I spent two and a half years of my life, most of my money, two
gallons of blood, a squared mile of skin (blood and skin left road
side across America), a rib and a hunk of my scalp on this project.
I have suffered a concussion, hypothermia, near drowning, bone
bruises, soul crushing loneliness, home sickness (for a home that
no longer existed), insect attacks, heat exhaustion, hail, snow,
pouring rain and fatigue. Fatigue beyond what I though was possible
to endure. I was shown kindness by people who live in gated
communities, by street people in Baltimore, by toothless old men in
panhandle Florida, by crazy young Hispanic women in West Hollywood.
I biked through the evergreen forests of northern Maine, the
streets of Manhattan, across the George Washington Bridge, through
the twisting urban sprawl of New Jersey, the back roads of
Virginia, the Outer Banks of North Carolina, the pecan plantations
of Georgia and the Florida Keys. I have seen the fog of my breath
on cold Maine mornings, sunrises in coastal Carolina and sunset in
Key West. I slept behind an abandoned hunting camp in Maine, a
forgotten church in Louisiana, and in the empty dessert of West
Texas. This is my story, true and from my heart. It is a story of
hope and inspiration. A tale of how to go on when it feels like
there is no point in going on. A chronicle of my journey across
this country, and through my depression.
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