“I thought you’ve done this before...” I’m asked.

“You’ve logged a lot of spots and have some insights and tips, but how well do you really know them?”

I’ve only ridden them a few times and I didn’t realize how challenging the setup is. I’m still trying to feel them out so I can continue to ride here and not offend the locals.

“The locals seem cool when we hang out, but how often do you actually ride together?”

Only occasionally, and I’m not too sure about who rolls with who or how committed they are. I’m still working on that.

“What’s up with the people hustling in the streets?”

I don’t always know what the food is or what they’re selling. I’ll eventually try it all; I’m just waiting to see what’s safe.

“There are a bunch of different kinds of police here. What’s the deal?”

I’m not sure what they care about or what their jurisdiction is. I’m trying to avoid them as much as possible, but been asking around about who to trust.

Each of my guests is usually amazed at how much I know about a city, but also surprised by how much I’ve missed.

And when those BMX guests come and we make a video during their short visit, we not only accentuate the contradictions laid out above, but also take a snapshot of the fusion of them all. We place ourselves and our bike riding somewhere between all of the questions and the answers. Our hastily applied marks fit in where and how they can, and the result is an interesting and unique interpretation of existing in a new place.

In the end, all I can do is continue observing, exploring, learning, and growing. And--it turns out--a BMX bike is a well-suited vehicle for those tasks, and the BMX families I continually meet along the way are great support systems, as well.

And then there is this edit. It may look like us doing our usual thing somewhere new, but in reality it’s just us trying to make sense of the unfamiliar with the tools we are most familiar with.