How To Move The Stars is the day by day retelling of a bicycle ride around the world. Start from the beginning to get the whole story.
My adventure was a modern day epic, a solo, self-supported bicycle ride spanning 38,000 miles across six continents. There were moments I barely survived, and times I cried tears of joy, but mostly, this is a story about the thousands of people I met along the way. I moved through their cultures, and dramatic landscapes. I ate their food and slept on their land. I was constantly arriving to the open arms of strangers who were excited to help me achieve a feat that few could imagine. I did this for years, immersing myself in the world and meeting the people who live here. The story I returned with is a snapshot of humanity, captured in a lived experience. Thank you for joining me on my journey.
Purchase Jacob’s art inspired by his bicycle tour, including the world’s most beautiful Ant Farm. www.AntLife.space
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May 10th, 2013. Party. I pedal through rolling farmland on my way to Chisanua, the capital of Malddoa and home to half a million people. The roads were in poor condition and traffic picked up as I approached. The first two intersections were lawless free-for-alls. Traffic lights were ignored and pedestrians ran across the street. Bicycling downtown suddenly seemed like a bad idea, and I turned south to skirt around the city. Along the way, I saw a motorcycle parked in front of a house, and in the shade of a nearby tree, two riders stood with a woman holding a baby. One of them called out to me as I passed. I carried on for another minute before turning to go back. I noticed a well in the yard, and I was out of water. When I joined the group, the young mother with her baby girl gave me a cup of homegrown cherry juice. I stayed for the next hour, cooling off in the shade and talking with her and the couple who was there on the motorcycle. The mother had a very pleasant demeanor and spoke some English. She said English was her favorite class in high school. With her help translating, the couple invited me to their motorcycle club’s Veterans Day party. They showed me where to go on my map, and I felt excited for the invitation. I told them I could pedal there in 3 hours. The party was in a campground at the end of a narrow dirt road. The Denster Rivers wrapped around the site on three sides. V, the man who invited me, was in a car getting supplies when he spotted me at an intersection. He beeped his horn, then drove slowly so that I could follow him for the last 5 miles. I arrived to find the campground quickly filling with motorcycle clubs from Moldova, Ukraine, and Russia. be took me around to see the people he knew. One young woman was nearly finished her studies to be an English translator. She joined us to help me communicate. I met identical twin brothers in their 30s. Together they have a nickname which was translated to me as two from the womb, same in the face. I was told it was from a famous poem, but I could never figure out if the nickname was endearing or light-hearted teasing. Since I was going to be around other people, I felt inclined to rinse off and went with the group to swim in the river. The river was large, 400 ft across and moving such that I had to swim hard to stay even with the dock. After 30 seconds, I grabbed the wooden ladder to pull myself out, then join the others sitting in the grass. The wife of one of the twins came to me with a towel, then gently dabbed the water from my shoulders, back, and face. No one has ever dried me off like that. There was an intimacy that was unexpected from a near stranger. I could feel her sincerity and kindness. I felt cared for. The moment was really touching. Throughout the night, I was treated like an honored guest. Everyone wanted to meet me, to hear about my trip, and to have a drink. I drank Cognac with Muldoven, vodka with the Russians, and a man from Ukraine celebrated my journey with a bottle of champagne. As the sun went down, a swarm of mosquitoes arrived so dense that I couldn’t even keep them from biting my face. I ran to get my coat for protection. Everyone else scrambled for bug spray. Then there was one drunk Russian who embraced the onslaught. He stood with a beer in his hand, shirtless and smiling, while hundreds of mosquitoes drained his blood. He didn’t even flinch, a performance of self-control that could be appreciated if everyone wasn’t simply laughing at him. When darkness settled, the mosquitoes disappeared as quickly as they had arrived. I sat with Vee and his club to eat dinner. We snacked on raw vegetables and salami while everyone helped prepare a stew for the main course. I was asked to wash and peel potatoes with Sergey, a Russian paratrooper in green fatigues. Sergey was not a hardened veteran as I sometimes picture all soldiers to be. He was only a few years older than me, not in the best shape, and had a warm kindness that didn’t seem to fit on someone who trained to kill as a profession. I joined him at the industrial size sink and realized that I had never peeled a potato before. Sergey noticed me fumbling dangerously with the knife and showed me that I should be cutting away from my wrists. We chatted as we peeled, me in English and he in Russian. After 20 minutes, we walked big bowls of clean potatoes back to the stew. Sergey asked the woman who had been helping translate to tell me something. She listened, then said to me, “The sink where you are cutting potatoes draws water from the river, and you should stop drinking from it.” I’d stuck my head under the faucet and took a big gulp of water while we were peeling potatoes. I have a bad habit assuming water coming out of a faucet is portable. After dinner, a DJ came on and the drinking commenced. An arm wrestling table was set up and a handsome burly man challenged me to a match. He called himself a quote, “True Muldoven,” and sat down to represent his country. As the only American at the party, I had to accept. I took the seat across from him and we firmly gripped hands with our elbows on the table. A referee held our fists upright as we began to flex. When we were ready, he yelled, “Poach!” then released us to throw our full might into the contest. I twisted my shoulder inward for leverage and torqued my wrist forward, but the true Muldoven held firm against my best effort before slowly and smoothly pinning my hand to the table. I had a wonderful fun time at the party. I’m touched by how welcome everyone made me feel. V even saved a bed for me in one of the cabins that I told him I would be fine sleeping in my hammock. I’m hanging between trees in the middle of the campground. The music has stopped and everyone has gone to sleep. [Music]