Places Archives - Adventure Cycling Association https://www.adventurecycling.org/tag/places/ Discover What Awaits Fri, 02 May 2025 17:09:32 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.8.1 https://www.adventurecycling.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/04/cropped-web_2-color_icon-only-32x32.png Places Archives - Adventure Cycling Association https://www.adventurecycling.org/tag/places/ 32 32 How To Bike Tour Santa Fe, New Mexico https://www.adventurecycling.org/blog/bike-tour-santa-fe-new-mexico/ Fri, 28 Mar 2025 15:52:01 +0000 https://www.adventurecycling.org/?p=66209 Northern New Mexico’s painted high desert landscapes, green chile, turquoise, margaritas, and world-class art galleries may make you never want to leave. And why should you? With plentiful gravel roads, […]

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Ride Center in 2014, and the League of American Bicyclists renewed Santa Fe’s status as a Silver-Level Bike Friendly Community last year. Translation? The New Mexico capital caters to cyclists of all persuasions. And it caters well. If you like your tires fat, you’ll have access to everything from high-alpine singletrack to machine-cut jump trails — all within minutes of downtown. Roadies and gravel enthusiasts may have it even better. Miles and miles of lonely gravel lanes meander through the piñon- and juniper-studded high desert. And with more than 300 days of sunshine a year, chances are excellent that you’ll find a weather window for a trip, whether you’re using Santa Fe as a home base or a launching point for a longer tour.
The Cathedral Basilica of Saint Francis of Assisi highlights Santa Fe's strong Catholic and Spanish ties.
Photo: Nick Castelli; Unsplash. Santa Fe’s Cathedral Basilica of Saint Francis of Assisi
Each season brings its own distinct flavor of riding. Spring temperatures are ideal for desert bikepacking trips, and summer marks the opening of post-snow high-alpine terrain. The real magic, however, happens during autumn in the Land of Enchantment (better known to locals as the Land of Entrapment for its ability to convert tourists into residents). Aspens start to change color in the mountains in late September, followed by the cottonwoods lower in the valleys, and the desert takes on a milder, more welcoming tone. There’s no better time to explore the City Different by two wheels.

Beginner / Day Ride

Route: Santa Fe Rail Trail Out and Back to Lamy Distance: 34 mile Elevation gain: 1,587 feet Santa Fe’s Rail Trail is the perfect introduction to the high desert. Start downtown in the popular Railyard Arts District and ride almost 17 miles out to the historic town of Lamy. The route takes you through the center of Santa Fe, past charming adobe homes and plenty of shops and restaurants, on almost five miles of paved bike path before switching to gravel at the Rabbit Road trailhead, making bigger tires a must. There, the scenery starts to change, treating you to sweeping views, and, eventually, the alluring Galisteo Basin. If you time your ride correctly, be sure to stop at Lamy’s Legal Tender Saloon & Eating House for lunch or a libation. (Some may recognize its vintage Brunswick bar and Old West decor from Amazon’s Outer Range or countless other recent Westerns.) But save some room. Once you’re back in Santa Fe, cap off your ride with a margarita and a plate of beloved, green chile-loaded New Mexican fare at Tomasita’s, which sits just steps away from the terminus of the Rail Trail.

Intermediate / Multiday

Route: The New Mexico Off-Road Runner Distance: 201 miles Elevation gain: 8,511 feet The New Mexico Off-Road Runner, a mostly unpaved route developed by Bikepacking.com in 2017, travels nearly 500 miles across the state from Santa Fe in the north to Las Cruces in the south. The full route takes around nine days, but if you want a quick taste or simply don’t have time to tackle the full ride, we recommend the first 201 miles from Santa Fe to the village of Bernardo. The small, unincorporated community lies just 18 miles south of Belen, the southernmost stop of the Rail Runner Express. So to save time — or your legs — you can grab a ticket for $10 and ride the rails back to Santa Fe where you started. (Alternatively, you could start your trip with a train ride, then pedal the route in reverse.) Both options are equally good. If you choose to leave from Santa Fe, you’ll pedal through the capital city for several miles on the same car-free Rail Trail as our beginner route until it intersects Avenida Vista Grande in the sleepy suburb of El Dorado. (Expect plenty of Spanish road names.) From here, you’ll head east on pavement towards Glorieta Mesa, where the route turns into dirt roads and two tracks. As you enter the 1.6-million-acre Santa Fe National Forest, you’ll be treated to incredible views of the untamed terrain that surrounds Santa Fe. Camping opportunities abound on Glorieta and Rowe mesas, so plan to spend a night in the forest on public land before you enter the ranchlands between Rowe Mesa and Moriarity, population 1,946. It may be small, but the town is home to several restaurants, a grocery store, and the Sierra Blanca Brewing Company should you need to quench your thirst after restocking supplies. From Moriarity, the route follows the Manzano Mountains foothills before dipping into the Cibola National Forest to finish on a paved stretch into Bernardo. This trip is best ridden in fall and likely best enjoyed on a rigid or hardtail mountain bike with at least a 2.3-inch tire. Some folks may be comfortable riding a gravel rig, but New Mexico’s dirt roads can be rough and washboarded, so a little extra cushion is advisable. Whatever bike you choose, just make sure you run a tubeless tire setup: With cactus spines, goathead thorns, and sharp rocks, you’ll thank us later.

Go and Stay

Tiny Santa Fe Regional Airport has direct flights to and from Dallas, Denver, and Phoenix, or you can fly into Albuquerque and catch the train to Santa Fe. Either way, you shouldn’t need to rent a car. Lodging in Santa Fe is plentiful and ranges from upscale resorts such as the Four Seasons and Bishop’s Lodge to old-school motor lodges converted to hipster motels like El Rey Court and the Mystic Santa Fe. Five independent bike shops, plus an REI, mean you’ll have plenty of options for last-minute bike needs.

Arts and Culture

One bonus to starting and ending your trip in Santa Fe? The multitude of activities available when you’re not on the bike. No visit would be complete without a walk up Canyon Road, a historic street lined with more than 100 art galleries. Across town lies another absolute must: Meow Wolf, an interactive and immersive art exhibit that should be unlike any art installation you’ve ever visited. Depending on your schedule, you could also earmark a day to spend at October’s annual Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta, where more than 500 balloons launch each morning.

Groceries and Food

Santa Fe is as well known for its culinary arts as its visual ones, so there’s no shortage of restaurants to fuel you up before your ride. One of its newest breweries, Nuckolls Brewing Co., lies just feet from the beginning of the Rail Trail where it serves up both delicious pints and pub fare. Cafe Fina, an old gas-station-turned-diner with a local cult following, lies just outside town near El Dorado, which you’ll pass through on Day One of our expert ride. Whatever you order at Cafe Fina, be sure to grab a pastry for the road, too. Our favorite: the cranberry almond scone.

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Lighthouses and Lobster Rolls: A Guide to Riding in Portland, Maine https://www.adventurecycling.org/blog/lighthouses-and-lobster-rolls-a-guide-to-riding-in-portland-maine/ Fri, 10 Jan 2025 21:58:12 +0000 https://www.adventurecycling.org/?p=64987 This story originally appeared as the Be Here Now feature of the 2024 Sept/Oct issue of Adventure Cyclist. Perched on a peninsula in the south- western edge of Casco Bay, […]

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This story originally appeared as the Be Here Now feature of the 2024 Sept/Oct issue of Adventure Cyclist. Perched on a peninsula in the south- western edge of Casco Bay, the city of Portland, Maine, is infused with all things ocean. Even the city’s most famous district is called the Old Port, evoking its maritime heritage. Foodies, hipsters, tourists, and fishermen mingle among stately brick buildings that rise from a maze of cobblestone streets. Overhead, squawking seagulls drift through the salt-tinged air. Over the last couple of decades, Portland has rightfully cemented its reputation as a destination city with top-tier food, arts, and music scenes. Fortunately for those who prefer to travel on two wheels, it also serves up some tasty biking adventures.

Beginner / Day Ride

Route: Black Cove Eastern Prom

Distance: 18 miles Elevation gain: 278 feet For a great introduction to the city, head onto the Back Cove Trail and the Eastern Promenade Trail, and then up and over the Casco Bay Bridge into South Portland for a day ride with plenty of visual and gastronomic diversions. The region’s original inhabitants, the Abenaki, called the area Machigonne, which means “Great Neck” in Algonquin, and this tour takes you along most of the “neck” that sticks out into the ocean. Warm up on the Back Cove Trail, a mostly flat 3.6-mile paved and crushed-stone loop that delivers views of Portland’s western skyline, before hopping onto the paved Eastern Promenade Trail and rolling into the heart of the city. Dip your tires into the Atlantic at East End Beach and keep an eye out for Fort Gorges, which guards the entrance to Portland Harbor. In short order, you’ll roll onto Commercial Street, which parallels Portland’s action-packed working waterfront. The vibrant strip is a great spot to lock up your bike and refuel. Continue up Commercial Street and over the Casco Bay Bridge, a working drawbridge that connects Portland with South Portland. A protected pedestrian lane on the bridge’s northeast side allows bikes, and there are dedicated bike lanes along each side of the bridge as well. You can simply turn around at the top of the bridge once you’ve soaked in the views of Portland’s waterfront or continue into South Portland where you can make your way to Bug Light, a small lighthouse on the northern tip of South Portland.

Intermediate / Multiday Ride

Route: Lighthouses and Lobster Roll

Distance: 93.8 miles Elevation Gain: 2,717 Feet GPX File on Ride With GPS
Map for the intermediate/multiday route.
Map created by Haley Breuckman.
This one winds along relatively flat, quiet roads, past several lighthouses, and through seaside villages before returning along the Eastern Trail, the region’s premier rail trail. Start in Portland proper or at Bug Light (#1) in South Portland. Make your way to Spring Point Ledge Light (#2) before cranking to Cape Elizabeth and Portland Head Light (#3). Chalk up another lighthouse sighting (#4) with the Ram Island Ledge Light that marks the northern end of the main channel into Portland Harbor. The next stop, down Route 77, is called Two Lights (#5 and #6). Although both are now off limits to the public, there are views of them from a parking area. From Two Lights, make your way to Old Orchard Beach, a classic pier complete with an amusement park and funky dive bars. Parallel the beach along Route 9 to Camp Ellis and the Saco River, which you’ll follow a few miles inland to the towns of Saco and Biddeford. Cross the river from Saco into Biddeford before quickly heading back to the coast and the communities of Biddeford Pool and Fortunes Rocks.
A woman walks her bike toward an old house with the top of a lighthouse peeking up behind the house.
The Portland Head Light at Cape Elizabeth
If you haven’t had your fill of coastal architecture, duck into the colony of Goose Rocks and then on to the village of Cape Porpoise. Be sure to ride all the way to the public dock so you can see Goat Island Light (#7). Your next stop is Kennebunkport. Just past town, take the gravel Bridle Path to Kennebunk, Kennebunkport’s inland sibling. Downtown Kennebunk is just a few miles from the Eastern Trail, so once you’re done exploring, simply work your way to the trail. Enjoy the car-free rail trail for about eight miles to Biddeford. Once there, you’ll have to navigate some on-road riding until you meet back up with the off-road portion of the trail in Saco. Grind gravel for another 10 miles or so back to Scarborough where a quick zip south along Route 208/Black Point Road brings you to Highland Avenue’s bike lane, which you can ride all the way back to South Portland.

Groceries and Food

Portland has all the grocery options you would ever need. For fresh produce from May through November, the Portland Farmers Market operates in Deering Oaks Park from 7:00 am to 1:00 pm Wednesdays and Saturdays. Union Wharf Market curates a fine collection of local food and gifts, artisan coffee, spices, and more. Their café serves lunch as well. Browne Trading Company sells fresh fish, wine, lunch, and artisan delicacies from their Commercial Street storefront.

Go and Stay

Unfortunately, and somewhat bafflingly for locals, hotels in Portland can be remarkably pricey at all times of the year. Budget-conscious travelers should check out the Black Elephant Hostel, which provides bunk and private room options but fills up fast (they don’t allow bikes in the hostel but do have a fenced garden with a bike rack). Airbnb or Vrbo may have deals if you book early enough. Amtrak and most major airlines serve Portland, so getting to the city is easy (just be sure you’re flying to Portland, Maine, not Portland, Oregon). It’s also right on Interstate 295, roughly two hours north of Boston. Hotels, motels, B&Bs, and campgrounds abound along the route outlined above. In the peak summer season, reservations are mandatory, but you might be able to wing it in the spring and fall shoulder seasons.

Arts and Culture

Portland hosts a nice collection of museums, including traditional options like the Portland Museum of Art and eclectic options like the International Cryptozoology Museum, which features exhibits on Big Foot, Nessie, and other creatures that may or may not roam the earth. The Victoria Mansion provides tours of one of the best examples of pre–Civil War architecture found in New England, and the Maine Narrow Gauge Railroad Museum offers scenic rides on a historic narrow-gauge train. Check out the Portland House of Music, the nightclub Aura, or the State Theatre for music and entertainment acts if you’ve got energy left after your bike tour.

Want More Routes?

Adventure Cycling Association has created free Short Routes in partnership with the East Coast Greenway Alliance that begin (or end) in Portland, Maine. One goes from Portland, ME to Newburyport, MA, and the other is the Portland to Brunswick Maine Coastal Ride.

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Canal Queens Take on the Empire State: Beginners Guide to the Northern Tier Section 10 https://www.adventurecycling.org/blog/canal-queens-take-on-the-empire-state-beginners-guide-to-the-northern-tier-section-10/ Fri, 15 Nov 2024 19:49:55 +0000 https://www.adventurecycling.org/?p=63466 There are many shades of adventure, and you have to start somewhere. I’ve learned from over 20 years of riding and leading group rides that adventurous cycling at any level […]

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There are many shades of adventure, and you have to start somewhere. I’ve learned from over 20 years of riding and leading group rides that adventurous cycling at any level results in a sense of competence, accomplishment, wonder, and joy. I’m an avid mountain biker, road rider and more recently enjoy gravel riding in New England, but I have never bikepacked or completed a multi-day cycling trip. I learned about the 750-mile Empire State Trail in New York and was intrigued by the 360-mile Erie Canal section: virtually flat, 60% paved, and 87% car free. That sounded about my speed!
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I talked two 50-something girlfriends into joining me, but a real bed and hot shower were their requirements for the seven-day ride from Buffalo to Albany. As newbies, we decided that carrying all our gear was not ideal, so I wrangled us a sherpa/sag wagon. A very kind friend drove our stuff between each night’s lodging and was on-call if disaster struck. He managed to pedal 200 miles over the week plus enjoyed sightseeing, laughter, beer, and a few good meals. My sister lives in Buffalo and she has just started riding regularly. Our first 50-mile leg was her personal challenge, and I rode it with her. Win-win-win! three cyclists stand in front of a sign with the words "fairmont" written on it. They are in reflective gear and the sky is gray Coincidentally, almost 90 miles of our route is part of Adventure Cycling’s Northern Tier Route, which crosses the country from Washington to Maine including a short jaunt through Canada. This year is the 40th anniversary of the creation of the Northern Tier route.  I planned our trip following New York’s Erie Canalway, an engineering marvel of the 1800s which allowed goods and people to travel faster from New York City to Buffalo via waterways and canal locks on mule-drawn boats. The old mule paths that run east to west between Albany and Buffalo now form a multi-use trail that is 60% paved and 40% stone dust (and a smidge of gravelly dirt). Many parts of the trail are still along active waterways with modernized locks that allow boats to travel from the Hudson River to Lake Erie. Towns along the way offer historic signage about the canalway plus places to sleep (camping, hotels, motels) and amenities like restaurants, bike shops, and grocery stores. If you plan time for sightseeing, some museums are also easily accessed from the trail. We added a road loop to Seneca Falls, birthplace of the women’s suffrage movement. This add-on made our trip almost 400 miles.  Our route passed through four major cities, several smaller ones, many tiny towns, and a quiet, scenic farmland. We experienced urban riding, car-free multi-use trail, rural roads, and one section I’d consider non-technical singletrack. There were several detours due to bridge repair or trail maintenance; all but one were well marked. We used Google maps to navigate this detour. The rest of the trip, I used a GPS route downloaded from Parks & Trails New York into the Ride With GPS app. I planned our hotel/house rental stays as close as possible to the bike path and accessible by side roads roads using Google Maps. I learned that what looks like a quieter back road isn’t always the case. I also learned in Amsterdam that checking elevation from the bike path to lodging is a good idea. We faced a super steep hill up to our hotel after a very long day of pedaling, and though it wasn’t fun, my ride partners were forgiving… especially after a cold beer.  Our trip was in mid-October because of work schedules. Knowing Central NY weather, I packed for 70 degrees or snow—both were possible. Shorter days meant fewer riding hours and I was disappointed we didn’t have time for museums or historic sites other than a photo or two. The upside of fall riding: no heat, no bugs, gorgeous foliage, and peacefully uncrowded trails. four cyclists in pink ponchos stand in front of a canal trail sign with a river and cloudy sky in the background Our fitness was good and we were excited for the challenge of riding 50 to 70 miles a day for a week. I was only worried about two things: bad weather and flat tires. Day One dawned with sporadic rain and a cold headwind. We got seven flats within the first 15 miles. Our guide, Garth, decided to ride with us for the first dozen miles, then ride back to our AirB&B and schlep our gear to the next hotel. I’m grateful he was with us because he quickly changed all the flats with little help from the rest of us. Tiny bits of glass, ceramic and wire were the culprits, probably from Buffalo’s city streets. Somehow we all maintained a sense of humor. Without Garth’s help and everyone’s patience and positive attitude, I think we might have quit and called it a short ride that first day.  Day Two brought two more flats, but we changed them ourselves, successfully and proudly, if not clumsily. Day Three was one more flat in chilly rain, but it happened near an underpass where we stayed dry. Later that day, we had an unplanned stopped for coffee at the Purple Painted Lady in Palmyra. While warming up with delicious drinks and browsing the collection of gifts curated by an all-woman team, we watched the sky open up and rain pour down. Serendipity. When it stopped, we wiped off our wet saddles and rolled on.  two cyclists smile at the camera, they look like they are changing a flat tire Over the week, we became accustomed to an evening routine of organizing gear, recharging lights, making PBJs, and packing for the morning. As we grew used to hours of steady pedaling, the rain diminished, clouds parted and most afternoons we peeled off layers necessary in 30-degree mornings. We didn’t see many people riding but cheered on a few other women we met (including one riding solo from Saskatchewan to New York City!). Every town offered friendly faces even if they had terrible coffee. We marveled at wildlife (so many great blue herons!), laughed a lot and sang Erie Canal folk songs on long, straight boring stretches. By the time we reached Albany, the weather was gorgeous. We were tired but happy. We did it! And we’re ready for another bike adventure.

Nuts & Bolts

two cyclists stand on a bridge over a river with trees and a blue sky in the background Our ride followed the 360-mile Erie Canalway multi-use path. Interactive online map plus GPS download available here. To explore the whole Northern Tier Section 10 (426 miles from Orchard Park to Ticonderoga, New York) or the entire 4,296 mile cross-country route, you can order a hard copy map.
  • Distance:  360 miles (almost 400 miles with detours and on-road loop to Seneca Falls)
  • Route Surface: 60% paved, 40% gravel
  • Technical difficulty: Easy and mostly car-free. Mostly flat, except for Seneca Falls loop and one hilly detour due to a bridge repair. Paved surfaces are mostly well maintained. Signage (including detours) is overall very good.
  • Terrain: Gravel is hard-packed stone dust with a few sections of chunkier gravel or dirt. Some city/street riding but good signage and bike lanes. 
Best Season to ride: Spring, summer, and fall.  Bike: Gravel or touring bike with tires that can handle a few short sections of chunkier gravel or dirt. 

Resources

Excellent planning information from Parks & Trails New York and the Erie Canalway National Heritage Corridor There are a few Facebook groups for the Erie Canalway Trail where you can ask questions and get prompt, helpful, current information from trail users. 

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Good Seeds: Cycling Central Washington During the Apple Harvest https://www.adventurecycling.org/blog/good-seeds-cycling-central-washington-during-the-apple-harvest/ Wed, 30 Oct 2024 22:00:13 +0000 https://www.adventurecycling.org/?p=63015 This story originally appeared in the Sept/Oct 2024 issue of Adventure Cyclist magazine.  Apples got their start 12 million years ago in Central Asia in the area we now call […]

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This story originally appeared in the Sept/Oct 2024 issue of Adventure Cyclist magazine.  Apples got their start 12 million years ago in Central Asia in the area we now call Kazakhstan. There in the Tian Shan mountains, wild apple trees grew and evolved, creating fecund forests rich with birds, bears, and every variety of apple imaginable. A small town eventually grew near this forest and called itself Almaty — “king of the apples.” Almaty became a commerce hub between the East and West, and by 1500 BC, the apples that had evolved millions of years in Almaty’s forests began to spread to Persia and Europe via horse panniers and digestive tracts. (Apples’ hard, teardrop-sized seeds can survive animals’ digestive systems perfectly intact, finding themselves miles away from their origins and starting life anew.) The Persians and Greeks soon not only created bucolic apple orchards, but refined their apples’ flavors. Orchardists used grafting, the technique of inserting the bud of one tree into the stem of another, to propagate particular varieties of apple, creating apples consistent in tastes and textures they desired. Eating dinner al fresco among the apple trees was a way to experience beauty and showcase their power. Person on a loaded bike smiling on the side of a paved road that goes along a vineyard and then river. In the second century BC, Almaty became a node on the Silk Road, the 4,000-mile trading route connecting Rome with China. While silk and Buddhism went west and gold and Christianity went east, apples went far in both directions. Centuries later, the apple would even cross an ocean and spread across North America, in part because of an unusual, not-yet-famous character named John Chapman. Chapman believed that every plant, animal, and object in nature correlated with specific spiritual truths. Thus, he believed, one shouldn’t merely observe nature but help regenerate it; more natural diversity led to a more spiritually rich world. Chapman didn’t believe in grafting fruit, so he spread apple seeds from America’s East Coast to Indiana by planting them in the land he was traveling on. Apples never before seen on the continent grew across the land. Colonists arrived to settle land where apple trees were already bearing fruit. We now know Chapman, of course, as Johnny Appleseed. Neither I nor my traveling partner (and this piece’s photographer), Hector Dominguez-Maceda, knew anything about the migratory history of the apple when we planned a bike trip during the apple harvest in Washington State, famed as “the apple state.” On one hand, we were interested in heady topics: immigration, nature, and food systems. On the other hand, we sought some adventure. Hector and I are good and unlikely friends. In the early 2010s, I taught him language arts at one of the most diverse and innovative schools in the U.S. After he graduated, we stayed in touch as he made his way through college and then a career. After the school where I worked closed and Hector’s father, a native of Puebla, Mexico, passed away, Hector and I talked about cycling more and more, and about not only seeing new lands, but seeing land in general from a new perspective. In this spirit, in October 2023 we set out to experience apple country from the saddle of a bicycle. Washington State generates 10 billion to 12 billion apples a year, nearly all of them along the Columbia River and its tributaries, from Okanogan in the north to Yakima in the south. Hector and I started our journey at the midpoint of those regions, on the southeast side of Lake Chelan in the last town up the lake, called Manson. Lake Chelan and Manson are well known for their apples. Before the 1950s, apple packers advertised their brands with colorful, iconic labels glued to their wooden crates. The crates were adorned with gorgeous waters at the base of steep peaks, and that imagery is Manson. From the shores of Lake Chelan, the third-deepest lake in the U.S., 7,000-foot peaks rise towering over Manson, a town described by its chamber of commerce as “agri-artisan,” though I might describe it as Edenic. A typical October morning in the region starts at around 40°F. Indeed, when we hit the road at 8:00 am, we could just make out our breath in the morning light. We warmed up while riding the twisting roads on the hills above the lake. The anxiety of scrolling through the national and international news on my phone softened as the sun rose, and in just a few minutes, the joy of riding for pleasure returned. The birds, lake, and wheels created a cadence that detached me from data and reattached me to earth. A man closes his eyes and opens his mouth wide as if to bite an apple he holds in his hand. The feeling comes easy in Manson. Abundance abounds. Hundreds of thousands of bright red and green apple orbs hang from thousands of trees, and squeezed among the orchards are vineyards and blueberry fields. The roads were wide enough to afford space to ride side-by-side, so when we weren’t struck silent by the region’s natural beauty, Hector and I were able to discuss things like Tolstoy, Oppenheimer, fathers, and hip-hop. At one point a truck with a Michoacán sticker — the name of a state in central Mexico where many migrant workers in Washington come from — on its tailgate passed us. (When I studied the Mexican education system in Morelia, Michoacán, in the summer of 2006 through a university program, I was not only stunned by how similar the landscapes were between the two states, but also by how much Michoacános knew about Washington State, rattling off the names of small towns ranging from Sunnyside to Mt. Vernon.) Serendipitously, Hector and I saw five men warming in the sun outside of a white, barracks-like building where many apple pickers live. We pulled over to talk with them — a bicycle always helps people let the guards down. They were indeed apple pickers. They all came from Mexico, from Nayarit in the north to Puebla — where Hector’s family is from — farther south. They had the Saturday off and seemed to relish having nowhere to go and nothing to do. They were happy to speak with us. Some of them worked three-month contracts picking apples, some six, and others nine. All had left family in Mexico to earn money here in the U.S. When Hector asked if anyone else worked the orchards, they proudly answered, practically in unison, “Puros Méxicanos.” Pure Mexicans. They described the work to us, ancient labor. In addition to picking the ripe apples, they discard the unripe ones and trim the trees so they grow more fruit the following year. They pointed to the hundreds of scrapped apples along the side of the road. When I asked them about the industry getting more efficient and work going to robots (the only word I could find in Spanish), they seemed unconcerned. I couldn’t tell if they were nervous about talking to a journalist about this topic or if they were legitimately unworried. We moved on, and although they politely said no to photos, I sincerely thanked them for their labor and they paused their affable laughter, nodding in a way that suggested perhaps we understood each other. On our way out of Manson, we passed an apple picker just starting his day. We yelled “Hola!” and he waved to us, smiling. Hector and I cycled silently, digesting the abundance of what we’d seen and heard in just a short time. As we headed into the town of Chelan at the southern end of the lake, the traffic picked up. We rode single file on the wide shoulders, passing “bicycle on the road” signs every few miles. The homes got larger, the flags more frequent and political, and the trucks newer, cleaner, and shinier. Soon we found ourselves passing putt-putt golf courses, pizza joints, and a long line out of a Starbucks. Chelan is a good spot for amenities. For our itinerary, it was the only spot. We picked up snacks and a lunch for later and cycled away from Chelan and the lake, past agricultural warehouses and processing plants, to the edge of town and beyond. From Chelan’s outskirts, it’s a fast, steep descent to the Columbia River. The lush landscape quickly vanished and was replaced with the austere and arid high desert. In less than 10 minutes, Hector and I had the sense we’d gone from “up above” to “down below.” The cliffs that frame each side of the Columbia River now towered above us. I love this dramatic landscape. While apples were having their heyday in Central Asia 25,000 years ago, this landscape in Washington State was shaped by constant cataclysmic floods. For thousands of years, the ice sheet that covered most of what is now Canada dammed the Clark Fork River in Idaho and Montana and formed glacial Lake Missoula. When the frozen dam burst, the water of Lake Missoula rushed out in unfathomable proportions across what is now Montana, Idaho, and Washington. Two loaded bicycles without riders leaning against the gaurdrail on a sunny day in the Columbia Gorge. These floods had once covered the land where we now rode. Their waters were at least 1,000 feet deep, as tall as the cliffs above us. They cut rock and stripped soil, carving out canyons that millennia later would be drawn from for irrigation. Traveling at 10,000,000 cubic meters per second, the floods would have easily kept up with the cars that passed us. Rocks pushed up by a “geologic elevator” from 15 miles below are scarred with deep striations of this period. Crossing over the Beebe Bridge — the least comfortable part of our loop, with no shoulder and cars going 60 mph — the setting was more redolent of a Cormac McCarthy novel than a pastoral. As we headed south along the river, the apple orchards were dwarfed by the cliffs. The landscape became more industrial, but just as compelling. Through dams, irrigation, land ownership, genetic modification, pest control, automation, immigration, power, order — this is what humans contend with to push life out of the seemingly unyielding earth. If Manson was the idyllic past, this river gorge was time immemorial, spreading prehistorically toward the future. On this side of the river, the east side, most of the orchards are “high-density.” It’s impossible not to notice. Whereas traditional orchards have about 350 trees per acre, these high-density ones have about 1,450. High-density apples grow on trellises, resembling hops more than trees. Long sheets of fabric often cover and surround them, like functioning Christo and Jeanne-Claude art installations. We heard recorded falcon sounds above some of the fields that seemed to keep pesky birds away. At least, that was my interpretation. There was no one to ask. The laborers here — the ones we could see — worked far back in the orchards, diminished by the ancient landscape. Even if we wanted to yell hola, the frequent semi-trucks carrying tons of apples to the warehouses outside the town of Wenatchee would have silenced us. The harvest runs from late August until early November, and the frequency of the trucks was relentless evidence of mass productivity. I read an article a few years ago about how the trellised orchards we passed are the likely future of growing and picking in this region; the article, in fact, inspired this piece. The trellises maximize output and minimize labor costs. Though more prone to disease, trees grown on trellises bear fruit faster, and because no part of them is in the shade canopy, the sugar content from apple to apple is consistent. On top of that, trellises create uniformity that will one day allow for machines — the “robots” I referred to back in Manson — to do the picking, rather than human hands. Despite the many benefits of trellising apple trees and automating the harvesting process, many orchard owners aren’t excited about that future. The article I read included an owner lamenting the results of having to shave a nickel off everything in order to stay competitive. “These folks are my neighbors,” he said, referring to the puros Méxicanos Hector and I had spoken with. I identified with this orchard owner’s sentiment. I thought about what things should actually cost, and I thought about consumption and capitalism. Passing these trellises on a bicycle was visceral. Hector and I could easily imagine the vanishing of norteño, Tex-Mex music, and Michoacán tailgate stickers; a landscape devoid of people and, thus, character. The road along the Columbia River slowly and steadily ascends and descends, never at a grade above 3 percent. It’s easy, and not easy: the undulation means non-stop pedaling. Fortunately, 15 miles south of Beebe Bridge is Daroga State Park, a beautiful, lush river park perfect for resting tired legs. (It’s also a campground, some years open until the end of September, others until mid-October.) Along the river’s shore, Hector and I ate lunch and put our feet in the water. While he napped on the sand, I looked at the rock formations on the other side of the river. Strips of strata rock lines ascended and descended the basalt cliffs, much like the roads we’d just ridden. I lay down and slept. We got back on the road and pedaled south 12 more miles, past millions of apples to our left and right. We arrived at Lincoln Rock State Park, named after an Abraham Lincoln–like rock structure, and like all Washington State parks, this one luckily had hiker-biker spots. We caught the park ranger off guard when we rode up; he said we were the first hiker-bikers he had all year. Hector and I set up camp, swam in the Columbia, and looked at the oddly presidential rock structure before us. The first peoples here had seen a silhouette in the rocks, too, though that was long before Lincoln, so I had the simultaneous experience of seeing both Lincoln and, simply, humankind. There were many families at the campground that night, camping in tents, RVs, and cabins. Kids speaking Spanish and English biked in loops around the park, curious about our bikes, panniers, and gear. I told Hector, “Isn’t it wild how much we experienced in just one day?” It was clear he’d been thinking about it already because he quickly responded, “Cycling is a magnifying glass.” All the things you normally just pass by in a car suddenly come into focus; on a bike, you actually have enough time to see them clearly. The stars were out that night. Hector and I, like all bike tourers, had ambitions to stay up late and watch them. And also like all bike tourers, as soon as the sun set, a wave of exhaustion crashed over us. After the 56-mile day, we got in our tents and fell asleep quickly. Just before I did, the coyotes called out from the ancient land. From Lincoln Rock the next morning, we rode part of the Apple Capital Recreation Loop Trail, which spans 21 miles from Lincoln Rock State Park to South Wenatchee; we took it for seven. It’s far off the highway and passes both traditional and high-density orchards. On this pastoral leg, we saw quail and heron, as well as empty wooden crates waiting for apples. When we stopped at the vista of the Rocky Reach Dam, the hum of electricity buzzed overhead. When cycling in this region, you can’t help but stop and think about human will and ingenuity. The trail goes far into Wenatchee, but Hector and I crossed the Frances Farmer Bridge and headed north on the other side of the river, back in the direction of Chelan. Confusingly, this highway is called Route 97 Alternate, as if it’s an alternative to the highway we came from, which is simply called Route 97. In fact, the alternative is the busier road, less about agriculture and more about commuting. A person bikes on a paved road by short espaliered apples trees. There are few orchards on this highway. Drivers heading south wore their Sunday best heading to church, which enhanced the strange spirituality I was already feeling. Though the shoulders were wide, they didn’t feel it; rock formations and sheer cliffs pushed right up against the road. When we stopped for a water break, we heard a rattlesnake in the hills. Indeed, a word that came to mind on the stretch was “lonely,” and I thought of long, wandering scenes in Ursula K. Le Guin’s Earthsea trilogy. In a car, this is the road that you drive to get from point A to point B; it’s an in-between. On a bike, there is no speeding through the in-between. In fact, there is no in-between at all. All must be experienced and endured at the same pace. It may not feel special or comfortable, but you must pedal it. Each part of the world is all the world, and the pace and vantage of a bicycle reinforces that vital truth. As we cycled north, we could see Lincoln Rock and Daroga on the other side of the river. The scale was massive and clear from this perspective. The cliffs diminished the semi-trucks that roared past us yesterday. I imagined our small bikes, small selves, pedal stroke by pedal stroke following the shape of the land like the geologic strata itself. A powerboat played country music in the river. I didn’t know what to do with this contrast — the rugged landscape, the immigrants working in massive industry, a powerboat in the middle of a dammed river, the scale of violence unfolding in the world — but I knew that for the first time in a while, because of Hector’s photos and because of my bike and because of digital detachment, I was at least seeing again. Hector and I had taken this trip for perspective, and at last we were able to see what was right in front of us. About halfway between Wenatchee and Chelan is Entiat, a small town with fruit stands, a ranger station and a grocery store. It also seems to be the town that provides services to Chelan: HVAC, auto repair, construction supplies, and boat repair. The friendly employees in the grocery store felt like a balm to the intensity of the land. While we repaired a flat tire in the parking lot, we ate apples and Tajín-covered peach rings. Hector went in on a Golden Delicious. I scarfed a Honeycrisp. At first it was a gimmick for the article, but then something happened: Hector and I agreed these were damn good apples. We peeled off the highway at Navarre Coulee Road, a long, low-traffic ascent to the west part of Lake Chelan. It’s steep and, at first, stark. Then we got to some spindly pines and stubborn greenery. The more we sweated and grinded, the more we anticipated the summit. When at last we got there, we stopped cycling, felt the air pass through our lungs again and again, and absorbed the land’s awesome beauty. Below us, traditional orchards rolled down the mountainside like Tuscan vineyards. Below them was Lake Chelan, surrounded by land that was gentle and lush, but all around us was only quietude. We could see the lake (which is 52 miles long) curve its way up toward the Cascade Mountains. The topography of the mountains hinted at the depth of the lake. Hector and I chuckled at the agony and ecstasy of getting to the literal and emotional summit, as bike tourers often do. We put our arms around each other’s shoulders with a sense of pride, friendship, and bittersweetness. When we looked back in the direction we came from — in addition to being hazy from the now annual forest fires in the region — it appeared harsh, scrubby, and unforgiving. We were grateful for the contrast of beauty and grit that we stood within, a contrast that adventure cyclists not only accept but seek out. In a land of industry and labor, we had earned a moment of glory. We delighted in the descent to the lake. The air cooled us and our breathing steadied. Though Hector is new to bike touring, he flew past me. I’ve gotten more cautious and sentimental as I’ve aged; I took my time. It gave me joy to see him fly, and to take it at my own pace. At the bottom of the road is Lake Chelan State Park, a beautiful spot to camp, but we had a few more miles to go before we could rest. The ride into Chelan from this direction has little traffic and wide shoulders. Views of the lake are constant. We passed homes that were shuttered up until the following summer. There are several beloved wineries along the road, but Hector and I didn’t come for the wine. We were here for the harvest. We rode silently, each of our minds now growing new ideas from all we’d seen. We hadn’t just cycled. Indeed, we’d adventured. It really didn’t take all that much time, was one delicious thought I plucked. After 56 total miles that day, we arrived back in Manson, and our trip was done. I was back home in Seattle the next day. I went to my local co-op for groceries and held an organic Honeycrisp in my hand. I thought of the pickers in Manson, the roaring semis, the basalt rock, the peace while eating dinner with Hector. I thought of land and industry, migration and friendship. I thought about enduring discomfort and devouring joy. Riding a bike hadn’t done this to me in a long time — inspired images rather than analysis. When I turned around and looked at all the people in the grocery store, I had a sensation that we are all seeds in some strange digestive system. But we’re designed for it. We have it in us to stay intact. And wherever each of us is dropped, we, the good wild seeds, will spark some new variation of life. Oh, fellow readers, friends, seeds across this country, across this incredible world, say it with me, loud and in unison and again and again and again: Viva la manzana! Viva la aventura! Viva la bicicleta!Sean Riley is a teacher, writer, and adventure cyclist from Seattle, Washington. Photos by Hector Dominguez-Maceda

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In The Tall Trees  https://www.adventurecycling.org/blog/in-the-tall-trees/ Fri, 11 Oct 2024 18:17:47 +0000 https://www.adventurecycling.org/?p=62496 This article originally appeared in the 2024 Nov/Dec issue of Adventure Cyclist magazine. “The earth has a small negative charge of around 200 millivolts, and humans have about the opposite.” […]

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This article originally appeared in the 2024 Nov/Dec issue of Adventure Cyclist magazine.

“The earth has a small negative charge of around 200 millivolts, and humans have about the opposite.” I nodded, unsure of the science behind this assertion, as Mark, a pediatric surgeon turned mental health therapist, explained his theories to me at the breakfast table. It was my first morning in New Zealand. “Humans need to neutralize that charge,” he continued. “You do that by getting in touch with the earth.” I nodded again. Mark then leaned closer, away from his wife, and lowered his voice. “The other therapists in my practice don’t like it, but instead of pills, I sometimes prescribe my patients to get into nature.” He sat back and smiled. “You know, walk barefoot. Touch some trees.”

This story is not just about trees. Or millivolts. It’s about a bike ride along New Zealand’s Timber Trail, one of 23 Great Rides sprinkled throughout this scenic, far-off land. Located in the middle of New Zealand’s Pureora Forest on the North Island, the route is described in an online brochure as “the best two-day ride in the country. Hyperbole? I’ve come to touch some trees — or at least ride among them — and find out.

On Day One, with Mark’s opinions about millivolts and non-pharmaceutical prescriptions ringing in my head, our group finished an ample breakfast of bacon, eggs, and sausage, plus all the muesli, fruit, and coffee we could take, at the Timber Trail Lodge. We’d spent a comfortable night at the guesthouse, set on a hill overlooking its namesake route’s halfway point. A few minutes later, our bikes loaded on the trailer, we clambered into the shuttle van to take us to the start.

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Our driver, Vaughn, turned back to us. “Okay, question for all of you: did Rob take a breath when he was driving you up here last night?” Everybody cracked up. We couldn’t say for sure one way or the other.

Rob is Rob Kakahi, a 69-year-old Māori from the Iwi Ngāti Maniapoto (iwi is Māori for “tribe”). The previous night, he’d started talking about the trail and the surrounding old-growth Pureora Forest as he shuttled us to the hotel, and he never let up once on the hour-long drive. And why not? Rob and his iwi belong to the forest. He was here for the intensive logging of native New Zealand trees in the forest. He was here during the environmental protests in the ’70s to save the forest. And he is here now as trekkers and cyclists discover the glorious, preserved forest.

Te Pureora-o-Kahu — “the place where Kahu regained her health” — is the Māori name for the area surrounding Mount Pureora, the highest peak in the Hauhungaroa Mountain Range. (Kahu was a Māori ancestress, and her legendary wanderings throughout New Zealand’s North Island as she mourned her husband’s death are a major settlement narrative in Māori lore.) In between periodic eruptions from nearby Taupō Volcano, the Pureora area lay pristine for millennia. This idyll ended abruptly in the 20th century and by the 1940s, timber companies were pushing into the ancient native podocarp forest, felling 100 to 150 enormous trees a day. Hardwood conifers like the rimu, tōtara, and New Zealand’s tallest tree, the kahikatea, were chopped, chained, dragged, and carted out of the mountains to be milled into lumber.

A man rides a mountain bike in dense forest.
Jeffrey Yeates

Opposition to logging the ancient trees grew in the 1970s, culminating in 1978 when protestors lived on platforms in the canopy to block operations. It worked. The New Zealand government declared the remaining tracts off limits. The old-growth trees were saved, but as Rob explained, the sudden shutdown threw thousands of loggers out of work, devastating local communities.

With the loggers gone, chirps and trills from some of the country’s most endangered birds replaced the buzzing of saws and roar of machinery. Few visitors entered the protected areas, and the remaining trees grew in peace, the forest taking back the bare hills and tramways and other signs of logging, a slumbering Eden, until 2010.

“It was a John Key project,” said Russ Malone, Timber Trail Lodge’s operations manager, of the effort to use adventure tourism to help rebuild the local, post-logging economy. New Zealand’s prime minister at the time, Key pushed for new cycling trails as part of the Tour Aotearoa, a 3,000-kilometer bikepacking route linking the entire country north to south (or as I like to think of it, One Trail to Rule Them All). The Timber Trail’s 85 kilometers became part of that network when it opened to riders and hikers in 2013.

Vaughn, our shuttle driver, dropped a dozen of us at the Pureora start point, we all took photos in front of the Timber Trail sign, and then we rolled into the forest. I watched my fellow riders, shining in the morning sunlight, disappear into a dark opening of trees, moss, and vines. As I entered, the forest absorbed the noise and sunlight. We were in ancient lands.

I showed up solo for this bicycle trek but quickly made some Kiwi friends, including Tommo and Tania, just ahead of me, who have ridden all over both islands. Behind me was Robert, a former Marylander who’s lived in New Zealand for the last 26 years. Most of my fellow cyclists were on Trek Powerflys, part of the wave of electric-assist bikes. I kept it old school with a rented Trek Roscoe 7 hardtail.

The Timber Trail is 53 miles long (85 kilometers), with an elevation gain of 4,600 feet (1,412 meters) and a descent of around 5,800 feet (1,765 meters). Most riders start at the east end, as we did, and head west toward Ongarue so those numbers are in their favor. How difficult was the route going to be? I’m an experienced roadie, so I figured I had the fitness. As for mountain biking, I love it, but I’m not ashamed to admit that steep descents with big rocks scare me. New Zealand rates the Timber Trail as a variable 2–3 on their 1–6 scale, with 1 being easy and 6 being extreme. This sounded reasonable. Day One’s extended climb toward the Mount Pureora summit and the descending switchbacks accounted for most of the level 3 difficulty.

A man rides a mountain bike down a hill on a dirt path in dense forest.
Mark riding through trees in Pureora Forest early on Day One.
Jeffrey Yeates

The first miles were easy and marvelous, winding through the dark, ancient trees with sunshine slashing here and there through the canopy. We rode past a red and black Māori whakairo rakau, or wood carving, representation of a Waikato Māori chief, Te Kanawa. He challenged a fellow chief to a race that roughly followed the route of the Timber Trail, or so the story goes.

We soon discovered that not every hill in Pureora is virgin forest as we eventually rode out of the woods into direct sunshine. Some of the region remains in private hands, and we rolled within sight of some of those tracts. Although no native or endangered trees are cut, we could see a few barren hillsides, recently harvested. Adjacent to them were a few more hills filled with medium-sized teenage trees targeted for cutting as part of a 25-year cycle.

Back in the forest at kilometer 11, we rolled up to the footpath spur to the Mount Pureora summit. A group of schoolboy cyclists were munching on snacks, having just returned from the peak. I chatted with one of their teachers, Jonathan, who sported a fabulous mustache. “This ride is a final exam for the mountain biking section of our outdoor education class,” he said. “Later, we’ll do kayaking and rock-climbing expeditions.” Feeling some regret that “Awesome Wilderness Adventures 101” was not one of my high school electives, I looked at the boys in their mud-covered shoes and asked, “Is the summit hike worth it?” A few of them nodded and said the trail was fun, but with their teacher standing nearby, I briefly wondered about the sincerity of their response.

It was worth it. My riding companions decided to skip the detour, but I figured it was a perfect day, so carpe diem and all that. Leaving my bike to the side of the trail, I headed into the lush forest, the sounds of the boys’ laughter fading behind me. About halfway up, the forest thinned, and I found myself among scrub and smaller trees. I could see a giant wooden tripod marking the summit, but it remained distant as I negotiated the mud puddles and slippery roots. Finally, I reached the exposed peak and the wind slammed into me. From nearly 4,000 feet (1,165 meters), I could see Lake Taupō, the country’s largest, and the still-snowy summit of Mount Ruapehu, an active stratovolcano and the highest point on New Zealand’s North Island. Mount Ruapehu has been relatively quiet since 2009, but in 1945, it erupted and triggered a mudflow that killed 151 train passengers. Fortunately, the volcano I was standing on, Mount Pureora, is extinct.

Three cyclists riding over a suspended bridge.
Riders cross the Maramataha Bridge, New Zealand’s third- longest suspension bridge and the longest on the Timber Trail.
Jeffrey Yeates

I hiked back to the trail and saw that I was alone, my biking buddies and the schoolboys gone on ahead. From here, the route continued up for several miles to its highest point at 3,200 feet (971 meters). Usually, long ascents are my chance to catch other riders ahead of me, and I enjoy calling out a cheery, “Hey, lookin’ good!” as I pass friends on the mountain (and they probably curse me under their breath). However, there wouldn’t be any shoutouts on this ascent. No matter how hard I pushed, I couldn’t catch my electric bike–riding friends. Curse them and their silent motors!

So it was in solitary splendor that I crested the tail, aimed downhill, negotiated some switchbacks and another corner, and then rolled to a stunned stop. I’d hit the first suspension bridge. “Wow!” I exclaimed to the trees.

The Timber Trail is much more than its famed suspension bridges, but this was a wow moment. The soaring towers and gleaming silver cables were like seeing the Arc de Triomphe anchoring the Champs-Élysées in the final stage of the Tour de France. Despite its inelegant name — Bog Inn Bridge — the crossing was a beauty, stretching nearly 400 feet (115 meters) over the unnervingly steep gorge below. The bridge towers were lowered into place by helicopters, then strung with cables. In addition to the dozens of vertical suspension cables, several horizontal sup-porting cables were strung across the chasm to reduce sway. It all looked comfortingly solid, although a sign advises no more than 10 riders at a time.

I parked the bike and stepped out onto the bridge. Despite the horizontal cables, I was definitely swaying. “Just like a pleasant swing in a summer hammock,” I told myself. A hammock perched over a chasm perhaps, but still a pleasant swing.

Crossing the bridge, back on my bike, I was alone among the trees again, but far from lonely. Nor was it very quiet. Throughout the ride, and especially in the native woods, I heard the whistles and shrieks of birds. Dark shapes flitted across my path. Although I couldn’t identify the individual species calling and flying past me, I knew there was a good chance they started with a “k” — the kōkako, kākā, kākāriki, and kūkūare are among the birds found in Pureora.

Cyclist on a mountain bike heads up an incline and passes under a rotting fallen log.
Cyclists pass under an ancient, gigantic tree fallen over an old rail trail cutting. This gives an idea of the size of some of the native trees that were logged in the mid-20th century and are now preserved.
Jeffrey Yeates

After six hours and 26 miles of biking, not to mention 2.5 miles of muddy hiking, I finished Day One back at the Timber Trail Lodge. I found my cycling companions, including Tommo and Tania, already out on the deck enjoying a card game and cold beverages in the late afternoon sun.

Given the Timber Trail’s remote setting, nearly all cyclists choose from several mid-trail lodging options. The Timber Trail Lodge, my choice, sleeps up to 45 in rooms with shared bathroom facilities or private suites. Your stay includes breakfast, dinner, and a to-go-lunch, but there are add-ons, including transport to trailheads and bicycle rentals. It is off the grid with solar power and rainwater cisterns and is as lovely and quiet as I could have hoped.

Nearby is Piropiro Campsite, a wide expanse of lawn surrounded by trees in the wop-wops (New Zealand term for “middle of nowhere”) with shared bathroom facilities. Barely two more minutes down the trail sits Camp Epic. “I first visited here 10 years ago and realized this is where I wanted to be and what I wanted to do,” said Paul Goulding, Camp Epic’s owner. Seeing the need for more rider accommodations, he opened the campground. “I modeled our tents and facilities after an African safari.”

I chatted with some of the schoolboys, who were playing card games around one of the tables in the common eating and kitchen area. With the sun setting behind the tents, I bade the Camp Epic glampers farewell and rode back to my guesthouse. I was just in time for a dinner of bacon-wrapped chicken, potatoes, and broccoli salad. As the only non–New Zealander, I played the role of ignorant outsider and enjoyed the opportunity to lob questions about controversial topics, such as politics, religion, and the touchiest topic of all: rugby.

From afar, New Zealand has always seemed to me like a place of cooperation and unity, an island paradise. It was heartening to observe the different views and disagreements in our after-dinner group and be reminded that every country wrestles with divisions. Yet there was no bitterness, and the mood remained as warm as the glowing wood stove nearby.

Around midnight, I awoke and stepped out onto the common balcony to chill myself in the night air and enjoy the quiet. A few nearby tree limbs murmured while unfamiliar Southern Hemisphere stars sparkled above. Off to my side, I could see a light on in the common room. I walked over to turn it off and found Robert and another guest at the table, still engrossed in conversation.

A suspension bridge
Rolling to a stunned stop, the author arrives at Bog Inn Bridge, the first of half a dozen spectacular bridges.
Jeffrey Yeates

It was early spring on the North Island, and Day Two dawned with temperatures in the high 40s Fahrenheit to start and would only reach the low 60s. We filled up on more eggs and bacon and then hit the dirt. The first highlight of the day was the longest suspension bridge of the trail — Maramataha Bridge — extending 462 feet (141 meters) with its towers rising at least 200 feet (60 meters) from the gorge below. It is the third-longest suspension bridge in New Zealand. All of us gathered at one end, setting ourselves up for photos and gaping at the views.

More forest, more views, more fun downhills, and then the final suspension bridge: Mangakotukutuku Bridge. While not as long as the others, Mangakotukutuku dramatically spans the giant rocks jutting out of Goat Creek below. After hopping among the rocks and shouting out to Tommo and Tania and other riders as they crossed above us, we lay out in the sun, pleased with our efforts. We only had about nine miles (15 kilometers) left, and they were predominantly downhill.

We traced the old Ellis and Burnand logging company tramway. The rails and ties used to transport the felled trees out of the forest were gone, but we soon discovered evidence of the loggers from decades before. There were a few abandoned camps and worker huts on off-trail spurs. At one point, we stopped and walked around a massive, steam-powered log hauler, its cable still attached to a giant, rotting tree. I imagined that trail workers, pondering the bulk, decided to leave it as a trail-side exhibit, rusting away in a grassy meadow.

At kilometer 75, we anticipated the other highlight of Day Two: the Dungeons & Dragons–esque Ongarue Spiral. The 360-degree loop of railroad track is not a fantasy trap for tired cyclists but instead a remarkable engineering feat, built by Ellis and Burnand to ease the grade for their loaded timber trains. As we approached, our trail spiraled down underneath itself, leading into a black tunnel. Out of sight and around the corner, I could hear the hoots of other riders in the tunnel, and then, almost before I realized it, we were rolling into the dripping darkness, aiming for the bright smudge of sunlight ahead.

We exited the spiral demon-free. With most of the mountain forest now behind us, the landscape softened. Inevitable New Zealand sheep appeared among the hills, and it would not have surprised me to see some Hobbits wandering about. New Zealand is Lord of the Rings country, of course, and the Hobbiton film set, a major tourist draw, is only a few hours north of Pureora.

We wound through the easy bucolic miles, then up one final rise and were at trail’s end. All was cheery here at this roadside spot with an open shelter, water, and simple bathrooms. I saw most of my cycling companions from the last few days lazing on the benches and ground. Instead of waiting for the shuttle, several of us decided to ride a few more miles on a paved road to where our cars waited in the lot. Along the way, I passed a giant herd of curious reindeer, their antlers destined for Asia, keeping their collective eyes on me as I rode by. More sobering, I paused at a trackside memorial to a 1923 train accident that killed 17 people.

As I changed clothes and packed up my rental car, I ran into Vaughn, our driver from the first morning. He congratulated me on finishing the trail, asking how I liked the scenery. “Rob Kakahi said this was the most beautiful part of New Zealand,” I replied, “so it must be.” Vaughn laughed and said something about there being a lot of beautiful scenery in New Zealand.

Among all of New Zealand’s natural wonders, is the Timber Trail the best two-day ride in the country? Well, I hope to sample more of New Zealand’s 23 Great Rides and compare, but scenery aside, I think the route could be the most meaningful ride in New Zealand. It comes back to the trees, of course. Because Rob isn’t the only one who gets emotional about this land.

Before my trip, I watched a documentary about Pureora Forest, featuring former loggers and Māori whose jobs and communities were abruptly wiped out in the 1978 logging shut-down. The interviews took place in the forest itself, and, sitting among the preserved trees, it was clear that their bitterness toward the protestors had softened. “I think what the protestors did was the right thing to do and maybe we should have done it ourselves,” mused Dave, one of the former loggers. A bulldozer operator from the 1940s named Bruce took it even further. “The logging should have never happened. This is magnificent . . .” and then he trailed off, emotion overtaking him as he looked around at the towering ancient trees.

I rode among those trees — I may have even touched a few of them — and yes, they are magnificent.

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Redwood National Park: Local Adventures Can be Grand Adventures https://www.adventurecycling.org/blog/redwood-national-park-local-adventures-can-be-grand-adventures/ Tue, 02 Jul 2024 20:57:43 +0000 https://www.adventurecycling.org/?p=58295 This is a ride report for the Short Route: Eureka, CA: Redwood Coast Loop while the author and her husband were developing the route. Sweat dripped down my nose and […]

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This is a ride report for the Short Route: Eureka, CA: Redwood Coast Loop while the author and her husband were developing the route. Sweat dripped down my nose and landed on my handlebars. Gnats whirred in my ears, determined to steal my sanity.  By slapping them, I slapped my own face, and when I slapped my ear too hard my hand got tangled in my helmet strap. I cursed the added weight of the bottle of wine and steak in my pannier. Won’t steak be fun, I had thought. Won’t that be romantic It was the Friday of Memorial Day weekend. I questioned why we weren’t swimming and grilling out on the long weekend, like normal people. Instead, I was huffing and puffing and checking the map every tenth of a mile to see if we were at the top of the long, steep gravel climb. We had left our house near the breezy Pacific Ocean in Arcata, California, and pedaled 35 miles over two watersheds, inland to the mountains and the heat.  I used to think there was no point cycling roads I drove all the time. For years, I planned cycling trips in other states or countries and neglected the roads around me. Groups of us would mountain bike on our local forest trails, but local overnights seemed either too close or too much hassle. But my partner Tom and I had decided to change it up, mapping this loop and riding it over the long weekend. En route up this hill I had driven dozens of times, I saw clusters of trees I never noticed before, including a few particularly large Douglas firs and madrones. There were also scattered acres that had been harvested for timber, a large boulder shaped like a dog, and the beginning of royal purple larkspur flowers. “Was that there last time we were here?” I asked Tom as we pedaled past a small DIY shooting range just over the BLM boundary. He said that it was.  Despite appreciating the novel observations, I was tired and kept asking myself, Where am I? Did we miss the turn? Missing the turn to Lacks Creek is impossible. We would never miss the turn. Tom had driven up to Lacks Creek close to a hundred times during the building of the trail system. We had actually met on that drive years before when I volunteered for a trail-building day.  I should have known that his up-for-anything attitude and my motivation for adventurous weekends would lead to this masochistic Friday afternoon. I wiped my sweaty hands on my saturated shorts and kept pedaling. We finally reached the unmissable turn, pedaled another mile, and set up camp overlooking the fog covering the ocean to the west.  Horse Mountain sat to the southeast of us, and rays of sunset danced around the clouds. The arduous climb became a distant memory and we felt somewhat smug about our weekend getaway out of the fog and into the warm spring air. Congratulating ourselves with steaks over the fire, we drank wine from the bottle and I went over all the flowers I had seen on the ride, including ones I hadn’t noticed on other trips by car. We were already excited for the next two days of pedaling.  The next day we woke up foggy in our heads and legs, but after strong black coffee and tortillas filled with Nutella, we carefully descended corrugated gravel towards the Hoopa Valley to the east. We saw a bear, a fox, and osprey, marveling at the geology of the cliffs and bluffs along State Highway 96, as we cycled north along the Trinity River. The Trinity River merges with the Klamath River, known for its legendary salmon runs. We crossed the bridge at the confluence and refilled our snack supply at the newly renovated Weitchpec store. After crossing the bridge over the wide, murky water, we turned left on the 169, then crossed back over the Klamath and climbed up switchbacks on Bald Hills Road, cycling west.  Over the next day and a half, we crossed  the ancestral lands of Hupa and Yurok Tribes, up and over Bald Hills Road, and into Redwood National Park. Before crossing into the park, there is a very elaborate Yurok Veterans Cemetery, with somewhat overbuilt concrete buildings, ramps and railings. We paid our appropriate respects over the Memorial Day weekend.   The smell of bigleaf maple blossoms sat heavily in the fog as bird calls echoed in the steeper parts of the valley. The pain from Friday had dissolved and we glided along, happy to be pedaling through the mist that covered the golden meadows and purple lupine lining the road.  Two years before, I had worked a summer in the Bald Hills on a project to restore habitat for native grasses. Even though I had hiked for more than 100 hours over the oak woodlands and prairies, I hadn’t felt the rolling hills as intimately as that day. This time, on bikes, each meadow and each hill etched into my mind like a nail scratching into an aluminum tree tag, recorded for later. As the road leaves the ridge, potholed hairpin turns lead back to the coast and Highway 101. We descended quickly, seeing 1,00o-year-old redwood trees and outpacing the cars. From the intersection of Bald Hills and Highway 101, you can turn right to go north for more redwood glory via Newton B Drury Scenic Parkway, or turn south and ride through the town of Orick. There is a well-known burger and shake stand in Orick, and I felt like I had earned a meal there. We attacked the elk burgers, fries, and milkshakes like we hadn’t eaten in weeks. I wiped ketchup from my chin and stared at the redwood burls across the highway. Sitting on our stools next to the two-lane highway across the street from a run-down motel, we deemed this was the best Memorial Day weekend. We were on a local adventure, absorbing the hills we call home. The section along the 101 was the most familiar to me, since I drove it often for work. But again, I got to see what I had been missing.  A short walk along the beach near Freshwater Lagoon left sand in our cycling shoes, and the waves were deafening, rising close to shore before crashing onto the hard-packed sand. Continuing south along the coast, we passed Big Lagoon and Stone Lagoon, pedaling slow enough to note the level of vegetation in their brackish waters. Otters poked their heads out and gulls crowded the shores. Cormorants glided low over the choppy water.  The sky was overcast when we arrived home on Monday afternoon. Instead of punching the weekend to the last minute like usual, we had time to unpack, clean gear, and get ready for work the next day. Despite this moment of responsible behavior, we felt like we had gotten away with something. We’d had an epic weekend and felt like we’d gone far away and seen things no one else had. Since that memorable trip years ago, I’ve cycled various parts of this route on different rides. Each time, I feel a deeper sense of connection and familiarity with the place I call home. Instead of regarding these places as mundane or boring, I see them as more special. Each small hill, each large mountain, each watershed, or smooth-barked trees… are all special. This particular weekend reminded me that adventure is a mindset, and the ‘grand’ part of grand adventures is up to us.

Find the route here

Nuts and Bolts

  • This is a loop route with a start / finish in Eureka, California.
  • It is 185 miles with 16,167 feet of climbing and can be cycled in either direction.
  • There is not much resupply, so take most of what you’ll need and top up on snacks accordingly.
  • Depending on the time of year, you’ll want to be strategic about water. After a rainy winter, there will likely be more springs, but these dry up in the fall or during low-precipitation summers. There are several waterless sections as well.
  • You can shorten or lengthen this route according to your timeframe. There are several out-and-backs included in the route, in order to factor in spaced-out campgrounds.  The road is mostly paved roads with a few short gravel sections.

Highlights 

  • Ecosystem variety! You’ll see Humboldt Bay, inland conifer forests, steep river valleys, oak forests, and prairies before returning to the Pacific Coast.
  • Seeing several watersheds
  • Redwood trees
  • Mountain views
  • If you do this route in the summer you’ll have campgrounds with riverfront spots
While dominant winds on the coast are typically from the west and/or north, it’s worth checking the wind direction on an app like Windy before choosing which direction to ride. The route is designed to leave from Eureka, the population center for Humboldt County, but you could easily start from Arcata, McKinleyville, or another nearby community.  Eureka and Arcata have plenty of shops and accomodations, but once you get pedaling, resupply is limited to convenience stores in Weitchpec and Orick.  Campsites near the route are marked on the Ride with GPS route, and you can divide the days however you like. People who want to speed through it could do it in two or three days, while sightseers could turn it into a five-day tour. This route has a lot of climbing, as well as some short sections with high traffic, so it is not recommended for families or kids.  This route takes place on the ancestral lands of the Hupa, Karuk, Yurok, and Wiyot peoples. 

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A Little Loop in Michigan https://www.adventurecycling.org/blog/a-little-loop-in-michigan/ Thu, 06 Jun 2024 19:49:43 +0000 https://www.adventurecycling.org/?p=58344 One of my favorite ways to see a new place is to make my own bike loop. I love pedaling away from wherever I am and returning a few days […]

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Route Planning To plan this trip, I just poked around the Adventure Cycling Association website and Bikepacking.com to see if there were any bike routes nearby. On the Adventure Cycling website I found the North Lakes cycling route, a paved U.S. bike route along the coast of Lake Michigan. The route had easy resupplies, great views of the lake, and plenty of camping options. And it passed directly through the town I was in!
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I found the North Country Traverse on Bikepacking.com. This is a 172-mile non-technical singletrack route starting at a trailhead about 50 miles away. The route also showed plenty of backcountry camping options, water, and easy resupplies. I compared the two routes and found they intersected at the northern terminus of the North Country Traverse at Traverse City, creating a near-perfect loop. I could ride out of town on the North Lakes cycling route, cut over to the North Country Traverse, take that to Traverse City, and then hop back onto the North Lakes route down the coast to where I’d started. So that’s what I did! The total length of this route was about 300 miles, and it took me about a week and a half. I also wrote about my first day on this trip in this story. Here are the details about this shorter route, and how to tackle it yourself.

Navigation

Before I left, I downloaded maps of the area to my phone and tablet through Google Maps and Gaia. Google Maps is a free source for offline road maps. Gaia is an excellent app that shows detailed hiking and biking routes, campsites, and landscapes. I also downloaded the North Country Traverse GPX files to my phone and tablet from Bikepacking.com. Along my ride, I also picked up a paper map of cycling routes from the Michigan Department of Transportation. You can order or download that map from their website.

Landscape and Climate

I left in mid-April, which is technically spring, but in Michigan it still felt like winter! During the first few days of my trip, I experienced rain, sleet, snow, and a brief moment of surprise hail. Nighttime temperatures were in the 20s. A week and a half later when I finished my trip, flowers were blooming and temperatures were in the 60s. The entire loop was mostly flat with some short, rolling hills. There were no mountain passes or significant elevation changes. The North Country Traverse highlighted western Michigan’s secluded forests and dunes. The North Lakes Route reminded me of Adventure Cycling’s Pacific Coast Route, which I cycled last year. If you’re attracted to shoreline riding, the Michigan section of the North Lakes Route is a gem.

Camping and Resupply

I camped every night along the way. The North Country Traverse and my section of the North Lakes route both pass through National and State forest land with ample free dispersed camping. I supplemented my dispersed campsites with registered camping in Michigan’s extensive network of primitive campgrounds. As always, the Adventure Cycling Association and Bikepacking.com show campsites, lodging options, and grocery stores on their route maps. I always bring tons of food with me wherever I go. I prefer to eat as much as I want all the time without having to measure or ration anything. I also often dehydrate my own foods ahead of time and take them with me. This means I end up carrying a lot of extra weight in food, but I don’t really mind. On this trip I supplemented the food I brought from home with resupplies at country stores, gas stations, and grocery stores. There were plenty of options. I got most of my water in towns, but also occasionally filtered water from streams.

Bike and Gear

I don’t think you need the “perfect” gear to go on a bike trip. You just need the gear that will get you there and back, and keep you safe and happy along the way. My setup is always a mix of things I happen to have, items that survive the test of time, and whatever new gear I’m testing for gear companies. You can see my full gear list for this trip here.

Creating Your Own Bike Loop from a Larger Route

Since 1976, the Adventure Cycling Association has mapped over 50,000 miles of bike routes across the United States. These bike routes intertwine and overlap, forming hundreds of possible loops. You can also make your own loop by splicing routes together however you want. I’ve often planned my bike trips to start or end at my house or a friend’s house. That’s what I love so much about bike travel: you can start wherever you are, or aim for wherever you want to be. The adventure unfolds along the way. To make your own loop, just choose a place to start or end and then pull out some maps. The Adventure Cycling Association’s Interactive Route Map is a great place to look. How close are you to a bike route?

The North Lakes Route Nuts and Bolts

Overview: The North Lake Route connects 1,600 miles of pavement and bike paths between Minneapolis, Minnesota and Denver, Indiana. Distance: 1,600 miles (1,200 miles plus additional route alternates) Route Surface: Paved Terrain: Backroads, highways, and bike paths. Flat or rolling, with no major mountain passes. Best Season to ride: Spring, summer, and fall (Adventure Cycling recommends May through September). Bike: Any bike Find more information and download maps through the Adventure Cycling Association.

The North Country Traverse Nuts and Bolts

Overview: The North Country Traverse is a singletrack bike route through western Michigan. It follows a bike-friendly segment of the North Country Trail (NCT), a 4,800-mile footpath between North Dakota and Vermont. Distance: 173 miles Route Surface: 86% unpaved, 66% singletrack Terrain: Mostly non-technical with some roots, leaf litter, blow-downs, sand, mud, bridges, stairs, and other obstacles. Flat or rolling. The trail is well-marked with signs and blue blazes. Best Season to ride: Spring, summer, and fall. (Bikepacking.com recommends April through November, or whenever the trail is clear of snow.) Bike: This is a mountain bike route. Recommended tire size is two inches or wider. Find more information and GPX files at Bikepacking.com.

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How You Ride the Great American Rail-Trail https://www.adventurecycling.org/blog/how-you-ride-the-great-american-rail-trail/ Wed, 24 Apr 2024 15:04:16 +0000 https://www.adventurecycling.org/?p=57402 Picture this: You hop on your bike in Washington, D.C. and start pedaling on a series of bike paths and peaceful sections of rail-trails. You angle northwest through Pennsylvania and […]

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Picture this: You hop on your bike in Washington, D.C. and start pedaling on a series of bike paths and peaceful sections of rail-trails. You angle northwest through Pennsylvania and cross Ohio, continuing across the Midwest into Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho until you reach Washington and cycle all the way to the Pacific Ocean. This journey across the U.S. is separated from traffic, utilizing a series of interconnected multi-use trails and allowing you to safely explore the vistas, small towns, and rich history across the country.  Sound nice? That’s the Rails to Trails Conservancy’s (RTC) vision for the Great American Rail-Trail, a massive undertaking more than 50% complete with over 2,050 completed miles already on the ground. New trail segments are added to the route each year, and RTC is working with hundreds of partners across the country to accelerate trail development. 

The Great American Rail-Trail is an Iconic Route in the Making

Credit: Rails to Trails Conservancy**
RTC began tracking rail-trail development in the late 1980s. Over time, a non-motorized route across America began to present itself. RTC waited until a pathway through the West was possible and the cross-country route was more than 50% completed before committing to leading its development. After conducting hundreds of meetings to gather input from trail partners, and local and state agencies, RTC announced the project to the public in May 2019.
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As it stands, the route traverses 12 states and Washington, D.C., with more than 100 miles of trail in current active development. RTC works with hundreds of trail organizations and partners on local and state levels to help map this route, hitting major cities like Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Columbus, Ohio, Seattle, Washington, and Missoula, Montana. Notable trail segments include the Great Allegheny Passage, Great Miami River Trail in Ohio, and the Palouse to Cascades State Park Trail in the state of Washington. Since the trail segments aren’t fully linked, people embarking on this journey currently map their own connections between completed trail portions using a series of roadways.  No matter what section or state you decide to ride, riding between historic towns and major cities on peaceful rail-trails is the adventure of a lifetime. More than 50 million people live within 50 miles of one of these proposed segments, so the opportunity for increased recreation on accessible, non-motorized paths is a benefit for everyone. Each year has seen major strides in visibility, progress, and cyclists’ time spent on the route. Since the project was announced in 2019, more than $117.5 million in public and private resources have been invested in projects along the Great American Rail-Trail. 

Adventure Cycling Partners Up to Create a Detour Route through the Mountain West

Old rail road bridge resurfaced with gravel in a dry area.
Western end of the detour route at the Route of the Olympian. Credit: Rails to Trails Conservancy.
In many parts of the country, people have several options for connecting existing sections, including traveling through towns with services and linking together road segments. Some regions need more connections than others. The Mountain West — particularly between the western end of the Cowboy Recreation and Nature Trail in Chadron, Nebraska and the eastern end of the Route of the Olympian in St. Regis, Montana — provides a unique challenge. This 960-mile section of the route has the fewest existing trail miles, and services can be spread far apart. To help amend this, RTC came to Adventure Cycling to map a detour route. Since the Great American Rail-Trail is based on the idea that cyclists will be on separated paths away from vehicle traffic, it appeals to a certain audience of cyclists. As some of those cyclists are less comfortable on busier roadways, the detour route creates a temporary solution for those ready to ride it right now. Adventure Cycling’s experience lies largely in building safe and accessible routes on existing roadways, and their cartographers tapped a few different resources to create the detour route. These included existing Adventure Cycling routes, regional and social network knowledge, and intel from state and local organizations and cycling groups.  “RTC wants to create the safest, most comfortable riding experience for folks. Out here in the West, we have a much looser and more gap-filled set of paths to work from,” says Jenn Hamelman, Director of Routes for Adventure Cycling Association.
Credit: Rails to Trails Conservancy
“RTC’s expertise is in rail-trails and separated paths, and our expertise is in trying to find the best solutions via roads,” says Hamelman, “This detour route travels through key communities that will be on the finalized segment, which will give them a preview of what it’s like to have bicycle travelers come through.” This is the first time Adventure Cycling has collaborated with RTC on any sort of route development, but the Great American Rail-Trail does overlap with several Adventure Cycling routes, including the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route in Butte, Montana, multiple sections of the Lewis & Clark Trail through Montana, and Parks, Peaks, and Prairies through Basin, Wyoming. Adventure Cycling mapped the route and provided all points of interest, including service information and towns. RTC continues to work with its partners across the country to fill these gaps to ensure that anyone can take a trip on the Great American Rail-Trail through the Mountain West, whether for an afternoon or for an epic-weeks long adventure. Explore the 960-mile detour route and the entire Great American Rail-Trail here

How Should You Choose What Section to Ride?

Credit: Rails to Trails Conservancy
There are plenty of sections to choose from on the Great American Rail-Trail, and the one you pick depends on your starting location, how much time you have to ride, and the amenities you’ll want along the way. Since the route largely follows old railroad lines, it means that many sections offer a new town every 5-20 miles, providing ample opportunities for supplies and amenities. The states do vary in completion, so keep that in mind when picking your section. The 207 miles of Washington D.C. and Maryland are complete, and nearly all of Pennsylvania is mapped, including the iconic 150-mile Great Allegheny Passage. The 468 miles through Iowa are more than halfway complete, with 255 trail miles and 212 gap miles, and the new detour routes a more comfortable ride in Nebraska, Wyoming, and Montana. You can find the breakdown of each state here, along with more information about trails and plans for development.  “The Great American Rail-Trail offers something for everyone,” says Kevin Belle, Project Manager for Rails to Trails Conservancy. “This includes well-traveled, paved trails in an urban core to remote, unpaved trails that provide some one-on-one time with nature.”   The longest continuous completed section of the Great American Rail-Trail travels between Washington, D.C. and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania along the C&O Canal National Historical Park and the Great Allegheny Passage, providing more than 330 miles of connected trail. Belle also recommends that users looking for a more rugged experience should try the trails in the western half of the route, like the Cowboy Recreation and Nature Trail in Nebraska.  Remember that the terrain changes between the states, and not just with the percentage of route completed. As you move from the mid-Atlantic to the midwest, consider weather changes, and as you progress into Montana and Idaho, the climbing will increase and the elevation ramps up. 

What Type of Bike is Best for the Great American Rail-Trail?

Credit: Rails to Trails Conservancy
Like we often say about starting out bicycle travel, the best bike is the one you already own. But if you’re interested in getting more into extended bike tours, we recommend going to a bike fitter and making sure you’re on a bike that suits both your body and your riding style.  People ride all sorts of configurations on the Great American Rail-Trail, including lightweight carbon gravel bikes all the way to heavier-duty hardtail mountain bikes. Since there is little technical riding on this route, you won’t need anything super aggressive, and we suggest considering comfort over suspension. Think about whether you prefer a flat-bar bike or drop-bars, and whether it’s easier for you to ride flats or clipless. Whichever style suits your pre-existing touring preferences will be the best option.  “Railroads can only travel at a low elevation grade, which makes their old corridors ideal for the trail needs of a wide variety of people,” says Belle. “Most of the existing trails along the Great American are paved or use a crushed stone surface, which most bikes can handle.” Belle did say that there are some segments that are a little more rugged in which a cyclist might benefit from a touring bike or mountain-bike hybrid, so do your research before picking a section and make sure your bike can handle it. 

How Should You Prepare to Ride the Great American Rail-Trail?

Credit: Rails to Trails Conservancy
Consider your trip on the Great American Rail-Trail like any other bike travel journey with access to towns and resources. You’ll have to plan your trip itinerary, get your bike and gear ready, and start training.  Once you’ve decided on a section of route and taken your timeline into consideration (how many miles per day you anticipate riding), we always suggest you start physically preparing. Adventure Cycling contributor Mac McCoy has a great overview of four training stages here, emphasizing the importance of not just training large muscle groups, but getting your seat ready for long days in the saddle and making sure your bike is set up for your proportions. This means everything from your seat height to the distance between the seat and handlebars, and ensuring everything is working properly. It doesn’t hurt to bring the bike in for a full tune, or do your own multipoint inspection at home.   We recommend starting training at least 12 weeks before your planned departure date — whether you’re riding indoors or outdoors — and cycling at least three days per week. Aim for time spent in the saddle as opposed to distance, and work up to two hours or more for your longer rides, keeping in mind you’ll be taking plenty of breaks on the Great American Rail-Trail for sightseeing, snacks, and unplanned days off in particularly cool cities. One of the great things about almost any section of the Great American Rail-Trail is that you’re never far from resources, and while much of the scenery feels peaceful and far from civilization, these pathways and trail segments are popular thru-ways between towns and along rivers. You don’t have the remoteness of other routes to consider when worrying about mechanicals, gear issues, or resupply issues. While there are more resources than other cross-country routes, we still recommend knowing the region and familiarizing with the resources and highlights of your section. Knowing your own to resources, bike shops, and cell service can provide peace of mind. 

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**Editor’s note: The images in this article show different segments of the Great American Rail-Trail, but they do not depict the detour route through the Mountain West unless noted.

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East Coast Greenway Alliance Partnership for Short Routes https://www.adventurecycling.org/blog/east-coast-greenway-alliance-partnership-for-short-routes/ Mon, 08 Apr 2024 21:21:16 +0000 https://www.adventurecycling.org/?p=57121 Our Short Routes program is set for an East Coast expansion thanks to a recent partnership with the East Coast Greenway Alliance — a nonprofit working to develop a 3,000-mile, […]

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Short Routes program is set for an East Coast expansion thanks to a recent partnership with the East Coast Greenway Alliance — a nonprofit working to develop a 3,000-mile, traffic-free route from Maine to Florida that connects 450 communities across 15 states. The Short Routes program is a collection of 50-200-mile routes that take two to five days to ride. Together, we’re able to share the creation of four new Short Routes in New England. These routes come complete with suggested itineraries and showcase the best of the East Coast Greenway, all available to you now at no cost through Ride with GPS!

Boston to Cape Cod Loop

 Two smiling people ride on a paved trail in the woods.
Bike packing on the Cape Cod Rail Trail in Massachusetts.
East Coast Greenway Alliance
Sample the best of southern New England. From Boston, travel south to Providence, R.I., down the Narragansett Bay and east to Cape Cod, then ferry back to Boston from Provincetown. This route is mostly on paved trails, unpaved trails, and mostly quieter residential roads. Suggested trip length of five days.

Portland to Brunswick, Maine, Coastal

Sunny vegetated area near a body of water with a USBR 1 sign Explore a section of the Maine coast, East Coast Greenway, US Bike Route 1, and Adventure Cycling’s Atlantic Coast route with a majority on-road route from Portland, ME to Brunswick, ME. This trip can be done as a one-way paired with train or bus or as an out-and-back. There are Amtrak stops in Portland, Freeport, and Brunswick as well as BREEZ bus with multiple stops along the route. This route is almost entirely on road on rolling urban, residential, and rural roads and signed with East Coast Greenway and US Bike Route 1 wayfinding signage. There are many hotel and camping options in Freeport and in Brunswick.

Portland, Maine, to Newburyport, Massachusetts

Explore a section of the Maine and New Hampshire coasts, East Coast Greenway, US Bike Route 1, and Adventure Cycling’s Atlantic Coast route with a two-day cycling tour from Portland, ME to Newburyport, MA. The ride is relatively flat. Some of the route is on trail including beautiful stretches on the Eastern Trail south of Portland. Enjoy the views of the Atlantic Ocean along the New Hampshire route — it’s one of the few stretches of the East Coast Greenway that truly hugs the ocean coastline. You can ride the Amtrak Downeaster and Massachusetts Commuter Rail to connect from Portland to Boston and Newburyport to Boston.

Border to Boston

Explore trails from Boston to the New Hampshire border with rides from 17-75 miles. Options to combine rides with commuter rail for longer or shorter trips that are mostly flat and mostly on trail. There are hotel and airbnb accommodations in Newburyport, Salem, Boston, and other communities along the route. Jenn Hamelman, our Director of Routes, expressed her enthusiasm for this partnership, stating, “I’m pleased that the opportunity to showcase some of the best of the East Coast Greenway within the Short Routes program presented itself! These four routes are certain to appeal to the cyclist who wants to try bicycle travel, share the experience with a newer-to-cycling friend, or only has a few days to get out.” Allison Burson, the National Greenway Director at the East Coast Greenway Alliance, also shared her thoughts: “As a fellow nonprofit, the East Coast Greenway Alliance’s trip-planning resources are limited, but these itineraries are a great way for us to efficiently share recommendations for safe and scenic rides on some of the most complete stretches of the Greenway. Stay tuned for more.” These four routes in New England are available now, for no charge, and additional Short Routes along the rest of the route (mid-Atlantic and South) are coming soon.

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Watch the Eclipse from Your Bicycle https://www.adventurecycling.org/blog/watch-the-eclipse-from-your-bicycle/ Fri, 15 Mar 2024 22:08:58 +0000 https://www.adventurecycling.org/?p=56596 An estimated about 21 million people traveled to another city to view the eclipse of 2017. Why compete with the crowds this year? Bike camping is the perfect way to […]

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21 million people traveled to another city to view the eclipse of 2017. Why compete with the crowds this year? Bike camping is the perfect way to witness the total solar eclipse on April 8, 2024: No need to worry about stop and go traffic, impossible airfares, and fully-booked hotels. The path of totality crosses a dozen Adventure Cycling Association bicycle routes. Our maps recommend convenient camping, lodging, and bicycle shops along the way. Is this your first bike camping trip? We has all the information you need to get started with bike touring or bikepacking, including how to plan your itinerary, what you’ll need, and what to do if you have any problems along the way. Below is a list of the routes in the path of totality, nearby cities and towns, and the time of totality at those towns. the path of the eclipse on top of a map of Adventure Cycling routes

Southern Tier

Stretch from the Amistad National Recreational Area, TX (totality 1:28 pm), on Section 3 to Austin, TX (totality 1:36 pm), on Section 4

Texas Hill Country Loop

The entire loop except the portion from Southeast Austin, TX (totality 1:36 pm), to New Braunfels, TX (totality 1:35 pm)

Arkansas High Country Loop

The entire South Loop on Section 1 with Little Rock, AR as an anchor city (totality 1:51 pm) The entire Central Loop on Section 2 with Conway, AR (totality 1:51 pm) or Russellville, AR (totality 1:50 pm) as an anchor cities

Great Rivers South

Stretch from Park Hills, MO (totality 1:58 pm) on Section 1 to Smithland, KY (totality 2:01 pm), on Section 2

TransAmerica Trail

Stretch from Summersville, MO (totality 1:56 pm) on Section 9 to Marion, KY on Section 10 (totality 2:02 pm)

Underground Railroad

  • Stretch from Smithland, KY (totality 2:01 pm), on Section 2 to just west of Owensboro, KY (totality 2:03 pm), on Section 2
  • Stretch from Xenia, OH (totality 3:11 pm), on Section 4 to London, OH (totality 3:12 pm), on Section 4
  • Stretch from Worthington, OH (totality 3:12 pm), on Section 4 to Mt. Vernon, OH (totality 3:13 pm), on Section 4
  • Stretch from Holmesville, OH (totality 3:14 pm), on Section 4 to Hamilton, Ontario (totality 3:09 pm), on Section 5
  • Stretch from Everett, OH (totality 3:14 pm), on Detroit Alternate Section 1 to Toledo, OH (totality 3:13 pm), on Detroit Alternate Section 1

Eastern Express Connector

Stretch going from Effingham, IL (totality 2:03 pm) on Section 2 to Indianapolis, IN (totality 3:18 pm) on Section 2

Northern Tier

Stretch between Zanesville, IN (totality 3:09 pm) on Section 8 and just west of Ticonderoga, NY (totality 3:26 pm) on Section 10

Chicago to New York City

Stretch between north of Tipton, IN (totality 3:07 pm) on Section 1 and London, OH (totality 3:12 pm) on Section 2. Also includes most of Indianapolis Cutoff on Section 1.

Lake Erie Connector

  • Stretch of the Main Route between Ridgetown, Ontario (totality 3:15 pm) and Fort Erie, Ontario (totality 3:18 pm)
  • Stretch of the Ferry Alternate A from Tilbury, Ontario (totality 3:15 pm) to Wheatley, Ontario (totality 3:14 pm)
  • Entire Ferry Alternate B (Wheatly, Ontario to Morpeth, Ontario)
  • Entire Ferry Alternate C (Wheatley, Ontario to Huron, OH)

Adirondack Park Loop

  • Stretch of the Main Route from just north of Speculator, NY (totality 3:35 pm), to just north of Ticonderoga, NY (totality 3:26 pm)
  • Entire Burlington Ferry Spur: Burlington, VT, to Port Henry, NY (totality for both 3:26 pm)

Green Mountains Loop

Main Route from just north of Ticonderoga, NY, clockwise to St. Johnsbury, VT (totality 3:28 pm)

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