A retired entrepreneur recounts his multiweek bicycle tour of the West Coast in this memoir.

In the summer of 2023, while his wife was on a trip to Norway, Mortensen decided to embark on an impromptu journey of his own: bike the West Coast from the Canadian to Mexican borders. “For me, this ride represents how I choose to spend my fifty-third summer,” he reflects, adding that the trip is “more than just an adventure; it is a fight against time, a rebellion against the physical process of aging.” Mortensen is no stranger to globe-trotting adventurism—his previous books, including The Buddha and the Bee (2020) and Embracing Bewilderment (2024), have taken readers on his backroad excursions throughout North and South America, Europe, and Asia. This memoir focuses on his 27-day bike ride from Peace Arch Park in Canada to the American-Mexican border just outside of Tijuana. Each chapter covers a single day of the trip, and combines travelogue, autobiographical vignettes, historical commentary on destinations encountered, and philosophical reflections on life. Blending pensive observations with humor, the book offers thoughtful commentary on American history and modern society with healthy dashes of lightheartedness along the way. Mortensen, for instance, discusses his discomfort with a historical marker in Cape San Sebastian, Oregon, that erases Indigenous history by claiming that “Spanish explorers were the first to explore the North American Pacific Coast,” and juxtaposes the West Coast’s rugged beauty with the fast food and strip malls that fill American cities. Sprinkled between poignant reflections are self-deprecating anecdotes, such as unwelcome bouts of stomach illness and his “Three Rules for Staying Young” (which include avoiding mirrors and convincing yourself that “all your friends are older than you”).

While the author reveled in Americana, from hole-in-the-wall diners to the majestic splendor of coastal mountains, the journey itself was rather unremarkable given the potential for disaster (Mortensen didn’t even have to endure a single flat tire). The book stands out for the author’s sheer joie de vivre that seeps through nearly every chapter. The memoir features a host of characters he encountered, from old friends to a homeless man Mortensen rescued from jumping off a bridge. Sprinkled throughout are not only in-depth, passion-fueled observations on biking, including a discussion of his Garmin cycling computer, but also flashbacks of his college days and early life as a “workaholic” who built a multimillion-dollar company prior to selling it to travel the world. Perhaps most moving is the book’s conclusion, as the author arrived at the Mexican border without fanfare (“Funny how these sorts of blips on your personal accomplishment radar mean so little in the grand scheme of things”). Though not overtly spiritual, the volume picks up where The Buddha and the Bee left off in its convincing emphasis that life is best lived through experiences rather than possessions. The engrossing, thought-provoking narrative is accompanied by full-color photographs by the author, stock images, and road maps. While adamant that this is not to be taken as a technical guide for others interested in a similar bike ride, the memoir makes the case that the life of an “unapologetic wanderer” comes not only with adventure, but with fulfillment, serenity, and gratitude as well.

A poignant, engaging, often humorous account about a Pacific Coast journey to the Mexican border.

A globe-trotting memoirist recounts his exploits in Europe and Asia in this travelogue.

“I always liked the perspective of the world upon landing,” Mortensen reflects in the book’s opening lines, noting that, from the vantage of a plane 30,000 feet in the air, “the world is cut up in large, segmented swaths.” It’s the descent and landing that expose the “hidden mechanics” of a new setting as city blocks, moving cars, and houses come into view. An entrepreneur who sold his business and shed his possessions, the author has spent the past decade traveling by plane, train, boat, and bicycle across the world to foster connections with local communities. Picking up where his last two bestselling travelogues—The Buddha and the Bee (2020) and Unlost (2021)—left off in the “forgotten roadways” of North and South America, this book continues Mortensen’s adventures to nearly 20 countries in Europe and East Asia. He takes readers from Iceland’s Driftwood Bay and Prague’s Vltava River to the temples of Angkor Wat, Cambodia, and the bustling cityscape of Hong Kong. Part travelogue, part commentary on human history, society, and culture, the book pays particular attention not only to each region’s geography, but also to its people. The appendix material features an essay on “How To Become an Entrepreneur Without Wanting To Become an Entrepreneur” that includes the author’s personal success story. The memoir also touches on the class dynamics inside German train cars, Iceland’s newfound emphasis on tourism, and humanity’s age-old fascination with dragons. Written in an engaging (and occasionally literary) prose style full of evocative imagery, the book effectively captures the landscapes and people of the nations surveyed while avoiding problematic exoticization. The accessible text is accompanied by an ample array of full-color photographs and maps. While familiarity with Mortensen’s previous books is not necessarily required, references to them abound throughout this volume, which may leave new readers lost regarding the full backstory and nuanced motivations behind the author’s escapades.

A well-written, absorbing journey through Europe and East Asia.

In this memoir, Mortensen chronicles his trek from California through Central and South America.

Picking up where he left off in his debut travel memoir, The Buddha and the Bee: Biking Through America’s Forgotten Roadways on an Accidental Journey of Discovery (2020), the author continues his destinationless journey, setting his sights on South America. After leaving the bike he traveled with in the previous book, Mortensen headed to Mexico because “something was pulling me to continue south.” Such statements are indicative of the author’s travel planning; when he has a feeling or desire, he follows it. His feelings guide him through Central America to South America, where he hitchhikes and takes buses, trains, and planes around the continent. Mortensen is adept at meeting fellow wanderers, linking up with strangers and traveling with them if their desires align. One such stranger was Hans, a man from Holland who invited the author on an impromptu hike in Argentina—the Sierra Valdivieso Circuit. According to Hans, the hike was “twenty-eight miles long with 6300’ of elevation gain,” and should have taken three days. The ensuing misadventure is one of many times throughout the memoir in which Mortensen’s wry prose style adds levity to what could have been a more harrowing story if written by someone more self-important. Instead, he writes almost anti-seriously, inviting readers to see that his wanderings are intentionally aimless—the author even sardonically refers to himself throughout the book as “your hero.” This affectation could feel twee, but Mortensen’s unpolished reflections obviate any archness (the memoir’s friendly accessibility is one of its most prominent features). The author keeps his reflections short, even when waxing poetically about some destination or history, such as his discussion of the balsas he encounters in Copacabana, Bolivia. Occasionally, Mortensen’s sardonicism can become overbearing, especially when he makes broad generalizations and assumptions about groups of people. Still, the book fulfills his stated purpose: “I hope this book guides in some way but this is not a guidebook.”

A shaggy travel memoir with amusing recollections and occasional nuggets of wisdom.

A memoir chronicles one man’s bicycling journey across the western United States.

On August 22, 2001, Mortensen began a 2,000-mile trek from his father’s home in Chaska, Minnesota, to Truckee, California, on his 1999 Specialized Allez bike. Eschewing a planned route or timeline, and even proper equipment, he threw caution to the wind and hit the open road. Three days in, he wanted to quit. After pushing on, he would be chased by a pack of dogs, narrowly avoid a possible kidnapping, and fix too many flat tires to count—all while taking in the Rocky Mountains, the Great Salt Lake Desert, and the Sierra Nevadas and singlehandedly keeping small-town Subway restaurants in business. At the end of the journey, he found the courage to leave his desk job and use his savings to spend his time traveling: “On the road, no one asked anything of me. I was…coasting, looking, hearing, smelling, seeing. I picked and chose what was important. I had never before had such control over who I was or wasn’t.” Mortensen’s storytelling perfectly captures the casually intimate tone of a spontaneous conversation with a stranger. Intriguingly, the sense of freedom he describes feels like a thing of the past. Without a cell phone, he could only communicate with his loved ones via pay phones and library computers; he heard of the 9/11 attacks from passing cyclers while biking over the Rocky Mountains. Mortensen also spent his days cycling through ghost towns founded during the westward expansion of the 19th century, and, like every good travel writer, he’s a master at capturing forgotten places at specific moments in time. Travel takes on greater significance with the past as a backdrop; the book has a personalized feel to it thanks to the addition of historical anecdotes, along with photos Mortensen snapped along the way.

A humorous, insightful book for readers who enjoy the outdoors and tales of pursuing one’s dreams.