My bike tour, solo in design, was a giant group effort. Alone, I would have passed all my nights in my tent, showered disgustingly fewer times, and had exponentially less ice cream. Most important, my voice on behalf of the monarchs would have been a mere whisper. There are more people to thank than there are miles in this story.

Thanks to everyone who invited me into their homes and gifted me meals, showers, beds, internet, towels (oh, the luxury of a fluffy towel), and every detail that made each visit its own. Such invitations were tokens of trust and metaphorical pats on the back. I wrote about each and every one of you in the first draft of this book. Then, acknowledging the word count, I began the painful process of whittling down. Know that while I couldn’t include every account of hospitality in my story, you are all in its DNA. It was your collective support, inspiration, friendship, beauty, generosity, revolutionary spirt, and nurturing example that allowed every mile and informed every sentence. Thanks to all of you:

A quadruple gracias to not only Brianda, but to everyone in Michoacán who gave me a home for four winters and counting. To Brianda, your patience and acceptance is heroic, your invitation, a blessing. Thank you, Leticia, for being a wonderful example of strength and love. To the rest of the family—Israel, Ivan, Diana, Israelito, Mari, Fer (and Dobber)—for sharing your home. Thanks to Gloria, Pablo, Lola, Edwin, Juanito, Fabian, Vanesa, Richard, Leo, Jorge, Fabi, Roberto, Paulino, Graciela, Maura, Paulina, Estela, and your families for inviting me in as well. And to the guides at El Rosario and Papalotzin, for letting me loiter, bend rules, and become an honorary local.

And countless thanks to my Kansas City hosts (and parents!), Marjie and Steve Dykman. You spoil me on every visit. I’m lucky to have such a rest stop. Thanks for cheering me on, dealing with my crazy choices, and not worrying too much. If you think about it, it is actually your fault that this adventure came to be. You, after all, let me raise frogs in my bedroom, brought Gatorade to all my cross-country meets, taught me how to ride a bike, signed me up for art classes, embraced my college of choice, and (most influentially) made my brother and me swim across that (potentially) alligator-infested pond.

While invitations to shower were coveted, opportunities to speak were victories. Thanks to the students who attended my presentations, for giving me your attention, brilliant questions, and pure amazement (and for agreeing that American toads are the cutest of creatures). To the teachers, for gifting me precious hours of classroom time. To everyone who put me in touch, spread the word, and made each of the following school visits happen (especially my main contacts):

Thanks to Patrick Martin, manager of Marais Des Cynges National Wildlife Refuge for pushing me to think bigger. You reached out early in the planning process with an idea to connect me to the network of Wildlife Refuges, so that I might organize public presentations. I loved the idea, and with your help (and later a web of contacts across the country, including Melissa Clark and Becky Lungenecker), more nature centers (and other venues) reached out with interest.

Thanks to every venue that opened its doors, the staff and volunteers who planned and promoted each event, and all the folks that came out, offered donations, laughed at my corny jokes, and passed along what they learned:

My thanks must now extend from riding the miles to writing about the miles.

I wrote much of this book at Brianda’s house, Papalotzin, my parents’ house, and in Tom and Debra Wiestar’s cabin, among the cedars and pines in the foothills of the Sierra. Thanks, Tom and Deb, for the refuge, the guidance, and the unyielding support. Thanks for the elaborate lighting for my desk, the constant supply of delicious food and poison oak remedies, and for partaking in my marathon conversations, when, after days alone, I needed people to talk to. I am lucky to have such role models.

As I wrote, my friends became editors. Thanks to Jenny Long for reading the whole dang thing, even though you don’t like bugs. To Debra Weistar, Nia Thomas, Chrissa Pedersen, Chip Taylor, and Davin Hart for reading all of it, part of it, or excerpts that became magazine articles. Thanks to all my hosts that I asked to be editors and to help make sure I got the facts of my stay correct. Thanks to Stacee Lawrence and Julie Talbot, editors at Timber Press, for smoothing out the edges of my rough draft. Thanks to the editors (Kirsten Traynor and Bryan Dykman), writers (Dan Faggin, Katie Yale, and Kylee Baumle), and publishers (Carol Malnur), for your advice. To Kira Miller and the SNAMP frog team for letting me process the many stages of this book as we tromped through the woods.

While I wrote, I also leaned on monarch scientists. Broadly speaking, I want to thank every monarch scientist—heck, every scientist—for pointing us to truths, guiding our understanding, and holding humanity accountable for our actions. You are heroes, and so it was always a wonderful shock and honor to receive replies to my many questions and feedback on my many drafts. Thanks to Steve Reppert, Cuauhtémoc Sáenz-Romero, David Gibo, Micah Freedman, Eligio García Serrano, James Tracy, Mónica Missrie, David Bray, Don Reynolds, Catherine Tucker, and especially to Chip Taylor. Chip, your continued support and dedicated example are pillars of this project. It has been an immense privilege to learn from you.

Thanks to my fellow past-trip adventurers—Galen Reid, Tommy Viducich, Aaron Viducich, Matt Shift, Alyssum Cochen, Nia Thomas, and Matt Titre—for pushing my boundaries. To my fellow wildlife technician adventurers for encouraging our outrageous devotion. To my fellow renegades at GreenWheels, the Campus Center for Appropriate Technology, and Synergia for showing me how to better our world.

Thanks to all my teachers. The education you provided was a privilege linked to all my successes. It was an honor to see some of you at my presentations and to present in some of your classrooms. Thanks to Mr. Lockard for showing me that loving animals was not so impossible and to Mr. Johnson for being a brilliant example of a scientist with an opinion.

Then there are the strangers connected by invisible threads that deserve my thanks. To all the drivers who slowed down and passed me with caution. To NPR and podcast hosts whose familiar voices kept me company on some long, lonely stretches. To Terry Tempest Williams, Robin Wall Kimmerer, Sy Montgomery, and the many other authors whose words are comfort and make the world a better place.

Thanks to everyone fighting, in endlessly big and small ways, on behalf of the monarchs and their neighbors. Our paths may not have crossed, but your efforts are seen, felt, and appreciated. Biking past an unmowed ditch or a lawn devoted to natives will always make me hoot with joy.

And finally, with all my heart and soul, thanks to the monarchs. You amaze me. You have become my teachers, encouraging an adventure, teaching me Spanish, watercolor, web design, video editing, photography, networking, public speaking, gardening, stewardship, science, and love. You helped me write this book, and every word of it is for you.