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With a sweaty palm wrapped around the rung of a steel ladder I reached up, unlatching a trapdoor to the slanted roof of Disch-Falk Field in Austin, Texas. As always I'd entered the stadium under the dark of midnight by hopping an outfield wall then walked over the Astroturf outfield, turned up the stairs into the grandstand and approached the press box where I climbed over a desk to reach the ladder to the roof.

The handle on the trapdoor wheezed a metal-on-metal grinding noise as I tugged it open. The wind whistled through the cracks of the opening and flung the trapdoor against its hinges. Through the open portal, the stars were bright against a black sky. I climbed out and onto the angled roof.
From the roof, the city of Austin blazed in orange and white lights. Headlights blew past, taillights faded into darkness. I thought of all my friends all over the globe doing so many things. Some of them were pitching in the major leagues. Some of them were doing drugs just blocks away. Some of my friends were in law school, some were mowing lawns, and a handful of them were half a continent and one ocean away fighting a war in the Middle East.

I'd been up on the roof many times. In the heat of the sun and under the shade of the moon, it had been my place to be alone. A lot was changing though. For one thing, the stadium was being gutted for an overhaul. Soon my passage to the roof would be shut down. More substantially, I was changing too. My interests had shifted, my self-image had solidified- jobs I'd done in the past no longer suited me. I had outgrown my previous self.

Looking out on that highway I felt destiny pulling at my soul as if sucked by an airstream. Inspiration shot like magic tingling down my spine.

Looking west, the city lights burned strongly to the horizon. To the east a few dimly lit houselights gave way to the east Texas plains that would lead me out of the state.

I wanted to leave, had to, couldn't have stayed if someone was making me. I felt self-sufficient, even complete as a person but knew there was a lot of growth left in me. The person I'd been all my life was just a fraction of the person I knew I could be. Even from the top of the stadium, the stars were a long ways up. I'd have plenty of room for growth.

"Every Great Cowboy Names His Horse"

There was nothing terrific about my departure; nothing auspicious other than that feeling of first hitting the road. There was liquid fire burning through my veins with every mile of open road. I could go anywhere, do anything, answer to only myself.

It was dreaded hot and I wore jeans, boots, my riding jacket, gloves, and my helmet, all atop a layer of sweat.

I was nervous the whole first day. For one thing, my motorcycle license was still in the mail; I'd just learned to ride the bike a few weeks prior. For another, I had two backpacks strapped to the rear seat with cheap twine and I hadn't been sure how to tie it. For what I knew, the luggage could've come unhooked at any second and flown into cars behind me. None of this happened though.

Staying on state roads I was able to watch the land change from green hill country to brown plains then green pines at the state border. I passed single story ranch homes with large open yards, driveways with square gates over them, pastures with horses grazing. At a gas station just a few hours from Austin I watched a petite blonde walk a horse up the gravel driveway. She was a beautiful Texan, just 19 years old with bare feet. She said she worked as a riding instructor for children. I talked to her for a while just to watch the sun on her hair and the shadows on her brown cheeks. She had a smooth slow way of talking, like she was fluid and everything about her was easy, warm and flowing. Her horse's name was Penny and she let me rub its mane.

"Penny's a great horse," she told me. "She's been awful good to me."

I'd never thought about naming a horse.

"What d'ya mean?" She said. "Every great cowboy names his horse. That is if he wants his horse to be his friend. Ya know, to work together with him."

A pick-up truck pulled into the station. A chub-cheaked kid leaped down from the passenger side and came running toward us. His father stepped out and walked inside.

"Is that Penny?" the kid shouted, his cheeks bouncing like they were stuffed with marshmallows. "Can I pet her?"

Everyone loved Penny. It seemed like a good name. I looked over at my bike, loaded-down with gear and shining copper red in the afternoon sun. Penny she would be.

First Night beneath the Stars

The plains had grown into tall pines as I furthered east. Where the highway was once flat and open for miles it was now flanked by high trees that shaded even the moonlight. I'd meant to stop for the night a million times before –at that dirt road with the open field but it was too close to the houses; at that schoolyard but they might have had a night watchman; at that grassy knoll but there was nowhere for me to hide my bike. So I'd kept going and now the sun had sank all the way down, the cars had left the road and it was just me and the moonlight down some eerie road I'd never traveled.

Out of desperation I pulled off at the next dirt road and slowly steered my bike in the direction of a sign for a church. I feared the idle hum of the engine would wake the nearest farmhouse but I didn't see one. Instead I saw a one-room building with a steeple -an all wood white painted structure in the middle of a grassy lot. I looked around. It seemed there was nothing but woods. How could I know that no one would disturb me here? How could I know that an angry preacher might not try to scare me off with a shotgun? How could I know that strange dogs wouldn't try to bite me in the night? Rattlesnakes, runaway criminals, or angry sheriffs? I guess I'd be at everyone's mercy.

Turning the bike off the dirt road my front wheel hit something. The back wheel pulled from under me. The only light I had, the headlight, was crashing to the ground with the rest of the bike. I was being pulled down with it, my left leg caught underneath. With a bruising thud I struck the dirt. Something from behind whacked me on the head. The motorcycle revved from the sudden rush of fuel to the engine, then backfired, sputtered and stopped.

The night was quiet again. Suspiciously so. A chorus of crickets whispered in the background of my heavy breaths. All I could see were silhouettes of black and gray; outlines of trees and dirt paths, the four-corner structure of the church. There was no one else around. The front tire had hit a pot-hole. I'd been struck in the back of the head by my own luggage pulled loose from the rear seat. I'd startled myself.

After unloading my gear and making my bed I tried to restart the bike. I had to make sure it was okay. I pulled the clutch and pressed the ignition. The engine didn't fire. I tried it again but it didn't make a noise.

Sitting back down on my sleeping bag, I didn't know what to do. I was a long ways from home, far away from the self I knew and with only a few dollars to my name. The sky gleamed cloudlessly. The crickets played their sad song. I wrapped my arms around my chest and felt sad for myself. Why had I come here? Why had I let the bike fall and maybe break? I looked around at the few things I could see in the darkness. Anything could be out to get me: a murderer with a chainsaw, a rabid dog, an escaped convict in need of a motorcycle.

I don't know where inner strength comes from. I don't know where confidence comes from. I don't know where faith comes from. But for me it was recognizing my need for these things and opening myself up so the universe could deliver them. It was an acceptance of the presence and an understanding that the future had never killed me, neither had the past. All I had to do was shift all my mind power toward the enjoyment of (and the gratitude for) the present.

My surroundings became glorious. I was alone in a bed of stars with only the hum of the crickets and the occasional call of the owl. It was like I tripped and fell into heaven. If I was to die then, it would've been worth it.

Accepting the present gave me an appreciation for the heart pumping in my chest. It made me realize the air flowing into my lungs. It made my soul ring pure with harmonious power. Suddenly I feared nothing. I felt stronger than I ever had. As if, while lying in that open field surrounded by all that open land and covered by all that blank sky, God had reached down, placed his finger, trembling with power, into my soul and reminded me that I was the creator of my own destiny.

For a few more minutes I stayed awake pondering that great sky. They were the same stars shining on everyone I knew in that terrific American backyard. They were the same stars that, in a different night, shined on my friends in Iraq.

That was night one.