Earlier this fall, Adventure Cycling launched a story gathering campaign called Adventure Cycling is Everywhere. Why? Because bicycle travel, whether itโs touring or bikepacking, isnโt confined to a single location or experience. Itโs a living, breathing movement that exists wherever cyclists dare to explore, and we wanted your stories to help prove it. Submissions are still open, but we couldnโt wait to share a few of those weโve already received.
Expectations
Kyle Hodges
I fell back in love with cycling about four years ago, but seeing all these epic adventures on social media bummed me out. Iโm a father of four girls, so I couldnโt just go out of state on adventures whenever I wanted. While we do have one established bikepacking route in Indiana, the Brown County Delight, we lack the beauty of coastal, desert, and mountain views.
Then, I started to rethink what adventure was.
Iโm lucky to have a 60-acre plot of land an hour away from Indianapolis in Putnam County, where I grew up. When I started camping down there and riding the backroads I used to drive 20-plus years ago, I found my own adventures. Putnam County is neighbors with Owen County, which has a few parks and Cataract Falls, Indianaโs largest cascade by volume. Parke County is the Covered Bridge Capital of the World with 31 of them, the most in a single county.
Little by little, I started establishing my own routes. I have adventures ranging from simple day rides all the way up to a route encompassing 41 covered bridges, 268 miles, and 11,000 feet of elevation gain on country and gravel roads where you see more horse and buggies than cars. People that come along always have a similar response: โI didnโt think you could find this kind of adventure in Indiana outside Brown County!โ
So, if you feel like you live in an area where itโs dull, just get out there and ride. Adventure is only as far away from you as you allow it to be.
Love
Kenzie Davis
Leaving the day after getting married, my husband, Palmer, and I drove to Washington state from Kansas City to begin our coast-to-coast ride. Instead of having a traditional wedding registry, weโd decided to set up a donation page for family and friends to fund sections of our adventure. Our community gave us an overwhelming amount of support, and our trip was fully funded.
Though beautiful, the miles started off slowly in the mountains of Washington, Idaho, and Montana. By the time weโd gotten about a fourth of the way across the U.S., we were still in Montana, but the days and miles began to pass by more easily. We slept in a tiny two-person tent and dined at too many Dollar Generals to count. We were hosted by so many wonderful Warmshowers hosts and were shown so much kindness from strangers who became quick friends. After 81 days, Palmer and I ended our adventure in New York City. Friends that weโd cycled with on the tour had taken a train to congratulate us at the Atlantic, and after some sightseeing, we took an Amtrak back to the Great Plains.
Biking coast to coast gave me a greater appreciation for humanity. I was shown so much love from strangers on the road, and Iโve since become a Warmshowers host. Hopefully, Iโll be able to return the hospitality and love that I was shown on my tour.
Fear
Phillip Meyers
At age 69, my opportunity to take a solo bicycle ride from my sonโs house in Colorado Springs, Colorado, to our house in Durand, Illinois โ a total of 1,475 miles โ seemed to be closing. Age was taking its toll on me. I believed it was that year or never.
โWhen I thought about those who did such things, I remembered how they talked about their experiences. Experiences out of the ordinary. Adventures that had to be lived to relish. A lifetime of fond memories. I wanted those.โ
I prepared well for the trip, acquiring maps, reading and talking to others who did such rides, and training to be physically up to the challenge. What I was not prepared for was the naysayers. A constant drumming of negatives made me fear what I had believed I could do. I began to doubt myself to the point of concern.
Yes, things could happen to me โ and there may not be anyone around to help. But hadnโt my maternal grandfather come to this country alone as a young man from Europe, not even knowing the language? Then, too, my late father-in-law paddled a canoe down the Mississippi River from Illinois to New Orleans at the age of 19. Others, though younger than me, were crossing the country on bicycles.
When I thought about those who did such things, I remembered how they talked about their experiences. Experiences out of the ordinary. Adventures that had to be lived to relish. A lifetime of fond memories. I wanted those.
I finally realized that the fears challenging what I believed about myself were not my fears. They were the fears of others.
I did the ride.
Today, at age 83, my days of long-distance riding are nearing an end. However, because I did not let othersโ fears deter me, the memory of my ride will be with me long after I can no longer pedal a bicycle.
Regrets
Marin Byrne
I rode the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route solo in 2019. I rode by myself on purpose; I am fascinated by self-sufficiency, and my anticipation of the trip didnโt include people at all.
My photos reflect this mindset. I have pictures of all the GDMBR greatest hits, but almost none feature people. This is my greatest regret.
The photo of the Toaster House in Pie Town, New Mexico, should have Melissa and Gerhard, the South Africans who shared their stash of tea brought all the way from home. The photo from the EL Bruno restaurant in Cuba, New Mexico, should have Bob and Yvonna, who were eating at the next table. They saw my bike helmet and gave me a napkin scribbled with the phone number for their house in Durango in case I needed help later in the trip.
The photo from Atlantic City, Wyoming, shouldnโt be the back of the bar ownerโs head. She opened early so I could have breakfast, and as I ate, I met her son, who wanted to talk about the logistics of riding the GDMBR for someone like him who would be using a handcycle. My picture from Colter Bay in the Tetons shouldnโt be of my tent, it should be the Continental Divide Trail hikers who made fun of my dislike of trail names and told me that, if I ever do a thru-hike, my trail name has to be โReal Name.โ
The photo from the bar in Basin, Montana, should show the lady who offered to loan me her handgun for the ride over the pass to Helena. It was Friday night, she was a couple beers in, and I was talking about my fear of grizzlies. Her plan was to meet me in Helena on Sunday to get it back. The picture of my last night on the trail at Weary Creek in British Columbia shouldnโt just be tents. It should be the couple who set off from Banff without knowing how to use their Garmin and traded me snacks for a tutorial.
I have dozens more of these stories. When I look back, they were the best part of the ride. Yes, I learned a lot about what I am capable of physically, but I wish Iโd anticipated how much I would learn about my ability to connect with people. I wish I had as many pictures of my new friends as I do of the scenery.
The next time I do a big solo ride โ hopefully Adventure Cyclingโs Golden Gravel Trail in 2027, when I turn 50 โ Iโm pretty sure my photos will be mostly of people.
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