Cyclist, hiker, and scientist living in the Himalaya.
I build, repair, and wander — mostly in search of quiet roads, good coffee, and better stories.
Start with the number, because the number does not care about your feelings. Fewer than sixty thousand people control three times the wealth of the poorer half of humanity. You could seat all of them in one stadium on a match day and leave the…
The Great Arc of Stone in the indigo height, Where the sun-fire dies in the marrow of night, The Himalayas, in their white, sepulchral sleep, Guard what the centuries buried beneath the deep. And Love is the shadow that walks on the crest, A pilgrim…
There's a spot above the village where the ridge falls away on three sides at once. The valley drops in the kind of scale that is supposed to make ranking irrelevant: forest, then terraced fields, then a river you can hear before you can see…
People ask, sooner or later, why I do these climbs on a bicycle when there is a perfectly good motorcycle in the shed and a jeep road that covers the same distance in a third of the time. I used to answer with the honest…
The road to St. John's in the Wilderness leaves the highway the way a good secret leaves a conversation - without announcing itself. No signboard worth trusting, just a give in the tar and a gap in the deodars where the noise of the town starts…