3 a.m. Metrics

3 a.m. Metrics

Waking up at three in the morning is my new normal. It’s when my mind is sharpest, and also when it gets trapped, chewing on the bullshit metrics we’re told define a successful life: job, money, love. Somewhere between a foggy Minnesota road and the imagined violence of someone in a hurry to go nowhere, it became painfully clear: our priorities are broken, our patience is gone, and the math we’re using to measure a life doesn’t add up.

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A Good Fucking Day

A Good Fucking Day

Today didn’t fix everything. I’m still not the same person I was before the accident, and maybe I never will be. But for the first time in a while, my brain showed up, my bike plans snapped into place, and something I built actually landed exactly right. Some days aren’t about healing or closure. Some days are just about momentum. And today? Today was a good fucking day.

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Between Sleeps

Between Sleeps

I fall asleep early, wake up in the middle of the night, write until dawn, ride through cold Santa Fe mornings, then do it all over again. It wasn’t the routine I planned, but it’s the one that’s healing me. Writing has become the thread that stitches my body, mind, and spirit back together, and right now, I wouldn’t trade this strange, quiet rhythm for anything.

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Noise, Torque, and the Awakening of Aurora Borealis

Noise, Torque, and the Awakening of Aurora Borealis

It wasn’t the ride that did it, it was the phone call. Missed at first, answered on the side of the road, and instantly changing everything. Parts were in. The schedule was real. And just like that, Aurora Borealis was one step closer to becoming the light-to-light monster she was always meant to be.

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It Goes Where I Go, Part II: The Soundtrack of a Lived Life

It Goes Where I Go, Part II: The Soundtrack of a Lived Life

Music has always been the pulse of my life — from my dad’s old record cabinet to the roar of Judas Priest echoing through an arena. Somewhere along the way, my father’s house fell silent, but I can’t let that happen to me. I sing at the top of my lungs when I ride, because every note is a reminder that I’m still here — still breathing, still living, still loud.

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It Goes Where I Go

It Goes Where I Go

People love to ask questions. Some are born of curiosity, some from awe — and some from pure, unfiltered stupidity. Like asking if I “rode in today” when I’m standing there in chaps, leather, and helmet hair. For me, riding isn’t a hobby; it’s oxygen. It’s the pulse under my skin. It’s what makes the world go silent and my soul come alive.

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