The Brutal Beauty of the Open Road

Let me tell you something about the road - it's a cruel mistress, but goddamn if she doesn't show you the best of humanity in the most unexpected places. I left LA behind, that sprawling mess of burned down dreams and smoldering nightmares, pointing my bike - The Pearl, she's called - toward a corner of Arizona named Waddell.

What I found there wasn't just shelter, but a glimpse into that uniquely American phenomenon of strangers opening their homes to wandering souls. Kimberly and Dean, these Bunk-A-Biker saints, they're the real deal. Dean's the kind of guy who treats his grill like a sacred altar, and let me tell you, those chicken breasts he served up? The kind of simple, honest food that reminds you why we break bread together in the first place.

Here's the thing about bikers - they're dreamers. Like Kimberly and Dean, harboring visions of Alaska's endless roads. We sat there, trading stories like contraband, talking about this Hera Rising Mission, and how my supposedly Patagonia-bound ass somehow found its way pointing towards Costa Rica. The road has a sick sense of humor like that.

Phoenix came next, breakfast with Megan, and here's where it gets personal. Her ex-husband, Peter Sterling - now there was a man worth remembering. In the cutthroat world of advertising, where most souls go to die, Peter was different. We met in the trenches of BBDO LA, survived the Mitsubishi bloodbath together. Back then, my family and I would escape to the Wild Horse Pass Resort, that rare oasis in Pima territory, before everything went to shit and got complicated.

Happy times with Megan.

Cancer's a bastard. It doesn't care if you're a good person, doesn't give a damn about your family or your dreams. Peter fought it like a warrior, but in the end... well, you know how these stories go. Sitting there with Megan, I couldn't help but think about legacy. About how the people we lose never really leave us, how their memory becomes part of our DNA.

This Hera Rising Mission? It's not just some feel-good bullshit about beating records and space jumps. It's about the next generation, about giving them the tools to solve the puzzles we couldn't crack. Maybe somewhere out there, there's a kid who'll figure out how to tell cancer to go fuck itself. Our very own Hera.

So here I am, on this endless ribbon of asphalt, carrying these stories, these memories, these dreams. If you see me out here, stop. Share a meal. Share a story. Because in this world of increasing isolation and digital disconnect, sometimes all we need is to ride together, break bread together, and remember we're not alone in this beautiful, brutal world.

How they got here?

And if you believe in science, in progress, in giving the next generation a fighting chance - throw some support behind Hera Rising. Because in the end, we're all just trying to leave this world a little better than we found it.