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My introduction to motorcycles was not a safety course in a parking lot. There was no experienced rider walking me through clutch control on a closed course. There was no gear fitting at a dealership, no YouTube playlist, no patient friend on a newer bike riding alongside me at a reasonable pace. There was a rusted Honda 1982 XR200 with holes in the exhaust pipe, a pair of flip flops, and twenty miles of Peruvian jungle road between me and a dial-up internet cafe where I was hoping a girl I like …

Some Roads Don't Let You Go There is a moment I keep coming back to. I am standing in a river in northern Vietnam, water up to my thighs, both hands death-gripping the bars of a Honda XR400R that very much does not want to be in this river. Somewhere behind me, Evan is shouting something I cannot hear over the current. Somewhere ahead of me, Andrew is doing what Andrew had been doing for the better part of ten days, which is making a bad situation slightly more complicated. On the bank, a group …