Having just finished a month-long trek through Eastern Canada and New England, I’m happy to share some of the beauty and kindness I discovered.

After biking across America, I’m taking on a new challenge: riding through eastern Canada and New England. I began two weeks ago in the Québec province, continued into New Brunswick, and am now in Nova Scotia. A couple of encounters with kind strangers along the way have reminded me of people’s inherent goodness.

It saddens me to see America struggle with so much division now. Yet it gives me hope to think back to a man I met on my cross-country ride who reminded me that you never know what a person’s story is — and you never know when you’ll find friendship with someone who seems different than you on the surface.
While crossing the Florida peninsula in a final leap toward the Atlantic Ocean, I took a day off in the town of Clewiston. Without much else to do, I decided to stop into the Clewiston Museum. As I wrapped up exploring the exhibits, a friendly man approached me and asked about my bike, which he had seen outside. I wasn’t in the best of moods and didn’t feel much like talking, but I politely engaged with him.

While riding through the Florida Panhandle, I had an incident with the bike that pushed the fork — the two big prongs that straddle the front wheel — back a little. Fortunately, I walked away from the event okay. But I knew I should get the bike checked out.

Let me tell you about some of the kind strangers who helped me during my cross-country journey.

On the shoulder of a busy road in southeastern Louisiana, I suddenly heard a “PFFFTTT!” sound. Pulling over, I found that, sure enough, my rear tire had gone flat. As I worked to repair it in the sweltering heat, a pickup trucked pulled up behind me. A man named Mark came out and said he saw me while driving the other way. He offered to give me a ride and asked where I was staying. He said if I needed a place, I could come out to his house; it was just him and his son, and Mark slept on the couch, so I could have my own bed.

I admit that I’m saddened by a lot of the news today. But it bolsters me to think back to the kindness and human connection I received from perfect strangers on my cross-country trip.

Six years ago this week, I discovered while biking through rural Louisiana that I had a couple of divots in my rear tire. Worried, I searched online for a bike shop in the next big city I’d pass through, Lafayette. But who would have my size tire AND be open on a Sunday?

Six years ago today, I left Austin, Texas. Stopping for the night in a small town 50 miles outside the city, I was really curious if I was still in Austin’s blue-state enclave or whether I had passed into red-state territory again. I decided to interview a local resident to find out.

The other day, I was riding a bus through city traffic when a man on the sidewalk waved his arm to flag down the driver. This man had his hands full with a baby bassinet and a bag. When the driver stopped to opened the door, the man asked if he could bring the bassinet on board, and the driver agreed.

For the next couple minutes, as the bus stood at the curb idling on a major street during rush hour, the man tried desperately to break down the bassinet while juggling a fussing baby along with that the bag. Only able to manage two out of the three at a time, he became increasingly exasperated.

Six years ago, I crossed from Arizona into New Mexico. This was great! I couldn’t wait to explore a new state.

Stopping into the only thing open for miles around — Phantom Fireworks in Road Forks, NM— I found that they didn’t sell water. This was NOT great, as it had been 19 miles since I last filled my bottles, and the next patch of civilization wouldn’t be for another 15.

Riding a bike 3,600 miles across America taught me a valuable lesson that I apply to my life even now.

Six years ago today, after a week-and-a-half of riding, I was excited to see an assuming red-and-white sign on the side of the road reading “WELCOME TO PHOENIX.” This was amazing! I had covered over 300 miles from San Diego! But this also meant I had some 3,000 miles to go. How could you ever bike 3,000 miles?!?

It’s a bittersweet time to be launching a book on beauty and kindness. I didn’t expect this day to see Ukrainians suffering, COVID continue to ravage the world, and us Americans even more politically divided than when I undertook this journey six years ago today. But I take heart in my belief — still — that humanity is fundamentally good.