Experiences and personal stories from the road and far-off places, meant to share my gratitude for what I’ve been lucky enough to feel and see.

Mile One: Walden and I begin

Memories don’t come and it’s only the beam of headlight, music playing, and a recognition that America still offers something to the adventurous spirit. Or so it seemed then.

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Godspeed Tumbleweed

One morning I woke and this notion of an epic American road journey was there. Thoughts of Steinbeck and Kerouac. Not wanting to fall prey to wild impulse, I let it rest a few weeks. When it remained I began to feed it. Then I said my goodbyes to India.

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My time in Goa nears an end

I wonder at all things bright and dazzling beneath that high sun and the perspiration of an adventurous life gets in my eye, my toes go a-tingling, and something both bold and unsure begins quietly breezing through an open window.

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I make an unexpected friend in Kathmandu

And sometimes now, when I yearn to return to Nepal, I wonder if it is not the mountain peaks I desire to see, but an old Nepali man, who sat next to me upon the temple steps in the rain and spoke his truth.

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On a train to Kathmandu

On a train, rocking and rolling through the night, northward up the gut of India. Tomorrow late comes Delhi; then a bus to the border, past the village where Buddha was born, comes Nepal – ancient Kathmandu, her templed streets and the Himalayas.

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At Keri Beach we look far away

We spun a corner and found Keri Beach, the quiet one in the north that smells of the Maharashstra hills and is original, like a worn postcard sent by lovers but lost in the years, lying upon the attic floor, slanted with light from a dusty window.

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I now have a scooter in India

Something remembered from long ago – sitting in my grandmother's backyard as a little boy as the sun went down, feeling the warmth of the earth float up through the long green grass beneath my little bare legs and mix with the coolness of evening.

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Mandrem

I laughed because of how the headlight lit the poor edges of the land, because of the freedom of riding with no helmet, because of the ocean sound coming from beside us, because of the coolness of the wind stirring itself into the hotness that was the day, because of my arms outstretched.

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Blue and I ride the sky

A generation falling and finding itself. And so we were. A fine balance on two wheels of rubber. Of a moment. The iron cliffs on our left, heaven on our right and in between. We just rode.

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Good evening from the veranda

Because, I think, really we're all just singing as loud as we can, seeking an answer for our lives, seeking reasons for our pains and heartaches; our voices rising in hurt, falling in happiness, sung to the beeping backdrop of our ridiculous lives.

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