Pre-Production Chaos
The funny thing about a big project like Freedom Ride 250 is that everyone sees the polished pitch—3,000 miles across America, celebrating 250 years of freedom—and it sounds clean, simple, almost inevitable. But right now, in these early months, it’s anything but simple. It’s exciting, yes, but it’s also pure chaos. Pre-production is like juggling flaming torches while riding a unicycle, and half the time you’re not even sure if the floor beneath you is solid.
Most days start with emails to editors, trying to land early coverage that will build momentum before the first mile is even pedaled. Then there are the first sponsor conversations, which are both thrilling and nerve-wracking. You’re introducing a project that you’ve poured your heart into, and at the same time you’re navigating the delicate question of who exactly makes sponsorship decisions inside a massive company. Sometimes you hit the right person on the first try, sometimes you feel like you’re wandering through a corporate maze, knocking on every door and hoping one opens.
And budgets—don’t get me started. They live in spreadsheets that never seem finished. One day I think I’ve nailed it, and the next day something shifts and I’m tearing it apart again. The tension is always there: how do you dream big enough to do this justice without blowing the plan wide open? The answer changes by the hour, but that’s part of the process.
Then there’s the creative storm swirling in the background. I want this project to feel alive, not just like a ride, but like a story people can step into. That means I’m sketching out what the podcast sounds like, how the YouTube series will flow, how livestreams from the trail will capture those raw, unpolished moments. My whiteboard looks like a mad scientist’s diagram, arrows pointing in every direction, sticky notes falling off the edges. But when I step back, I can see the shape of it. The chaos is building something real.
All of this is happening while I’m still working on other projects, writing, producing, keeping the other creative wheels spinning. There’s no pause button—you just have to blend it all together, letting the momentum from one thing fuel the next. Some days it feels overwhelming, but most days it feels like proof that the vision is worth chasing.
And here’s the thing: I wouldn’t trade this part for anything. The ride hasn’t even started, but I can feel it already. Every call, every late night with the budget, every half-formed idea that turns into a plan—it’s all part of the story. This is the messy middle where vision slowly becomes reality, where the dream leaves your head and begins to take shape in the real world. So yes, I’m tired, over-caffeinated, and still staring down a million to-dos. But the Freedom Ride 250 is alive, and even in the chaos, that’s the most exciting part.
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