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
Join Jacob on a bicycle tour! He leads week-long bicycle tours in Colorado during the summer. Sign up here, www.MountainHighBicycleTours.com.
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May 11th, 2013. Motorcycle parade. The sun had barely come up when Imperial military music began to blare over the camp’s loudspeakers. A rousing start to the day. We ate rice porridge with bits of ham for breakfast. Then everyone began to collect themselves for a group ride. Sergey, the man I peeled potatoes with yesterday, invited me to ride on the back of his motorcycle. I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle and I had to be taught how to get on without knocking us over. The group did a short loop around the area, stopping along the way at four military monuments, including one with a stage where World War II veterans gave speeches adorned in service ribbons and medals. They were the survivors of a war that killed 20 million of their countrymen. Returning home as victors, the sense of loss must have been overwhelming. Now there are frail elders with white hair and canes. Everyone in the crowd listened with wrapped attention as I spoke. I was moved to see them still being celebrated as heroes. We returned to the campground to eat chicken potato soup and commenced drinking. Guitars came out and I listened to singing in Russian and Maldoven. A rock band played through the evening. There are fireworks, fire spinners, and belly dancers. A motorcycle race was set up that was only 50 ft long. The winner was the last one to cross the finish line without putting their foot down. In another game, a cup of beer was placed on the ground and the competitors took turns trying to pick it up while slowly driving past. I personally won a certificate for having come from the farthest away. A local television station covering the event wanted to interview me. With a camera pointed in my face, I was asked in English what the holiday meant to me. Officially, we were celebrating the anniversary of the end of the Second World War. But in truth, this is not something I think about. The wound left on the American psyche is not nearly as deep as what was suffered in this part of the world. The United States lost one out of every 300 people to the war effort. The Soviet Union lost one out of every eight. I told them, “I feel great debt to the veterans of the war. I can’t imagine the sacrifices they made.” The camera crew thanked me and said I would be on the evening news. After most people had gone to sleep, I joined a table with a group that was still drinking. The band had quit long ago, and one small speaker was left playing Living on a Prayer by Von Yovi, as pronounced by the Russian man next to me. Upon hearing that I would be leaving in the morning, everyone there began to give me their extra food to take with me. This included a couple of cans of pork pate as well as a few other canned meats I couldn’t identify. One man gave me a plastic 2 L bottle of homemade wine. I held the bottle up to cheers them all, then took a big swig. The flavor was delightfully sweet. Before I went to bed, one of the identical twin brothers pulled me aside. He had been exceedingly kind and helpful since I arrived. in broken drunken English. He told me with great sincerity that I was a quote true friend. He took a pin off the breast of his leather vest, one that commemorated the same event from two years ago, then placed a souvenir in my palm. I put my hand on his shoulder, looked him in the eye, and thanked him. The moment was heartwarming. This whole experience has been [Music]