Ryan George's Blog
October 17, 2025
Lost in Lichtenstein—And in Wonder
Four years ago, I had never ridden a motorcycle. Four weeks ago, I rode a motorcycle 2,000km through six countries from one end of the Alps to the other—from Innsbruck, Austria to Monaco. I had high expectations and kept stoking their fires, watching the hype videos on social media dozens of times. And somehow—don’t ask me how—this experience surpassed even my daydreams.
I knew the Alps would provide winding roads, but I had no idea how many hairpins I’d encounter. For those of us who liked them, we luxuriated in an embarrassment of riches. I didn’t get a chance to capture more than a few of them with my phone. I snapped this after getting disconnected from my team and navigating this curled snake alone.
Our trip photographer, Kane, caught so many rad moments of us riders in the curves. I’m not one of the riders in this photo, but I saw a beautiful swatch of Europe with the dudes in this photo.
I stalled on this section of the trip and learned to take these corners wider and/or with more speed. We encountered a wild range of exotic cars, sports cars, and convertibles on these passes.
I don’t know whether or not this is prime real estate for a hotel, but Furka Pass was unique enough to be featured in a James Bond Goldfinger chase scene.
Screenshot
I wish I could tell you how many times I looked down at the phone on my handlebars, saw lines like this on my Google Maps, and smiled. I was in heaven.
At one of our checkpoints, I headed to the back of the coffee shop and got a preview of what awaited us after our official rally clock restarted. I liked the juxtaposition of the curved window grates and the curved road running perpendicular to them.
I don’t know if this was a former (or current) military installation or some other municipal facility. As we wove through this unique pass, it felt like we were riding through a dystopian novel or sci fi movie.
This is just one tiny section of the famed Stelvio Pass. In Italy, the government posts numbered signs in the hairpin turns (and only those turns). Our route up from the valley to the top held 48 of those signs, and that was just one of the passes we did that day. Plus, we switched back and forth like this down the back side of this mountain.
The drone view makes it seem like we were traversing Mars. The street-level view looked less galactic but still very different from any place I’d ever been on two wheels.
This shot better shows the banked nature of many of the switchbacks. If I had more courage and better skills, I might’ve taken them faster than I did. I eventually worked up to being able to traverse them north of 20mph, but they were fun at every speed.
On this trip, I had no music, podcasts, or audiobooks playing in my helmet. While I made wrong turns every day, I never got lost in my thoughts. I got to this wild, new-to-me place where I just melted into my surroundings. I may have found what William Least Heat Moon meant when he wrote, “The open road is a beckoning, a strangeness, a place where a man can lose himself.”
Teamwork Makes the Dream WorkNovelist Edith Wharton wrote, “One of the great things about travel is that you find out how many good, kind people there are.” I again found that to be true on The Great Malle Mountain Rally, traveling more than 1,200 miles and tent camping nightly with more than 50 other motorcycle riders from 14 countries. The trip created a unique mix of solitary and communal moments that flowed into and out of each other as seamlessly as we leaned into and out of curves in the road.
The Malle team divided us into riding groups based on our types of motorcycles, our social media profiles, etc. We didn’t know until after our first dinner together (in a castle!) who our teammates were. I don’t know if I should thank Sovereignty or serendipity, but I can’t imagine getting more aligned teammates than Alfonso, Matt, and Stuart. Kane snapped this photo of us at our first starting line. Each morning, the flag that waved over each team’s release into the rally (3 minutes apart) was the flag of the country in which we had camped the previous night.
This might be my favorite photo from the trip. Matt and I had crossed the finish line first of all of the riders, and Alfonso wasn’t far behind. Here, we’re waiting on the pier in Monaco for Stuart to find us. (Our official times at each checkpoint and each day’s final stop weren’t stamped until every team member was present.) After being in the cool shadows of snow covered mountains for days and riding through tiny villages with humble homes, it was surreal to be surrounded by extravagance and summer heat.
While we rode further to our final campsite, the official finish line of The Great Malle Mountain Rally was 30 feet from the Mediterranean. We rode the last day with bathing suits under our riding gear so we could celebrate our journey with a communal jump into the sea. That water felt AMAZING! The realization of what it signified felt even better.
I was the dork on this international crew, but I tried not to let my American show too much. Stuart has companies in India and England. Alfonso is an impressive entrepreneur from Spain. And Matt rode his bike from the UK all the way to the start line in Austria and all the way home from Monaco. I enjoyed learning about their interesting jobs, their past trips, and their weekend pastimes.
We all felt a compulsion to pull over at this spot, and take our picture not only together but with the ever-regal Mont Blanc (directly over my head).
Stuart proved to be a master navigator. Every morning, he prepared the GPS routes we would follow to remote checkpoints on the windiest roads possible. He knew a little something about navigation having completed the Peking to Paris Motor Challenge—in a 1960s MINI Cooper!
I underestimated how cold some of the mountain passes would be. (It snowed at one of them two days after we flew home.) Thankfully, I had a hoodie I’d bought in the Toronto airport and my rain gear on the morning of this chilly ride.
Apparently, this is what it looks like to wait for me to arrive. haha I had gotten disconnected from my team for more than an hour on this day and finally caught up with them here. Thankfully, during that stretch, I also had an open road in front of me and got to find out what 101mph feels like in the Alps.
The horse trainer & podcaster, Stacy Westfall, wrote, “Sometimes you find yourself in the middle of nowhere and sometimes in the middle of nowhere you find yourself.” I would be tempted to say I felt this in the Alps, but we weren’t nowhere. We were guests in places where people have called home for centuries and even millennia. I’ve found that travel can lead to hubris or humility, and I’m learning to intentionally choose the latter—to ask questions and not to assume my country or culture knows better. Everywhere I travel isn’t just somewhere for someone else. It’s familiar territory if not home. Every place I’ve ever traveled has taught me something new or even confronted something I thought I knew.
Unparalleled CathedralsJohn Muir said, “I’d rather be in the mountains thinking of God than in church thinking about the mountains.” As with a lot of other things in my life, I try to embrace “both and” instead of “either or.” So, my weekends regularly include both a faith community experience and time engaging with local mountains. That said, the Alps proved a continuous cathedral of wonder for me. They often distracted from the exciting roads, even if only with stolen looks.
Kane snapped this photo of Rob, the founder of The Great Malle Mountain Rally; and I found that it captured what it felt like multiple times on this 2,000km journey. I was regularly convinced of my smallness—of just how insignificant my challenges, accomplishments, and worries are in comparison to a world that just keeps spinning.
I didn’t get to see this Italian peak in its unshrouded glory, but the mystery of the clouds (that parted for only a few minutes) added to its majesty.
Why would I cross an ocean and a continent to spend time in the mountains, when I have mountains back home? Because we don’t have THESE mountains. The Dolomites never disappoint. Having hiked, paraglided, and climbed via ferrata in this section of the Italian Alps in years past, I was happy to add riding a motorcycle to the ways I’ve experienced this landscape.
Kane snapped this sick shot of a few of our (volunteer) rally staff taking a break from their duties to absorb the landscape. I can feel this picture. I know what that air feels like in my lungs and how insufficient even my peripheral vision is in that moment.
I snapped this picture next to a small dump truck load of manure deposited just off the road. This beautiful sight came with a not-so-beautiful smell. I’ve found a similar juxtaposition in my life back home: a big dream in the distance to chase next to a reality I can’t wait to get past—a sweeping vista on the other side of something I’d rather avoid. Not that I roll in the manure, but I’m learning to be pull over and investigate the not-so-fun realities in my life rather than always escaping into “someday and far away.” Being curious about the [poop] in my heart has actually brought clarity to my dreams, goals, and growth opportunities.
I like this quote from Angela N Blount: “Sometimes the most scenic roads in life are the detours you didn’t mean to make.” I never planned to get into riding a motorcycle. I was comfortable with Crystal’s prohibition on this specific dangerous activity. I’m grateful a mutual friend convinced us both to change our minds. I would never have leaned into this curve or seen this mountain.
I’ve gotten my mail in eight states across my life, but it wasn’t until I called Virginia “home” that I realized how much of my heart is held by mountains. I spent 16 years between the coastal flatlands around the Chesapeake Bay, on the panhandle of Florida, and between the cornfields of Indiana. And each of those places have their own type of available beauty. I don’t know if I could go back to a life where I don’t see ridge lines every day—and not just on vacations.
Half the Wheels, Twice the FunThanks to this trip, I now know better than ever this sentiment from adventure writer Aaron Lauritsen: “The freedom of the open road is seductive, serendipitous, and absolutely liberating.” There’s something about mountain roads that you can’t understand in a vehicle with four tires solidly on the ground. I’ve traveled to the Alps multiple times, but I absorbed them in a whole new way on the back of a BMW F850 GS.
One of our rally marshals got to experience this dirt road exploration, and I’m jealous.
Of all of the rally teams, this crew put the hammer down the hardest. On the fifth day, I determined to keep up with them. After 20-25 minutes, I could smell my own brakes. I was taking chances I’d never considered on a motorcycle: passing on solid lines, passing on a blind corner, playing leapfrog, and wedging between vehicles. My rented motorcycle became an extension of me, and it screamed along foreign roads until I had scared myself back into compliance with legal and safety norms. As I risked my life, I somehow felt very alive. When I arrived home, I resorted to my usual riding boundaries and habits. It was if I got to be an alter ego in the Alps to live vicariously through a different version of myself.
When I tell you we traversed a lot of narrow roads, I’m not exaggerating. There were times we’d be on roads about this narrow where the pavement ended at the wall of a home or building—on both sides.
My local mountain rides offer a different kind of beauty. Almost all of it is between forests, along fields, or next to tumbling creeks. The Blue Ridge Parkway is dotted with pullover spots for overlooks. So, to have sweeping, open vistas like this—often without guardrails—gave a whole new meaning to “scenic route.”
Even though traveling in teams, riding a motorcycle is a solitary act. I can’t speak for other riders, but I felt like I had a whole piece of the road to myself. Surrounded by mountains whose personalities seemed to change every 15 minutes, I spent hours a day swiveling my helmet from an intriguing road in front of me to the diverse landscapes above me.
I’ve never driven through as many tunnels as I did during my weeks in the Alps. The tiny ones halfway up passes were the most fun. I don’t encounter tunnels on my bike back home—or as many quick transitions from dark to light while riding.
If only all of our lane splitting in Monaco had this much room on either side of our handlebars! Eventually, I grew adept at sliding in between two vehicles’ rearview mirrors. I’m grateful that this isn’t part of my daily commute back home.
I don’t know if you call these passages tunnels or not. I don’t encounter many of these in the States. But they often showed up in steep canyons, sometimes along bold rivers.
Douglas Adams wrote, “I may not have ended up where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be.” My life looks very different than what I imagined for it in college. (In newspaper journalism class, Ms Green assigned us to tell our life story and death story to a classmate for them to write our obituary.) Even as an imaginative youth, I didn’t dream big enough. I would never have imagined I’d ride a motorcycle across the Alps or walk across a flying biplane or adopt an adult child or surf in the Arctic. But here I am, and I’m still trying to convince myself to dream bigger. I need to heed the warning of T.S. Eliot: “Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go.”
“God made the world round so we would never be able to see too far down the road.” — Isak Dinesen
It’s no exaggeration to say I rode around more than 1,000 curves in 7 days on my rented motorcycle. Around most of them, I didn’t know what was coming, what view awaited me. Every turn was an adventure. I don’t treat the figurative turns in my life witt that much joyful expectancy. Maybe I should.
This is not me. I’ve never even attempted to get my front wheel off the ground. On this trip, I was surrounded by dozens of motorcycle enthusiasts with impressive feats and adventures under their belts. But every last single one of them treated me and other newer riders as equals. We were all in this together, and we were all loving it.
Malle is headquartered in London, and they had a relationship with a London motorcycle rental company. So, my bike arrived in Innsbruck, Austria, and left in Nice, France, like this: in a crate forklifted onto a semi trailer. Some guys shipped their bikes from home. Others rented in other European locations and rode to the rally. One of my teammates rode his bike (which happened to be the same bike I left back home in the garage) all the way from the UK. There were so many different makes and styles of bikes. One of the French folks even drove a Vespa scooter the entire way.
Summer Camp 2.0You can see a lot of the world if you’re willing to sleep in tents, hostels, and the back row on a bus. I’ve slept on a portaledge 90 feet off the ground, inside an Arctic quinzee, in a snow trench in Antarctica, within a Norwegian lighthouse, and in a jungle treehouse. On this trip, I got to add “in the backyard of a castle” to my list of overnight locations.
Each night, we camped in a field or back yard. For those who paid the full price, riders arrived to assigned tents already erected with beds waiting for them. For two of my teammates and I on the budget package, we set up our respective backpacking tents somewhere nearby. All of the riders received a duffel bag with our rider number on it. Whatever we put in that bag when we left in the morning, rode on direct highway route by truck to our next camping spot. The Malle staff graciously let me add my second bag with tent, sleeping bag, etc. to the mix so that I didn’t need to bungee a bag to my bike each day.
On at least three of the nights, we got to camp next to a castle! One even had a moat.
Each night, a local vendor would cook us a local dish. So, we got to try regional cuisine. I liked the dishes that included a lot of cheese and potatoes. I was intrigued by a dish in Austria called “blue cabbage.” The host would put out a continental breakfast and then brown bags with a sandwich, fruit, and a snack for us to take on our bikes for lunch.
My team never discussed why we always tried to be first into camp each night, even though teams were released in reverse order in the morning. But I suspect it was (1) to get our tents set up before everyone else arrived and (2) to get first dibs on the shower truck. (These hot-enough showers were a luxury after a day climbing cold mountain passes.) This truck pulled the trailer that held our duffels.
One night in Switzerland, I stayed up past my bedtime and after most of the other riders had gone to bed. This picture doesn’t do it justice, but the Milky Way overhead was mesmerizing. I alternated between staring at the sky and answering life-giving texts from my college roommate. Lying in the road in the dark, serendipity and wonder washed over me. My flashing phone drew the attention of the guys who erected and moved the tents, and we ended up talking past midnight. I struggled to bid the stars goodnight and return to my tent.
After dinner each night, Rob briefed us on the day ahead and the week so far. Kane snapped this shot from the first meeting before Rob announced who in the room were our teammates.
I don’t know what I was celebrating in this picture. To be fair, it doesn’t take much to excite me.
A mobile repair shop followed the last group out each day and was available on the course to make repairs. It also carried a Royal Enfield loaner that was used if a bike wasn’t immediately repairable. The mechanic would buy parts at motorcycle shops along the way and often stayed up late to make repairs. The rally staff held their team meetings in there some nights before the repairs began.
My teammate’s bike lost its rear brakes coming down one of the passes. Thankfully, most braking on a motorcycle is via your front brake. That might’ve been the same day that we assumed the 18 miles left on my gas tank would certainly get me to a petrol station from when we left camp. We were wrong, as there wasn’t a gas station for a long time. Thankfully, most of the trip to our first town was downhill. I put my bike in neutral for miles and rode the final flat miles with 0 miles showing on the fuel gauge.
Two riders (including one of the marshals) dropped their bikes in a shadowy, dew-soaked curve. The Harley didn’t sustain any damage. The marshal’s bike needed a lot of zip ties to make it to Monaco.
John-Patrick rode this Vespa across the highest Alps passes in multiple countries, completing the entire 2,000km trek on this scooter. It needed some maintenance along the way, but I was surprised at the power it had on those mountain roads.
Just Checking InPart of what appealed to me about The Great Malle Mountain Rally was their concept of an optimal time. It wasn’t a race, but we were meticulously timed with multiple checkpoints each day. The goal wasn’t the fastest time but an untold perfect time that the organizers had determined meant that we had fun on the bikes but also fully absorbed our surroundings with photo stops and roadside attractions. Starting on the third night, we learned at each rider briefing which team was closest to the ideal cumulative time.
We carried branded passports to get stamped at each checkpoint and then at each day’s finish line (our campsite for the night). We couldn’t get our time stamps recorded until every member of our team had made it to the checkpoint.
After dinner each evening, we had a rider briefing. Rob would give us notes to consider about the following day’s journey and then pass out these map cards with significant way markers and our checkpoints. It was then up to us to figure out how to get our GPS units to follow those routes.
Thankfully, our time between arrival and takeoff from our checkpoints was neutral time that didn’t count against our total ride times. Usually, my team had some of the shortest pit stop times; but we luxuriated in a few of the stops. If you had backdrops like these, wouldn’t you?
Sometimes, we’d get to a checkpoint and learn from the advance scout team that a road was closed or that there was a good reason to ponder our route to the next stop. Here, you can see me and two of my teammates doing that kind of homework. We learned full well that William Hazlitt was right when he wrote, “You know more of a road by having traveled it than by all the conjectures and descriptions in the world.”
Sometimes, the parking was tight at our checkpoints. Then again, a lot of our roads were tight, too. It was wild to me that people live or at least work at some of these remote passes miles from a grocery store, gas station, or school.
Several of us teams drove right past this St Moritz (Switzerland) checkpoint. So, I was relieved when we finally found this cool spot for grabbing a hot cocoa.
I’ve eaten a lot of hotdogs in my life but none quite like the one I tried across the street from this restaurant. The street vendor sliced it multiple times and fried it on a griddle and then served it inside a square focaccia bun. So good! I finished it white standing on this restaurant’s balcony (where we had to get our trip passports stamped by the marshals).
This was the checkpoint where we learned that the only gravel road of the planned itinerary was closed. I had been looking forward to some dirt riding, but the paved route around that closure brought the fun of snaking through a really fun canyon with rock walls just off our handlebars.
This photo was snapped at Vis a Vis in Vipiteno, Italy—our first checkpoint on our first day of the rally. I ate maybe the best donut of my life at this cafe. I ran back into the coffee shop to buy a second before we left.
Screenshot
The organizers of The Great Malle Mountain Rally got permission from Monaco’s royal family for our finish line to be on a pier that doesn’t allow motorized vehicles. The yachts nearby were a lot larger than the ones Google Earth had captured.
The finish line. My heart beat out of my chest when Matt and I rode in and discovered we were the first to arrive. It was also a relief, because the finish line had been moved from where we were told it was. After riding between pallets & box trucks, yachts & buildings, luxury cars & scooters, I wondered if someone else had passed us. Nope. We had made it. We had done it. We had completed a unique challenge for our respective adventure résumés.
At one checkpoint, we saw this plane turn back to whence it had come. We did a lot of turning around and going back to an intersection or roundabout. There was also some:
“It should be right here.”
“I wonder if they moved the checkpoint.”
“I didn’t see a flag. Did you?”
Living Like a King—in a TentI typically use a sleeping bag only to sleep in remote—usually primitive—places. I never imagined ducking out under my rain fly and standing in the shadow of centuries-old fortresses.
I’ve felt like Tom Cruise while climbing out onto the wings of an aerobatic biplane. I’ve felt like Bear Grylls, camping in the snow in Antarctica and building a snow shelter in Arctic snow. I’ve felt like Travis Pastrana, whipping Subaru rally cars around dirt tracks and frozen lakes. I’ve felt like Jason Statham, racing a sports car around a parking garage in front of film crews in Los Angeles. But I felt like James Bond, pulling up to the Château d’Avully in Brenthonne, France—on a motorcycle. Homeschool Ryan and Christian College Ryan would not believe me, if I went back in a time machine and told them what badass moments the next three decades would include.
We started our journey with a dinner, team meeting, and overnight at Schloss Friedberg (east of Innsbruck, Austria). I can’t speak for the others, but the air was electric for me—like the first day of school, waiting to see who would sit with whom, who would say hello, and who the cool kids are.
My team took a very different journey than all of the other teams on our way to dinner at the Castel Katzenzungen in Tesimo, Italy. Until the statute of limitations expires, I can say only that we made some wrong turns, ended up on a private road with a gate, and found civilization again only after riding between trees in an orchard. Despite our mayhem, we were greeted with the full red carpet treatment.
My team was the second of the eleven to arrive at the Château de Picomtal outside of Crots, France. You can always tell my motorcycle in the official Malle photos, because I was the one who always forgot to turn off my headlight.
I’d never visited a castle with a real-life moat until we camped at Château d’Avully in Brenthonne, France. If my memory serves me, the hall where we ate dinner included hundreds of family crests painted on the walls.
My first big LEGO set was “King’s Castle” (set #6080). The castles we visited on The Great Malle Mountain Rally proved much fancier. Several included paintings like this on the interior walls. One had a chapel inside. One let us climb the watchtower, where we learned that most castle dwellers probably weren’t as tall as I am.
Our official photographer, Kane, snapped this cool angle of the Schloss Friedberg—the only evening we slept in Austria.
The juxtaposition of motorcycles and castles never stopped intriguing me. I thought this was one of the coolest animal mount installations I’d ever seen (at Schloss Friedberg).
I was impressed by the undertaking inherent in building these castles in elevated places in an era without Caterpillars and Bobcats, Putzmeisters and Liebherrs. But my eyes kept escaping to the surrounding mountains. They drew my thoughts to Job 38, when Sovereignty asked, “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?”
More Pins on My GlobeI’m not a foody and didn’t follow the work of Anthony Bourdain. But I absolutely agree with him: “Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts; it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you.”
I think I visited more countries during this trip than in any previous vacation. We rode from Austria to Italy to Liechtenstein to Switzerland to France to Monaco. I got two new countries for my visited list, bringing my life total to 34 (not counting Antarctica). Each day, the sense of accomplishment grew with each mountain pass we traversed. Parking my rented motorcycle in the courtyard of the Château de Picomtal (Crots, France) felt surreal.
I’ve already paraglided in Europe twice this year (in Slovenia with Crystal and in Italy on my BASE jumping trip). But every time a paraglider appeared overhead, I watched with jealousy—as much as I could while still safely operating my motorcycle. The freedom of the skies is a different freedom than a motorcycle on an incredible road. I’m grateful I get to do both in life. I’ve now paraglided in 9 countries (across 4 continents) and ridden a motorcycle in 10 (across 3 continents)
I love this slogan of The Great Malle Mountain Rally. It pairs well with the line from the poet and rancher John Perry Barlow: “If you’re not lost, you’re not much of an explorer.”
I was glad I didn’t have to pronounce the road names or understand what they meant in order to follow my GPS.
The flower boxes under the windows in dozens of alpine villages added a soft beauty to the boisterous energy of our rumbling motorcycles.
In the hype video for this trip on social media, I had seen drone footage of riders traversing the top of a dam. It wasn’t until one of our last two days that we finally got to the dam—my first time riding on one with a motorcycle.
Rob treated every rider with respect—even the annoying ones like me. He had a Greatest Showman optimism and humor to him, the perfect guide to invite us into his joy.
The morning after the rally ended, those of us who didn’t have early flights got to add a 2-hour tour loop in Southern France to our trip. It was so warm, I rode in shorts and eschewed my padded jacket. We rode another road that appeared in a James Bond movie and then left our bikes at the transport lorry in the airport parking lot.
Loud SolitudeI generally avoid taking trips during my spring or autumn busy seasons, and I lost a lot of sleep and several Saturdays trying to meet clients needs so that I could join this annual event. But I’m thankful to have been a part of this gathering of enthusiasts. I’m grateful to have gone the only year in the event’s history when nobody had to ride in rain or snow. And I’m grateful for a wife who knows I need a different way to recharge than she does.
Until The Great Malle Mountain Rally, I don’t think I’d ridden with more than two or three riders at a time. So, sharing pit stops with more than fifty fellow rally participants felt like a party. At the same time, for 6-9 hours a day, the experience was also quite a solo endeavor. I had a lot of time of loud solitude. And I returned home better for it.
I’m glad Kane caught this moment of me taking in the mountains as I rode through a Swiss village. My helmet was cocked like this for hours via hundreds of stolen gazes on this grand adventure.
Before I left, I had asked friends to pray for my headspace. I’d never spent this much time away from music, podcasts, audiobooks, and conversations. I wondered what hours a day with only wind and exhaust in my ears would conjure. But this picture captures what I was feeling: joy and openness. I both wished I could better burn the surroundings into my memory and couldn’t wait for what new vista waited after our next checkpoint. In short: it was a good time, and I’m better for it.
I don’t know what the joke was, but this face is what was under my helmet or what my heart was feeling for hours each day.
September 8, 2025
Silver-Bearded Reflections on My Silver Anniversary
Twenty-five years ago today, two crazy barefoot kids read lofty promises we had written for each other. We had no idea we’d start two companies, live in the mountains, or become parents in our forties. I didn’t know she was a shepherd of hearts, an avid reader, or a justice seeker. Neither of us knew I’d someday not only want to see the world but actually do it. (I didn’t even have a passport.)
We paid for our very humble honeymoon with the money our relatives had given us as wedding gifts. We left the reception with everything Crystal owned in the back of a Cutlas Supreme I had bought for $700. But I was the king of the world with her hand in mine.
I’m still trying to live up to what I vowed that day. I’ve got a ways to go. The 2000 versions of us wouldn’t recognize the 2025 editions. And maybe that’s the best measure of our quarter century together: that we have evolved with each other and, in part, because of each other. We have given each other the space, the freedom, and the permission to explore, to change, to heal, and to be someone other than the someone we married.
I used to work really hard to find the most romantic or original anniversary present for Crystal. Now, I know the best gift I can give her is a better version of myself than the husband she had last year. I’m grateful for the authors, therapists, candid friends, and empathetic prayer partners who make that possible—almost as much as I am for the woman who deserves beyond the best I can and will ever be.
August 24, 2025
When I’m Okay with Jesus’ Silence
I slept through most of my pastor’s sermon this morning.
In my truck.
In the parking lot of my church (while the livestream played on my phone).
But I met with Jesus.
Before the 8:30 service, a little girl at my church without words asked me to carry her from her momma’s minivan into the building. She wrapped her arms around my neck and dropped her head into the crook under my beard. It was the moment I most felt Jesus this morning, and tears are blurring my eyes as I try to type now. She said no words—just held onto me.
That’s what prayer has felt like for me lately—few words in either direction, just a sense that I’m held or at least known.
As I set her on her little feet, I whispered into her ear,“I love you!” She answered with a short squeeze. I didn’t need a verbal reply, as it felt like the moments on hiking trails or next to creeks or under a wide sky of stars, when I didn’t need ears to hear, “I love you more!”
—-PS: The cover photo for this post is of my daughter’s first LEGO set. We built it together last Friday.August 17, 2025
Clouds Preach Better Sermons on Sunday Nights
Several years ago, l started chasing lightning. Now, I jump in the truck when just the clouds seem magical. Tonight, I watched fog fill valleys, showers fall on distant hills, purple clouds dance above the peaks, and mountains hide wherever the sun has gone to bed.
If you’ve read my books, you’re not surprised that my faith is growing more mystical and mysterious, less formal but still formational. I’m being shaped at the intersection of beauty and adventure, at the crossroads of vulnerability and acceptance, and in the borderlands between silence and music.
I’m hearing soul whispers in books, podcasts, conversations, and the prayers if friends. But I’m also feeling connection to my frailty, humanity, and worth in moments and places that make me feel small: caressed by breezes, serenaded by insects, shushed by creeks, and surrounded by clouds.
For two decades of my life, I was forced to sit through sermons every Sunday night. Loud men in ties tried to convince me that my attention was worship. If only they knew the unforced rhythms of grace and the silhouettes of sunsets! If only I did, too…
I missed out on hundreds of evenings of actual worship. I was decades late to the difference between Sunday naps and soul rest.
I’m not missing out now. Happy Sunday night, y’all!
June 8, 2025
Uncle Mac’s Kayak
One of my favorite parts of being “Uncle Mac” is giving my nephews and nieces new categories for their imaginations, more options for their “when I’m a grown up” dreams, and new experiences to give them new stories to tell. Until a few Saturdays ago, my sisters’ boys had never floated a creek in a kayak. Before I pulled a full shift in the office, I spent the morning making sure they had a new accomplishment.
I’ve paddled more than a dozen rivers across six countries spanning three continents. But the one I’ve had my feet in the most is the Tye River. The upper sections past cell phone reception have hosted uncounted moments when my soul exhaled. So, introducing my nephews to kayaking here felt like a sacred moment.
The little dude on my back carries my name everywhere he goes. The least I could do was carry him back upstream to his attentive mama and nurturing daddy.
To give my nephews and their friend confidence in what they were about to try, I floated the 100-foot section first. My sister snapped this photo of the audience. I’ll probably never know the parts of my life they’ll observe and of that what will burn itself onto their hard drives. So, I’m compelled to be the best me I know how to be and to connect that with the “adventure guy” they admire.
This picture my kid sister snapped made my heart melt. I’m still growing into my dreams because I keep finding new and bigger ones. I hope Judah never catches up with his aspirations, either.
I wonder how many more adventures I’ll get to introduce to Bear. My heart expanded watching him stretch his wings during short runs on the Tye River.
Between motorcycle helmets and whitewater helmets, my primary association with Judah just might be cranium protection. But I hope he also connects trying new things with his ol’ Uncle Mac.
Even my youngest nephew, Shepherd, gave the river a go. We might have to make this an annual tradition.
If you want to tell a kid you trust him, hand him your phone.
June 1, 2025
Marriage is a Venn Diagram
Our 25th wedding anniversary arrives in September, but (1) both of us are in perennial busy seasons then and (2) I was told one of the best times to visit Slovenia was when May transitions to June. Last November, while my wife sweated out a missions trip in Sierra Leon, I designed a trip and crafted a proposal for a 6-day circuit of the Julian Alps and the Gulf of Trieste.
For our anniversary two or three years ago, Crystal gave me a coupon for going on an adventure with me. I cashed in that coupon for some tandem paragliding in one of my favorite spots: Bled, Slovenia.
I had paraglided here two years ago during a sabbatical to complete the edits and rewrites assigned by one of my book editors. On the one afternoon I had available for it, we had overcast conditions and little-to-no thermal activity. So, we didn’t get enough lift to extend the flight out over Lake Bled. On my second visit, I was stoked that we got to glide over those iconic waters.
Don’t you accept Crystal’s public reporting that she “survived” paragliding. While the takeoff got her heart rate going for a few seconds, she enjoyed the whole rest of the flight. Unfortunately, the camera her pilot held didn’t capture her face for most of the flight. But when I eventually joined her on the ground, she told me she liked it and would do it again. So, please do give her all of the adventure points; but don’t let her fool you about how scared she was.
I’ve paraglided in nine countries, and I can tell you this about tandem pilots: if there’s enough elevation to do aerobatics, they will gladly oblige your request for some. I’m not a fan of the spirals, but I’ll take wingovers every day of the week. So fun!
You’re almost guaranteed a good time in a glider when your body is level with the horizon line.
Crystal told me she could hear my “WOOHOO!” exclamations down at the drop zone.
Here’s the whole sequence of aerobatics. As I watched this replay, a smile broke across my face when I fist pumped after the pilot told me it was time for the good stuff and then again when he patted me on the shoulder. “You do love it!” (You can watch this short video here.)
When I tell people that I enjoy paragliding, the response is usually something about how they never could do that—how scary it is. I’ve done a lot of things BECAUSE they scare me: wing walking, bungee jumping, cliff jumping, etc. But paragliding is the opposite of that for me. It’s so peaceful up there. It’s a different kind of quiet. That rarified air washes around my smiling face, and I revel in something a tiny fraction of a tiny fraction of human beings experience—let alone in the context of history. No Caesar or Pharaoh or 19th century robber baron got to experience this. What a time to be alive!
While our pilots packed up our chutes, Crystal wanted to make sure we documented her thumbs up. It meant a lot to me that she trusted me, and I was greatly relieved to find a smiling face when I eventually landed in the drop zone.
The morning after this flight, I would swim out to that island and back. On this day, though, the distance seemed small: just the span from one foot to another.
I’ve done more billable work in the previous 12 weeks than in any 12-week span of my 22 years in business. My clients have seen emails from me before dawn and after midnight—sometimes on the same day. I collapsed into this trip, weary in mind and body. This cathartic flight helped me put all of that aside for an hour or two. (You can watch the video here.)
My pilot told me he’s been flying for two decades and hopes to fly until he physically can’t anymore. If I had a pilot’s license, that’d be my hope as well.
Since Crystal agreed to paraglide with me, I offered to offset the adrenaline with a slow four-course dinner in a 1,000-year-old castle. If this picture is any indication, it was a fair trade
This was the second page of the proposal I gave Crystal, when I pitched this abnormal anniversary trip. Which side of this diagram are you? Blue or green? If neither, what would be on your list?
It’s wild to think I’ve been married 25 years—that I’ve been married well longer in life than I haven’t been. I don’t have any advice and definitely no secret sauce. I just know it’s easier to stay married when you throw away the key.
It wouldn’t be an anniversary trip if Crystal didn’t have at least one afternoon to paint. When we got to Italy, she found the perfect, shaded perch to do just that.
On our 18th anniversary, I bought Crystal a new engagement ring and surprised her on a girls trip in Italy to propose again and then head home. Apparently, on that Italy trip, she fell in love with gelato—which was in abundant supply at our stops in both Slovenia and Italy.
We stayed in five different hotels during our six nights in Slovenia and Italy. Candidly, I was worried the nomadic nature of this trip might be too big a negative to overcome. But our two days at this remote retreat assuaged all of that. I was relieved when Crystal told me she had been able to thoroughly relax.
Part of that might be due to this being the view from our bed.
The water was still a bit too cold for swimming, but we both spent hours on the deck: reading, journaling, or doing something creative.
Our fantastic guide, Sebestyén, snapped this photo before we took our mandatory dip in the glacial water of the Soča River. He wisely required that we experience the shock of the cold before combining it with the shock of falling off the SUP in a rapid.
The first two and last two rapids were the biggest of the day, and Sebestyén warned us that the start would be a challenge for beginners. So, he offered us to paddle them on our knees. Since he had to be ready to assist if we fell out and since the bigger rapids made it difficult for him to float backwards while filming us with his iPhone, we have photos and videos only from the tamer sections of our trip. But you can still tell from this picture that Crystal gets serious adventure points for this challenge.
You get more stability the lower you bend your knees and the farther forward you insert your paddle into the water. That’s why I look like Carl Fredricksen from UP in this sequence. Haha
You can watch the video here.
I’ve never paddle boarded on a river. I’ve not run a river in the Alps since a hydro speed (whitewater with flippers, a helmet, and a boogey board) trip in Chamonix, France, a decade ago. I kneeled for the first two and last two sets of rapids but stood for the rest. The only time I came off the board was when I ran aground in some shoals. I managed an eddy swirl that impressed Sebestyén, who suggested I return for the two- or three-day whitewater course with bigger rapids and more technical challenges. So, yeah: I was stoked.
The water proved even more beautiful in person, and the mountains were constant 360º companions through the Soča Valley. Both of us would recommend this adventure and do it again. I knew Crystal was sacrificing comfort to try this new-to-me sport. So, I was more surprised she enjoyed this than I was that she embraced paragliding. In fact, I just asked her on the plane ride home if she liked the SUP trip, and she told me that was the third time I’d asked already—and that the answer was still yes.
Sebestyén Tóth is the man. The champion slalom kayaker, experienced whitewater kayaker, and surfer designed a unique whitewater paddle board, tailored to the kind of rivers common in the Alps. He told us only two have made it to the United States (in part because they cost $400 to ship, if you aren’t bringing one home in your luggage). We got to ride on those sick boards while he patiently instructed. He couldn’t hide his passion for the sport, if he had tried. Crystal and I peppered him with questions about his life story and his nomadic winters (while the Soča is closed for trout habitat protection). I hope I get to hang with this solid dude again—maybe with some of my American whitewater buddies.
Bovec is a whitewater Mecca with both tight-canyon creeking and gorgeous boogie water. Every tenth vehicle had Tupperware on the roof and/or stacked on trailers. I saw more rafts atop vans than I have during the Gauley release. It made me smile to see other Liquid Logic paddlers.
The youngest castle on our trip proved the most opulent. Archduke Maximilian of Habsburg (Emperor of Mexico) and his wife, Princess Charlotte of Belgium got to move into this humongous seaside residence as the American Civil War began. We didn’t go inside. Neither of us were interested. The botanical gardens and impressive grounds well communicated the vibe of this royal resort. This tiny harbor served as the private port for the king and queen who vacationed here.
I was impressed by the inherent undertaking of construction. Crystal was moved by the beauty. I wouldn’t be surprised if scenes from the Miramare Castle end up on the walls of our home as paintings or photo canvases.
Crystal and I have discussed for years that we’d like to upgrade the deck off our living room. Something tells me this is outside of our budget.
Rumor has it this horse was a gift from the Qatari royal family. What isn’t clear is whether or not the Habsburgs needed to sign an affidavit admitting the Archduke requested the gift when his other horse statues weren’t being built as quickly as he’d like.
If you see a statue like this in your travels, know that really good bread and olive oil are somewhere nearby. (I ate so much bread with butter or olive oil this week!)
I’m guessing this used to be a fountain. This struck me, as I’ve felt too dry lately to offer much to others (outside of those sending job orders to my inbox). I don’t want to be only a former fountain. During this busy season, I’ve done a better job than in past seasons at maintaining exercise, solitude, therapy, and life-giving conversations. So, I’m hopeful I can build on that after I figure out how to work fewer days and hours.
Unofficial historical records indicate that when Max brought Charlotte here the first time, she particularly loved this view but complained when she got inside. “Ugh. You’d think a place this expensive would come with better WiFi.”
The last time I swam out to that island, I did it on a whim. No training. No goggles. Just some board shorts I’d brought with me in case the weather allowed some waterfall repelling. I jumped in the water and crawled out to the island and back. The water was balmy on that July afternoon—tons of kids playing or eating ice cream treats.
This time around, I trained for two months in my YMCA’s competition pool and brought jammers, a triathlon-style wetsuit, neoprene booties, a swim cap, and goggles. This time, I chose a shorter route (shown by the green and yellow lines). This time, I swam at dawn in a lake a local told me was unseasonably cold.
I stood and then sat on this dock, working up the courage to jump in the frigid waters. The air was 52ºF. The water felt colder, but I don’t know. When I finally took the plunge, the cold too my breath away. It took me a while to catch my breath and get in my usual rhythm. My head was cold. My ears hurt. I kept reminding myself that my buddy at BUDS, training to be a SEAL, has been in worse and for days on end. I spent a few minutes on the island, having it all to myself before the tourist town woke up. As I got about halfway back to the dock, older couples walking the lake loop noticed my foolishness and seemed to stop to take in the spectacle. As I drew near the dock, I could hear my wakeup alarm singing from the phone I’d left in my Crocs under my towel. Anticipation had woken me early enough that I completed the full swim before I had intended to start my day.
I’m slow. In the water as in every active thing I do, I was gangly and uncoordinated. But I finished. And even I can’t take that away from me.
On the drive from Lake Bled to Bovec, I introduced Crystal to the Planica Nordic Centre—one of Europe’s preeminent ski jump practice facilities. While athletes practiced their form on one of the smaller jumps in the rain and while Crystal dove into a book on her Kindle, I squeezed in 9 holes of disc golf in probably the most epic course I’ve ever played. It felt like I was throwing discs around Jurassic Park.
It’s not often that a Snowcat is the backstop for a disc golf basket.
This is the base of the biggest jump at the Planica Nordic Centre. For local friends here in LynchVegas, this jump is like taking off from SnowFlex and landing level with the Fairfield Inn. Huge.
Last year, my buddy, Nate, bought me a day pass to the 2024 World Championships. I bought several commemorative discs but haven’t played with them yet. I thought a round at an Olympic training center in Europe made for a great occasion to dust ‘em off and let ‘em fly.
In addition to ski jumps and a disc golf course, the Planica Nordic Centre includes an indoor skydiving wind tunnel. In what would be a parking garage, it also holds a groomed cross-country ski course. (Link to video pending)
This is the harbor where Crystal and I spent two days before flying back to the States. The harbor was tranquil every hour of the day, especially at sunrise. But it was straight magical under the stars.
I took my journal and laptop out to this peer and wrote all the way through sunset. I had the whole place to myself because the beach club wouldn’t open for the summer until the day after we left. Watching clouds march gloriously overhead helped me exhale and disconnect from the incessant deadlines back home.
As we walked out of our dinner in Bled Castle, the sun had already set. I was struck by the symbolism of this church-like structure. What if instead of a Christianity that invites spotlights, followers of Jesus radiated an inner light, a tranquil glow from a beautiful soul? I’ve been formulating a blog post in my head for the past several months about a winsome Jesus instead, a quiet savior who attracts followers to simplicity, generosity, and wisdom. These windows said all of that to me. I know: I’m weird.
As we got back to our tiny hotel after our castle dinner, Crystal and I stood on the edge of Lake Bled and just absorbed the perfect temperature of the night air next to the smooth mirror through which I’d swim the next morning. I fully exhaled. Somehow, this lake knows my name or shares some acquaintances, because it’s been calling my name since I left it the first time.
We didn’t visit Ljubljana Castle during our afternoon and night spent just below it. But that doesn’t mean it failed to grab our attention.
I ate one of the best dinners of my life next to the Ljubljana River—the kind where you pause between bites to savor the sensations of taste and smell. I also struggled next to this river to give grace to all of the chain smokers puffing their cancer clouds into my lungs. That smell has a taste for me, and I despise both. I’ve had some heavy-but-rich conversations with my daughter since we arrived home, and it struck me that lots of my life holds both rich beauty and gross discomfort. If it were even possible to vanquish the parts I abhor, I’d no doubt also free myself from experiences that make me feel beautifully alive—fully human.
Each new town we passed or visited in Slovenia and Italy held captivating Roman Catholic churches. Some were tiny with unique steeples. Others looked more royal like this one near the Triple Bridge in Ljubljana’s old city center. Some perched atop hills at the highest point in their town. At least one was on an island. But none of them could be ignored. I felt uncomfortable in the ornate millennium-old chapel we visited. I prefer not to have gilded sculptures watching me pray. But there was something soothing of passing from one rural town to another and seeing the church first as we neared.
This was our hotel for our night in Bled. As with two other hotels during our nomadic circuit through Slovenia and Italy, the bread served at breakfast was worth what we paid to sleep there. So freaking good!
I told Crystal that I know Mount Sinai is where Hebrew scribes said Eternity interacted with mortals but that the cloud-swirled Julian Alps are what I picture when I hear “the mountain of God.” At one point of our drive from the Planica Nordic Centre to Bovec, I got a lump in my throat and moist eyes. I felt like we were driving through a sanctuary. I feel most human and most receptive of something bigger than humanity when I’m in environs that make me feel small—insignificant. When rugged immutability intersects with the fickleness of clouds and sunlight and wind, I absorb the intersection of foreverness and tailored comfort that makes me look at the stars and wonder about how long my soul will live after my body no longer does.
I sat here and wrote in my journal while storm clouds billowed like a whitewater river above. Eventually, lightning flashed across the water and a short rain brought a welcome chill to the air. We left our balcony door open and fell asleep with the caress of the post-storm breezes.
On our last night in Slovenia, I made a run to the airport to figure out logistics so that we wouldn’t have to wander before our dawn flight. On the way back, I pulled into this farmer’s field to watch the sun set on our anniversary adventure. It was the perfect end to a pitch-perfect trip.
Crystal snapped this cool shot on our rowboat ride to the Church of the Assumption of Mary. With motorized watercraft very limited on the lake, the slow journey to the island builds anticipation that leads to wonder upon arrival.
Bovec is a natural adventure wonderland. Any way you want to play in whitewater is available. Paragliding and skydiving vendors await courageous customers. You can repel waterfalls and zip lines. Mountain bikers and hikers eat big dinners after daily pursuits. You can play tennigolf and foot golf here (which I did on my last trip). Massive mountains stand guard over a sliver of a valley, and I got distracted by this view over Crystal’s shoulder while we ate dinner.
One of my weird habits is that I verbally say goodbye to places where I’ve escaped to write books & blogs and chase adrenaline & dopamine. This is where I said goodbye to Slovenia.
Two weeks ago, my daughter used her graduation money to purchase a pink beach cruiser bike, which she has affectionately named “Ms. Mabel.” When I drove past this bike in the doorway of a Kobarid, Slovenia, apartment, I immediately thought of Deonnie.
Ljubljana’s historic city center includes multiple interesting bridges, but Dragon Bridge was my favorite. For the past 124 years, these monsters have guarded the entrances on both sides of the Ljubljanica River.
In addition to an interesting church, Crystal can confirm that the top of those stairs also holds one of the best gelato carts we found during our week in Slovenia and Italy.
After ringing the church’s bell from the sanctuary, Crystal and I hiked the stairs to the top of the bell tower to see the century-old mechanical clock that creates the quarter-hour chimes we heard throughout the day. Crystal snapped this cool shot of the spire.
The mechanics of this clock intrigued me—as much the engineering required in the 1800s to make it reliable and accurate. I liked Crystal’s idea to showcase how timekeeping has changed over the past 150 years.
One of the great perks of traveling with a talented artist and someone who trained under esteemed painters is that she finds unique perspectives of well-worn tourist spots.
Crystal lets me plan our getaways. (1) I enjoy all of the research. (2) I’m good at finding new-to-us experiences. (3) She knows I know what she loves and values in a trip. That’s what 25 years of rubbing edges off each other will do, I guess. I took great delight in creating an anniversary trip that would stretch both of us and also plunge us fully into our respective happy places. We both did a lot of smiling on this vacation. We both got quietly lost in our surroundings. And we both ate slowly at foreign tables with Diet Coke next to our plates.
I’m 47 years old, and this was my first time eating at a restaurant where three knives were waiting for me at my pacesetting. This was by far the fanciest dinner Crystal and I had ever shared and our first ever inside a Medieval castle. I had to reserve our table a month in advance, and I still wasn’t able to score us a window seat—because I wasn’t fast enough when the dinner time slot when live on their website. I ate dinners I liked better on this trip, but we both reveled in the pomp & circumstance, the formality, and the adventurous menu that gave us at most two choices for each of our four courses.
Crystal and I just happened to walk past a fashion museum in Trieste. We had to tour it. I can’t speak for Crystal, but it took me back to the hours we used to spend on the couch watching Project Runway together. After you looked at previous contest winners, we got to vote in 2025’s contest. This was Crystal’s runner-up choice.
Crystal and I both voted for this interesting ensemble from the room of 2025 entries.
Unbeknownst to us, Trieste’s central plaza was hosting a vintage and art car show. I liked several of the vintage sports cars, but I thought this was a unique show piece.
I lost my temper in Trieste. Poor planning, worse emotional regulation, and a lack of patience led to me saying things about strangers that I regret. This cruise port was crawling with humanity—not a lot of personal space and even less room to park. I told Crystal I have zero desire to return to Trieste, even though we thoroughly enjoyed our resort just 20 minutes up the coast. So, maybe this sign was intended for me.
April 13, 2025
Yahweh Whispers in a YMCA Pool
The YMCA calendar indicated that only up to three lanes would be available this morning. Normally, that means one of the local youth teams is using the facility for practice.
I worried about whether I’d be able to get one last training session in before the YMCA closed the pool for its annual week of maintenance. I even stressed a little bit about it while watering the new plants in our garden—a quiet process that should be relaxing.
I hurried over to the pool to see if I could snag a lane. Before I changed from my street clothes into my jammers, I asked the lifeguard how long the lanes would be available. She guessed there’d be availability all morning, as the youth training had been either canceled or postponed. Even with that assurance, I left my drink, phone, goggles, and two different lap counters at the end of a lane to ensure I wouldn’t lose my spot during the locker room minutes it took me to change and shower.
Laughably, there were only one or two other swimmers in the pool when I slid into my lane. And when I finished swimming my 1,800 yards and climbed onto the pool deck, the lifeguard got down from her chair.
I was the only swimmer in the pool.
By the time I recorded my stats into a tracking app and toweled off, the water was already still.
This was a metaphor for me. Maybe a parable.
My counselor regularly tells me that the amount of mental energy I put into my public persona sounds exhausting. I have what psychology literature categorizes as an “anxious attachment” to people in my inner circle. In short, I carry a lot of anxiety, and I analyze potential scenarios more than an NFL draft expert in April.
It’ll surprise nobody who has prayed with me lately that I’m getting fitted for a night guard this week, because my dentists are all impressed at how hard I grind my teeth.
I try to cool my overheated imagination on hiking trails, dirt roads, remote rivers, adrenaline rushes—and in the YMCA competition pool. Sometimes these venues and activities act as release valves; other times they are just quiet spaces for me to let my internal algorithms compute long enough for the fans to shut off. I escape this way so much that in March—unsolicited—two different elders from my church told me, “You do the practice of solitude well.”
I fall off the faith wagon—not as often on the “that’s too scary” side as I do on the computational, “how do I make this work for me” side. In other words, if I left the disciples’ boat in the Galilee storm, I probably would’ve tried swimming to Jesus instead of walking. I would’ve wanted the eleven dudes back in the boat to know I had earned my exclusive experience—that I was worthy of the invitation.
All of my worry about getting my laps in today was unnecessary. Even if the pool had no lanes open, it wouldn’t have been catastrophic for my training regimen. I’m not an Olympic swimmer who needs to shave .28 seconds off their PR before opening ceremonies. I could probably walk a mile blindfolded on a meandering forest trail faster than I can swim a straight one.
Trusted voices have pointed out that I bring that same unnecessary computation to both my relationships and my perspective on the world. I spend too much time practicing conversations, conjuring social media posts, and anticipating therapy sessions as though swimmers occupy the other seven lanes. Or maybe all eight.
The figurative swim lanes of my life aren’t always empty, but the pool is almost always emptier than I imagine. And the days when it’s metaphorically full are just as good for my soul as my laps were for my lungs this morning. I’ve got dozens of stories of when an alternative to what I had so thoroughly planned far surpassed what I didn’t get to do.
23 years ago, I prayed prostrate in an Indiana cornfield, begging God for a job I’m now so very glad I didn’t get. I would’ve never started my company, which has given me a career and life far better than I ever dreamed for myself. I got all three versions of a vasectomy to avoid fatherhood, and my sovereignly-delivered daughter has been one of the best things that ever happened to my soul’s formation.
My books, blogs, and journal entries include a mountain of evidence that I don’t need to spend as much time worrying about the lanes of my life—pool ones or otherwise. This morning, that virtual evidence showed up as a physical reality.
I’m not saying Jesus walked on water at the Jamerson YMCA today. I’m not claiming he told the reverberating wake of my laps, “Peace! Be still!”
No, he just whispered into my heart that I don’t have to swim to him. And maybe I don’t have to swim so hard in front of others.
March 2, 2025
“The Man Who Walked With Me”
On my way to Ice Driving USA, several of us on my second flight were on the same final flight to Rhinelander but would have to sprint to make the plane—at A14, one of the farthest gates from our F10 arrival gate in the MSP airport. We had 19 minutes until the official time plane doors would close.
Thankfully, other passengers on our plane let us racers down the aisle and off the plane in front of them. We ran through the first concourse and then jumped on a cart with a very pregnant woman from our flight who’d earlier scored a ride. When we got to the cross-terminal tram, the driver deposited us all to walk/run the rest of the way. I sent the other guys ahead and told them to hold the plane for us while I accompanied her. We moved at the pace allowed by seven or eight months of pregnancy and scanned our tickets just in time to board.
When we landed in Rhinelander, Barbara came and found me at baggage claim and introduced me to her husband: “Honey, this is the man who walked with me.”
As I journaled about this episode the next morning, I cried. I hope lots of people can say that figuratively about me, and I’m thankful for the episodes over the past few decades when trusted souls have walked slowly with me.
February 28, 2025
I’ve Got 199 Problems, And Traction Ain’t One
I love this freeze frame from the drone video. The little boy inside of me enjoyed making huge rooster tails with the snow—even though that meant I had overshot my turn.
I arrived at Ice Driving USA’s course with poor instincts, having forgotten just about everything I learned at DirtFish Rally School in 2019. I spent probably 75% of the day discovering multiple ways to miss optimal lines and lose momentum. Thankfully, I started getting the hang of vehicle dynamics during our final sessions of the day on the big track.
Yes, I’m smiling while sliding sideways. Somehow, despite five years of anticipation for this class, the experience surpassed my expectations. I couldn’t wipe the joy off my face—not that I was trying.
Patrik Sandell, former world youth rally champion, founded this school. He brought these special tires in from Sweden for our course. The studs are almost 3 times the height of standard studded tires, and these tires held more than twice the normal quantity of studs. That grip allowed us to accelerate off the line and out of slides.
One of my favorite things to draw in high school were rally cars and Baja trucks. If you’ve seen me around town, you know I wrapped & accessorized my MINI Cooper to look like a sponsored rally car. For the three years I owned a MINI Countryman, I ran Method Race Wheels on it (and eventually off-road tires and a lift kit). When I walked up to the 199 car, both my face and my heart smiled. I would be ice racing with those very same rally wheels.
By late afternoon, I figured out how to connect my phone to the Subaru’s Apple CarPlay. I wanted adrenaline-fueled jams to play during my laps. What I ended up enjoying almost as much was watching Hudson and I drive around in water on Google Maps.
Mistakes were made. While I’m not in this picture, I did need to get towed out of the bank during one of my laps. The worst part about getting stuck is that the instructors shut the whole track down, and everyone on your track has to stop where they are. (We all had radios in our cars for such notifications.) The truck drivers did a great job at getting to us in a hurry, yanking us out even faster, and zooming back to the pits in no time flat. By the end of the day, even this RAM with a Boss plow bouncing on the front got some slides in on the curves as it sped through the course. 
This was Ice Driving USA’s first year back in session since COVID. With a short marketing runway this season, they are looking to include more students in subsequent winters. They have all-female and multi-day class options. If you’d like a unique adventure with uniquely-cool people, their courses are worth saving up to take.
I grew up about 40 minutes from what would become Pastranaland. Travis Pastrana has been my favorite action sports athlete for decades. (He filmed a gymkhana scene at the rural airport where I’ve taken sisters and church friends hang gliding.) Travis’ 11-year-old daughter had taken this course the weekend before I did, and her dad’s iconic 199 race number was still on the car when I walked up to the school. I would later learn that the last drivers in this car were other members of Pastrana’s 199 team. So, it was an extra special cherry on top to play on the ice in the 199 car.
One more blessing of my day was getting pared with Hudson, a medical student who slides his WRX around parking lots back in Cleveland. He understood the instructions better than I did and could more quickly implement the instructor’s suggestions. We alternated every 3 laps on the short courses and every 2 laps on the big course. So, when I wasn’t driving, I was getting to ride in a sports car being deftly driven by a talented driver.
Hudson was so patient with me and offered me affirmations as often as possible. There were lots of fist bumps across the front two seats throughout the day. Having someone with whom to share joy and from whom to receive perceptive advice made this experience even better.
Being a passenger was so fun! I bet at least one of my nephews would love riding in the back, if I ever do this again. Hudson and I cranked the heat (and sometimes the tunes) and kept the windows down. The instructors celebrated our vibes as a partymobile.
Between each lap on the short courses, we got insightful recommendations from our instructors. Between laps on the big course at the end of the day, we absorbed their cheering.
I was delighted by how hard we were allowed to push the cars. The chill dudes & winsome ladies teaching the course encouraged us to get everything out of the experience and didn’t waste time trying to impress us with their exploits. They didn’t have to give any credentials. We could tell their expertise was well earned. Each of our instructors brought a different vibe to the mix, but all exuded humble confidence. Back when I had my adventure podcast, I would’ve loved to interview any of those four of these badass drivers.
After our last lap of the day, the instructors asked if we’d like to ride with them for a couple hot laps. So fun! Their weight transfers and braking proved more dramatic than any I attempted all day.
I’m glad the instructors waited until after we had finished to show us what our cars could do. We didn’t time our laps or theirs, but I’d love to see how different their lap times were.
It was reassuring to know I wasn’t the only passenger in the 199 car having a good day.
I don’t know why I leaned into the turns—maybe because I had been snowmobiling three Sundays earlier? Looking back, I think I performed better on left turns than right ones. 
Driving while smiling …Back home in Virginia, I often take Sunday afternoon drives to cold creeks or motorcycle rides up into the mountains. That’s part of how I sabbath—how I escape stress and create some distance from my rabid insecurities. This Sunday afternoon drive did all of that and maybe more. For 6 or 7 hours, I was a race car driver. 30+ years of imagination became reality. Childhood dreams turned into high-resolution reality. I was fully alive on a frozen lake, and I returned home ready for my company’s annual spring gauntlet.
I love walking across the Tarmac to a waiting aircraft. It doesn’t matter if it’s a biplane, a glider, or a commercial jet. I’m still enamored by the concept of human flight. The richest person on the planet for millennia could never experience what annoyed commuters do by the millions each year. The most powerful kings and conquerors for centuries couldn’t command chariots or ships in the skies. Since the dawn of humanity, men, women, and children have looked to the heavens and dreamed. And we just hover our phone over a scanner and then grab our fire-breathing dragons to speed above the clouds.
I grew up on Richard Scarry books. I loved all of the details of his busy illustrations. Airports take me back to those childhood days. I could sit and watch the hustle and bustle of an airport for hours. In fact, I often do. I spend a lot of my writing and journaling hours these days at Lynchburg’s general aviation airport.
February 25, 2025
Then God Shrugged His Shoulders
Throughout my adult life, I’ve used “the planets aligned” to reference serendipitous moments when conditions were perfect to experience beauty, wonder, or adventure. But tonight, that phrase wasn’t figurative.
I joined my sister and her boys on a short hike to an open field, where we were able to see planets aligned—some with our bare eyes and a few more with an app. We marveled at the scale of space and at the science non-fiction of the technology in my pocket.
No matter what you think about the ancient Hebrew poetry describing the origin of our planet, I hope you can appreciate the counterintuitive humility described by whoever wrote that original text. Most English translations speak about the immeasurable expanse of the universe with just five words: “He also made the stars.”
The nonchalance of that statement has made it one of my favorite lines of the scripture that guides Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. It’s not that the stars were an afterthought. It’s that they were easy for God to make—the result of a few words and maybe a shoulder shrug.
When I think of the big challenges in my heart, the hard conversations I typically avoid, and the difficulty of hoping in an America where the church is championing the exact opposite of the Sermon on the Mount—another day of juggling all of this can feel daunting. Maybe even intractable. On these nights when my soul feels overwhelmed, it’s good for me to go outside, to get lost in the stars, and to remember that the infinite power inherent in the cosmos was a P.S. in the creation poem.
And it’s healthy for me to take all of that in with the next generation. It’s good to be reminded of the stakes of my faithfulness and perseverance when excuses and acceptance are always waiting at frequent off-ramps.
For two hours on a Tuesday night, I had stars in my eyes. And in my soul.
