Where the Buffalo Roam

Where the Buffalo Roam

Being in Montana is a little bit like being in love, at least in that you don’t sleep much. Or at least, I don’t. Light sleeper that I am, the sun pretty much dictates my waking hours — and up here, it’s out from 5:30 a.m. until well past 10 at...
Headway: Westward Bound

Headway: Westward Bound

Six days and two-thousand miles away from Asheville, hello from Bozeman, Montana. It has been a week. I’ve wandered from slow Missouri — whose truck drivers somehow unanimously think it’s okay to sit in the left lane and who, when they finally deign...
Waylaid in Western Carolina

Waylaid in Western Carolina

So I almost signed a lease in Asheville. I know. I know. The summer of wanderlust! And westward journeying! And committing to no commitments! But then I arrived in this weird little town cradled on all sides by green, smoke-blown mountains. I summitted Mount Mitchell...
Somewhere in the Smoky Mountain Rain

Somewhere in the Smoky Mountain Rain

Today I write from a coffee shop in Asheville, populated by blue-haired sippers of both camps: dye and age. I was told to expect the east coast’s answer to Portland, and that’s exactly what this town feels like — with an extra dose of pick-up trucks...
On the Road Again: Songs of the South

On the Road Again: Songs of the South

Hello from a cabin in a small set of hills that calls itself the town of Trenton, about twenty minutes south of Chattanooga. After driving six hours through Bible belt backroads to see the Georgia Guidestones, I danced my way between Georgia, North Carolina and...