Once I was settled into Kuala Lumpur (KL) and had established my hub for travel, I was living very comfortably in Malaysia—still on my VA benefits. I felt ready to take on bigger challenges. I still had a motorcycle back home and saw the perfect opportunity: riding it across the United States. The plan was already in motion. Riding from New Mexico to Washington state sounded easy—I did the same route in a car all the time. But for now, I was enjoying the laid-back atmosphere in Malaysia.

I went on way too many dates. I wasn’t looking for a relationship, and I definitely wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. I had a lineup of different women to see. Honestly, it killed the loneliness and filled the void. I wanted friendship… and, let’s be real, friends with benefits. Not everyone would agree to that, so I made it a point to be honest and upfront from the start. What surprised me was how often women lied about wanting a relationship too—casually dropping “I love you” and other lines. I’d been through it all: the cheating, the hidden secrets, the double standards. The idea that “men only want one thing”… doesn’t it go both ways sometimes?

I wasn’t in a relationship with one of my dates, but the red flags were everywhere. She acted like the victim the whole time, even though she was seeing other guys and I was just one of them. In the end, she wanted to keep dating around while expecting me to stay exclusive. That ended fast—thank God. I learned my lesson: you can’t repeat the past. No matter how beautiful someone is on the outside, the inside has to be beautiful first. Dating was still fun, though. Not everyone out there is out to get you.

Toward August, I met someone who completely changed my perspective on life. I connected with her on a dating app, and she wanted to know me on a social level first. She invited me to meet her friends for a few drinks—a completely platonic hangout. She worked at a startup and was a total boss lady. I’d never met anyone who had her life so together. I was smitten. Getting to know her felt like finding the missing puzzle piece in my life. That night was memorable—full of stories, laughs, and pool games. She loved the easy comforts of life, and here I was, a hot mess who’d just been introduced to her. We started dating without any big proposal; it just happened naturally.

She changed the way I thought about everything and literally helped me take responsibility for my life again. She talked me through things and let me make my own mistakes. But I ruined it. I ended a perfect relationship with a woman who made me grow. I told myself I couldn’t drag this amazing person down with me. I didn’t want to see her hurt or suffer because of my issues. I know it hurt her, even if I’ll never know exactly what she was thinking. We stayed friends afterward. Looking back, I think we should have just been friends from the beginning. Maybe I helped her grow too.

Let me take you back to the motorcycle trip. On September 29, 2016, I returned to the U.S. and started my ride from Albuquerque on a CBR300R. (I didn’t know it then, but I know now—that was an extremely stupid decision.) I woke up at 4 a.m. and hit the road under a breathtaking sunrise. Unfortunately, the beauty came with sinister plans and wild surprises.

Once I reached Colorado, the wind hit hard—strong enough to push my bike sideways. My only relief was when a semi-truck passed and blocked it for a moment. I stopped for gas, and a stranger on the same road actually filmed me fighting to stay upright. It was hilarious watching myself later.

Then I made it to Utah. Being so close to Moab, I had to stop. I love hiking there—the gorgeous rock formations and those incredible colors. I didn’t want to linger, so I quickly ran a short trail to take it all in. That’s when I spotted a tour group circled around a snake. I knew exactly what it was, so I picked it up. Half the group started screaming, “Oh God, put it down! It’s going to bite you and kill you!” I calmly explained it was a harmless gopher snake—non-venomous. One lady mentioned “poison,” and I just stared at her like, Are you serious? I had to give a quick lesson on the difference between poison and venom. It turned into a fun moment—some of them even wanted to touch the snake before I released it.

Back on the bike, the clouds rolled in fast. A light sprinkle turned into heavy rain. I was soaked when I stopped to fuel up. I took a short break, and it eased off a little, but the gas station was packed with cars and trucks. Once I got back on the road, I was suddenly alone. Where did everyone go? I’d started in warm weather wearing my overboots, Gore-Tex jacket, and pants, but the conditions were completely unpredictable.

Riding through the canyon, it felt like someone flipped a switch. I had only my single headlight. Boulders appeared in the middle of the road—like something out of a movie. Then the rain turned cold and snow-like. My hands were freezing. I kept pushing, telling myself I’d stop at the next gas station or rest area. I had no idea I’d be on that road for over two hours.

When I finally reached a station, I pulled in desperate for warmth. Despite all my gear, I was drenched. I walked inside and the guy behind the counter literally dropped his jaw. “Are you okay? Were you really riding that bike through the canyon?” Of course I was. Then he told me two tornadoes had just hit. That explained everything. I’d never been through a tornado before—it sounded made up, but it was very real. The craziness kept coming.

Once the rain eased, I continued. All of this happened within 24 hours, and I had no GPS or phone mount. The weather finally cleared as darkness fell. I wasn’t far from Salt Lake City, so I planned to stop for the night. Hotels were full, so I ended up sleeping in a laundromat while my clothes dried. It was perfect—warm, dry clothes waiting when I woke up exhausted.

I got up early again, sore from the first day, and headed from SLC to Boise. The morning was dry with just a few clouds. The air smelled fresh and clean after the rain. It felt amazing… until the weather turned again right as I approached Idaho. I pulled into a rest stop and parked my bike as close as possible to the solid cinderblock building. It was only afternoon, but I decided to wait it out until morning.

It got boring fast, but that’s when kindness showed up. The lady who maintained the rest stop checked on me. I was fine—just tired and hungry. Nothing was open nearby, so she went home and came back with a home-cooked meal just for me. I thanked her from the bottom of my heart.

Later that night, a firefighter from Boise saw my Disabled Veteran plates and noticed me trying to sleep on a bench. He grabbed blankets from his truck and handed them over. I’ve been blessed with people who help, even in small ways.

The next morning, I woke up to Tupperware beside my head filled with French toast and eggs. (Can I just live here? I’m kidding—but wow.) The daughter of the woman who’d fed me the night before had dropped it off. I ate what I could, thanked her, and headed to Boise to return the blankets.

After that, I thought I was close enough to reach Washington state. But right after crossing from Idaho into Oregon, my motorcycle started making horrible sounds. Uh-oh. It died completely. I checked it over but saw nothing obvious. I tried again—no start. I was stranded in the middle of nowhere. Shit, I did not plan this well.

I made a few useless phone calls, then started pushing the bike toward the nearest town. A pickup truck pulled over. “What seems to be the problem?” the driver asked. I told him I wasn’t sure. He offered to load the bike in his truck and take me to the closest town. He also warned me I was smack in the middle of nowhere—60 miles between towns. I was incredibly lucky he stopped. He even gave me a great tip: put my jacket on the front of the bike so people would know I needed help.

On the way, I called my dad. “I’m heading to Baker City, Oregon,” I told him. He laughed and said, “I grew up there—I finished high school in Baker City.” What?! How did I not know that? Of all places, I was about to get stuck in my dad’s hometown.