A story about loss, rebuilding, and the road that never really leaves you.
Where I’ve Been
There was a time when I spent my days in a cubicle, sitting in corporate meetings under fluorescent lights, listening to words that sounded important but meant nothing to me. Slides, metrics, “alignment,” “vision,” all of it looked good on the surface. But sitting there, staring at the conference table, I felt that familiar knot in my stomach, the one that told me I was spending my life building something I didn’t believe in.
From the outside, everything looked fine. Good job. Good pay. Stability. There was no reason I should have felt unhappy. But inside, something wasn’t right.
I couldn’t explain it well back then. I just knew I felt stuck. Like I was slowly drifting through life instead of actually living it. So I did the only thing that made sense.
I got on a bike.
At first, it was just a ride. A way to clear my head. A way to get back into shape. But those rides started getting longer. Twenty miles turned into thirty. Thirty turned into sixty. Then ninety. And somewhere out on those gravel roads, something shifted.
I started bringing my camera, and with it came a shift in how I experienced everything. I began noticing things I had missed before: the light, the silence, the way the land stretched endlessly in front of me. I was alone out there, but never lonely. Something about those roads made me feel free in a way I hadn’t felt in years. There’s a kind of freedom that only shows up when you’re moving under your own power, mile after mile, with nothing but the road in front of you.
For the first time in a long time, I felt alive.
That’s where Adventure Monkey was born. On endless miles of Flint Hills gravel, with the crunch of rock under my tires and nothing but wind and space around me. The farther I rode, the better I felt. The sharp edges of my problems wore down with every mile.
Adventure Monkey did not start as a business plan or a brand idea, but from a need to feel something again. What started as an escape turned into something bigger.
The rides got harder. The stories got better. And somehow, people started showing up.
We weren’t just riding bikes. We were chasing something. Testing limits, finding out what we were capable of. Races like the Unbound Gravel (DK 200), Gravel Worlds, and The Mid South (Land Run) weren’t just races, they were proving grounds.
And somewhere along the way, I found community. Those races became family reunions. It felt like family because it was.
But here’s the thing about life. It doesn’t stay still just because you found your rhythm.
I used to pray for change.
Not casually. Not out of boredom. I mean real, honest prayers, asking God to do something with my life, to turn it into something meaningful. My job was a good one – stable, good pay, but it lacked the meaning I craved.
Eventually… that prayer was answered. Just not in the way I expected. What came wasn’t a gentle shift. It was a reset.
Heart surgery.
What was supposed to be a quick robotic procedure turned into open-heart surgery. Recovery wasn’t weeks. It was months. The bike, the thing that grounded me was gone, at least for a while.
Then came the wave of change I asked for but didn’t realize how devastating it would feel.
Loss. Divorce. A life that no longer looked anything like the one I had built.
At some point, I sold almost everything I owned and moved into an RV.
No plan. No roadmap. Just space. Just time.
And in that space, something happened.
For the first time in years, I stopped moving. No rides. No races. No distractions. Just silence… and a lot of questions.
My questions were different this time. Not my next move, but who I was underneath it all. What remained when the structure of my life was stripped away, and what was actually worth rebuilding.
I examined my life more honestly than I ever had. Not just the events, but the patterns, the decisions, and the things I had avoided. I started asking what I had truly enjoyed, what had ever made me feel engaged, what I was naturally drawn to, and where I had actually shown some ability since childhood. When I stripped everything else away, a clearer picture started to form.
I went to counseling. I reflected. I meditated. I dug deeper than I ever had before. And slowly, something started to come into focus.
I had always loved science. Human biology. How the body works. How people work. I also loved explaining it. It had been there the whole time, just buried under everything else. I made a decision that didn’t make much sense to most people.
In my mid-40s, I dropped everything and went back to school.
There were 1,600 applicants for 60 spots in the PA school I applied for (after Wichita State passed me for an interview). I got one of those spots. Things started to fall into place once I moved in the direction I was meant to go. For the first time, the direction felt right. And from that point on, there was no turning back.
It was hard, but not in a way that shows up in photos or race results. Long days. Doubt. Pressure. Starting over when most people are settling in. A different kind of effort, but effort all the same.
But I knew how to do hard things. I looked back on my DK 200 finish and just kept moving forward.
Today I’m a Physician Assistant.
I take care of patients. I get to help people in a real, meaningful way. I love preventative medicine. I push lifestyle changes, exercise, real food, therapy. And for the first time in my life, my work feels aligned with who I am.
I’m not chasing something anymore. I’m living it.
So why come back to Adventure Monkey?
The need for adventure never left. Back then, I was chasing it because something was missing. Now I’m chasing it because something inside me still needs it. Craves it.
Adventure Monkey sat quietly while I rebuilt my life. And like anything left unattended online, it didn’t survive. Malware took it down. Google shut it out. Years of work… gone.
At the time, I let it go. I thought maybe that chapter had run its course. But some things don’t end. They just wait.
I’ve recovered most of the writing. I’ve got the photos backed up on a hard drive. I will sync the dates and publish each post worth posting. It’s going to take time, but I’m bringing it back.
The old rides.
The Flint Hills.
The early days when gravel races were small and everyone knew each other.
Those stories matter. And they’re coming back.
But this isn’t just about the past. There are new roads ahead.
The bike is still there, but now there’s another machine calling.
Motors, cameras, camping, coffee, and long stretches of road I haven’t explored yet. New adventures await.
At the end of the day, nothing has really changed. There’s still something inside all of us that refuses to sit still.
Call it restlessness, curiosity, our souls pushing toward our limits. I’ve always called it the Adventure Monkey. And if you ignore it long enough, you feel it.
So here we go. Not starting over. Continuing.
A little older. A little wiser. Still chasing that feeling I only get when I’m out there, moving, exploring, doing something that matters.
If you were here before, welcome back. If you’re new, you showed up at the right time. Let’s see where this road leads.
I’m going to start by rebuilding the old posts, one by one. It’s going to be worth it. Then we will look forward to new adventures together.
Feed Your Monkey.
Eric
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