Skip to main content

On the Fly–Taking Flight

In this special 500th episode, On the Fly is moving to a new home.

Here’s why—and what’s staying the same.

For a very long time (since April 2012), On the Fly has lived on Blogger.

Blogger has been a reliable host—dependable, quiet, and never complaining when I arrived late with another half-baked idea, a guitar riff, or a story that needed a little air. It faithfully archived my thoughts, my music, and more than a decade of curiosity.


But the internet has changed.

It’s louder now. Flashier. More insistent. Every thought is nudged to perform. Every sentence wants to be optimized, monetized, or interrupted by something that really wants your attention right this second.

I’ve been craving the opposite.

So today, On the Fly is moving to Substack.

If you’ve been with me for a while, you know my quiet obsession: the Art of Seeing. I’m interested in the moments we rush past—the Aversion Trap, the discipline hidden inside a guitarist’s daily practice, the small revelations that appear when you wander Paris without a plan.

As a writer, a lifelong cyclist, and an amateur astronomer, I’ve learned something simple yet stubborn: The best views don’t show up when you’re in a hurry. They show up when you pause.

Why the move?

I wanted a home that feels less like a cluttered website and more like a conversation. A place where the words and the music can breathe.

Here’s what that looks like:

  • No ads. No noise. Just the story, the song, and the space between them.
  • Direct delivery. New episodes and essays arrive in your inbox—no refreshing, no algorithms pretending to know you better than you know yourself.
  • An actual listening experience. You can now listen to all 480+ archived episodes in the Substack app (once moved), which pairs well with walking, riding, or staring thoughtfully out a window.

What’s staying the same?

Pretty much everything that matters.

The Friday Morning Pause isn’t going anywhere. My curiosity about heritage, creativity, baseball, and the odd poetry of everyday life remains fully intact. I’m still Patrick. Still asking questions–and I’m still occasionally surprised by the answers.

I’m also bringing the entire On the Fly archive with me, so feel free to wander. There’s a lot back there—some of it still holding up surprisingly well.

To longtime readers: thank you for crossing the digital border with me. To those just joining: I’m glad you’re here.

Let’s look up from our screens now and then and see what we can discover— On the Fly.

Stay curious. Ask questions. I’ll see you in the next episode.

— Patrick

SUBSCRIBE TO ON THE FLY

Join 495+ episodes on our new home.

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

Sunflowers, French Steel, and the Yellow Jersey

Watching Le Tour de France this year, I found myself transported back to August 1983 as the Peloton in Stage 10, Bastille Day, flowed through the French countryside like a brightly colored ribbon. I was in my twenties, visiting family in the Charente-Maritime region of France, completely obsessed with bicycle racing—and convinced I was much stronger than I was. My connection to cycling—and to France—runs deep. I was born in France, and my very first real road bike, at age fifteen, was a Mercier . To me, it wasn’t just a bicycle; it was a work of art made from beautiful French steel. I rode that bike for miles, through high school, into college, and until the day someone decided they needed it more than I did. I hope they at least appreciated the craftsmanship. Its untimely disappearance led me to a Schwinn Voyageur, and later, when I started racing around Illinois, to a Raleigh Competition . But during that summer of ’83, while staying with my Uncle Jean Paul in Lagord, just north of L...

The Yellow Legal Pad

In this episode, the Art of Refiring July 1st is staring me in the face, less than two weeks away. For years, retirement seemed like something that happened to other people. Suddenly, it's on my calendar. I've been thinking a lot about the dreaded "R-word" lately. Not because I'm worried about having enough to do. Quite the opposite. What fascinates me is this strange paradox: Why does retirement make so many of us nervous, while having a job—even one that regularly drives us crazy—somehow feels comforting? Let's be honest. Most of us spend years complaining about meetings that should have been emails, reply-all disasters, impossible deadlines, and that one coworker who insists on microwaving leftover fish in the breakroom. Yet when the idea of walking away finally arrives, we hesitate. I think I've figured out why. A career isn't just a job. It's a highly structured coping mechanism. For forty-plus years, somebody else has basically decided what I...

The Big Rip and the First Tee

The telescope (Celestron) sits quietly under its cover, temporarily blinded by Southern California's annual meteorological hostage situation – June Gloom. Somewhere above that thick gray ceiling, photons that began their journey before humans appeared are streaming across the cosmos, only to be intercepted by a marine layer that seems to have veto power over astronomy. Instead of observing the universe, I find myself imagining – The End of Everything (Astrophysically Speaking) by physicist Katie Mack. According to modern cosmology, the universe may eventually end in a Big Rip, a Big Crunch, Heat Death, Vacuum Decay, or some other catastrophe that sounds suspiciously like a rejected heavy-metal album title. Astrophysicists spend their careers calmly discussing the possibility that reality itself could suddenly cease to exist because a quantum field had a bad day. It's a remarkable way to start a Saturday morning. One moment you're contemplating the ultimate fate of spacetime...

Rediscovering the Magic of Summer . . .

Summer mornings, especially on a holiday weekend, have a special magic. The air is cool, the world quiet, and the day full of possibilities. This July 4th weekend, Lori and I decided to capture a bit of that magic by beating the holiday traffic with an early morning bicycle ride. We went through our usual pre-flight checklist: Stretched out the morning stiffness. Filled the water bottles. Strapped on the helmets. Checked the tires. Three tires passed inspection. The fourth had apparently declared independence. The rear tire on my e-bike was flatter than a Kansas highway. “Well, it looks like we’re not riding today,” Lori said, with the calm acceptance of someone who had already mentally promoted coffee to the day’s main event. “Why not?” I replied. “I’ll ride my old bike.” She gave me that look —the one that safely translates as, "Are you sure about this? " “Absolutely,” I said. “Why not?” I dragged the bike stand out and surveyed my options. One glance at the aggressive gear...