I am a Wisconsin native, adopted by New York City by way of Boston. I love trees and four legged friends. I love reading books in a lower east side bistro with a bowl of carbs and dancing to live music in the street. I've been vegetarian for 17 years and wish everyone had a CSA. The midwest will always be the womb in which I was formed but New York is where I found life's nectar.

I initially conceived of this website as a way to share the highlights of my adventures -- post pictures, talk bikes and the like. I was struck by how disingenuous it felt, how much it played into the social media facade. Yes, I am a smiling bike enthusiast, pedaling my way, hugging new friends and staring in awe at the wonders of the world. I am also a woman sojourning in large part as a way of coping with a heaviness that weighs on me with every breath. For almost two years I worked in New York Covid ICU land; overnight, up to 80 hours a week. Despite every effort, nearly all my patients died. As the pandemic evolved, so did everyone around me -- they grew accustomed, accepted plague and my isolation intensified. I was unable to move on from the broken record of death I saw night after night. I carry the faces of my patients on the backs of my eyelids when I try to sleep and the screams of their loved ones begging G.d for a miracle like a blaring siren in my head. It is on my bike that I find a glimmer of peace.

I am not an athlete, I am allergic to anything that stings or bites and until April 2021, I hadn't owned a bike since elementary school. I have a closet full of stilettos and ten shades of red lipstick. I enjoy pasta, cheese and wine any day of the week. I am, however, immensely stubborn. I will pedal long into the night to finish my day, unfazed by being last. When my body pleads me to stop, I compromise with a slower pace but onward I will go. I'm taking a risk and betting on myself, that I can outlast any nightmare. It was perhaps this same spirit that refused to let me give up on any patient, against all hope, that exposed me to heartbreak time and again -- I couldn't have done it any other way. Maybe it is this very tenacity that will see me through to the other side.

If you're reading this, I hope to bring you some solidarity. No matter who you are, you have struggled. We have all sought oasis, we are all rebuilding and recovering from something. Sometimes the bigger the hurt, the bigger the dream needs to be. We all have the power to push ourselves beyond what we might have thought possible.