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Through the windshield, Xi’an’s Bell Tower rose ahead of us, illuminated against the night. Horns and engines competed in the streets below as drivers fought through traffic.
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At the first light of dawn, we started the Jeep and continued our journey to Zoji-la, a torturous mountain pass climbing the Great Himalayan Wall. It twisted 11,575 feet down, from where we’d overnighted in Dras to the Kashmir valley below.
About
This isn’t a travel guide.
These are fragments—moments pulled from longer journeys, written as they were experienced. Places appear, but they aren’t the subject. What mattered was what happened there and the people it happened to.
Over time, the trips changed, and so did I. My family grew, the distance shortened, the stakes shifted. The pattern stayed. In the beginning, I thought I needed distance to change and adventure to feel life. Most of the time, it was something smaller—something I didn’t understand yet.
What’s here is partial. I don’t try to explain places or speak for them. I write what I saw, what I missed, and what stayed.
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I live in California with my wife and kids.
Names have been changed for privacy.