In the Summer of 1999
Four of my friends and I rode our bicycles across America. We came across ghost towns. We came across 17th century churches. We met old men with stories. We saw graveyards and desert highways that went on forever. On my way up the rocky mountains, a shopkeeper asked me what I wanted to be if I survived the trip. In a one room jailhouse in Haswell, Kansas I told my friend that maybe I'll be a refrigerator salesman. Above the Gateway Arch in St. Louis, where you can see five states on a...more