The little things feel familiar but new, as if I’d noticed them once before, a very long time ago, and then forgot. 

A story about an atom cycling its way through many forms.

Photographs break our evolutionary convention of time, they transform a single moment into a perpetual state of being.

With homes for over 1,700 people, but only about 200 residents, Sakatejima lives in a strange space between village and ghost town.

Lilly’s been sending me photos of Singapore. I’m amazed by the colors, the patterns, how meaning is built into the streets.

How two non-bike people planned and made the journey.

The City sprawled on the other side of the Bridge.

Where, in all this, was the bike path?

And suddenly, we were back.

We just needed to leave. We just needed to put distance between us and this place.

I first saw Bernadette dancing in the parking lot of the Thai restaurant.

When we looked up, we realized we could see the stars.

Somehow, we’d come all this way without any trouble with the bikes.

The uphill didn’t seem impossible, but the downhill did.

At some point we’d gotten used to riding on back roads.

The Internet is a pervasive force, something we believe reflects truth. We believe what is online is reality.

It’d been a week since Cory actually had the space to practice his headspins.

We were speaking through plastic.

I’ve come to accept that being on a bike tour means being perpetually sore.

There was no wifi, and with no wifi, we had no map.