Seeing Hazel Green
Best day of the trip!!
If you are going to read one post. This is it!
I woke up after a rough night’s sleep. I think I was so excited for the trip to be over—and to see my wife—that I kept waking up thinking it was morning. I didn’t actually fall asleep until around 2:30 AM, so I was groggy and had a dull headache as I layered on my gear.
I had my backpack on, my helmet buckled, and realized I hadn’t yet plugged in a route for the day. I opened Google Maps, stared at the spaghetti tangle of route options, and got overwhelmed. So I did what any rational adult would do: I kicked the can down the road and plugged in a Starbucks on the east side of town.
When I arrived, three young Hispanic folks were sitting at a table outside. I tried out my Duolingo Spanish—they barely responded. A few moments later, I overheard one of them whisper, “Don’t talk to him. I think he’s the police.” I’ve got a lot of police-related stickers on my helmet, so I guess that wasn’t too far-fetched. Still, I sat there thinking about how much fear they must live with, just sitting outside a coffee shop. They are my kids age. That hit me hard. I’ve worked to stay positive on this trip, but that moment lit something in me. I wasn’t seeing red—I was seeing orange, and it left a brown taste in my mouth.
I plugged in Washington, DC, as my final destination. Google, in its infinite wisdom, suggested an arc through Ohio. But I had a goal: I wanted to see the Appalachian part of Kentucky. I’d watched Justified and figured I ought to find out what the real Appalachia looked like. It would add some risk and some miles to the journey—but I was so close to the end, I figured, why not test fate? I set my target to Paintersville, KY—160 miles away. Doable. It’s not like I was riding a bicycle or on trying to walk across the country on stilts. Just needed a charging plan and some luck.
Leaving Frankfort, I glided through some of the most stunning horse country I’ve ever seen—rolling pastures, old stone fences, beautiful horses dotting the landscape.
Those are not tiny horses, they just look that way
I passed an old graveyard and stopped to photograph headstones of people born before 1800.
Some of the people were born before 1800!
Behind me, I heard clomping—three gorgeous horses chasing each other across a nearby pasture. I turned and started filming as I rolled slowly along the fence line. I was so distracted I nearly got hit by a car. Headline: “Old Man on Unicycle Hit While Distracted by Kentucky’s Beauty.” The tourism board could use that in their next ad campaign.
I passed through Lexington—impressed by its cool old neighborhoods, micro-distilleries, and rainbow crosswalks in a vibrant LGBTQ+ district. Once outside of town, I took a turn off Highway 60 and my mood soured again. That orange feeling crept back in.
The road narrowed and had no shoulder. The landscape was stunning, but the houses I passed told another story—some of the most dilapidated structures I’d ever seen. Trash, rusted-out cars, vintage trailers in decay. The contrast between wealthy western Kentucky and the poverty in the east was staggering.
One of the nicer houses
I passed a small town—looked like the others—except this one had a convenience store and a beautifully restored house across the street. I pulled up and spotted a beat-up truck with a group of guys drinking beer and smoking. I went inside and asked the clerk if I could use the outlet to charge. She nodded, eyes lighting up as I explained what I was doing. “You need to meet Joe,” she said. “I think he biked across the country. Maybe even did it on stilts!”
I assumed she was confused—sounded like something out of a tall tale. But I plugged in and wandered over to the pickup crew. One guy launched into a series of wildly inappropriate riddles. Another, a bigger guy, started ranting about Gavin Newsom being “bitchslapped” by Trump. The orange feeling flared again. I had wanted this trip to help me understand different perspectives, but at that moment, I just felt sick of people bashing my home state without knowing anything about it. Then the clerk waved me over. “Joe’s here.”
Standing near my unicycle was an 82-year-old man with paint on his clothes that matched the pretty house across the street and a gleam in his eye.
“This is so special,” he said. “I’ve crossed the country 3 times by bike—and once on stilts.” I laughed. “What a crazy coincidence to meet you here in Hazel Green, Kentucky,” I said. He replied, “No coincidence. We’re connected. It was meant to happen.”
I turned on my phone and started filming.
Joe had served in the military at Vandenberg Air Force Base in California. After his service, he took a Greyhound bus tour of the U.S. and Canada. Then he went back, retrieved the $99 bike he’d left behind, and started retracing his steps—riding thousands of miles through America and Canada. Later, after a young friend of his daughter’s died from a neuromuscular disease, Joe rode across the country again to raise money. Jerry Lewis even flew him to appear on the telethon. He walked across the U.S. on stilts to raise funds again. He rode across the country again for another cause.
Joe’s passion now is helping kids in his community. “There’s nothing for them here since coal left,” he said. He told me how their coal is what built his country, its gone now and kids have no hope. So he takes them on inspirational trips—once to St. Louis for a helicopter ride. He told me a couple of old guys came to visit because they had heard about him on TV. They sat in chair his front lawn and told him that they were bored. I told them “take struggling kid to McDonald’s once a week. You’ll never be bored again.”
The beautiful house across the street? Joe’s. He restored it himself. His vision is to turn Hazel Green into a theme town like Solvang, CA or Leavenworth, WA. He rattled off tourism stats. “We’re next to the Red River Gorge—it’s like the Grand Canyon, but lush.” I said it sounded like the Blue Mountains in Australia. “Yes!” he said. “Been there too. Great place!”
Please watch this video. It will make you cry!
He offered me a tour. The house, which was slated for demolition, cost him $50,000—including the land. Inside, I saw beautiful woodwork, his fast touring bike, and the plans of a man who isn’t done dreaming. He kindly offered for me to stay at his place tonight. I unfortunately already had hotel reservations or I would have. He asked me to come back. I will!
My friend Skip works with kids in Watts through a program called Watts to Boston, helping them access elite schools. When I told him about Joe, he immediately said, “I want to meet this guy.” I don’t know what will happen when those two connect—but I know it’ll be good.
When I was an undergrad, my dad told me that I was cut off after college—so I needed to get a job. I went to the career center and paid $20—a lot at the time—to take a test that was supposed to tell me what career I was best suited for. A few of my friends had taken it and gotten solid suggestions like accountant, actuary, or sales manager.
I took the test and got exactly one result: "power boat operator."
What the hell? I lived in Colorado. It's an arid state.
I went on a bunch of interviews with companies decidedly not in the powerboat business—and none of them wanted to hire me. My mom said it was because I didn’t iron my shirts well. My dad said it was because I didn’t trim my nose hairs. The only real opportunity I had lined up was to work on a crab boat in Alaska.
It was the last month of senior year and I still didn’t have a job. I had to fly somewhere for some reason, and I ended up sitting next to a guy who happened to be the district sales manager for Xerox. We talked about fly fishing and rivers we both knew. Near the end of the flight, he asked what I planned to do after college. I told him about the crab boat "opportunity." He handed me his card and said, "You should work for me." That’s how I got my first job.
A year and a half later—after being the worst salesperson Xerox had ever hired (seriously, I only sold two copiers)—I went to graduate school. It was either that or ride motorcycles to the tip of South America with my friend George Gibson.
You can probably guess. Spent on the entire time in graduate school on academic probation. Same story with the job search. Hours in the career center, tons of interviews, no job, then randomly sitting next to someone on a plane.
This time, I was seated next to an older guy. We started talking about airplanes—I love airplanes and know more about them than a grown man probably should, kind of like a kid who’s obsessed with dinosaurs. We had a great conversation. Near the end, he asked me what I was going to do after grad school. I told him, “I don’t know.” He said, “I’m a headhunter for Northrop. We have an opening in our drone division. I think you’d be a great fit. Call me, and we’ll get things moving.”
That’s how I became a drone salesman.
Yesterday, I realized I was back in that same space again—this undefined stage of life where I didn’t know what was next. And then, through one random, beautiful conversation, I think I may have just found my next job:
Be one-fourth the man that Joe is.
(Only a fourth—because I only crossed the country once.)
I did this trip looking for purpose. I thought I would find that somehow riding to Washington, DC. I realized I should have plugged into Google Maps, “Hazel Green”.
Hazel Green has a population of 38 people. and one giant named Joe.
PS: I was packing up and I just got a call from Joe. I did not know it but today was his birthday. He and his wife were reading the blog. He told me when he was a little boy there was a hill by his house called Granny Maupin’s hill. She was a progressive woman that helped deliver babies. He said she was a good woman.
Please check out the following links about Joe:
https://www.guinnessworldrecords.com/world-records/68627-longest-distance-walked-on-stilts