lost borders

SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO, I CHASED LOVE across the U.S., from the forested, green hills of Pennsylvania to the tortoise-brown, corrugated tapestry of the high Mojave Desert, pulling into Ridgecrest, California, as the sun set on the southern Sierra Nevada. Unexpectedly, I found a second love, this one with the open sky and land of the high desert: austere, piercing light, calming sunrises, spectacular sunsets, snow-capped mountains, intense heat, creosote and Joshua trees and the winds. My goodness, the winds.

Memories of mountain biking bedded deep in my bones in the 17 years since then were about to be awoken. With friends on board for a road trip,

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