Published: “The Map is not the Territory”

The inaugural issue of Beyond Beer, a journal about art and craftsmanship, just published my nonfiction feature, “The Map is Not the Territory: Running into Peru’s Microbrewery Revolution.” 

img_5034 The Beyond Beer journal is a product of Imagination Brewery and the Center for Community Transformation, the first of its kind to combine craft beer and a community hub. It’s an incredible venue and the journal reflects its spirit. Honored to have my article about finding an whiplashingly tasty beer culture while traveling and mountain running through Peru last September.

Published: “In the Footsteps of Beats”

Beautiful magazine WeMove created by talented designer friends out of Portland, Oregon included “In the Footsteps of Beats,” an excerpt with photos from my manuscript, to their digital issue. Excited to be part of a publication alongside dutch daredevil Wim Hoff, ultra running legends Krissy Moehl and Scott Jurek, climber Ron Kauk, and others.

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Published: “Chasing Revolution”

A short photo essay, “Chasing Revolution,” with North Online, a sharp Australian art/travel website, outlines a larger creative work in progress, and close to finished.

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A month ago I was approached by the Senior Editors of North Online Magazine, a sharp art/travel website out of Australia. They asked me for some words + photos so I put together this short piece, “Chasing Revolution,” which was published this morning.
Read here. 

Published: “Four Directions of Standing Rock”

Check out my latest piece on the intense and short supply run I made to Standing Rock, ND, site of the largest inter-tribal protection of the sacred in modern history.

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There’s something up ahead blocking the highway. Look: Lights. Glowing like a football stadium. Military checkpoint.

“Hi, officer. We’re off to, uh, Fort Yates. That’s it. What’s all this for?”

Stupid question. He knows why we’re here, why my housemate Harrison and I are pulling up at 1 a.m. outside Bismarck, North Dakota, with a truck full of supplies.

“Oh, up ahead 20 miles we’ll find a protest?” I say. Officer peers into my truck.

“Supplies,” he murmurs to the soldier on his left. Won’t look me in the eyes though I’ve tried twice. Hard when he’s gripping a semiautomatic. “Move on through. Careful up ahead.”

Read the full article here. 

Featured Story in California Paper

My hometown newspaper in Calaveras County, Northern California, ran a well-written story  on some of the adventures I’ve been up to since graduating high school. 

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Nick Triolo is a man on the move. An author, teacher and internationally recognized activist, the 32-year-old endurance runner finds peace and purpose by literally putting one step in front of the other.

A successful and affable student-athlete at Bret Harte High School, the 2001 graduate participated in sports, music and student government – all pursuits that ultimately influenced his future.

“At Bret Harte, I didn’t want to be pigeonholed by any particular clique, so I made inroads with just about everyone,” Triolo said about his “super-active” Bullfrog days. “High school was where I really cranked up my industriousness, getting involved in everything I could.”

Thanks so much! Grateful. Read the entire article. 

Twenty-Three Days

Back from three+ weeks in Peru. First half of the trip? Putting together a 3-day, 80-mile circumnavigation fastpack of the remote, rugged Cordillera Huayhuash with Portland friends Willie McBride and Brian Donnelly. Second half? A solo trip through Cusco, Machu Picchu, and Arequipa’s high volcanoes. Art. Coffee. Craft beer.  Festivals. Dogs. Earth-shattering trip. Photo essay below; writing pronto.

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Continue reading

Return to Todos Santos, Mexico

Ten beautiful days back in Todos Santos, BCS, Mexico, proved restorative, nostalgic, and productive. Photos + words.

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Todos Santos Music Festival. Death Cab for Cutie. Santa Cecilia. John Paul Jones from Led Zeppelin. David Fricke from Rolling Stone Magazine. Dharma Talks. Todos Santos Writer’s Workshop. Cerritos surf. Late night music jam with old friends and family. Fish tacos, ceviche, everything covered in lime. And arroyo running. Lots of arroyo running. Todos Santos in Southern Baja remains one of my favorite spots on the planet. Great trip south of the border this time, packed with inspiring people and events.

A synchronized sunrise run was organized around the world by my running sponsor Territory Run Co. so a dear artist friend and I went out for a hunt.

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Jackrabbit crosses the path as we start up, start in, start out. A swerve left. A swerve right. Sandy paths, fishtailing feet. Go. Go. Go. The sun is making things pink over there, over in the Sierra. Hurry.

Down the arroyo. Technical. Watch that prickly stuff—ocotillo, pitaya dulce, torote, cardon. Baja wilds have teeth; they bite. Catch a toe, take a fall, and you bleed.

Go faster. Sun about to crest. That knife-edge ridge above the cactus canyon is where I want to be for sunrise. Cross a wide arroyo choked in sand. Common to see coyote here. None today.

A climb. Colin behind me with a long stride, a graceful gait, an adjunct art professor from Bennington College, Vermont. Solid man.

Climb. Climb. Climb. Up the ridge we make it, only to flare off a pair of white-dotted birds. Rustle in the bramble right of my ankle. Once saw a six-foot rattler here. Only the wind this time. Onshore, 25 mph today, Colin tells me.

We reach the ridge of awe. I smell torote peel, like cinnamon. There’s my heart beating. There’s warmth. There’s red. There’s orange. There’s that fiery reminder that all things in nature reset. Everyday. The sun rises, and us with it. Bees nearby, too, have risen to collect pollen by the pound next to us. Industrious bastards.

Awe. Reverence. Simplicity. Migration. I think of my home in Missoula where ice fringes everything. I recognize my privilege to be here in Todos Santos, Mexico. And I’m grateful to my core for this place, this moment, this friend, this sun.

We keep noticing. We keep attending. The great dawn helps us attune and attend with its shadow and easy light. We descend through hundred-year old cacti that look like stampeding elephant legs and return to van, to coffee, to family, to life.

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