I spent two and a half years of my life, most of my money, two gallons of blood, a squared mile of skin (blood and skin left road side across America), a rib and a hunk of my scalp on this project. I have suffered a concussion, hypothermia, near drowning, bone bruises, soul crushing loneliness, home sickness (for a home that no longer existed), insect attacks, heat exhaustion, hail, snow, pouring rain and fatigue. Fatigue beyond what I though was possible to endure. I was shown kindness by people who live in gated communities, by street people in Baltimore, by toothless old men in panhandle Florida, by crazy young Hispanic women in West Hollywood. I biked through the evergreen forests of northern Maine, the streets of Manhattan, across the George Washington Bridge, through the twisting urban sprawl of New Jersey, the back roads of Virginia, the Outer Banks of North Carolina, the pecan plantations of Georgia and the Florida Keys. I have seen the fog of my breath on cold Maine mornings, sunrises in coastal Carolina and sunset in Key West. I slept behind an abandoned hunting camp in Maine, a forgotten church in Louisiana, and in the empty dessert of West Texas. This is my story, true and from my heart. It is a story of hope and inspiration. A tale of how to go on when it feels like there is no point in going on. A chronicle of my journey across this country, and through my depression.