If you’re in the Minneapolis area, we invite you to join us from 6:30 – 9:00 pm at Angry Catfish on Friday, March 20th, for an evening of bicycle travel presentations and live music!
Cycling adventurist, bikepacker, travel writer, photographer, speaker, professor of philosophy. Route designer of the VTXL, the Green Mountain Gravel Growler beer tour, the Silk Road Mountain Race course 1st edition, and many more.
Category: Postcard
New England Postcard
An ascent is somewhere between a denial and craving for it.
October Postcard
This time of the year New England says something of itself. It’s the landscape and the cultural history that it encouraged that are the boundaries and beacons of the circuit.
South Africa Postcard
Levitating atop the smallest gear, clingy traction, absorption into modal blue. Mean little sheep feet have obscured any tracks from the racers ahead but sure as sure that this is the way.
Location
Jacques explains. “Location” indicates the black townships, we’ve been directed here by that very word on the lips of a nodding woman on the dirt avenue, I’m looking to buy a local SIM card. One story high, corrugated steel, off-rectilinear lots that expand or contract to the hilly contour but somehow still seem tidy, colors sing cheer and that they’re brightly painted itself enough to distinguish the boundaries.
Johannesburg and Kruger
Students in smart uniforms, a loud beer hall, turning buses and impossibly clean commuter rail station. Then lands of hard wind blown blonde grasses with season burn smoke columns, onward to canyons rolling granite and green, serpentine roads. To a vast park. No bicycles, a shame, they’ll wait.
South Africa Postcard
There’s Nelson Mandela’s house and then Desmond Tutu’s around the corner, a neighborhood density of Nobel Peace laureates unrivaled. We drink local brew, 2% alcohol so leaving us liters away from danger but very near to jolly, a man stops his car to thank us for visiting, older women waking home all in green from a religious service beaming hellos.
Guatemala Sounds
Boys break dancing in the square. Kid asks me where I am from. I tell him USA, New York City, he says, concentrated earnest, “so you have a pistol?” Deflated when I tell him I don’t.
Guatemala Postcard
A town with a church with a square on a hill on a Saturday night. Happy subsonic excitement. Follow the families walking up cobbles, cars maybe washed special and scooters, tuk tuks—probably not called that here—a parallel street.
Guatemala Postcard
Jungle sleep a duplicity, the implications that one is cold are neither right nor quite wrong, roll over to tug a cover a chill shoulder only to realize in the fog that there is sweating. […]
Belize Postcard
From the sky it looked eight shades of wet green, spiky pinwheel palm tops into far. Nine hours ago thick fog early morning over the Williamsburg Bridge and the sleepwalking through check in, flight, transfer, […]
Santa Fe Postcard
The powder gets deep, but not before a complete exhalation into the ridges, into the now soundless, not before the way the turning around offers a winding drop back, pull my gaiter over my grin.