“Together we ride”

It’s been a powerful few days in Santa Cruz — returning to the sea, the pelicans, the cormorants, the swell shark I touched at the Seymour Marine Centre, the pause to feel how much this place, this wildness, matters. Those moments of connection keep nudging me back to the same truth: I didn’t get here alone.

 

 

Recording the audiobook for The Stoic Rider with Liza of the Recycle Garage podcast over three full days reminded me of that in every way. As I read each chapter aloud, I relived the Bonneville and Pendine salt-flats hits, the land-speed goals met and missed — and more than once I choked back tears. Tears of gratitude, for the people around me, the generosity, the unseen hands, the silent support.

 

 

It’s a familiar story: at Pendine and Bonneville I relied on the community, on friendships and trust, on bodies of knowledge shared with me. Here in Santa Cruz the same pattern repeats — I’m riding in because you rode beside me.

 

 

The editing mountain ahead

Now comes the next phase: editing. Which, if honest, is a bigger task than recording. It’s where the story is pieced together, pauses are shortened (or lengthened), breaths that don’t add value are trimmed, page turns are eliminated. It’s not the adrenaline of hitting speed; it’s the quiet craft of refinement. But that’s rewarding too. Because when it’s done, it’ll be ready for Christmas — in time for holiday gifts, for listening while the road is quiet, for bringing someone in.

 

 

And again, the community shows up. I’ll need your patience, your ears, your feedback. Because a solo ride can take you somewhere—but a shared ride takes you further.

Riding into the Motorcycling Heart of San Fran

One of the highlights: I’ll be in the iconic home of the San Francisco Motorcycle Club (SFMC). Established in 1904, the second-oldest continuously operating motorcycle club in the USA. 

 

In their clubhouse at 2194 Folsom St is a place of living history — wooden­-panelled halls, photos of riders from the early 20th century, and yes: the 1904 Curtiss motorcycle donated by H.L. Lausing, which holds a place of honour on their wall. 

 

I can’t believe that “little old me” is actually going to be there — signing books, swapping stories, meeting the folks who keep the torch alive. The iconic building, the iron heritage, the camaraderie — it’s the perfect place to celebrate how much the community matters.

 

 

Nature, belonging and the sea at Santa Cruz

Back in Santa Cruz I was reminded of one of the simplest, deepest metaphors of connection: sea and shore. A stroll to the lighthouse, among pelicans and cormorants diving, seals bobbing offshore, the swell shark underneath the water (I touched it!). In that moment I felt connected — to the sea, to nature, to the full spectrum of being alive.

 

And connection to community showed up too: dinners with new friends, a Halloween-party where I felt included, welcomed, warmed. I’ve been humbled by so much generosity. This isn’t about selfies or solo glory. It’s about the collective, the shared. As Stoics say: we are social animals, and our virtue shows when we act in concert with others.

 

Here on the sea, here in community, I felt the truth: my belonging is not just to myself — but to us.

 

On to L.A. and a moment of reflection

 

I had a chance to revisit one of my favourite places: the Griffith Observatory in L.A. I always go when I’m in town. Astronomy has long held a place in my heart — because when I look at the stars I feel connection. I feel that I belong to something bigger than myself. That no matter the speed, the destination, the solo ride — there’s a wider horizon.

 

 

I got the opportunity to hold a meteorite and while I did so I really felt something well up inside me. Because this was probably the oldest thing I’ve ever held. The material came from a meteor around a billion years ago. Holding time in my hands like that was a humbling experience. Knowing that even a billion years is still only a fraction of the age of the known Universe. I actually didn’t want to let go, which became rather embarassing…

 

I’m so grateful for all the people who hae again extended friendship. For the natural wonders I’ve managed to touch (I stuck a stick into a real tar pit – I had no idea they existed) and the people who have shared the experiences with me.

Reflections for you

• • Think of someone who helped you get somewhere. Could be a friend, stranger, mentor, community. Could be now or in the past. Write their name down and send them a note of gratitude.

• • Where in your life are you “editing” rather than just “doing”? It’s in the quiet work of connection and refinement that meaning grows.

• • On your next walk, ride or pause — look for the nature-moment, the horizon-moment, where you remember you’re part of a bigger story.

 

Thank you for riding this road with me. I’m humbled, grateful, fired up for what’s next. Because none of this — the audiobook, the event, the sea-walks, the storytelling — would mean what it means without you.

 

Here’s to connection. Here’s to community. Here’s to the next mile together.