This feature originally appeared April 13, 2012, in issue 2014. The Jeep had been stolen, Reno finally admitted. Natalie and I were halfway across America by that point. We had been thumbing our way across the continent, our last hurrah as reckless teenagers. Reno and Penny had picked us up in Fox Creek, Arizona?a modern-day… Read more »
(Read Part I of the minimalist adventure here.) The night of the robbery was the first night of my life as a minimalist. The Wal-Mart was open 24 hours and we had nowhere else to go. Walking the aisles, feeling weightless, I realized the absurdity of all the needless things that people came to buy… Read more »
The Jeep had been stolen, Reno finally admitted. Natalie and I were halfway across America by that point. We had been thumbing our way across the continent, our last hurrah as reckless teenagers. Reno and Penny had picked us up in Fox Creek, Arizona?a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde, but with less sex appeal. On day… Read more »
This short story first appeared June 24, 2011, in issue 1923. That summer we had started playing capture the flag in the cemetery a lot. Pat and James and I, and some other kids from school: the usual crowd. We’d sneak around and crouch behind the big tombstones late at night, talking on those little… Read more »
(Read Part I of this two-part series here.) I have to keep on riding?what else can I do? In one village I stop for gas. Five elders and a few women are sitting under a thatched kitchen shelter on a bench made from the dried stems of palm branches. One of them is the Chairman… Read more »
Nimba County, Liberia. After five hours, I admit to being lost. I’ve been riding through the African jungle on my slick-tire Chinese street bike. The mud covers everything; my boots are saturated and my Denver Hayes jacket is red from the rich soil. I had spent the night in the village of Gblarlay, where I… Read more »
I remember waking up in my bunk to the first volley from the artillery guns just across the motorcade from where we slept. The entire old school building would shake, and dust from the concrete ceiling came down in trickles. I remember jumping out of the slowly moving vehicle on Route Brown, watching where we… Read more »
That summer we had started playing capture the flag in the cemetery a lot. Pat and James and I, and some other kids from school: the usual crowd. We’d sneak around and crouch behind the big tombstones late at night, talking on those little Motorola radios you can buy at Canadian Tire. Most of the… Read more »