For a long time, I called myself “a sprinter, not a climber,” a common joke among cycling folks to excuse why they can’t climb steep grades or go long distances. From a young age, I was naturally strong and slightly bigger than my peers. I played a lot of competitive sports and was typically put in a strength role over a speed role. When I got into track racing, I had success in power-forward short sprints but just couldn’t find the legs for extended efforts.

About five years ago, I moved from a relatively flat place to a small valley town nestled at the foot of a mountain range. There was nowhere to go but up, and a month into my first season of local riding, I realized pretty quickly that something had to give. I had to make a mental and physical shift and either figure out how to get better at climbing or, at the very least, be able to enjoy myself during these lengthy ascents. It’s still a work in progress, but here’s what I’ve learned so far.

Make a Goal

It’s hard to get better at something without a goal in mind. I started with “be better at climbing,” but what does that mean? My main goals now are around a mental shift — how to turn type two fun into type one fun in the moment — and measurable physical improvements that I can track on local, repeatable climbs, such as time spent, perceived exertion, and overall ride quality. Pick your favorite metrics and use them to keep track of your improvement or pick an event or ride accomplishment to work toward by a certain date. Not all goals have to be numbers-based! Goals based on attempts or how you feel at the end of an effort are great options that avoid getting too hung up on data.

Make A Plan

If your goal is to get better at climbing, trying to summit the biggest, baddest climb around on Day One is probably not the best idea. Not only can you end up demoralized, but you could also end up injured, which can set you even further back. I decided to focus my efforts on the local, smaller climbs that I have to frequent in order to get around or to get between trail networks that I ride regularly. I planned to shuttle up to the trailhead and ride in from there, and after every few rides, I would park lower and lower down the service road. By the end of the summer, I would be riding all the way up to the trail from home, which would be about three times the elevation gain than riding from the trailhead.

Check Your Gear

Having gear appropriate for climbing can certainly be helpful; we do love a mechanical advantage, after all. Make sure your drivetrain is clean and not worn out. Inspect your chainrings, cassette, and chain, looking for any visible grime or extra dirt. Use a plastic-bristled brush to gently scrub out any gunk with warm, soapy water. Rinse with clean water, let air dry for a few minutes, and then use a clean rag to dry completely. Once clean, you can inspect for any excess wear: cassette and chainring teeth should be even with no chips, missing teeth, or anything that resembles a curvy shark tooth. Check for chain wear: using a chain-checking tool will give the most accurate reading. If you don’t have one, you can do the pinch test for a general idea of wear: shift into your big chainring and rotate your crank so the driveside crank arm is pointing at nine o’clock. Then pinch the chain on the opposite side of the crank arm (at three o’clock) and try to pull it toward the front of the bike. If you see a gap between the chainring and the chain, it’s an indication that your chain is stretched and should be replaced.

Changing your gearing can have a huge impact on how hard or easy it is to spin your legs as the grades increase. If you find your current setup just too hard to power through as things get steep, try swapping out your front chainring for the next size down (for more information, check out Mechanical Advantage’s column on gear ratios, Adventure Cycling July/August 2023). This will translate to easier spinning and help keep you moving until you gain more strength and endurance.

Check The Technique

When you are settling in for a big climb, find the gearing in which you can maintain a consistent cadence — not too light that you are spinning without control, but not so heavy that you are straining to pedal, especially if you have more gears available. Focus on drawing smooth, round circles with your feet on the pedals. Having consistent input through the full pedal stroke will give you the most power output and return on your effort. The “push” section of a pedal stroke can be very quad- and glute-dominant, while the “pull” section of the pedal stroke tends to use calves, hamstrings, and hip flexors. Using all your muscle groups equally can help keep fatigue at bay longer.

Shift Your Focus

When I used to really struggle with climbing, I found I would be stuck thinking the whole time how hard it is. When I catch myself going there, I shift my focus and find a rhythm instead: breath, pedal strokes, a sound, a line on the road. Find a pattern in something that you can focus on through the tough parts. This can keep you present and help keep your mind from shifting to the negative.

Shift Your Perspective

Coming from an amateur race background, I often found myself stuck in a competitive mode — if I wasn’t winning, I was losing. Now, I focus on what I am accomplishing. Sometimes it’s as simple as just starting the ride. Sometimes it’s getting all the way up to the trail. Sometimes I did it just a little faster than before, or I stayed on the bike and didn’t put a foot down. All of these things are better than not doing it at all. Find joy in your current ability. Be your own cheerleader. Soak in the scenery. Marvel at how much you’ve done for yourself. It doesn’t matter what you haven’t done. Look at what you have. Incredible!

Keep Going

Remember that change, growth, and success are not linear. Physical and mental setbacks are normal. Challenging ourselves and getting better is a forever practice, but it’s also something that gets easier as we go.

The post How to Be a Climber appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

What’s the best way to cook for a large group with many different dietary restrictions while saving as much weight as possible?

Dear Pedaling Gourmet,

Do we eat to bike or bike to eat? It probably doesn’t matter, because either way we need fuel! And while bars and gels might get the job done on day rides, for a multi-day tour most people want “real food,” and quite a bit of it.

It sounds like you’ve already gathered some information about your touring companions and have noted their dietary restrictions. You’ve possibly also gotten some feedback regarding things that are preferences, versus allergies or intolerances that would ruin or put a real damper on the trip if not adhered to. I mention this because some people are quite willing to be a little flexible on tour, as long as it’s not something that will adversely affect their well-being.

Handling Dietary Restrictions

I received some really good advice on one of my first tours. One of my fellow participants followed a vegan diet. Realizing that it could be intimidating for those in the group who aren’t familiar with cooking this way, he very kindly suggested that we focus on the things that he does eat, rather than the things he doesn’t. We were left with a plethora of foods, including pasta, rice, oats, beans, nuts, fresh fruits and veggies, all things that a touring cyclist usually wants lots of.

This same advice holds true for other dietary restrictions. If someone is gluten-intolerant, there are still tons of things that they can eat. Focus on whole foods and use care in reading labels for any hidden additives that contain gluten. Reading labels is key for other allergies, like soy or fish/seafood as well.

So, when planning a meal for a group, it’s probably easiest to start with a base that everyone can eat. Let’s say that’s rice and beans. If some in the group like to eat meat and dairy, you can easily cook up some chicken or beef that is an optional add-on. Same goes for cheese or sour cream. To bulk up the meal for everyone, have lots of veggies available: peppers, onions, greens, tomatoes, avocado. And don’t forget the spice! Little bottles of hot sauce are perfect for bicycle touring. It also pays to plan ahead and bring small amounts of your favorite herbs and spices in small baggies or containers.

Cooking Equipment

You mentioned saving weight, so let’s talk about how much we’re going to need to carry to cook for a large group. This is where the magic happens. If you’ve ever been on an Adventure Cycling self-contained tour, this next bit will sound familiar. To cook hearty, nourishing meals for 15 people, the cookware mainly consists of:

• Two 10-quart pots with lids
• One 4-quart pot with lid
• One frying pan (no handle or lid)
• 2 flexible cutting boards
• An assortment of utensils (ladle, serving spoons, can opener, knives, tongs, pot lifter, etc.)
• GSI 50-ounce coffee press
• Wash bins with soap, bleach, and sponge

It doesn’t sound like much, but with this gear, along with two backpacking style stoves, you can cook a lot of food. And each person ends up carrying just one or two pieces of “group gear,” so you’re not adding a lot to your overall packed gear. Once you go shopping, a whole cartload of food quickly disappears into panniers, with each person carrying a few things.

While it’s important to be flexible (some stores have less variety than others), it’s helpful to have a few recipes ready and to prepare a shopping list. It would be a big bummer to forget the peanut butter if that’s going to be one of your staples for lunch! Make sure to take inventory from the day before. While you’re generally going to be shopping for just what you need each day, there are some foods that you can carry forward without concern for food safety. But if there’s any doubt, throw it out!

Quantities or Servings per Person

Let’s talk about quantity, since the last thing we would want are folks who are still hungry after the meal. This is another area where it’s helpful to consult the packaging. For foods that list the number of servings, plan on two servings actually being enough for one hungry cyclist. If a box of pasta lists six servings, count on it actually feeding three people. You may need to finesse this a little, depending on what’s all going into the meal, but it’s a good guideline to start with. If by chance you’re travelling as a group of 15, you can also use the visual of “filling the pot,” meaning making enough food to fill one of the 10-quart pots. While I’m very conscientious about food waste in my life at home, on the road it’s actually a good thing if you have a bit of food left over. It means that everyone got enough.

The Benefits of Scale

Folks who are used to cooking for themselves on a bike tour are often very surprised and impressed at how much better meals can be when you’re cooking for a large group. When shopping and cooking for just one or two people it’s difficult to buy a wide assortment of ingredients on such a small scale. It takes a bit of thought and planning, but you’re sure to get a much better result cooking one big meal (with optional add-ins for dietary needs) than trying to cook individual meals.

In addition to the primary goal of providing everyone enough energy to get down the road, cooking as a group is a great way to bond with your touring companions. You can learn a lot about someone while you’re cutting up all those veggies for your stir-fry! Rather than seeing cooking as a chore, it’s really a time to come together, to share stories from the road, and to feed our souls with the joys of bicycle travel. Bon appétit!

Brielle’s Go-To Recipe for a Group of Hungry Cyclists

Frito Chili

serves 15 hungry cyclists

Ingredients

• 4 pounds ground beef
• 6 packages of chili seasoning mix (see tips if not available)
• 6 cans kidney, black, or pinto beans
• 6 cans of diced tomatoes
• 16-24 ounces frozen corn (optional)
• Shredded cheddar cheese (optional)
• Sour cream (optional)
• Green onions, chopped (optional)
• Hot sauce (optional)
• 3-4 bags of Frito corn chips (9 ounces each)

Directions

• Brown the ground beef in a large pan. Drain and set aside.
• In a 10-quart pot, combine beans (with liquid), tomatoes (with liquid), corn, and seasoning packets. Simmer for a bit to combine flavors.
• Chili can be served over Fritos or garnished with Fritos on top. Either way adds texture and crunch!
• Serve with the cooked meat, shredded cheese, sour cream, green onions and hot sauce as optional add-ons.
• Goes well with a salad and bread.

Tips

• Want more carbs? You could cook some macaroni pasta in another pot and mix them together for some chili mac! Chili is also great over rice (look for boil-in-bag for easy clean up)
• If no chili seasoning packages are available (or you need a gluten free option), here are spices that are equivalent to one seasoning packet: 1 Tbsp chili powder, 1 tsp ground cumin, 1/4 tsp cayenne pepper, 1/4 tsp garlic powder, 1/2 tsp onion powder, 1 tsp salt, 1/4 tsp pepper
• You can substitute ground turkey, chicken, or pork for a change, or veggie “ground round” crumbles

The post Ask an Adventure Cycling Tour Leader: Best Way to Cook for a Large Group appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

But it didn’t seem fair: I was the one who worked in a bike shop, taught a cycling class for the college and started the campus bike cooperative. I had the touring experience, the knowledge, the gear, the desire but not the scratch: I needed to stay and work for the summer to pay tuition. At least my panniers would have an adventure.

Watching them go with Jesse down to the train station, I had a rare moment of conviction: I promised my disappointed self that I would ride across the country when I retired. This seemed fair — work first, then the reward — and far enough out to be plausible without requiring anything immediate.

But now I am retired, and although the promise flickers, the road ahead has narrowed. It has been a good road — many, many good roads over many long years — from the first green panoramas of my Michigan home to the Rockies, the Sierras, the Alps, the Pyrenees, and crossing the beauteous Andes from both sides multiple times. And most of those with my bride riding stoker on our tandems.

Along the way, we lived in Montana, and I was thrilled to regularly visit what had become, after 1976, Bikecentennial headquarters in Missoula. I did some writing for the magazine and felt privileged to pick my way through the lumber and drywall as the new home on Pine Street came into focus. That it was a church building seemed perfectly fitting; I worshipped there.

Which made the recent news of the decision to sell the building all the more ironic for me, because I know churches and worship: I retired as a United Methodist pastor. I spent over half my career in regional administration for the denomination, which is to say, the institutional business side of a large volunteer membership organization.

So, when Adventure Cycling’s board described their business challenges — membership aging out (me), lack of new and younger members, diversification of interests and styles of riding, the impact of new technologies, remote work leaving empty properties — it was a lightbulb moment. I’d spent years teaching church folks to recognize the business aspects of their beloved fellowships in order to face, and hopefully overcome, their own stagnation and decline. Now my Church of the Wheel was facing the very same difficulties.

With that realization came real concern. I had witnessed first-hand and pre-emptively taught that when faced with deep change to something deeply valued, most people respond with anger, denial, and blame — basically, anticipatory grief. The pushback is often volatile, which simply proves the depth of our passioned experience, and the challenge to our very sense of identity.

Which sounds academic, until you’re on the side of a gravel road, straddling your bike, shivering in sleeting rain, struggling to get a frozen hand into the sleeve of your last jacket layer, on the precipice of a snaking descent into a grey void with no visible end in sight, and thinking: I can’t do this anymore.

We’d come to Patagonia one more time, one final epic adventure, with the shared promise that after this, the next tour would be a circumnavigation of Paris marked by red wine and daily elevation gains measured in double digits at most. But first, the Torres del Paine, Mount Fitzroy, and the roadless “jungle drag” to Villa O’Higgins where we’d last left our mark at the end of the Carretera Austral.

The planning was exquisite, the gear dialed in, the training 95%, and the weather apocalyptic. The second day was a puny 21 miles in seven hours, the wind slamming our fully loaded tandem into the dirt multiple times. We made it off the sleeting ridgeline just barely before the National Park closed behind us due to the weather.

By the next day, with foul weather predictions in hand, there was going to be a Plan B whether we liked it or not. And despite the investment in time and equipment and training, it would not include riding. The bike would be disassembled into the travel cases, the gas for the stove poured out. Our last grand tour was over, and it was apocalyptic in the original meaning of the word: a revelation. We were not going to be touring cyclists like we had been anymore.

The road has narrowed, indeed.

I’ve since wrestled with the impossible. First and foremost, I AM A CYCLIST, fundamentally a touring one. But if I don’t ride another ‘real’ tour, can I still call myself that in the present tense? Or do I start selling bikes before I absolutely have to? We never know which will be our last tour, much less our last ride, or our last day this side of the grass. But to choose it? Tough.

Easier to project that change, that loss, onto other unwanted changes and rag on that. Easier to insist things are the same, will stay the same. Easier to keep all the bikes in the garage, even pump the tires up on the dusty ones now and then. Never mind the bike co-op a few blocks away that could put those bikes under some eager kids. Get off of my lawn! I could slide into that …

Instead, I’m trying to be a true cyclist. What does a cyclist do when a tire goes flat? Fix it. Another climb? Shift down, hydrate. Road closed? Pull out the maps — or now the apps. A narrow road is still a road, paved or unpaved, and everything I’ve learned from cycling, especially touring, still holds true: we assess the ride, the weather, the conditioning, choose the gear and distance that matches where we’re going. No need for the kitchen sink when a tall water bottle will do. We figure it out and get it done.

Cyclists are of necessity and naturally curious, flexible and adaptive, challenge-seekers and problem solvers. The current shifts in the cycling industry and cycling culture are verses in the long song of the road, paved and gravel and dirt, “as it was in the beginning.”

And honestly, to look at how many people are getting into cycling today, in such an incredible diversity of ways, brings tears to my eyes. My road has narrowed, but the number of roads, rides, and riders has exploded, again.

Hopefully I’m preaching to the choir. It’s good to remember that the history of cycling has ebbed and flowed from the very beginning but never dismounted. Flying on two wheels satisfies a deeply visceral need for the sense of freedom that only comes from engaging the body.

Whatever and wherever they’ll be riding another 50 years from now, they’ll be riding, which is all that matters. I hope to have something to do with it while I can, even if it’s just sharing my stories over the soft whir and click from my tall stacks of slide carousels. I hear the kids are into that now, like vinyl. Amen to that.

The post The Narrower Road appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

New Orleans is perched upon a 7,000-year-old expanse of alluvium called the Lower Mississippi River Delta. The landscape is humid, muddy, and flat, either at sea level or just below it. Before Europeans settled here in the early 1700s, several indigenous tribes called the area Bulbancha, “the place of many tongues.” For the Chitimacha, Choctaw, Ishak, Tunica, and Natchez nations, the location was a riparian trading post. For the French and Spanish, it was a colonial port. Since the Americans purchased the Louisiana Territory in 1803, New Orleans has been a vibrant city wide open to immigrants and influences from around the world, especially Europe, Africa, and the Caribbean. Today, millions of tourists visit New Orleans each year to experience its exceptional cultural repertoire of music, cuisine, architecture, museums, and festivals.

New Orleans is fantastic for cyclists who plan it right. The best seasons to visit New Orleans are early spring and late fall, when the weather is calm and the festivals are scheduled every weekend.

Beginner / Day Trip

While the street life of New Orleans is thoroughly inviting, the street surfaces are hostile — an inevitable outcome of layering gravel, concrete, and asphalt roads atop soggy earth. At least the bumpy streets have been painted with hundreds of bike lanes in the last 15 years, including the new Lafitte Greenway, a 2.6-mile linear park converted from an abandoned railroad track and shipping canal corridor. Take the Greenway to City Park and spend a couple of hours walking through the New Orleans Museum of Art’s Besthoff Sculpture Garden. Treat yourself to one of New Orleans’s photogenic Catholic cemeteries, such as St. Roch No. 1 Cemetery near the Marigny neighborhood. Cycle through the new river-themed Crescent Park on your way to the city’s oldest neighborhood, the French Quarter. Continue through the bike-friendly Tremé neighborhood, once the epicenter of a free People of Color community and the birthplace of jazz. Give yourself a break from cycling at some point and hop on the St. Charles Avenue Streetcar for a nineteenth century–paced train ride uptown.

If you have a car and are aching for smooth tarmac, drive up to the “northshore” to pedal the Tammany Trace, a 31-mile wildlife conservation corridor.

Intermediate / Multiday

A continuous paved path caps hundreds of miles of levees that the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers constructed on both sides of the Mississippi River after the Great Flood of 1927. Most locals depart from picturesque Audubon Park and ride a couple of hours upriver and then turn around, but the levee paths are so consistent that you could theoretically meander all the way up to Memphis, Tennessee (510 miles), or St. Louis, Missouri (1,278 miles), if you wanted to.

A fun four-day loop trip involves pedaling the levee on the east bank of the river 106 miles to Baton Rouge (88 feet elevation, total), staying a night, and then heading back to New Orleans (23 feet elevation) on the west bank of the river. The total trip is 275 miles. On the way to Baton Rouge, cyclists will glide roof-height through dozens of small towns and former plantations, such as the Andry Plantation, near the town of LaPlace, where the 1811 Slave Revolt began. You’ll also pass hundreds of farms, bayous, oil refineries, and petrochemical plants. Check out the visitor center at the Bonnet Carré Spillway, a 1.5-mile-wide flood control structure and six-mile-long floodway built in 1931. Visit the National Hansen’s Disease (Leprosy) Museum in Carville. Stay one night at Auberge du Chene Vert B&B in Paulina.

When you arrive at the state capital at the end of Day Two, stay on the Belle of Baton Rouge, a riverboat casino and hotel. In the morning, check out the Shaw Center for the Arts, the Capitol Park Museum, or the Bluebonnet Swamp Nature Center near Hilltop Arboretum.

For the return trip to New Orleans, travel along the west bank of the river and soar past dozens more farms, plantations, bayous, and industrial plants. This side of the river takes you through a collection of towns worth a stop, like the historic German Coast in Killona, the River Road African American Museum in Donaldsonville, or the Whitney Plantation Museum in Wallace. Stay a night at the Victorian on the Avenue in historic downtown Donaldsonville. The trip ends with a ferry across the river from Algiers Point to New Orleans.

Art and Culture

Local radio station WWOZ’s website and the free Offbeat Magazine are solid guides for daily happenings. Frenchmen Street is a popular four-block stretch of the Marigny dense with music venues, bars, and restaurants that are open every night. Another great option for music and food is Bacchanal, a Bywater neighborhood favorite with a casual courtyard, a rotation of quality contemporary jazz bands, and a first-class wine menu. If you’re visiting over a weekend and have free time on a pleasant Sunday afternoon, join a downtown or uptown Second Line parade and dance behind a brass band.

If you plan to visit New Orleans for Mardi Gras, note that bikes are a popular way to beat the traffic jams and outsmart the parking crises — the streetscape is compromised for cars because of so many road closures near parade routes. There are at least three weeks of carnival leading up to the Tuesday morning of Mardi Gras, so visits can be planned for weekends other than the final four-day weekend if you want to avoid the largest crowds.

Groceries and Food

Eat at neighborhood restaurants like the Sneaky Pickle, Satsuma, or the Joint. Uptown, check out Surrey’s, Mais Arepas, or Peche. Pick up groceries from local markets like Rouses or Robert and take them to City Park or the riverfront for a picnic. Also be sure to check out Bar Tonique, Cure, and the Sazerac House for food and drink.

Go and Stay

If you journey to New Orleans by Amtrak or bus, you’ll arrive at Union Passenger Terminal in the city center. If you travel by plane, you’ll arrive at Armstrong International in the suburbs, which is a 22-mile bike ride along the river’s east bank levee path to downtown New Orleans. Or grab a taxi, rideshare, or the RTA bus 202 “Airport Express.”

There aren’t great camping options near the city’s center, so plan on treating yourself to a hotel room as you pass through New Orleans. Book a night at the Quisby in the Lower Garden District or Hotel Peter & Paul in the Marigny neighborhood.

Locals often use bike lanes for getting to work or for going out to see music with friends. When they do, they don’t ride their expensive bike. Instead, they take their less fancy bike, and they lock it up well with one or two locks, because bike theft in New Orleans is very common.

Blue Bikes is New Orlean’s rideshare, and you have to download an app to get started. There are a few Blue Bike stations in the touristy neighborhoods of the city. For maps of the city’s bike lanes and a comprehensive list of local bike shops, visit the Bike Easy website, a local nonprofit.

The post A Bike Touring Guide to New Orleans appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

People / Portraits

Winner

Title: Time Off
Location: Santiago de Compostela, Spain
Judge’s comment: As a photographer, this is the kind of image I dream of creating. The frame, the bike, and the women in the top left are beautiful. The image creates an intensely beautiful memento to the art of humanness.

Honorable Mention

Title: Chucky Atop the Rollers
Location: Dane, Wisconsin, USBRS 30
Judge’s comment: I love the humanity and the duality in this image. It seems to say, ‘There are two different ways to be human. Neither is right or wrong, just two different paths to take.’ It is also well edited and has wonderful coloring.

Around Camp

Winner

Title: Night In An Empty Police Station
Location: La Presa, Nayarit, Mexico
Judge’s comment: This image has an eye-catching frame and struck a chord of curiosity and wonder.

Honorable Mention

Title: Setting Up Camp Near Lake Tennyson
Location: Lake Tennyson, New Zealand
Judge’s comment: This landscape image made me not only want to be in this valley, but it also made me wonder where the two cyclists are going on this adventure. It serves as an invitation. The colors are stunning, and the subject and story are clear.

First Bike Adventure

Winner

Title: Doesn’t Get More American Than This
Location: Hunt’s Mesa, Kayenta, Arizona
Judge’s comment: This photo is special because it’s a chance image of something that is at once distinct and incredibly representative of biking in the desert: horses, deep sand, and a reddish, green-tinged world all around. It was well edited and framed, and it is a moment in time well captured.

Honorable Mention

Title: A First Rodeo
Location: Port Angeles, Washington
Judge’s comment: This photo feels like joy. It is a moment frozen in time, and although no bikes are featured it makes you ask, ‘How and why are these two laughing this way?

Cover Shot

Winner

Title: Snake Shot
Location: New River Trail State Park, Virginia
Judge’s comment: This image is incredibly unique. I’ve never seen anything like it and immediately wanted to know how the photographer got the shot. This image was clever, difficult, and well composed.

Honorable Mention

Title: Sunset on Hohokam Road
Location: Hohokam Road, Arizona
Judge’s comment: Well-edited, framed, and brought to life. A classically beautiful image that makes you want to bike.

The post 16th Annual Bicycle Travel Photo Contest appeared first on Adventure Cycling Association.

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!

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