THE ADVENTURES OF KINCAID: Charting the Unknown in a World That’s Forgotten How
Kincaid’s story doesn’t begin on a mountaintop. It begins in a cubicle. For seventeen years, he was a cartographic analyst for a government agency. He drew the lines that others followed. He named peaks he would never climb and charted rivers he would never drink from.
As of last week, a postcard arrived from the port of Mombasa, Kenya. No return address. Just a smudged thumbprint and four words: The Adventures Of Kincaid
Because the adventure of Kincaid isn’t really about Kincaid. It’s about the part of you that knows the cubicle is just a waiting room, and the trail is the real life.
There is a name that has been floating around the campfires of the Yukon, whispered in the hold of a storm-battered schooner off the Patagonian coast, and scribbled in the margins of worn-out maps in a Cairo spice market: Kincaid. THE ADVENTURES OF KINCAID: Charting the Unknown in
He took that as a sign.
Stay lost, friends.
Take the road that makes you nervous. Eat the food you can’t pronounce. Talk to the stranger who scares you a little. Get lost on purpose.
