How Do You Get Your Bike Box to the End of a Point-to-Point Trip? Especially when you don’t live near either terminus of the route? Is shipping the only option?

Dear Boxed-in Biker,

Ah, bike-touring logistics, another of my favorite topics! I’m not a puzzle person (like the actual put-the-physical-pieces-together pastime), but I imagine the satisfaction I get from successfully getting myself, my companions, and our bikes where we need to be, when we need to be there, is a bit like putting the final piece in a 1,000-piece jigsaw.

My very first tour was in Utah. It was a fully supported Adventure Cycling trip that looped through Zion and Bryce Canyon National Parks and Cedar Breaks National Monument that started and ended in St. George. I popped my Bianchi into the back of my Prius and made the relatively easy day trip to the meetup point, a KOA campground that let us stash our vehicles for the six nights we were away. Then I drove home. It was all very easy. Fast forward several years to last spring’s TransAm Express tour, which started in Washington, D.C., and ended in Eugene, Oregon. My bike and I reside in San Diego. Even if you’re not crossing the country, this is the type of logistical conundrum that can leave your head spinning.

You have a few options for getting your bike to your starting location. If you’re flying, you could bring your bike as checked luggage in either a dedicated bike case or in a cardboard bike box snagged from your local bike shop. On a tour where I’m starting and ending in the same location but still need to fly there, I prefer to use a dedicated case because its wheels make it easier to maneuver through the airport and get to and from my accommodation. If you are spending your first night and last night at the same hotel or hostel, it’s likely that the staff will be willing to stow the box while you’re away. A bike case can be an investment, though, so consider borrowing one if you won’t use it very often.

But back to the point-to-point tour. Yes, you can actually ship your bike case to your end point. Bike shops are a good option for this, as is the hotel where you plan to stay before your flight out. There are a few reasons this may make the most sense. Maybe you feel strongly that your case offers the best protection for your bike or that that aforementioned maneuverability is of utmost importance.

I’ve found, however, that a cardboard box is usually easier. Bike shops often have plenty of them left over from the bikes they sell, so if you contact a shop ahead of time, it can typically set one aside for you. Some shops will charge a small fee (maybe $10), but I’ve found they’re just as likely to give it to you for free. And if it’s intimidating to assemble or disassemble and box up your bike, the shop can do that for you for a fee. Just make sure to let the shop know in advance and allow enough time ahead of your tour or your flight home for them to take care of it.

If you’re crunched for time, another option is to ship your boxed bike (either through the shop’s preferred shipping manner or through Bikeflights) to a shop at your start point and from a shop at your end point. This will give the mechanics extra time to assemble and break down your rig. It helps if you don’t need your bike for a few days on either end of your ride.

It’s also wise to research whether shipping or flying with your bike is cheaper. At one time, shipping was considered more cost-effective because airlines considered bicycles to be oversized luggage and would charge exorbitant rates. Today, however, many airlines consider a bike in a case or box to be a normal piece of checked luggage, as long as it doesn’t exceed their weight limit (often 50 pounds). I had quite the lesson on this during a trip to Hawaii where it would have run $700 to ship my bike but only cost $30 each way to bring it on the plane.

You said that you don’t live near the start or end of your route, but that doesn’t mean you have to fly. If you’re beginning or ending your trip 8 to 12 hours from where you live, one-way car rentals are something to keep in mind. Not only will this make your schedule more flexible, it also avoids all the disassembling/boxing/checking rigamarole that goes along with flying or shipping your rig. You can also utilize a rental to shuttle your bikes if your point-to-point tour isn’t exceptionally long. For example, to avoid flying in and out of different airports, some friends and I flew to Nashville and drove a rented truck to Natchez, Mississippi. We then biked the 444 miles back to Music City on the Natchez Trace.

There are also some great public transportation options, depending on where you’re travelling. I know several folks who have taken trains to the start of a tour, and Adventure Cycling recently published a guide to five tours you can take via Amtrak. Some communities also have super helpful bus systems, like the POINT up in Northwest Oregon or the YARTS in the Yosemite Valley area. It’s usually worth a quick internet search of “bus to…” when you’re starting to dream up your next tour.

Sometimes the logistics involved with a bike tour will be easy. But when things get complicated, try to channel that spirit of flexibility and adventure that you’re already bringing to your bike travels. At the end of the day, it’s all part of the journey.

The post Ask a Tour Leader: How Do You Get Your Bike Box to the End of a Point-to-Point Trip? appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

It is Friday night, and with the last gasp of the day, a golden glow burns low across Central Avenue in Albuquerque, New Mexico. It throws a storied slant on the time-pitted windows of a blue 1968 Ford Mustang, cruising slowly in front of the bright lights of the KiMo Theater. Lost in the song of glass-pack mufflers burbling out V-8 song, we shuck and jive on pedals east on the avenue to the pink and teal neon of the Route 66 Diner where the promise of the past lives on. On Friday nights in Albuquerque, it’s not the best hour for bicycles, but we persist just as the legend of Route 66 persists in the dreams of people worldwide.

Pull open the door. Inside the Route 66 Diner, the needle drops on a 45 and “Tucumcari, Here I Come” by Dale Watson bursts out. A bubbly girl in a short dress and braces seats us on spinning stools on a long counter in front of an Elvis cutout and an old Schwinn cruiser. We order fizzing drinks, then walk around the restaurant looking at memorabilia — old road signs, a Pez collection, the cutt-off front of a Chrysler with the chrome still gleaming. This diner is the just the way I dream of old Route 66, but out on the road, of course, the story runs far deeper.

Next year, the Adventure Cycling Association will release their newest bicycle route, the fabled Route 66 from Chicago’s gleaming Miracle Mile to Santa Monica’s infinite blue waters. It’s a 2,448-mile (give or take) ribbon of highway — America’s Main Street — stretching out in front of your wheels like a road map to the promised land.

Route 66 still holds the lure of discovery and Americans love that promise of potential. Back in 1926. Right now. Tomorrow. I can’t define it, but there is certainly something about the idea of Route 66 that promises happiness. There is no better way to discover The Mother Road’s mysteries than to ponder them slowly at bicycle speed.

From Chicago, Route 66 starts down Jackson Boulevard, crosses Illinois and Missouri, tastes Kansas, and digs deep into Oklahoma, the Texas Panhandle, New Mexico, Arizona, and California — Lake Michigan to the Pacific Ocean. It’s a classic journey, best done in one push, but we decided to tackle it in bite-sized rides, bit by bit like a Dust Bowl jalopy that breaks down but keeps chugging when the time is right. We tasted our first slice of Route 66 pie by traveling from Romeroville to Gallup, a stretch across most of New Mexico that follows the pre-1937 route up through Santa Fe.

Why start in the middle? Why New Mexico? Simply put, for me it was the crux of the journey, the land where the culture noticeably changes, food grows spicier, hills thrust higher, and the history of the American West, just a generation or two ago removed form us, begins. We weren’t disappointed by Route 66 in New Mexico.

On paper, Route 66 was born on November 11, when the U.S. government officially linked up a collection of existing roads and named it double six. In New Mexico, the original was a teeth-chattering 501 miles of washboard dirt that S-curved across the state. Back then, there was no straight shot across the Enchanted State.

My wife Andrea and I started our tour in Las Vegas, a town just north of the proper route in Romeroville. The road comes into Las Vegas after long stretches of short grass prairie, persistent breezes, windmills, and long fence lines that fade straight into the distance. Then the road starts to roller coaster up and down through a canyon thick with red dirt, stone, and piñon pine. Stacked stone houses give in to gravity, a patient horse waits for dinner at a big porch tacked on to a tidy trailer house, and primered project cars erode in front yards, all under the brilliance of the New Mexico sky.

Rolling into town under black dripping fingers of clouds, Las Vegas speaks of modern America with box stores and chain hotels on its perimeter, the downtown chock-full of historic brick buildings — some restored to glory, others waiting for saviors. We pedaled through Las Vegas seeking out its gems — a mural on a brick wall and chopped smooth lowrider pickups with giant chrome grills so shiny they mirror the quiet Spanish-Mexican plaza with streets radiating out like the rays of the sun.

Las Vegas has more than 900 buildings on various historic registers, and it’s fascinating to ride around looking at them. Some may look familiar because, despite the diminutive size of Las Vegas, it’s a hotbed for Hollywood. Many well-known directors have filmed scenes here over the decades. The list of films is too long to name, but suffice it to say that every step you take in this town follows the steps of one movie star or another.

In the last hours of the day, we rode out of town a few miles to “The Castle,” a stunning edifice on the mountainside that is currently home to the Armand Hammer United World College of the American West. Security guards in golf carts chased us down when we tried to pedal through the campus, but they did point out a back road to something more precious for cyclists — hot springs.

Right along the road near the college, hot water seeps up through the ground, and locals have built rock pools to harness the mineral water of Montezuma Hot Springs. Amazingly, in this day and age, it’s still free and not commercialized. Families park along the road after work and ease their bodies into these healing waters. They were an almost too-relaxing cap on a day of riding and it was a struggle to ride back to town and sink deep into bed for the night.

In the morning, under a cloudless sky, we rode to the railroad tracks near our hotel. A stunning building sat forlorn and boarded up. Back in the day, it strummed with life and even hosted a Harvey House restaurant. A white-haired lady in the train station saw us looking around and came out to tell us stories. “That was where the ladies of the night lived,” she said and pointed to a battered building. “They worked all this area, but that’s where they stayed. It ain’t much to look at these days.”

She was right, it ain’t. Time was taking its toll, but I could picture it with fresh paint and slamming doors, a home for girls with no other home. We came to see that this old building represented a lot of Route 66. Not much is left anymore, the road covered by interstate, the buildings torn down, and the roadside attractions long gone. But this home of soiled doves prompted an epiphany of sorts. Route 66 became more than just a ribbon of highway, it became a treasure hunt to find the original bits that still remain, and there are plenty of treasures if you only look.

Out of Romeroville, the road follows the path of least resistance through growing hills. Short original sections of Route 66 parallel the road, and side roads stray to abandoned villages and old cemeteries. A lot of stories have unfolded here — more stories than we’ll ever know. The last section of Route 66 was decommissioned in 1985, replaced by the bigger and faster Interstate 40. But even before 1926 this road was here, host to cars, wagons, horse, and foot traffic for as long as humans have been here. We’ve traveled this route for more than 10,000 years, a natural path through the tough desert land.

We paralleled I-40 on a frontage road with rolling hills and no traffic. We weren’t sure if this would be part of the final Adventure Cycling route because the maps aren’t finished, but it’s certainly a nice ride despite the proximity of the interstate.

As we climbed toward the Sangre de Cristo Mountains and its snowy summits, we noticed a small sign that simply read “San Jose,” and the road led through a culvert under the interstate. It looked too interesting to pass up, and that’s how we found San Jose del Vado, a pueblito founded in 1803 and looking like time had stood still.

“Wow, it feels like we’ve just ridden in a time machine back to Old Mexico,” I exclaimed to Andrea. The village surrounded an attractive old church and plaza, a sleepy place of adobe houses with shuttered windows and stick fences, everyone out at work. Swallows flited in and out of their mud nests, frantic and elegant.

Later, in Santa Fe when we were having a drink with Route 66 historian Michael Pitel, I told him that I’d felt we had dropped into Old Mexico, and he quickly said, “No, no, they wouldn’t ever want you to say that. They’d want you to say ‘old New Mexico’ because hardly any of those people came from Mexico. They’re Spanish.”

Pre-Pueblo, Pueblo, Mexican, Spanish, settlers, cowboys, armies, Dust Bowl refugees, criminals, post-World War II veterans, history buffs — the whole mixing bowl of humanity has followed this trail through the gap between the Sangre de Cristo Mountains and Glorieta Pass.

But some people lasted longer than others, and the story of civilizations and their passings became tangible when we rode into the Pecos National Historic Park. They didn’t call it Route 66 back then, but the land looked essentially the same when the Pecos Pueblo began to emerge around 1450, as the native people from this area banding together, potentially as protection against encroaching Plains tribes. It was still a land of wolves and grizzlies where music was played on bird-bone flutes and two good horses would buy you one good Apache or Comanche slave.

In 1540, the Spanish arrived with their military and religion — then came Mexico, the United States, Santa Fe Trail settlers, Kearny and the Army of the West, the Civil War, the railroad, and Route 66.

Andrea and I locked our bikes and walked the path up a hill that is the remains of a Pueblo city. The sides of the hill served as the trash dump for hundreds of years. Shattered pottery and arrowhead pieces litter the ground. We tried to imagine what it was like, but as always this was nearly impossible. The world of human culture has changed a lot in a short time.

We continued riding over Glorieta Pass at 7,500 feet and dropped all the way down into Santa Fe. There the low-slung, adobe-esque city of 80,000 hides well among the hills, but it still felt frenetic after the miles spent in the quiet hills getting here.

We rode into Santa Fe on old 66 and turned into the El Rey Inn to check into an original adobe room, cool and dark even in the heat. The El Rey was built in 1935-36 and enjoyed only one year of Route 66 business before the government changed 66 through New Mexico. A new road opened and cut off the whole S-curve loop we’d been riding so far. This new route ran straight across and shaved 106 miles off Route 66.

In early evening, we pedaled Cerillos Road to Galisteo Street into the famed Santa Fe Plaza. Route 66 led straight to the plaza then, and some of the original building skylines and businesses still exist. On the corner of Water Street and Don Gaspar Avenue, three Route 66 businesses flourish, including the beautiful Hotel St. Francis. We met Santa Fean and Route 66 historian Pitel near here, and he walked through some of the best remaining 66 sites in downtown Santa Fe. It was a great way to learn a lot without having to fumble around the city on our own.

We ducked into the La Fonda Hotel and the Plazuela Restaurant, perhaps the most famous Harvey House restaurant. They offered us a choice of 23 different margaritas, whipped up a mountain of guacamole right at our table, tempted us with fresh squash blossoms stuffed with goat cheese, and finished us off with bowls of posole in red chile. It was heaven. Then one of my favorite writers on the planet walked in and sat down at the next table. Cormac McCarthy. Could it get any better?

As anyone who has been here knows, it’s hard to leave Santa Fe, but we saddled up and pedaled out. The journey west out of Santa Fe was a big step for many travelers because it was the day they had to navigate the infamous La Bajada hill that switchbacked steeply down to the valley below. Drivers often rode the brakes hard, and the old cotton brake pads would burst into flame, causing a lot of excitement. Locals would congregate at the top and bottom of La Bajada to offer their services as drivers to get vehicles up or down the hill safely. Many travelers took them up on it.

Today La Bajada is no longer a route anyone travels. It’s even hard to find, locked away behind someone’s cow pasture. No matter — for us it was time to deviate from Route 66 as I-40 covers the whole next stretch of the historical route all the way to Albuquerque.

We turned south on New Mexico State Road 14 (NM 14) to follow the mountainous Turquoise Trail Scenic Byway through the picturesque towns of Madrid, Golden, and Sandia Park. The Turquoise Trail is quite obviously named for the turquoise that Pueblo people mined, starting over 1,000 years ago.

In spite of the beauty of this section of the journey, we were eager to reach Albuquerque and treasure hunt for Route 66 remnants. We arrived late and settled into Hotel Andaluz just off Route 66 in the historic downtown. It opened in 1939 as the Hilton Hotel, the first hotel built in New Mexico by native son Conrad Hilton. From there we headed up Central Avenue/Route 66 to Kelly’s Brew Pub and Food, a spot heaving with locals eating deep-fried green beans and such.

Just up Central Avenue is the polished Route 66 Diner, which draws on a version of what most people today think Route 66 must have been like. Back in the heyday of travel along this route, people built “roadside attractions” to try and lure people in. You could find tipi-shaped hotel rooms, giant Paul Bunyan statues, and other oddities. The Route 66 Diner is simply a modern roadside attraction, and it’s fun to visit, but the real fun in Albuquerque is searching out the originals.

The place to start is along Central Avenue and the Nob Hill District, which offers a diverse mix of Americana — carnicerias, auto shops, university hangouts, streetwalkers, boarded-up Route 66 hotels with their classic signs faded and barely hanging on. Try to find them soon because locals say they’re disappearing by the day. It’s history that no one has the money to restore.

We headed out of Albuquerque on Central Avenue through the old part of town, then up 9 Mile Hill where we stopped to rest and enjoy the great view of the city behind and below us. Albuquerque ends abruptly, and in no time we were back in the sage, dust, and scrub. Our route now occasionally followed the shoulder of the interstate, but we turned off on older sections of Route 66 every chance we had.

It was a long, hot, windy stretch, and the bits of Route 66 that remain are just broken remnants. But there are still treasures, like Mission San José and Budville. Budville isn’t much to look at, but the old gas station has an interesting story. The town was named for Bud Rice, a local businessman who ran a towing company and a cafe. He was murdered there, along with a waitress in the 1960s during a robbery, and the crime was never solved. There is no end to the stories along Route 66, including the tales of mobsters and other criminals on the run.

The road passes through the black lava flows of Malpaís right before the town of Grants. The town was famous for carrots and uranium, but it looks bit beat-up these days. Nonetheless, there are a couple of nice Route 66 signs to seek out.

From Grants, our route left Route 66 to avoid a long section of interstate with no shoulder. Instead we pedaled south along NM 53 on a back road to Gallup. Stock up, it’s miles of wide open land and sky, beautiful and peaceful. It’s also an easy way to get up and over the Continental Divide — we hardly noticed pedaling over it at a mere 7,882 feet.

We stopped at the El Morro National Monument to see the cliff where travelers scratched their names in the rocks for hundreds of years, marveled at the light across Dowa Yalanne (Corn Mesa), visited the artists of Zuni, and enjoyed riding through the beautiful American West on the way to Gallup.

Gallup, New Mexico, was the center of the Western film industry from roughly 1929 to 1964, and all the big stars were here. In the El Rancho Hotel, their autographed photos line the walls, and we slaked our road thirst with a cold beer in the hotel bar, the same one that John Wayne rode into on his horse and reputedly said “Give me a beer. Give my horse a beer too.”

For us, it was the end of the first section of our Route 66 adventure, but that old highway still stretched out in the distance to the west.

There are many ways to ride Route 66. You can do it for the diversity and beauty of the route, just skimming over the history. Or you can dig deep into it, seek out the Route 66 fanatics that live in every town along the way, and ask them to share their knowledge. Then pedal out again and seek out all the old pieces of the route’s history that are out there, slowly fading away but still waiting for you to discover them.

Route 66 Nuts and Bolts

When to Go

The route runs from the northern climes of the Midwest through the southern U.S. deserts, so the weather is a factor. You could encounter both very hot and very cold. And it depends which way you want to ride it, Illinois to California, or the opposite. If starting in Illinois, late summer or early fall would be ideal so you would pass through the desert when the days are cooler. If starting in California, you could start in late winter to reach the Midwest in the spring or early summer.

What to Ride

We rode road bikes with 25mm tires. This worked well, but these would be too narrow for most of the dirt roads or side rough sections. Next time I will ride a standard touring bike with something in the range of a 32mm tire. Panniers or a trailer would be effective. You can also vehicle support this entire route if desired.

Where to Stay

I think a mix of camping and classic hotels would be ideal along the whole route. Some of the original hotels are pretty cool, but there aren’t many left. The ACA maps will mark all the campgrounds along the way.

Books to Read

The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck

Route 66 – The Mother Road by Michael Wallis

Route 66 Sightings by Jerry McClanahan, Jim Ross, and Shellee Graham

The post Route 66 Is About to Turn 100, and There’s Never Been a Better Time to Ride It appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

And yet, much of Catalina remains wild. More than 165 miles of trails and roads unspool in loops and spurs across the 22-mile-long landmass. With its craggy terrain and ocean vistas — to say nothing of its fauna, including foxes, bald eagles, and 120-odd bison — the island feels nothing like nearby Los Angeles.

All of which contributes to Catalina’s reputation as a paradise for outdoors enthusiasts. With restricted car usage, biking is one of the best ways to explore, and whether it’s cruising Avalon’s scenic, paved waterfront or tackling stony fire roads, there’s something for cyclists of all levels. To access the trails outside of town, a $35 Freewheeler Bike Pass can be purchased through the Catalina Island Conservancy. But don’t expect any of SoCal’s notorious traffic, unless it’s a line of golf carts in town or a herd of bison in the backcountry.

Beginner/Overnight

Avalon to Little Harbor Loop
Distance: 32 miles
Elevation gain: 4,400 feet

Depart Avalon and begin the relentless climb to Airport in the Sky. After 10 miles and almost 2,000 feet of elevation gain, you’ll arrive at the quaint aerodrome where you can take in beautiful views, fill up water, and grab a beloved “Killer Cookie” from the on-site cafe.

Sufficiently refueled, you’ll be ready for the pleasant 6-mile descent into Little Harbor Campground, a beachfront oasis on Catalina’s remote “backside.” It may be secluded, but it’s got plenty of amenities, including picnic tables, barbecue grills, bathrooms, and staggering ocean sunsets. Be sure to reserve your site through the Catalina Island Company well before your trip as sites can fill up months in advance (see below). And if you want to lighten your load — literally — you can arrange for your camping gear to be delivered to your site for $40 per bag round trip. Complete the lollipop loop by following Middle Ranch Road back to Airport Road, which you’ll follow back to Avalon.

Intermediate/Multi-Day

Trans-Catalina Bikepacking Route
Distance: 70 miles
Elevation Gain: 8,520 feet

For this intermediate ride, you’ll follow the first leg of the beginner route to Little Harbor. But instead of pitching your tent, you’ll ride another 6 miles north to Two Harbors, Catalina’s second, less touristy port. Grab a bite before setting out for 7 miles of a zig-zagging gravel road to Parsons Landing Campground, the most remote tent sites on the island. It may be Catalina’s only bivouac without potable water, but it makes up for it with dramatic cliffside vistas and near endless stretches of deep blue water right out your tent door.

The next day, retrace your ride back to Two Harbors for breakfast, then keep an eye out for — and your distance from — the grazing bison as you pedal back to Little Harbor. Strong cyclists could head straight back to Avalon, but why not take your time and enjoy another ocean sunset before drifting off to the crashing waves at Little Harbor Campground? For your final day, you’ll pick up Middle Ranch Road, where you’ll spot horses, foxes, and, if you’re lucky, a few bald eagles as you loop south around 2,097-foot Mount Orizaba to rejoin Airport Road. Not ready to return to town? Pick up Divide Road just west of Avalon to tack on a 10-mile, counterclockwise loop around the island’s southern end and up 1,563-foot East Mountain.

A word of warning: The packed gravel quickly turns to steep, loose, and rocky terrain with possible hike-a-bike sections. If this sounds appealing, consider bringing a more capable steed. Most gravel bikes likely won’t make for a comfortable ride, and you may end up fishtailing or even walking much of final descent. Whichever route you choose, celebrate with a cruise around Avalon, where the isolation of the wild side is again traded for the crowds of an energetic port.

Go and Stay

Two companies provide transport to the island: The Catalina Express ferry leaves from San Pedro, Long Beach, and Dana Point ($92 round trip, $7 bike fee), and the Catalina Flyer departs from Newport Beach ($94, $20 bike fee). Avalon has several posh hotels, starting at $200 per night. For panoramic views and historic elegance, book the four-star Mt Ada Hotel. Airbnb and VRBO options abound, and you’ll find Hermit Gulch Campground just a mile outside of town. There are four other campgrounds on the island, and all five must be reserved in advance through the Catalina Island Company (visitcatalinaisland.com; $35 per adult and $24 per child per night; reservations open every year on January 1). Camping add-ons, including water, firewood, and other essentials can be purchased — and delivered to your site — for an additional fee.

Arts and Culture

The Catalina Museum for Art and History features permanent and rotating exhibits detailing the island’s 7,000-year-history of inhabitation. On the north side of Avalon Bay, the famed Catalina Casino, one of the first theaters specifically built for “talkies,” is a showcase of art deco architecture and murals. The island is also a hub for film, music, and wine festivals. Check out the events page at visitcatalinaisland.com to see if one happens to fall on your chosen dates.

Groceries and Food

Avalon is full of restaurants catering to tourists. Check out NDMK Fish House for seafood, Catalina Coffee and Cookie Co. for something sweet, and Catalina Island Brew House for post-ride pints. For a SoCal-style beach party, head to Descanso Beach Club, the Island’s only beachfront restaurant and bar. (Don’t skip the signature Buffalo Milk cocktail, a frozen concoction of vodka, ice cream, banana chips, and coffee, banana, and chocolate liqueurs.) Stock up on camp food at Vons grocery store prior to departing for the more remote parts of Catalina, but don’t worry too much. There are plenty of places to refuel in the hinterland, including Two Harbors’ Harbor Reef Restaurant and Bar or Two Harbors General Store.

The post Be Here Now Catalina Island appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

From my home in Tucson, Arizona, in the heart of the Sonoran Desert, there is just such a place. It’s called a sky island, and this particular one is part of the Santa Catalina Mountains. On it, I can experience almost the entire North American landscape in a single bike ride.

Sky island describes these kinds of mountains perfectly. They are massive peaks scattered across the desert floor. Separated by miles of cacti and roaring sun, each mountain is an isolated habitat with its own microclimate and unique ecosystems. In fact, their seclusion means that many species can only be found on a single sky island because the next suitable habitat lies beyond a sea of desert. But their isolation isn’t the only thing that makes them unique.

As a rule of thumb, for every 1,000 feet of elevation you gain, the temperature drops around five degrees, the equivalent of driving 300 miles north, and the landscape transforms accordingly. So, to travel through multiple North American biomes, I could change my latitude and go there physically, or I could simply change my altitude and stay right here in Arizona.

I do just that often — especially on my bicycle. On an early Saturday morning, I’ll leave the city and pedal slowly through Tucson’s extensive cycle network, which includes a 100-plus-mile bike path which encircles the entire city. I’ll begin my ride with a broad sweep around the southeast toward the summit of Mount Lemmon, more than 9,000 feet in the air. I’ll bring a few things to eat, plenty of water, and an audiobook.

The road that takes me to the top is the Catalina Highway. It’s everything that makes America great: a wide and smooth ribbon of asphalt stretching from the desert floor up into the forest. Its 27 miles lift you almost 7,000 feet — the equivalent of traveling from Tucson to Banff, Canada. Scattered on both sides of the road lie several picnic spots, many hiking trails, a small lake, and several campgrounds. Together, they create ideal conditions for outdoor adventures — especially an overnight bicycle tour. (Or for a longer trip, you could string together an island-hopping ride among any or all of the 16 sky islands spread across southern Arizona’s Coronado National Forest.) All of this is spread across five distinct habitats created by the elevation change.

Through the noisy city appears the Lower Sonoran Desert, famed for its saguaro cacti. Then follows the Upper Sonoran Desert shrublands, the desert grasslands, the chaparral and oak woodlands, and finally — past the pinyon, junipers, and ponderosa pines — the mixed conifer forest complete with lingering winter snow and a few roaming bears. The bicycle is the best method to witness this natural transformation firsthand. That way, I can personally greet the last saguaro and appreciate every habitat in detail. I can also stop wherever I like, taking in the views while my body catches its breath.

To round off the Catalina Highway, there is a little wooden cabin at the very top that serves an enormous, freshly baked cookie and hot coffee. You’ll have earned them. Outside, the wind whistles through the conifer needles, and the entire experience is literally a world away from what’s happening down in the desert. But the best reason to take such a trip by bike is the downhill you get at the end of your ride — all 30 miles of it. Then you can experience the transformation again, this time in reverse and a little bit faster. The green trees turn into brown trees, then shrubs, then grasslands, and later the first saguaro cactus waving its arms in the air. Then, it’s back to the city, another two hours of backstreets, and finally home.

Arizona’s sky islands may offer ideal conditions to experience this natural phenomenon of elevation, but they’re not the only place. It can be observed all over the world, including in the Southern Hemisphere, where climbing 1,000 feet provides the same transformation as travelling 300 miles south. Thus, in certain aspects, we can compare the climate of South Africa’s Drakensberg at a particular elevation to that of Cape Town.

What binds it all together is the incredible biodiversity our planet offers — not only when we set off on grand journeys, but also, sometimes, right in our own backyard.

To read more of Stefan’s writing, visit his blog at adailyrumble.com

The post An Ode to Bicycling Arizona’s Sky Island appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

What Gear Do I Need for a Week-long Tour as a Newbie?

Dear Newbie,

I have good news and bad news. The equipment you need for a week-long tour is pretty much the same as what you need for a month-long or even cross-country tour. I say it’s good news because once you’ve dialed in your kit, you’ll be ready for all sorts of bike travel adventures. Woohoo! On the other hand, sourcing that much gear may be daunting, but I know you are up to the challenge.

So where do you start? If you’ve camped, you probably already have a lot of the gear you need. Before I discovered my passion for cycling and bike travel, I was already a lover of the outdoors. I really enjoyed weekends driving to a nice spot, pitching a tent, cooking, and relaxing in nature. I had the basics, although not in any kind of lightweight form. When I started cycling, however, I didn’t personally know anyone who did self-supported bike touring. So, I decided to use the resources that I had and signed up for an eight-week backpacking class through my local Sierra Club chapter. While I enjoyed the weekend outings immensely, I always had in mind how I might apply the knowledge and skills I was learning to bike touring. Then, I slowly purchased lighter camping gear that was appropriate for both backpacking and bike touring.

Which brings me back to your question: What do you need? Unless you’re trying to go ultralight, your “sleeping system,” meaning your tent, sleeping bag, and air mattress — will be the bulk of — and your bulkiest — gear. But while size and weight matter, so does comfort.

Tent

If you already have a one- or two-person tent, and it’s in decent condition, great! Don’t worry about having a specific bikepacking tent, especially not right away.

Sleeping Bag

Every quality sleeping bag has minimum temperature ratings for both comfort and safety, so if the nighttime temps where you plan to camp are above those numbers, you should be fine. But if it’s summer and you won’t be staying in a high-elevation area, you’ll likely have some flexibility with what bag you bring. And if all you have is a super bulky, heavy bag, you might even be okay pairing a light-weight blanket with a sleeping bag liner instead to save weight and space.

Sleeping Pad

Sleeping directly on the ground can be a deal-breaker not only because it’s uncomfortable, but also because it pulls warmth from your body. Enter the air mattress. I maintain that I can sleep perfectly well on mine for weeks at a time. While you can easily spend over $200 on a packable camping air mattress (think around the size of a 1-liter Nalgene bottle), you can also get a decent one that’s slightly bigger for around $60.

Clothes

This category is where I find most folks overestimate what they need, myself included. The more that you can stick to the necessities, the easier it is to stay organized and save weight.

Two or three sets of biking clothes should be sufficient to get you through your trip. If laundry isn’t available, you can hand wash the essential items like bike shorts. While you may eventually find that you like different bike clothes for touring versus day rides, you can absolutely use your everyday kit for your first tour. Then you can layer things like arm warmers, leg warmers, a windbreaker, etc.

You’ll want some off-bike clothes, but keep in mind that you may only wear them for the short time between arriving at camp and getting in your sleeping bag. One pair of pants and two shirts should easily get you through a week-long trip. Lastly, you’ll need something to sleep in. Everyone’s different, but I’ve found that a lightweight pair of stretchy pants and a short or long-sleeve t-shirt are perfect. If it’s chilly, these can even be layered underneath your off-bike clothes for extra warmth. A fleece or puffy jacket can be an additional layer for biking, camping, and even sleeping.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention rain gear. This can be as simple as the same technical rain jacket that you already own, or you can invest in bike-specific jackets, pants, gloves, socks, and shoe covers. While it’s not absolutely essential to stay dry, being dry and cold can become a safety issue. The nice thing is that your on-bike rain gear can be your off-bike rain gear, too.

Food

Now for a popular topic. While it’s possible to feed yourself without heating anything up, most folks like a hot meal at the end of the day and/or coffee in the morning. There are tons of options for camp stoves and cooking gear, but this is an area where you can start with something basic and upgrade later. Or never. For $20 to $30, you can get a small stove that attaches to a pre-filled gas canister. Add a small aluminum pot for boiling water for coffee and freeze-dried meals, and you’re good to go.

I recommend not getting caught up in your cooking gear’s weight right away. Your bowl can even be as simple as a Tupperware container. Just make sure you have a way to keep your food separate from the rest of your kit, such as a waterproof stuff sack. And if you are in bear country, you will absolutely need a bear canister or a hang sack to keep your food safely away from camp. Heck, in most camping spots you’ll want one anyway to keep your nosh safe from other, less scary critters.

Other Stuff

In addition to your sleep system, clothing, and food, you’ll want some tools for common bike repairs, a basic first aid kit, and a headlamp. Other items to consider are a power bank and perhaps a very portable camp chair. Whatever you bring, ideally you will want it to be either multiple-purpose or used frequently. So, try to limit those luxury items that you may like to have but don’t need to have.

Carrying It All

This is where you are likely to make a specific bikepacking or bike touring investment. There are lots of options, but a traditional touring set-up of front and rear panniers is a good bet for road tours. The other main option is using a frame pack, seat bag, handlebar bag, and even some fork bag. The latter system is preferred by bikepackers because it is more secure and rattles less off-road. Bike shops that carry bike touring equipment aren’t always easy to find, but the increasing popularity of bike travel has helped. Shops near popular routes like the C&O, GAP, Katy Trail, GDMBR, and others are more likely to have options for outfitting your bike if you prefer to shop in person.

Final Advice

Don’t wait for your bike touring kit to be perfect before you embark on your adventure. You can make a lot of non-bike touring gear work, and learning what you don’t like before you buy can save time and money. One of the many reasons I love Adventure Cycling is that in addition to its self-contained tours, both the van supported and fully supported tours are camping-based. You can pack with less efficiency and have one of our vehicles transport your gear instead. This gives you more practice and flexibility to figure out and fine-tune your self-supported setup. The options abound, and I see some excellent camping nights in your future. Happy pedaling!

The post Ask an Adventure Cycling Tour Leader: What Gear Do I Need for a Week-long Tour as a Newbie? appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

“Biking has been my main mode of transportation my whole life. I don’t own a car, so getting around by bikes and buses and trains is kind of just what I do,” says Emily Loberg, an Adventure Cycling tour leader who relies almost exclusively on rail transportation to reach the trips she guides. (“Alaska and Hawaii were not so easy,” she says with a laugh).

Although there is certainly no small number of train-travel-specific logistics to take into account when planning a rails-to-wheels trip (we’d highly recommend starting your planning with this blog post and Amtrak’s guide to traveling with a bike), one of the biggest hurdles is simply knowing where to go. So consider this roundup of five country-spanning train trips and cycling routes your unofficial ticket to ride.

1) NORTH

Amtrak: Empire Builder
Cycling routes: Great Parks North or Great Divide Mountain Bike Route
Type of bike service: Trainside Checked Bicycle Service (reservation required. Take note: Passengers are required to box their bike between Portland and Spokane. If you’re picking up the train between those stops, you’ll need to make extra accommodations.)

In the grand scheme of North American scenery, there aren’t many sights that can match Glacier National Park. During the summer, catch the Empire Builder from one of its cross-country terminuses, and ride the rails to West Glacier, the park’s most popular gateway town. Or, better yet, take advantage of shoulder season between May and mid-June, and you can tackle the iconic Going to the Sun Road before it opens to vehicle traffic. Once you de-train, you’ll want to link up with the Great Parks North route. Or, if you’re feeling more ambitious, link into the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route.

2) WEST

Amtrak: Coast Starlight
Cycling routes: Several Adventure Cycling rides twine around the Starlight’s west coast line, but definitely take a wine country detour.
Type of bike service: Trainside Checked Bicycle Service (reservation required)

Could you ride the Coast Starlight up to Kelso, Washington, and pedal Adventure Cycling’s Pacific Coast route back to San Francisco? Yes, you absolutely could. But as bike advocate (and former Adventure Cycling ambassador) Jenna Phillips says, there’s no reason you couldn’t tack on a little wine tasting. Simply ride through the city’s Golden Gate Park then take a ferry across the bay to Vallejo. From there, it’s a relatively easy ride up to Napa for a day of wine tasting along the 47-mile Napa Valley Vine Trail. “I really love taking the train with my personal bike to a city and exploring it by bike,” she says. “I think it’s the best way to explore a city. Nothing, nothing beats that.”

3) EAST

Amtrak: Downeaster
Route: East Coast Greenway
Type of bike service: Carry-on Bicycle Service (Reservation Required)

Although it might lack the soaring vistas of our western routes, the East Coast Greenway makes up for it with plenty of amenities along its nearly 3,000-miles. Plus, its sustainability cred — which was highlighted in the Spring 2025 issue of Adventure Cyclist (“Pedal Power: 10 Sustainable Bike Adventures”) — doesn’t hurt either. For a short sampler, take Amtrak’s Downeaster line to either Boston or Brunswick, Maine, and follow the greenway back to the opposite terminus. Or ride one of Adventure Cycling’s many New England Short Routes, including the Boston to Cape Cod Loop or this jaunt from Portland, Maine, to Newburyport, Massachusetts. (Take note: Adventure Cycling is currently running five-week guided tours along the Greenway from Bar Harbor, Maine, to Washington, D.C. Keep an eye on our Guided Tours page for details about future tours.)

4) CENTRAL

Amtrak: Southwest Chief
Route: Bicycle Route 66
Type of bike service: Trainside Checked Bicycle Service (reservation required)

Just a year shy of a century ago, Route 66 — AKA The Mother Road — was officially born with the creation of the federal highway system. Nowadays, it’s largely fallen out of favor as an efficient, cross-country route, but it’s still loved by sightseers. Luckily for them, there are two car-free modes of transportation that closely follow the original route: Amtrak’s Southwest Chief and Adventure Cycling’s Bicycle Route 66. That happy not-quite-a-coincidence means that cyclists can pedal as much — or as little — of the Mother Road as they choose then simply hop on the train at the next station and head home.

5) PACIFIC NORTHWEST

Amtrak: Amtrak Cascades
Routes: Multiple
Type of bike service: Trainside Checked Bicycle Service (reservation required)

Some trains will give you an eyeful of North American (looking at you, California Zephyr, with your 51-plus-hour trek from Chicago to San Francisco). But when it comes to sheer volume of bicycle routes — at least, as far as the Adventure Cycling cartography department is concerned — the Amtrak Cascades is unbeaten. The 10-hour train ride intersects all of the following rides: Lewis and Clark Trail; Pacific Coast route; Washington Parks route; Northern Tier route; and the TransAmerica Trail. (Oh and it’s also not too far from the Sierra Cascades route — a 60-mile trip from Portland, Oregon, to Carson, Washington.)

The post 5 Amazing Bike Tours You Can Reach By Amtrak appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

After that, we met most weeks for bike excursions or dinners. Nick rides an old Surly Straggler which is probably a size too small for him. But he pushes it to its full capacity, logging thousands of hard, fast miles each year in Colorado’s thin mountain air. I’m a more whimsical rider, plodding along however the spirit takes me — slow but happy in any kind of weather. Somehow we found a rhythm that worked for us both.

There was only one problem: Nick didn’t camp. I found out a couple weeks after we met. “Oh, I’ve been camping,” he said. “Maybe a few years ago?”

Something about me: I basically live outside. I’ve built my life around long journeys, and I often work from a portable keyboard in my tent. I knew that if we wanted to continue the relationship, we’d have to enjoy camping together. So a few days later, I floated the idea of a bikepacking trip. Nick said it was something he’d always wanted to try. We pulled up our calendars and found a few days in March when we could both get away. I was delighted — we were going on an adventure.

As I learned while planning, outfitting, and embarking on a trip with a new partner, there’s a right way and a wrong way to take someone on their first bikepacking excursion. And while what follows is mostly the wrong way, no one died and we had a great time. Here’s how I did it so you can learn from my successes and my failures.

Route Planning

I poked around the usual route-planning websites: Adventure Cycling, Bikepacking.com, and Bikepacking Roots. I’d recently done a fun overnight on Adventure Cycling’s Great Parks South route, a paved ride that starts just a few miles from where I lived in Durango, Colorado. This time, however, I thought a gravel route at a lower, warmer elevation would be a better fit for us and our bikes.

I found a few different options and whittled them down to a favorite: Utah’s Grand Staircase Loop. It looked beautiful, the seasonal riding window aligned with our schedule, it was relatively close, and we could do it with the bikes we already had. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a beginner route, and there was only one water source for 160 miles.

I hemmed and hawed. I read and re-read the route commentary, searching for clues about other water sources and the terrain’s true difficulty. Everything I read made it seem dry, remote, and logistically tricky — not at all what I’d choose for someone who’d never been bikepacking before. Especially if I wanted them to like me afterwards.

But I’d seen Nick stride up slopes in freezing weather, bomb down gnarly hills, and meticulously plan his layers and snacks. He was strong, knew his bike inside and out, and never complained. I had a feeling he’d be up for a real adventure, so for better or worse, we set our sights on Utah.

Everything I read made the route seem dry, remote, and logistically tricky — not at all what I’d choose for someone who’d never been bikepacking before. Especially if I wanted them to like me afterwards.

Bikes

I’d bring my Kona Sutra ULTD and Nick would take his Straggler. His bike was sturdy enough for the ride, but I asked if he’d be willing to change his tires to tubeless. We’d be in a remote desert with a lot of logistical unknowns, so I wanted to mitigate the risk of mechanical issues.

The Straggler’s tubeless tires were still slightly narrower than ideal, but Nick and I talked about it and agreed that they’d work for our goals. I knew Nick was good at handling his bike in a variety of conditions, and if the terrain was really bad we could always hike-a-bike.

We’d be in a remote desert with a lot of logistical unknowns, so I wanted to mitigate the risk of mechanical issues.

Gear and Packing

Nick didn’t have any bikepacking gear, but that didn’t strike me as a problem. I have a long history of splicing random things into “oddly functional” gear. (See A Coworkers Campout or Packing Hacks for an Inexpensive Tour for an eclectic array of DIY options.)

In recent years, I’ve also had the great fortune to test new gear from awesome brands like Revelate Designs, Old Man Mountain, Big Agnes, and Showers Pass. This meant that I had a whole box of extra cycling and camping gear.

The week before our trip, I dumped the box out on the floor and sorted through my options. I’d given Nick a list of clothing to bring from home, so I needed to piece together everything else: camping gear, cooking necessities, food, and bags. It was a bit of a puzzle, but eventually I formed a large pile of everything we needed. The gear didn’t have to be perfect — it just had to keep us safe enough to survive the elements and comfortable enough to have a good time doing it.

The gear didn’t have to be perfect — it just had to keep us safe.

Safety First

A few days before we left, I still couldn’t confirm any additional water sources, and we were on a tight schedule with no margin for delays. So we decided to tweak our plans and spend the first couple nights car camping in the desert outside Durango. Then, we’d drive to Utah and bikepack a section of the Grand Staircase route instead of the whole thing.

The last-minute change was a little disappointing, but from a safety perspective, I’m very glad we made it. Sometimes people think that adventure means taking a lot of risks. I think the best adventures happen when you manage risk in safe ways and really enjoy the experience.

The best adventures happen when you manage risk in safe ways and really enjoy the experience.

The Real vs the Ideal

One thing I often remind myself is: There are ideal situations, and then there are real situations. In an ideal situation, I’d plan the perfect route, bikes, and gear to match. I’d print out a gear list with little checkboxes and check them off well in advance. And I’d take any beginning bikepacker on an easy trip before trying something harder.

But in this real situation involving two people scrambling to plan a ride in the midst of a thousand other life circumstances, I narrowed things down to the most basic levels of functionality, motivation, and safety. We used the bikes and gear we had. We chose a route that was easy to access and beautiful enough to motivate the journey. And we switched up our plans last minute to account for unknown variables. It wasn’t ideal, but it still worked in reality.

I narrowed things down to the most basic levels of functionality, motivation, and safety. It wasn’t ideal, but it still worked.

The Actual Trip

On an afternoon in late March, we drove to a backcountry campsite and pitched our tent. Soon the wind picked up, whipping streams of sand against our faces. We ate dinner crouched behind the car, and then crammed ourselves into my tiny, one-person tent.

Throughout the night, the wind bashed our shelter in all directions, forcing sand and dust under the fly. At dawn I woke up and turned to Nick. His face and sleeping bag were covered in a thick film of grit. I felt oddly gleeful. Usually, I make bad decisions all by myself, but now I had Nick to make bad decisions with me! Things were already going well.

We spent another day at the campsite, and then drove to Utah and got a motel room. The next morning, we rolled our loaded bikes out the door, high fived in the parking lot, and pedaled out of town on a dirt road that headed straight into the desert. Our plan was to bike about 40 miles and camp by a lake, which was our only water source. This route would include a 1,500-foot climb and possibly rocky terrain.

I hadn’t meant for this to be a test, but he was passing.

Soon, the desert morphed into masses of boulders and cliffs. Nick powered up the hills and seemed elated as the route steepened. Finally, we zigzagged up a long ridge and looked out over a swathe of epic red canyons. It was one of the most beautiful rides I’d ever done.

After a lunch break, we headed down to the lake, but when we got there, all we found was dried mud. We hopped off the bikes and pushed them across the dried lakebed. I began to feel guilty about everything I’d put Nick through. He, however, was remarkably resilient. I hadn’t meant for this to be a test, but he was passing.

About half an hour later, we spotted a shimmer of wet mud, then a trickle of water, and eventually, a clear pool. Birds flew overhead and a fish jumped. We were saved. We pitched the tent on a crusty patch of mud. I filtered water and Nick gathered wood. As the sun set, we lit a fire and watched the sky deepen into starlight. We were dirty and tired. Nothing had gone perfectly, but still, it was a perfect evening.

The post How to Take Your Date on Their First Bikepacking Trip appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

Bikepacking might not be the first thing that comes to mind when you picture New York City, a megaopolis known for banking, late nights, and a slice at all hours. But what many people don’t realize — and what the Priority Bicycles team came to fully appreciate on this ride — is that there are hundreds of miles of trails just outside our sliding subway doors.

On this ride, you can escape the city via a quick train ride, then pedal hundreds of miles to your heart’s content. While we rode out and drove back, the route is easily scalable from an out-and-back day trip to a simple overnight to multi-night epic. Our goal wasn’t just to prove to ourselves and others that bikepacking from the heart of Manhattan was possible, it was to inspire folks to find routes in their own backyards — even if that backyard is a 20-million-person conurbanation. Because if us New Yorkers can find a two-wheeled escape right out our front doors, anyone can.

But along the way, we all learned another important lesson: Sometimes it’s more about the people you’re riding with than where you’re riding to. Here’s how we did it, and how you can, too.

Last year, still riding the high of July’s RAGBRAI 2024, we pitched a fall team trip during a Priority meeting. The concept? Ride 239 miles from our Manhattan headquarters in Tribeca to our Montgomery, Pennsylvania, warehouse — the hub of our direct-to-consumer operation. Suggestions flew. “We should do it on kids’ bikes!” “Why don’t we take beach cruisers?!”

That got our gears — or gearboxes — turning about how fun and casual we could make this ride. With the idea in mind, we set some concrete expectations:

1. Whether someone packed for full self-sufficiency or needed a little backup, the ride would be accessible for everyone.
2. We wanted an easily accessible route
3. With a larger group, food, water, and camping get even more complicated; we wanted to make that part of the planning as simple as possible.

They were all good decisions because the logistics of getting eleven riders from NYC to central Pennsylvania — some with full bikepacking setups, some with little more than a backpack — was complicated enough. We created a shared document for gear coordination, a separate thread for route planning, and a Google Map to track campgrounds, food stops, water fill-ups, and train access. Then, we used Komoot to block out the ride in broad strokes. This gave us an idea of how we could break up the ride into achievable days. There were some solid stopping points: NYC to Frenchtown, Pennsylvania, (67 miles); Frenchtown to Jim Thorpe (71 miles); and Jim Thorpe to Montgomery (101 miles). It would be ambitious, but with clear paths and only 7,750 feet of elevation gain, it felt doable. Especially after we decided to take a train from Manhattan to New Brunswick, New Jersey, and thus avoid starting our trek with a 25-mile slog through urban commuter traffic. Instead of riding the same route back to NYC, we shuttled back via van and U-Haul truck.

Day 1: NYC to Frenchtown – 67 miles

We met at Penn Station and caught a 5:30 AM NJ Transit train, which allowed bikes, to New Brunswick ($15.75). Then we grabbed breakfast at Dunkin’ (not sponsored), performed pre-ride checks, and rolled out. Within minutes, we were on the Delaware & Raritan Canal State Park Trail, and it felt like we were a world away from Manhattan.

Our crew ranged in experience from Tour Divide veterans (lookin’ at you Ryan Van Duzer) to newer cyclists with just 20 miles under their belts. The initial nervousness about keeping the group together across miles of canal-side gravel trails quickly faded into the background as we immersed ourselves in our surroundings.

The first day was defined by that feeling: being close to home but totally removed. We settled into a rhythm as we wound along the canal, weaving behind neighborhoods and gliding through town after town. When someone said, “Oh … we’re in Trenton?” it reminded us how far we’d come and how quickly we disconnected from the city.

The tow paths were easy: beautiful views, languid water to chill the air, and a plentiful tree canopy to block the sun. The miles ticked along as groups spread out, ultimately landing at the Tinicum Park Campground on the canal. Hammocks went up, tents unfolded (some for the first time ever), and we ended the day with burritos in Frenchtown, just a couple of miles away, before crawling into sleeping bags.

Day 2: Frenchtown to Jim Thorpe – 71 miles

The next day was a smooth-gravel blur. The trail rolled northwest through Bethlehem toward Jim Thorpe. It was effortless and meditative. Seventy-one miles is a long ride for a larger group, but the tow path was easy to follow, so speedier riders could easily pedal ahead. One major learning was that we could have pre-planned two to three meetup points throughout the day to allow us options for big stops or short ones. With large groups, it’s easy to lose 15 to 30 minutes chatting, waiting for group members, or eating snacks.

Given some of those stops, we arrived in Jim Thorpe about 45 minutes before sunset. There is a 20-minute climb from town to 100 Mile View Camping, and upon seeing the fun to be had at local bars and restaurants, we had our “big shift.” We were exhausted, had to get camp set up, and had 100 miles planned for the next day, but the town’s charm stopped us in our tracks. The obvious question popped up: “Why are we stressing ourselves out. Why don’t we stay longer?”

We had a great group, a campfire burning, and our friend Line brought us pizza and snacks. We made the call: Reduce the mileage of our final day and stay in Jim Thorpe a little longer. We earned this moment. Why rush?

Day 3: Jim Thorpe and Beyond – 36 miles

Instead of starting a century ride at 5 AM, we had brunch in town which had a Harry Potter vibe and was home to cool bakeries and great coffee. After wandering through shops, we got on the bikes and soaked in the final few trail miles, having renegotiated with our van driver to pick us up closer to Jim Thorpe. The day was unstructured, low-key, and full of laughs — exactly what we all needed.

It was the best decision we could have made, but it was only because we had a solid framework in place and our goals in mind. We knew the route, our stops, and the access points. We didn’t feel like we missed out on 65 miles; we felt like we gained an amazing day with friends.

If you’re worried about the finish, you’ll miss the ride—the leaves, the sounds, the jokes, the people. Keeping the group together meant no one got dropped, and everyone had a better time because of it. When we get together and look back on the trip, we don’t talk about the mileage or elevation — we talk about campfire stories, unexpected moments in tiny towns, and how fun it was to get out there and poke around close to home.

Turns out, escaping Gotham doesn’t require a Batmobile — just a belt drive, a good crew, and maybe a few burritos. You don’t need superpowers to leave the noise behind, just a plan, a patch kit, and people who are down for the ride. We went from the shadows of skyscrapers to hanging by the campfire in a matter of hours, and it reminded us that adventure isn’t about how far you go — it’s about how open you are to the unexpected.

If we can roll out from Manhattan and find peace on gravel paths and in sleepy towns, so can you. The city will always be there. The trails? They’re closer than you think.

The post Escaping Gotham appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

“It brought back the joy of riding for me again — it really did,” Teri said. “Having worked at Adventure Cycling for all those years, I’ve ridden a lot of miles, but it was getting so that it wasn’t fun, and it certainly wasn’t fun to commute. And then all of a sudden it was like, ‘Oh, this is fun again.'”

So, what’s the secret to unlocking fun on an e-bike? We turned to Teri, along with industry experts Jill Nazeer, Salsa’s Brand Marketing Manager, and Noel Kegel, Adventure Cycling board member and president of Wheel & Sprocket, for their share of tips.

Tip 1: Invest in Quality, Especially If You’re Planning for Distance

As of this writing, e-bikes are more affordable than they’ve ever been. And while that’s great in some respects — because access matters, and anything that gets more riders on bikes can’t be all bad — there are some caveats.

As Noel says, a less expensive e-bike might get you moving. How long it’ll last — and how long it’ll take to get fixed should things go south — however, is another matter.

“I own a bike shop, and we see lots and lots of e-bikes that are pure garbage that we literally can’t fix,” he says. “There’s no 1-800 number to call, there’s no way to get parts. Sometimes we try to diagnose the problem, but from a product-quality perspective, they’re impossible to work on, you know? And so people buy, like, disposable e-bikes, essentially.”

In that respect, it’s not so different from any bike. Because, Noel says, you could very well ride a Walmart bike clear across the country. But the last thing you want to do is spend all your time fretting over if, when, and how long you’ll need to pull off for a fix.

“You want gear that supports your trip,” he says, “not gear that becomes the trip.”

Your best approach for avoiding headaches? Consider going with an e-bike from an established brand that makes e-bike components, because those are the parts most neighborhood bike shops with a knack for e-bikes are going to stock.

Tip 2: Know Where You’re Riding

When you first start shopping for an e-bike, you’ll have questions. Among the first that you’ll want to consider, however, is where you’re riding. In part because the answer will help inform what style of bike you opt for — gravel? mountain? road? — but also what your local roads, rail trails, and bike paths will allow.

Jill suggests every rider should learn their e-bike’s classification. (Note: More than three-quarters of U.S. states now recognize the three-class e-bike system, but you’ll want to familiarize yourself with your own state’s laws and the laws of any states you’ll be riding through. People For Bikes offers one-page PDF summaries for each state here.)

Class 1: Pedal assist only. Maximum assisted speed of 20 mph. Legal on most roads, trails, and paths but not in all states.

Class 2: Throttle-assisted, which means that the motor can assist if you’re not pedaling. Maximum speed of 20 mph. Legal on most roads, trails, and paths but not in all states.

Class 3: Pedal assist up to 28 mph. Legal on roads and bike-only lanes, but not allowed on most bike paths (including MTB trails) or multi-use paths.

“Beyond that,” Jill says, “it’s the exact same conversation as any bike: How big of a tire do you need? Do you need suspension? Flat bar? Drop bar? All that kind of stuff.”

To be sure, there are still some other aspects to consider as a consumer. Knowing that you’ll likely need e-bike-specific panniers, for example, or a heavier-duty car rack to accommodate the e-bike’s heftier weight is certainly important. Noel says you’ll also want to consider how certain brands have different placement of the motor. (He prefers mid-drive motors, which are located in the bottom bracket, rather than hub motors, which are located in the rear hub, because they allow the bike to ride “very naturally.”)

Above all, Jill says, the most important thing is that you’re doing your research ahead of time: Because the technology is advancing at such a brisk clip, there are regular updates to what’s on the market, ranging from more efficient batteries, “walk” modes and brief boosts of turbo, software updates that increase a battery’s watt hours, to say nothing of the now sleekly designed bikes themselves.

Tip 3: Know Your Bike, Know Yourself

When it comes to planning, the differences between e-bike and non-e-bike touring are minor (though changing a tire on an e-bike presents a much heftier obstacle). Still, much in the same way that you need to know your body’s limitations — how far you can go in one stretch, how much weight you’re able to manage, etc. — you also need to be aware of your e-bike’s limitations.

“If you’re actually going to do long-distance touring, you know, be sure that you’ve done the weekend shakedown,” Teri says. Make sure that you know how much battery you go through in a range of settings — whether that’s uphills or gusty headwinds — particularly if you’re tapping into the bike’s boost function. And if you’re planning to load the bike down with camping gear, a cookstove, and all the rest, make sure you know what it feels like to have that weight on your bike and how it affects your battery usage.

“As with any kind of riding, the most important thing to me is that you are prepared for what you’re going to encounter,” Teri says. “But with an e-bike, you want to know how much charge you have because that is going to determine the length of your day.”

Which, in turn, gets at one of the biggest differences between touring and e-touring.

Tip 4: Think About Where You’ll Charge — And Don’t Forget to Do So

Make charging part of your route planning. “Look for lunch or second breakfast stops with outdoor plugs,” Teri says. Bike shops, cafés, or even campgrounds with electric hookups can be good bets. And at night, bring your battery inside your tent if it’s cold. Lithium batteries don’t love freezing temps.

“The most important thing that you have to remember is, did you charge it?” Teri says.

This might seem obvious, but in some respects it’s a paradigm shift, especially for those riders who’ve honed habits and routines over the course of decades.

“A lot of times, you finish for the day, and you’re like, I am done. I want to go take a shower, I want a snack or whatever,” Teri says, noting that if you neglect to charge your battery, you’ll be paying for it the next day. “It’s a mindset. You really have to be aware that if you’ve used it for a period of time, you charge it.”

Tip 5: Have a Plan B

Here, “B” stands for “Backup” and “Battery.”

A few years back, Teri and her sister joined an Adventure Cycling tour that passed through South Dakota’s hill country. As the name suggests, it was hilly. “Like, super hilly,” Teri says. However, despite riding the same route, Teri says that she and her sister had very different experiences.

“I did not have a backup battery, and my sister did,” she says. “Having that backup battery meant that she didn’t pay attention like I did. I had to be doing calculus, and I had to be paying attention, and she didn’t, because she had a backup.”

In fact, on their longest day — a 54-mile ride with lots of hills — Teri says that she was at 1 percent when she finally made it back to camp that night, despite charging during lunch. Her sister, on the other hand, had tapped into her backup battery but hadn’t had to fret over her charge. Adventure Cycling Guided Tours staff recommend bringing two batteries on any ebike-friendly tour.

Certainly, there’s no harm in toting along an extra battery; though depending on the size, it might add between 10 and 20 pounds. Jill says that, in recent years, several of the major manufacturers, like Bosch, have been addressing “range anxiety” with range extenders.

“It’s basically like the size of a water bottle, so it’s super easy to incorporate that into the storage on your bike,” Jill says. “It’s not going to fully charge it, but it’s like an extra little bit to get you going a little longer.”

Summing It Up

Whether you’re touring or bikepacking overnight or dreaming of a coast-to-coast adventure, an e-bike can make the journey more accessible and enjoyable. But as with all great rides, preparation matters. Learn your bike. Know your range. Know your terrain. Ride in “Eco” mode whenever possible. And always — always — charge your battery.

The post E-Bike Touring and Bikepacking Tips appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

My riding partner always shirks camp duties. How can I get them to contribute their fair share?

Dear Overworked,

Bummer! I feel for you on this one. Going out on a limb here, I assume that this is someone you enjoy riding with enough that you’ve put up with shouldering more than your fair share until now. If so, I say “hurray!” for having someone you like to ride with. Even if you’ve been riding and traveling with someone for a while, it doesn’t mean it will always be smooth sailing (or rolling!). And sometimes when we let things go, the other person just assumes that we’re fine with the status quo and nothing needs to change.

Just because bike travel is overall a ton of fun doesn’t mean that every single aspect is enjoyable. There is definitely work involved, and I don’t mean just while pedaling. I can think of plenty of people who love biking but when I start talking about camping, they say, “no, thank you.” With camping, there are more logistics and tasks: you need to pack all your gear, then set up your tent and other camp spaces, and the next morning pack it all up again (even less fun if you have a wet tent!). Then, of course, we need to feed ourselves, because food is fuel, and biking is definitely not fun if you’re hangry. If you are sharing a tent with your riding partner, maybe some of the camp duties causing strife include set-up/tear down, but if you’re not, then I’m guessing most of your friction is related to food duties.

To start, I’m wondering if you and your riding partner potentially have different expectations for your travels. Sometimes we have a vision in our minds as the way to tour, when really there are lots of ways to approach your adventure. For instance, maybe your friend is totally fine with carrying their gear, and maybe even camping, but was envisioning that you’d eat your meals out and not have to deal with meal planning, shopping, cooking and clean-up? If so, how would you feel about adapting to this style of bike travel? Do you cook because it’s easier on the budget or because the camp meals are a valued part of the experience for you? Or maybe both?

Another possibility is that your travel style (camping and cooking) is in line with your riding partner’s, but since you’ve taken the lead on these responsibilities, they assume you really like doing it. In this case, additional communication might be in order. Even if you like doing the meal planning and cooking, it sounds like you feel you are being taken advantage of and want things to change. If you’re already out on the road and experiencing this, the best thing to do is to speak up before these feelings grow into resentment (if they haven’t already). If you’re not currently on a trip with your riding partner but are starting to plan, this is the perfect time to tell them that you are looking for a more equitable partnership this time.

There could be several ways to accomplish this. On Adventure Cycling tours, we use a cooking rotation to ensure that everyone has the opportunity to shop for and cook a meal that they really like. You can set up your own mini cooking rotation, assigning each day’s meals ahead of time. Or you could agree to share the responsibilities each day, taking turns either doing the cooking or the clean-up (and decide how shopping fits in!). Maybe you can adopt a hybrid model for your meals, with you shopping and cooking on your night and your partner taking the “credit card” route and footing the restaurant bill when it’s their night?

There’s also the possibility that your riding partner is intimidated by the idea of cooking. It’s worth checking in with them to see if some of the avoidance stems from the concern that they won’t do a good job. You could have a couple of really easy recipes ready to go and reassure them that practically anything tastes great after a long day on the bike.

One fallback possibility, especially if you’re really fed up but want to keep riding with this person, would be to do your shopping, cooking and clean-up individually. Many bicycle tourists really enjoy the communal aspect of the experience, so it’s understandable if this isn’t your first choice. Perceptions of incompatibility with dietary restrictions or preferences may be another reason to go your separate ways with meals. If solo meal prep saves the touring partner relationship, it’s worth considering.

If you have this conversation with your riding partner and it still seems like you’re going to end up with more of the camp duties, are there other responsibilities that your riding partner can take on to potentially balance out some of this lopsidedness? Are they good at route planning or finding fun points of interest along the way? If so, they could organize your maps or create all the Ride with GPS routes beforehand. Are they good in stressful situations and do you appreciate their level-headedness? That’s really valuable. Are they a good storyteller and conversationalist and help make the miles fly by? Do they excel at finding a good playlist to jazz you up on the road? Can they set up your tent while you get dinner ready?

Ideally your riding partner will step up once you’ve been clear about your feelings and brainstormed some possible solutions with them. Or, if they contribute to making your tour fun and successful in other ways, it may be worth accepting that camp duties won’t be split 50/50. Ultimately though, it will be up to you to decide if their other efforts or qualities are enough to keep moving down the road with them on future trips.

The post Ask An Adventure Cycling Tour Leader: When Your Cycling Buddy Avoids Camp Duties appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.