated the website. Got the rides and journal entries from the past week uploaded. The day closed with the Planet Fitness scanner refusing to read my membership QR code — same one I've used across this whole country for months. Sean scanned in fine. Employee eventually waved me through as his guest. Not how it's supposed to work for a man who pays his dues, but I got a shower out of it.

Tonight we're parked back near the church.

Tomorrow we ride back to Rialto, hoping to get Herbie looked over in time. Climbing the steep 25-mile Cajon Pass is planned for Friday — if all goes well.

Thirty-six point one miles on the day.

Day 91 of nomadic life began in the parking lot of an LDS church, and I woke up grateful for a quiet and peaceful place to sleep. I noticed a homeless man sleeping across a few parking spaces nearby while I got to work fixing my front tire, which had gone flat the night before almost immediately after arriving. Maybe that meant something. Maybe not. Either way, I repaired it, ate some leftover sweet potato fries for breakfast, changed clothes, and prepared to leave.

Just after setting off, I realized I had forgotten my pump in the charging box back at the truck, so I had to double back. Once I finally got rolling again, I stopped at a 7-Eleven for two hot dogs and ice for the CamelBak. California prices have made me appreciate cheap calories wherever I can find them. By the time I truly got underway, it was around 0930.

I made my way to ARTIC — the Anaheim Regional Transportation Intermodal Center — and recorded a short video there. I talked with two security guards, Katie and Doria, and gave Katie one of my pamphlets with the QR code to the website. I told her the same thing I've been telling everyone lately: get outside, put down the phone, and live a little.

My goal for the day was Rialto and Don's Bike Shop there, because soon I plan to tackle Cajon Pass. Just thinking about that climb gave me butterflies. I know it's going to hurt. I know it's going to test me. But I know I need to do it.

Not long into the ride, I discovered a slow leak in the back tire. I kept pumping it up, but eventually the pump itself started leaking air. Somewhere before Norco, I found a motorcycle shop called Sideways Cycles. A guy named Billy Bob somehow found me a 29-inch bike tube inside a motorcycle shop, which still kind of amazes me. He just handed it to me. I installed it there and talked with another guy named Tony while I worked. We recorded a little content together afterward. Encounters like that keep this whole journey alive.

With some help from Team Bravo Air Support, I found my way back to the Santa Ana River Trail. Along the trail I passed large stretches of burned earth and eventually met a man named Zach filling up a fire department water truck. He explained there had been a brush fire about a week earlier and crews were still turning over mulch and extinguishing hot spots to prevent flare-ups. Another reminder of how alive and fragile these landscapes really are.

The ride became increasingly complicated — road closures, detours, rough routing, sections with no shoulder, sidewalks, gutters. Constant adaptation. The trail closures were probably connected to the fire damage. But by then I was committed to reaching Rialto.

Eventually, after a long push through Riverside Avenue traffic and some sketchy riding conditions, I rolled into Rialto right around 1700 and reached the bike shop just before closing. The mechanics didn't really have time for a full diagnosis, but they still took a look. The verdict wasn't encouraging: the chain is worn out, the cassette is worn out, and the center chainring is worn out too.

For a minute, it felt like the timing couldn't have been worse.

But then one of the mechanics — Ian — started helping me gather the parts anyway. He sold me everything I needed and walked me through which tools from my kit I'd need to do the repairs myself. I've replaced chains and cassettes before, but I've never swapped chainrings. Tomorrow, I guess I learn.

I also patched one tube tonight and prepared another one to patch tomorrow. Once that's done, I'll have two spare tubes ready until the next Amazon shipment arrives.

Despite the mechanical issues, detours, leaks, delays, and uncertainty, I still made it fifty-six point two miles today.

Tomorrow, hopefully, I climb Cajon Pass.

Day 92. Cajon Pass day. The one I've been thinking about since before this journey began.

Started in the Planet Fitness parking lot in Rialto — the only Planet Fitness in California that actually allows overnight parking. The original plan was to replace the chain, cassette, and front chainrings before the climb, but I discovered I didn't have the correct crank puller. Rather than delay any longer, I decided to ride with what I had and do the repairs in Hesperia. Ordered the correct parts from Amazon — nearly 40% cheaper than bike shop prices. Small victory.

The morning became a lesson in procrastination. Got some signatures on the trailer, tried to visit the Felix family but they were likely recovering from a party the night before. Attempted a haircut at Sports Clips — 91-minute wait, and I didn't realize I needed to sign in on their computer, so I sat there watching people get called ahead of me before figuring it out. By then Sean had arrived and waiting any longer would push the Hesperia arrival even later.

The time wasn't entirely wasted. Uploaded several videos from previous days using Wi-Fi at a nearby AT&T store, and the employees signed the trailer. Grabbed sandwiches from Church's Chicken — though the pies I ordered never made it into the bag. One of those days where several small things just didn't quite come together.

Then it was finally time.

Started up Sierra Avenue toward Lytle Creek. Once Sierra became Lytle Creek Road, the real work began. Most of the day in first gear, grinding uphill at around four miles per hour. Downhills here and there, but they felt insignificant compared to the endless climbing.

Followed historic Route 66 until it approached Interstate 15 — where I faced a choice. The straightforward route, or a dirt road called Cleghorn Road that disappeared into the mountains.

I chose the road less traveled.

On a map, Cleghorn Road is nothing but squiggles. In person, it follows every contour of the mountains — climbing steeply, descending sharply, then climbing again. Brutally difficult. Also incredibly rewarding. I figured Sean was somewhere nearby if things went truly wrong, and I figured I would probably never have another opportunity to experience this exact route.

So I climbed.

The higher I went, the more spectacular the views became. I stopped countless times to take photos and videos. None of them really capture what it felt like to be there. The mountains stretched out in every direction, and the farther I rode, the more it felt like an adventure rather than just a bicycle ride.

Eventually Cleghorn Road delivered me back to pavement. Met up with Sean, but the shoulder disappeared for much of the remaining ride — carefully balancing staying out of traffic while still giving drivers room to pass.

At about 1930, I rolled into Hesperia and arrived at Mike's house — almost exactly when I had expected if I left late. The truth is I probably should have started earlier. Looking back, part of me had been dreading this climb for months.

But now it's done.

Spent some time talking with Mike after Sean arrived. Unloaded a few things. Mike generously set me up with everything I needed for a shower. After a long day of climbing, dirt roads, mountain views, and overcoming one of the milestones I'd been thinking about since February, that shower felt pretty amazing.

Tonight I turned off the alarm.

For the first time in a while, I don't feel the need to rush into tomorrow. The pass is behind me. The goal was met.

Forty-six miles on the day.

Day 93. For the first time in a while, the focus wasn't on miles. It was on recovery, maintenance, and preparation for the road ahead.

Slept in a little. Started the morning with eggs and Raisin Bran. After breakfast, settled onto the sofa to upload photos and videos to YouTube and work on the website. Sat there a little too long. The back started feeling stiff, so I got up to move around and loosen things up.

Then I sneezed.

That sneeze pulled a muscle in my back and turned the rest of the day into a careful balancing act. Spent much of the day walking gingerly, avoiding heavy lifting, trying not to aggravate it further. A couple of ibuprofen and some lidocaine patches helped quite a bit, and by evening it was already feeling noticeably better. The strange thing is that riding the bike almost always seems to make the back feel better, even when other activities make it worse. I haven't figured out why, but I'm grateful for it — Monday's ride to Barstow is coming whether the back likes it or not.

Most of the day went to computer work. Updated the course and route list and put together a detailed day-by-day plan for the final segment of the journey. The goal is to average roughly 50 to 60 miles per day, adjusted for elevation, and arrive in Las Vegas on June 5th. There's an event at Allegiant Stadium where Team RWB plans to have a booth, and we're hoping to park the truck and trailer somewhere nearby.

Also updated journal entries on the website and cleaned up several loose ends that had been bothering me for a while. It felt good to get caught up.

On the bike side, removed the crankset and chain from Herbie. Tomorrow the plan is a thorough cleaning before installing a new cassette, new chain, and new crankset. A new set of Shimano pedals is also waiting to go on. The hope is that all these fresh components finally eliminate the skipping chain, the mysterious squeak, and the clicking noise that has followed me for far too many miles.

The laundry also received some much-needed attention.

For dinner, cooked macaroni and cheese with chicken and mixed vegetables. Turned out pretty good, and Mike enjoyed it too. Sean's skills must be rubbing off. After so many cold meals eaten standing on a road, it was nice to cook something simple and share it with a friend.

Tomorrow is the final day of May. The back is improving, Herbie is halfway through a mechanical refresh, the website is caught up. Ready for some sleep.

No miles on the day. But sometimes the road requires you to stop long enough to prepare for what comes next.

Day 94. The final day of May. The end of the birth month.

A good portion of the day went to the website. Added an RSVP invitation for a Fourth of July gathering in Flagstaff, Arizona, for anyone who might be in the area. Still need to connect with Team RWB folks there to figure out the meeting point, the activities, and where to stay — but the first step is done.

The other major focus was Herbie. Replaced the cassette, chainrings, crank arms, and chain. Washed the rear wheel and much of the back half of the bike. Repacked the rear wheel bearings with fresh grease — Mike supplied the grease, and has been an incredible host throughout this stay. Having a place to work, recover, and tackle maintenance properly has made a real difference.

Had the family Zoom, though only two others were able to join. Some Sundays are like that.

Sean and I also spent time reorganizing the trailer — frequently used items moved to more accessible spots. The whole setup feels more efficient, and there seems to be a little more room inside when it's time to sleep, which is always appreciated.

Created an event in the Team RWB app for tomorrow evening in Barstow at the giant firefighter helmet attraction. A good landmark, easy to find. Tomorrow's ride should be about 53 miles — assuming the bike is running properly and snacks are on hand, a manageable day.

Before leaving, still need to finish fine-tuning the shifting. The new drivetrain components are working, but the gears need some adjustment to get everything running smoothly.

There's something I've noticed whenever I stay somewhere for more than a night or two. An inertia develops. When traveling every day, the rhythm is simple — ride, recover, sleep, repeat. The entire day revolves around the journey. But when I stop for several days, work on websites, perform maintenance, and catch up on life, it becomes harder to leave again. Not because I don't want to continue, but because the routine changes. Rest feels good, but movement feels natural too.

The road ahead has a timeline now. Las Vegas by June 5th, and an event on June 6th where Team RWB will have a presence. The folks at Tahiti Village have generously offered a large space for a meet-and-greet on June 5th. Most upcoming days will be in the 60-to-70-mile range, with a couple of lighter days mixed in — including the ride to Hoover Dam.

One thing I've been monitoring is the right foot. The outer portion — especially around the toes — has been consistently numb. During rides it sometimes develops a burning sensation or hot spots, particularly when the sun is beating down, but afterward it mostly returns to numb rather than painful. The left foot feels normal. The right foot has clearly absorbed the effects of thousands of miles of pedaling. Something to keep watching.

And so May quietly comes to an end.

The month that began with a 56th birthday on a dirt lot in New Mexico now slips into memory. Tomorrow starts a new month, another chapter, another stretch of road. For the next eleven months, officially 56 years old — and still moving forward.

Day 95. The first day of June. Back on the road after a few days off the bike.

Hit the snooze button a couple of times — hard to get moving after the rest. Eventually got up, packed everything, finished adjusting Herbie, and prepared to roll out. Before leaving, Mike signed the trailer, along with one of his neighbors and a friend who introduced himself as Andy — though Mike always calls him Mike. Never figured out why. Should have asked before I left.

Also talked with a young guy named Austin who was selling pest control while riding an electric scooter around the neighborhood. He signed the trailer and we took a selfie together. Then it was finally time to roll.

It felt good to be riding again. The weather was hot, and I found myself pouring water on my clothes throughout the day to stay cool — long sleeves and leggings for sun protection, with a T-shirt layered between the jersey and sleeves so the water stays cooler longer before evaporating. The wind was at my back at about eleven miles per hour, which made the ride feel full of promise.

Spent the first several hours working through the Victorville area, stopping often and talking to people instead of pushing hard toward Barstow.

Stopped at the UPS Store, dropped off a package, met a few folks. Then crossed over near the freeway debating between Maverik and Circle K for supplies. Chose Circle K to save a little money — though getting there took longer than expected because of all the freeway crossings and side roads. Picked up an item from the wrong shelf anyway and ended up spending more than planned.

That stop turned into one of those moments that reminds me why I'm out here.

Met a fascinating man named Jim. He showed me pictures of his Vietnam veteran friends and we recorded a couple of YouTube Shorts together. Jim told stories about riding motorcycles from Mexico to Canada — three different times — while in his 50s. Not long after, a man named Jose pulled up and handed me a donation. I asked him to take a picture with me and introduced him to Jim.

The three of us stood there talking for hours about life, gratitude, purpose, and the road. At one point Jim handed me some money and I gave him a hug. Then Jose laughed and said — what about my hug? I gave you my last dollar.

That really stuck with me.

Sometimes a single dollar costs somebody far more than another person's twenty dollars. You never really know what someone is sacrificing when they choose to help you. So I gave Jose a hug too and thanked him again.

By the time they left, it was already around 3 o'clock in the afternoon. Nearly three hours at a Circle K talking with people. But that's part of the mission too. Some days are more about relationships than mileage.

Earlier in the ride, Herbie's chain had started jumping around. I ignored it longer than I should have, figuring it might settle down. Eventually discovered the rear wheel hadn't been tightened properly after attaching Giselle. The rough road — cracks every few feet — made the loose wheel feel sloppy and unstable. Felt pretty dumb once I figured it out, but mistakes happen. Part of this journey is learning to give ourselves grace when things don't go perfectly.

Eventually made it into Barstow, much later than planned. I had set up a Team RWB meetup at the giant firefighter helmet tourist attraction for 6 PM, but nobody responded. After the kind of day I had, that was okay.

Sean had parked near a run-down little park, but I suggested we move to Walmart to stock up properly for the desert stretch ahead. Spent a good amount on supplies and food for the next few days.

While at Walmart, met a guy named Kidd carrying pool noodles. He told me he wanted to use them to create solid tires for his mountain bike — crazy enough it might actually work. He and his companion Michelle signed the trailer and gave us some encouragement before we settled in for the night.

Now we're parked in the Walmart lot hoping nobody asks us to move. It's midnight, exhausted, and tomorrow the desert beckons.

Fifty-seven point seven miles on the day.

Day 96. Possibly the last full day in California.

The heat was intense for most of the ride. Made my way out toward Ludlow, where Sean and I had agreed to meet up later in the day. When I arrived, he wasn't there yet, so I stopped at the Dairy Queen to cool down, eat, and regroup before continuing east.

That's when the whole day changed.

Toward the end of the meal, a man walked over and placed a card on my table. It was about an ultra-endurance athlete named Joe who was attempting to set a speed record riding the Route 66 route from Santa Monica to Chicago in just eight days. Eight days. The more I heard about it, the more I realized I couldn't just ride on without at least trying to meet him.

The original plan had been to ride another 30 miles that evening. Those plans slowly disappeared as I learned more about what was happening. At first they said Joe would arrive in about an hour — I figured maybe I could ride alongside him for a little while. Then word came that he had been struggling badly with the heat. At one point he had to stop for IV fluids and recovery before continuing.

That delayed things another hour or so. By the time he finally arrived in Ludlow, dusk was settling in.

Even then, he didn't have much time to stop — he was behind schedule and trying to make up miles. But I was able to ride alongside him briefly and tell him how much respect I had for what he was doing. I told him he was an inspiration, not just because of this ride, but because of everything he has accomplished in endurance racing and ultra-athletics over the years. I honestly don't understand how someone can survive on so little sleep and still push themselves that hard day after day, but somehow he does it.

He thanked me, told me to keep going, and said that I would make it.

I'm not exactly sure what make it means, but I'll take those words with me.

Earlier in the day, before reaching Ludlow, spent quite a bit of time talking with people at one of the gas stations along the route. A lot of folks were curious about what I was doing out there in the desert on a bicycle pulling a trailer. I shared the website, the story, and my message about getting outside, spending time in nature, and reconnecting with life beyond screens and routines. Those conversations always recharge me in a different kind of way.

Still, by the end of the day I realized I had put myself a little behind schedule mileage-wise. Stopping early to meet Joe means tomorrow is going to have to be a big day — roughly 150 miles over the next two days instead of spreading it out more evenly.

But if the wind keeps blowing the way it is tonight, I may fly across the desert.

The wind right now is absolutely screaming eastward. Funny thing is, during the hottest part of the day when I could have really used it, the air barely moved. Then the sun went down and suddenly the desert turned into a giant wind tunnel. Nature still confuses me sometimes. Just when you think you understand what's coming next, it reminds you not to get too attached to expectations.

I need to sleep now because I'm definitely not built like Joe. I can't run on two hours of sleep and IV bags. I like sleeping too much for that.

But I'm grateful tonight. Grateful for the people I met today, for the encouragement, for the stories, and especially for Joe's crew who welcomed me into their world for a little while. Those are special people.

Maybe someday I'll earn my own place in that endurance riding community too. We'll see where this road leads.

Fifty-four miles on the day.

Day 97. One goal: get into Nevada.

Started in a vacant lot in Ludlow that looked like it used to be an RV park — electrical hookups long gone, discovered only after arriving in the dark. Just around the corner from the Dairy Queen where I had met Leslie and Matt the day before, who are documenting Joe Barr's Route 66 record attempt. Still inspired by everything that crew is doing.

Part of the goal was practical. Part was symbolic. Volume IV begins in Nevada on Day 97, and to make that happen, I was facing one of the most isolated stretches of the entire journey.

Got an early start east, spending much of the day riding alongside Interstate 40 — the most direct route to the few services available out there.

The first major stop was the Oasis. Which was not exactly living up to its name. Gas pumps out of service. No indoor plumbing. No hot food. No hot dogs rolling on a grill. Just cold sandwiches and snacks at prices that reminded you how far you were from civilization. Settled for a couple of Danish pastries and was grateful they let me use the restroom — normally a dollar unless you buy something. The restroom itself was something I'd never seen before: essentially a porta-potty with an actual toilet installed inside it.

Met a musician named Eddie whose electric vehicle was charging outside. He told me he uses charging stops as opportunities to meet people and hear their stories. That idea landed immediately. Some of the best conversations on this journey have happened in exactly those kinds of pauses.

From there, another forty miles to the next stop. Mile after mile of desert, heat, and open road. Temperatures climbed to around 104 degrees. Food limited. Shade almost nonexistent. Water management became important.

By the afternoon, starting to get a little loopy from the heat and the miles.

Eventually crossed into Nevada and made my way toward Searchlight. Passed through Palm Gardens along the way — little more than a gas station and a handful of homes. Locals pointed toward Searchlight for services and a casino. Sean went ahead to scout. The casino staff were kind enough to let us stay for the night.

By the time I arrived, we slipped into the McDonald's lobby just before they closed.

I was starving.

Double Quarter Pounder with cheese, McNuggets, and probably more calories than I should admit to. Albert, the gentleman helping us, recommended a Dr Pepper with cream added to it. Hard to describe exactly — sort of like a float, but not quite. After 120 miles in the desert, it tasted amazing.

We sat there eating, talking, and enjoying the air conditioning until nearly closing time.

What kept me going through the long afternoon was thinking about Joe Barr. In some small way, this ride felt like a tribute to what he's accomplishing out there. We're all capable of more than we think. Watching someone push the limits of human endurance has a way of making your own limits feel negotiable.

As I rolled into Searchlight, tired and dehydrated but still moving, I called my mom. Hearing her voice helped me focus during those final miles.

One hundred twenty point seven miles. Third century-plus ride of the journey. Nevada.

Volume Four begins here.

Day 98. Woke up at Terrible's Casino in Searchlight. Topped off the cooler with ice, spent some time talking with a dear friend, and finally got rolling around 10:00 a.m. Already hot. Usually I can ride a while before needing to cool down — not today. The Nevada sun was in full force from the start, so I soaked down all my clothing before even putting a foot on the pedal.

The first twenty miles were mostly downhill and they were glorious. Averaging close to twenty miles per hour without much pedaling at all. After yesterday's 120-mile effort, letting gravity do some of the work felt like a gift.

But eventually the downhill ended.

As soon as the road flattened and I had to start putting power into the pedals again, the fatigue from the day before made itself known. Drank more water than expected and found myself running low. Passed a road construction crew and asked if they could spare some. They were happy to help — and best of all, it was cold.

A few miles later, the only real shade on that stretch: an overpass. Sat underneath it, ate a sandwich, and rested while Sean caught up. Talked for a few minutes before he continued toward Boulder City. I stayed a little longer, gathering strength for the final push.

When I reached Boulder City, Sean and I agreed to meet near a casino close to Hoover Dam and ride our bikes down to the dam together.

What I had forgotten was just how mountainous this area is.

I remembered the road went downhill toward the dam. I had forgotten how steep. Long grades and sweeping switchbacks, flying down at twenty to thirty miles per hour. Exhilarating. At the same time, fully aware that every foot descended would eventually need to be climbed again.

I tried not to think about that.

We spent several hours at Hoover Dam. Took a tour inside, walked the exterior, and stood with one foot in Nevada and the other in Arizona for a while. Talked with several people along the way, including a dam employee named John who mentioned that some people call him JT. That immediately made me like him.

We talked about cycling, Canada, family, and life in general. He seemed like someone who understands the tension between adventure and responsibility — family obligations, aging parents, work, all the things that compete for our attention. We only get to focus on one thing at a time. That's okay.

Eventually it was time to head back up the mountain.

The climb was every bit as challenging as expected, but we made it back to the truck. Said our goodbyes for the evening and agreed to meet up tomorrow near Henderson as we continue toward Las Vegas.

The goal tomorrow is to reach Tahiti Village as early as possible. Kevin has generously offered to help us get settled, and there's still plenty to do before the gathering this weekend.

Before bed, collected one more trailer signature from a woman named Bridget. Then took a shower using the water from the tank — a little hotter than preferred. Next time I'll mix in cooler water from the truck.

Clean, tired, and ready for sleep.

Day 100 is getting close.

Day 99 began in a casino parking lot near Henderson, Nevada.

I only had a few hours to get packed up, ride over to Tahiti Village, check in, and get ready for Kevin to pick us up. It sounded simple enough, but the morning turned out to be a little more stressful than expected.

Finding the correct entrance wasn't easy, and parking at Tahiti Village proved to be a challenge. The place was busy, there were people everywhere, and parking spaces were in short supply. Add the Nevada heat to the mix, and it definitely tested my patience, despite my desire to stay serene.

Fortunately, the ride itself was short. I covered about 20 miles in roughly two hours and arrived at Tahiti Village with just enough time to get cleaned up before our afternoon plans.

I took a shower, changed clothes, and by the time I finished, Kevin was already waiting outside. I asked him to drive around to where the truck was parked so I could put away my riding gear and get organized. Once everything was squared away, we headed out for the day.

Our first stop was the airport to pick up Dawn, who oversees Team Red, White & Blue operations across the western region of states. After that, Kevin spent the afternoon showing us parts of Las Vegas that most tourists never get to see.

Before the sightseeing, however, we made an important stop at Allegiant Stadium, where preparations were underway for Gratitude Day. We helped set up the Team RWB booth and talked about the opportunities that tomorrow would provide to share the mission of Team RWB and connect with people from all over the community.

The rest of the afternoon and evening were spent exploring the city and getting a behind-the-scenes look at Las Vegas through the eyes of someone who knows it well. It was a unique experience and one I genuinely appreciated.

Kevin went out of his way to make us feel welcome, included, and valued. From the moment we arrived, he treated us like honored guests rather than visitors passing through. I'm grateful for the time, effort, and hospitality he showed us.

This journey has always involved periods of riding alone and periods of riding with others. Both have their place.

Now it's late, and I'm looking forward to a little time off the bike. A chance to recover physically, clear my mind, and prepare for the final stretch toward the Grand Canyon.

Tomorrow is Gratitude Day at the stadium. But you know what? I'm already grateful.

One hundred days.

Didn't get much sleep, but woke up early and headed over to Allegiant Stadium — home of the Las Vegas Raiders — for Team RWB's participation in the Day of Gratitude event.

Kevin, Dawn, and I arrived early to help set up. Before long, the place was packed. Throughout the day we handed out flyers, talked with veterans and supporters, helped people learn about Team RWB, and welcomed new members into the community. Made a lot of new friends and took more photos than I can count.

One of the highlights was seeing several World War II veterans being honored on stage. One of them, over 100 years old, sang God Bless America. Hearing that gave me chills. One of those moments I'll carry for a very long time.

After the event, Kevin — who has been an absolute angel throughout our time in Las Vegas — took me back to the hotel to rest for a while. Later, he picked me up again. He and Dawn signed the trailer in the parking lot. Then we headed downtown to the Leatherneck Club, a Marine Corps veterans establishment, where Team RWB hosted a meet-and-greet. Another opportunity to connect with people who care deeply about veterans and their communities.

By the time Kevin dropped me back at Tahiti Village, I was exhausted. Brought some food up from the truck, talked with Sean for a few minutes, uploaded some videos to YouTube, and started winding down.

My legs are tired from standing all day. Lower back is bothering me a bit too. Honestly, I'd rather be riding my bike than standing around. But today reminded me that this journey is about more than the miles. It's about people.

One hundred days ago, I dipped my tires into the Atlantic Ocean. Today, I spent the day surrounded by veterans, volunteers, and people who genuinely care about one another. A different kind of milestone — but an important one.

Now it's time for some rest.

Roll for Veterans.

Day 101. Woke up at Tahiti Village earlier than I would have liked — Team RWB had a hike scheduled for 0730 over in Boulder City on a trail called the Railroad Tunnel Trail.

The trail follows the route of the old railroad built to help construct Hoover Dam. The rails are gone now, leaving behind a dirt path that winds through the desert and passes through massive tunnels cut through solid rock. Something almost magical about walking there. Old concrete structures, rusting remnants of machinery, pieces of human effort slowly being reclaimed by nature. It reminded me that people are always trying to tame nature, control it, push it back — but in the end, I have a feeling Mother Nature always wins.

Six miles round trip — three out, three back. Along the way I met more Team RWB members and a few people simply out enjoying the trail. Great morning. Great conversations.

One of the teammates I spent time with was Beth. She joined us partway through the hike, and afterward I rode with her down to the marina. Along the way she told me she had adopted a dog that belonged to a Team RWB member who had passed away, so the dog could continue being around the people and community it knew. I thought that was a beautiful thing to do.

We got a little lost on the way to the marina and ended up on the wrong road before finding the correct route. It gave us a chance to see more of the area — including just how low Lake Mead has become. In some places we were essentially driving across what used to be lakebed. The white bathtub ring marking the old water level is clearly visible along the shoreline. The drought continues to leave its mark.

Had a lovely lunch at the marina, shared stories, and got to know each other a little better. Afterward, a teammate named Eric was kind enough to drive Sean and me back to Tahiti Village.

That was the only thing on the schedule, and since it was Sunday, I made it a true day of rest. Didn't turn on the computer. Didn't work on the website. Didn't plan the route. Just slowed down.

Talked with a few friends on the phone, joined the family Zoom, and brought some things up from the truck — including the computer and extra monitor — so I'd be ready to work tomorrow. Watched a little Turner Classic Movies, one of my quiet guilty pleasures. The old black-and-white films, no commercials. The movie didn't really hold my attention though, so I ended up taking a walk around the property instead.

Later, spent some time in the hot tub hoping it would help the lower back. Ever since spending more time standing and walking instead of riding, the back has been bothering me. Oddly enough, it seems to feel better on the bike. You'd think pedaling all day would make it worse. Apparently my back disagrees.

Plenty to accomplish this week before checking out Friday and getting back on the road. For tonight, though, calling it a day.

Good night. I'll fill you in on what Monday brings when Monday brings it.