One Mile at a Time

Brunswick, MD, US | 64.0 mi | 614 ft

Day 75 – From Coast to Capitol I left Brunswick fully rested. The heavy rain overnight had finally broken the heat wave, and the cool morning air was a relief. After a quiet cup of coffee, I rolled out of town and onto the trail for the last time. Just 60 miles stood between me and the National Mall in Washington DC. Sixty miles from the end of a journey that’s taken me across the entire country. The trail was damp and muddy, the sky low and gray with a light drizzle falling. It felt almost exactly like the weather on day one. An appropriate sendoff. As I pedaled, the cool air carried a flood of memories, mountains crossed, deserts endured, people met, and all the quiet moments that will stay with me for a long time. After a few miles I came across whites ferry. Although the ferry hasn’t been running for years the small attached cafe was bustling woth cyclist. Most seemed to be cycling from Pittsburgh to D.C. It was fun to see so many touring bikes lined up outside the cafe. I popped in to grab a small snack, said hello and then continued down the trail. Just before reaching Georgetown, I hit one last obstacle. Flooding from the night before had brought down massive trees across the trail. The path was completely blocked. I had to scramble over, under, and around the debris, lifting my bike and picking my way through the tangle. After that, it was clear all the way to the finish. When I finally reached the National Mall, I slowed down to take it all in. I passed the Lincoln Memorial, the Washington Monument, and finally the Capitol. A quiet sense of satisfaction settled in. Not the loud kind, but the deep kind that comes when something truly meaningful reaches its end. And waiting at the finish line was my amazing girlfriend, who flew out to meet me in DC. It was an emotional end to this ride, and I feel incredibly lucky to have shared that moment with her. Seeing her there made the finish even more meaningful. In 75 days, I pedaled over 4,500 miles, climbed more than 215,000 feet, and touched 15 states. With the help of so many generous people, we raised over $25,000 for Veterans Expeditions, a group helping veterans heal through the outdoors. I’m incredibly grateful for every mile, every challenge, and every person who believed in the mission. I also hope this ride encourages others to give cycle touring a shot. There’s something special about traveling by bike. You don’t just see the beauty of the places around you visit, you experience it. The pace lets you connect with the land, the exposure connects you to environment, and the disarming and honest look of a person on a bicycle offers the opportunity to connect with the people. To everyone who donated, shared the fundraiser, followed along, or sent words of encouragement, thank you. You helped carry this ride forward. I couldn’t have done it without you. If you’d like to support Veterans Expeditions and their work helping veterans heal through the outdoors, visit www.OneMileFundraiser.com. Thanks again for following along. The journey may be over, but the mission continues. And as always, keep on pedaling

Williamsport, MD, US | 46.8 mi | 791 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/19dEw46kjH/ Today was a shorter ride, but the heat made every mile hard won. I have a room in Brunswick where I’ll be staying until I roll into DC on Friday morning. With the heat wave in full swing, I didn’t mind keeping it short, though I probably pushed a little too hard knowing the finish line is so close. I definitely felt the heat today. The scenery along the towpath continued to impress, even with the unrelenting heat and humidity. One of the more interesting stretches was a narrow ribbon of trail built right along the edge of the river, with cliffs on one side and water on the other. This section is part of the historic Chesapeake and Ohio Canal towpath, which once ran 184.5 miles from Georgetown to Cumberland. It was originally built in the early 1800s to transport coal, lumber, and agricultural goods. Mules would walk along the towpath towing canal boats through the waterway. Today, it's a treasured recreational trail and a unique link to the region's industrial past. Once I made it to Brunswick, I did my best to cool off and rest up. I was feeling sluggish and drained from pushing too hard in the sun. I took a long break indoors with water and electrolytes and gave my body time to settle down before thinking about anything else. I’m only 60 miles from the end of this tour. One more morning ride to go. It’s hard to believe. I don’t think it’s fully sunk in yet. It might be tough to sleep tonight knowing that the final push is right around the corner. I’m incredibly grateful for the support I’ve received along the way, from people following the journey online, and from the many kind folks I’ve met out on the road. Till Friday. If you’d like to support Veterans Expeditions and their work helping veterans heal through the outdoors, visit www.OneMileFundraiser.com. Thanks again for following along. The end is near, but there’s still some epic trail ahead.And as always, keep on pedaling.

Cumberland, MD, US | 87.1 mi | 863 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/14G8EGThPMa/ I left early this morning, pedaling out of Cumberland as the sun rose. The Airbnb was nice, but the neighborhood had me on edge, definitely one of the sketchier spots I've stayed in. Cumberland marks the end of the GAP trail and the beginning of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Towpath, a 184.5-mile trail that follows the old C&O canal route alongside the Potomac River. The trail surface was great, flat, shady, and made of packed crushed limestone. I was pleasantly surprised to see a number of cyclists out enjoying the cool start to the day. It wasn’t long before I reached the Paw Paw Tunnel, one of the canal’s most iconic features. The tunnel stretches over 3,000 feet through a ridge and was built in the 1850s to bypass a winding section of the Potomac. I had to stop and dig out my bike light before entering. The tunnel’s cool, damp air was a welcome change from the muggy heat quickly building outside. Once through, I pushed on down the trail. The route was mostly shaded by trees, with occasional breaks that offered views of the river, an old lock, or a train bridge towering overhead. Despite the shade, the heat wave made its presence known. The humidity clung to everything and made even flat miles feel heavy. I wrapped up the day in Williamsport, where I checked into a little bed and breakfast just off the trail. The room was cozy, and the small air conditioner worked hard to provide a bit of relief from the heat. I was grateful for every bit of it. It’s wild to say this, but I’ll be in Brunswick until Friday, and Friday marks the end of this tour. Just about 100 miles left. It doesn’t feel real yet. I can’t quite imagine not riding every day. After living so simply and so fully on the bike for the past couple months, it’ll definitely be an adjustment to return to “normal” life. If you’d like to support Veterans Expeditions and their work helping veterans heal through the outdoors, visit www.OneMileFundraiser.com. Thanks again for following along, A couple more days of trail ahead. As always, Keep on pedaling

Rostraver, PA, US | 112.5 mi | 4,334 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1BEjqRfKff/ Excited for a full day of cycling, I jumped onto the Great Allegheny Passage midmorning, greeted by a lush green tunnel of forest. The ground was soft and soggy, water dripping from everything, a stark contrast to the wide vistas of my home. At times the dense greenery felt a bit claustrophobic, but it was beautiful in its own unique way. Pedaling hard through the miles, I passed charming trailside towns bustling with cafes and kayak rentals, evidence of the GAP Trail's substantial economic impact (generating over $120 million annually for local communities). I stopped at one of the trailside restaurants for a large lunch to refill much needed calories, enjoying the lively atmosphere. It's wonderful to see so many people enjoying the outdoors, although it definitely makes for crowded trails! I rode past the area near Fallingwater, Frank Lloyd Wright’s architectural masterpiece, hidden just beyond sight from the trail. Built in 1935, this iconic house famously integrates into the landscape by extending directly over a waterfall. Late afternoon presented an unexpected challenge when a mudslide closed several miles of the trail forcing me onto a steep detour through the Appalachian mountains. As I climbed, the road became lined with front yards cluttered with rusted cars, old appliances, and protective dogs barking warnings. It felt like something straight from a movie, complete with imaginary dueling banjos echoing in my head. The thought brought a brief chuckle as I anticipated playing my banjo again once I return home. Thankfully, all the dogs stayed in their yards, and I was greatly relieved when I rejoined the trail without incident. After 90 challenging miles, I crossed the Eastern Continental Divide at 2,392 feet, the high point that separates watersheds flowing to the Atlantic from those heading to the Gulf of Mexico. Shortly afterward, I passed through the impressive Savage Mountain Tunnel, originally built for the Western Maryland Railway in 1911. At over 3,000 feet long, this tunnel is a historic engineering marvel now repurposed for cyclists along the GAP Trail. Not long after, I passed a memorial marking the Mason Dixon Line, a somber reminder of our country’s difficult and troubling past. A brief thunderstorm left a refreshing drizzle behind as I started descending toward Cumberland, paralleling a tourist train track. Darkness fell, and my bright bike light proved essential for dodging the many downed trees from the storm. I rolled into Cumberland around 10 pm, tired but grateful, only to find my Airbnb was in a rough part of town surrounded by boarded-up houses. The area felt sketchy enough that I briefly considered finding alternate accommodations. Ultimately, reminding myself that things always seem worse on rainy nights, I decided to stay and settled in for some much needed rest. I'll find out in the morning if the neighborhood is as unsettling as it seemed. If you’d like to support Veterans Expeditions and their work helping veterans heal through the outdoors, visit www.OneMileFundraiser.com. Thanks again for following along. The end is ao close now, but there’s still some trail ahead. And as always, keep on pedaling.

Pittsburgh, PA, US | 42.9 mi | 1,250 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/15m2RjmuGP/ Leaving Pittsburgh, I took city streets to the southeastern edge of town. The trail begins tucked beside the Monongahela River, where plaques, sculptures, and interpretive signs tell the story of Pittsburgh’s gritty industrial roots. Once known as the Steel City, Pittsburgh powered America’s rise with its steel mills and manufacturing plants. In the late 1800s and early 1900s, it was one of the most productive industrial cities in the world. The city’s strategic location at the confluence of three rivers helped it become a hub for coal, iron, and rail, all fueling an era of explosive growth. The trail installations honor that legacy, steelworkers, riverside mills, and the diverse communities who built it all. Before leaving the city, I swung by Thick Bikes to grab a replacement rearview mirror, my sixth of the trip so far 🤣. The folks there were super friendly and pointed me to a diner around the corner called O’Leary’s. I took their advice and fueled up with a hearty breakfast before setting out down the trail. And just like that, I was officially on the Great Allegheny Passage, or GAP trail, a 150 mile route that follows old railroad corridors from Pittsburgh to Cumberland, Maryland. Originally built on the rail beds of the Western Maryland Railway and others, the GAP is known for its exceptional flatness, smooth surface, and scenic views as it winds through river valleys, tunnels, and small Appalachian towns. It’s one of the crown jewels of America’s trail network and I’ve been looking forward to it, especially during the last car filled weeks of this trip. There’s a subtle emotional shift that’s taken hold. I’m in the final chapter now. There’s happiness and pride in how far I’ve come, a bit of sadness that this journey will eventually end, and excitement for whats next. It’s hard to describe, but I’ve felt it building all day. The trail made pedaling feel easy, and after pushing hard the past few days, I decided to keep it light. I only rode about 40 miles today, ending just south of West Newton. I found a place for dinner and devoured some Indian curry before propping my legs up and catching up on some computer work. Tomorrow I'll tackle the remaining section of the GAP trail, winding deeper into the scenic heart of the Laurel Highlands. I'm looking forward to the lush forest views, the quiet river bends, and the easy miles that make this stretch such a joy to ride. If you’d like to support Veterans Expeditions and their work helping veterans heal through the outdoors, visit www.OneMileFundraiser.com. Thanks again for following along. The end is near, but there’s still excellent cycling ahead. And as always, keep on pedaling.

Strasburg, OH, US | 107.0 mi | 5,689 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1Bp2vGNkss/ Leaving Strasburg, I climbed a short rise to Zoarville, then turned southeast. The first 30 miles were on the road, Still no shoulders but with much less traffic than the day before. A welcome change. Eventually I reached the Conotton Creek Trail, a smooth and scenic 11-mile stretch of former railway. It cuts through quiet valleys dotted with Amish farms, offering a peaceful ride through some of eastern Ohio's most charming countryside. After the trail ended, I was back on the roads for another 25 miles, heading toward the Ohio River. The long descent into Steubenville was fast and fun, and I rolled into town ready to cross the bridge into Weirton, West Virginia. But as I reached the riverfront, I hit a wall, literally! A “Bridge Out” sign blocked my route. The only other nearby crossing was several miles north, so I pedaled there, only to find that it was an interstate with no pedestrian access. Frustrated, I called the city office to ask how a cyclist or pedestrian was supposed to cross. The voice on the other end simply said, “You can’t.” It felt like being stranded. These two cities, Steubenville and Weirton, are less than a mile apart across the river, but the lack of walkable infrastructure turns that short gap into a real barrier. It’s a jarring contrast. Just miles earlier, I had been cruising down the smooth and peaceful Conotton Creek Trail, and later the beautifully maintained Panhandle Trail, both great examples of investment in recreational access and non-motorized travel. These rail trails are often better maintained than the roads that connect the towns around them. But when the trail ends, that progress disappears fast. You’re dumped back onto roads with no shoulder, no signage, and no safe way forward unless you’re in a car. The same communities that build incredible trails often still lack basic everyday infrastructure like sidewalks, crosswalks, or a way to safely get across town or over a river without a vehicle. It’s a reminder of how far we still have to go to make our transportation networks truly work for everyone. For a while I stood at the on-ramp with my thumb out, offering to pay any pickup willing to take me and my bike across. No luck. Eventually, I found a local taxi service called Heavenly Rides that agreed to help. Big thanks to Charles and the team there—they loaded my bike in the back of a minivan and drove me over the Ohio River into Weirton, officially marking my arrival in West Virginia. From there, I jumped on the Panhandle Trail, a 29-mile path that winds through old coal towns and woodlands all the way to Carnegie. The surface was smooth and quiet, a total contrast to the chaos earlier in the day. From Carnegie, I rode a patchwork of city bike routes into the heart of Pittsburgh. Reaching Pittsburgh is a major milestone. Tomorrow I begin the final chapter of this ride, heading southeast on the GAP and C&O Canal Towpath all the way to Washington DC. I checked into a downtown hotel and took a moment to rest and reflect on how far I’ve come, and how close the finish line is. If you’d like to support Veterans Expeditions and their work helping veterans heal through the outdoors, visit www.OneMileFundraiser.com. Thanks again for following along. The end is near, but there’s still some epic trail ahead. And as always, keep on pedaling.

Oberlin, OH, US | 90.5 mi | 2,854 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1Aw8YEY5SE/ Today I turned south, trading the last of the flat terrain for rolling backroads and tighter shoulders. The first 40 miles were all on pavement. I stuck to small roads where I could, trying to avoid the traffic, but it seemed like everyone in Ohio had somewhere to be. With little to no shoulder, I rode with one eye on my mirror the entire time. The tension wore on me until I finally reached Creston. In Creston, I picked up the County Line Trail, a quiet rail trail that runs about 6.5 miles along an old Baltimore and Ohio Railroad corridor. It was peaceful, shaded, and a welcome break from the cars. The trail ends near the town of Rittman, where I turned southeast again, pushing on toward Clinton. At Clinton, I hopped onto the Ohio & Erie Canal Towpath Trail, which follows the historic route of the canal that once linked Lake Erie with the Ohio River. The gravel surface and gentle grade made for calm, steady riding, and I followed it the rest of the way to Bolivar. I had planned to camp in Bolivar, but the campground I found was more like a party. Loud music, drinking, and not exactly the peaceful end I was hoping for after 90 miles in the saddle. As I rolled through the evening humidity, I kept thinking about the quiet silence of the high desert and vast public lands I experienced not long ago, where I could pitch my tent in solitude under open skies. Out here, the sea of private property and dense pockets of people makes it a different kind of challenge. That contrast hit me hard. I pedaled a few more miles to a quiet motel and called it a night. If you’d like to support Veterans Expeditions and their work helping veterans heal through the outdoors, visit www.OneMileFundraiser.com. Thanks again for following along. More updates coming soon. And as always, keep on pedaling.

Oregon, OH, US | 85.9 mi | 1,243 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1A6T5cSPRw/ I was grabbing coffee in the hotel lobby when I spotted another bike fully loaded for touring. Naturally, we struck up a conversation. David, the rider, had done a bunch of 1 to 2 week trips all over the country and was heading west from Toledo. We swapped stories and route tips. After some good conversation and caffeine, we wished each other well and rolled out into the Ohio morning. The first 10 miles were southeast along Highway 51, but soon I picked up the North Coast Inland Trail, which would carry me for most of the day. The trail follows a former rail line that once connected the industrial cities of northern Ohio and now stretches more than 100 miles from Toledo to Elyria. It’s a smooth and quiet path through farmland, woods, and small towns, and the riding was easy with almost no climbing. The miles flew by. The farmland was interrupted every ten miles or so by small places like Fremont and Norwalk as I cruised east. Thankfully the day brought a break in the heat, which made for much more comfortable riding. I wrapped up the day in Oberlin, a small college town with a progressive history. Oberlin College was the first in the country to admit students regardless of race or gender, and the town played an important role in the Underground Railroad. That spirit of inclusiveness still seems to carry through the streets today. If you’d like to support Veterans Expeditions and their work helping veterans heal through the outdoors, visit www.OneMileFundraiser.com.

Jamestown, IN, US | 96.4 mi | 1,759 ft

Started the day on Hwy 120, also known as Toledo Street, with my sights set on reaching Toledo by evening. The morning was road riding through small towns and wide open farmland. It was flat, hot, and monotonous, the kind of day where you just settle into the saddle and keep spinning. I threw in some headphones, queued up a few podcasts, and chipped away at the miles. About 30 miles in, I reached Montpelier and hopped on the Wabash Cannonball Trail. The surface was mostly crushed limestone, shaded in parts, and stretched for over 60 miles toward Toledo. The trail follows the former Wabash Railroad corridor and is one of the longest rail trails in Ohio. It was a relief to be off the roads and away from traffic for the bulk of the day. Rolling into Toledo, I realized I had spent much of the afternoon pedaling through what was once the heart of the Toledo Strip, a narrow piece of land that sparked one of the strangest territorial disputes in American history. Back in the 1830s, Michigan and Ohio both laid claim to this area, and tensions rose high enough that each side mustered militias. The conflict, known as the Toledo War, never turned violent but came close, with a few arrests and some strong posturing. Eventually, the federal government awarded the land, and the city of Toledo, to Ohio, while Michigan was given the Upper Peninsula as a consolation prize. It’s wild to think that today’s quiet roads and cornfields were once a contested border. By the time I rolled into town I was toast. Nearly 100 miles in the heat took it out of me. I grabbed a room and crashed hard, looking forward to a fresh start in the morning.

Cascade, MI, US | 103.2 mi | 3,051 ft

I left Grand Rapids early and rolled south along the Paul Henry Thornapple Trail. This scenic path follows a former railroad corridor and cuts through woods, farmland, and wetlands, offering a peaceful ride out of the city. Grand Rapids itself is known for its rich furniture making history, once earning the nickname “Furniture City.” The trail was still soaked from overnight thunderstorms, but the surface held up well. I followed it nearly all the way to Hastings, enjoying the smooth grades and quiet surroundings. It felt good to be back in southern Michigan. I grew up not far from here, and as I pedaled, memories from my childhood drifted in and out. It’s been over a decade since I’ve been back. Passing through Battle Creek, I gave myself a goal of make it across the state line into Indiana before nightfall. That meant a big push. The route turned to roads, and Michigan drivers have a reputation for speed. With little shoulder, I kept a close eye on my rearview mirror as I powered south. Just before dark, I crossed the border into Indiana. I had made it. I was completely spent, I don’t even remember falling asleep. But I slept hard, knowing I’d earned it.

Milwaukee, WI, US | 70.7 mi | 1,791 ft

I rolled out of my hotel room around 5am and pedaled through the quiet streets of Milwaukee. The city was peaceful at that hour, with the sunrise just starting to light up the skyline. Milwaukee is sometimes called the “City of Festivals” thanks to its packed summer calendar of events, including Summerfest, the world’s largest music festival. My destination was the Lake Express ferry terminal, where I boarded the high-speed ferry across Lake Michigan. The ride was smooth and relaxing, a fun way to see the lake and cover some serious distance. After docking in Muskegon, I grabbed coffee in town and headed out on the Musketawa Trail. The trail follows an old rail corridor between Muskegon and Marne and was one of Michigan’s first long-distance rail trails. It’s flat, shaded, and makes for some very peaceful riding… until construction detours get involved. Unfortunately, the last ten miles were closed, but I pressed on down the trail anyway and ended up fording a couple streams and navigating some rough patches. I guess those “trail closed” signs were there for a reason. 🤣 With storms rolling in behind me, I pushed into the south side of Grand Rapids. There weren’t any good camping options nearby and rain was forecast through the night, so I grabbed a room and called it. Out east, camping has gotten more difficult. With less public land, I need to do more planning than I’m used to. Tomorrow looks clearer and I’m looking forward to putting more miles down through Michigan.

Dunn, WI, US | 89.4 mi | 2,198 ft

After a full “rest” day playing on the water with friends, it was time to get back to the journey. I rolled out of Madison with some great company, Mike and Gretchen joined for a good stretch of the morning ride. It was awesome to have friends along for the miles and the sendoff. Huge thanks to both of you for the amazing time in Wisconsin! I’d done a little route planning during my day off (a rarity on this trip), and I’m aiming to stick to as many rail trails as possible for the final stretch. Today’s goal: Milwaukee. We headed northeast toward the Glacial Drumlin State Trail, a fantastic path that connects Madison to Milwaukee. Mike and Gretchen rode all the way to the trailhead with me and joined for a number of miles before we said our goodbyes. I’m already looking forward to seeing them again. The trail was smooth, shaded, and quiet, the kind of surface that helps the miles disappear without effort. I made it into Milwaukee late afternoon and got a room downtown. After checking in, I grabbed a pizza and on the way back stumbled into a tucked-away alley concert. The band was excellent, so I found a spot and ate my dinner to the sound of live music bouncing off the old brick buildings. The age of the city gave it a distinct character. Tomorrow’s ride has something special I’ve been looking forward to. Headed to bed early, excited for what’s next.

Barneveld, WI, US | 39.0 mi | 1,335 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/16ndW2MY55/ I started the morning riding along the Military Ridge State Trail, a peaceful path built on a former railroad line. It gently winds through farmland, wetlands, and small towns across southern Wisconsin. The route originally followed a military road used in the 1800s between Green Bay and Fort Crawford, and now it’s a gem of a bike trail, full of shade and wildlife. By mid-morning, the heat had kicked in and the hills were already doing their job. Then came a torrential afternoon thunderstorm, but my rain gear held up and I pedaled on. The rain let up as I neared Madison, and I made it to my good friend Mike’s house just as things dried out. Mike had kindly offered to host me for a rest day, and our friend Gretchen came by to hang out. We spent the evening catching up, laughing, and playing on the lake behind his house. I even got to try riding the foil board behind his boat, which was an awesome break from the bike. It was a fun and welcome shift from the road, and I really appreciated the chance to recharge. I’ll be taking a rest day tomorrow, with more fun planned on the water.

Cassville, WI, US | 78.9 mi | 4,098 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/19Xc6oKjuJ/ I rolled out of Cassville and started making my way east. A peaceful country trail guided me toward Lancaster, and the morning air was cool enough to enjoy it. That trail eventually disappeared into a stretch of brush, which turned into about a mile of slow bushwhacking before I popped out onto a highway. From there I followed Highway 18 past Lancaster and toward Dodgeville. The road was busy at times, but the scenery kept me distracted. Rolling farmland, thick green woods, and endless climbs and descents made for a full day of riding. As the sun dropped lower, I found a spot to camp just outside Barneveld.

Oelwein, IA, US | 65.5 mi | 2,972 ft

Today was a good one. I rolled out of Oelwein early and made my way east through classic Iowa scenery. It was easy pedaling all morning, with cornfield after cornfield stretching out on either side. As I got closer to the Mississippi, the terrain began to dip and the air grew heavier. Cornfields gave way to forest and valleys. You could feel the river coming before you ever saw it. I had been looking forward to a ferry crossing I’d read about. This one has been operating since 1833, the oldest in Wisconsin. When I reached the landing, it was just a dirt road that faded right into the water. A few minutes later, the ferry showed up. I rolled my bike aboard next to a couple of cars and we chugged across the big river to Cassville, Wisconsin. After grabbing a bite to eat in town, I climbed a steep winding road up to Dewey Heights Campground. The view from my site was incredible, perched high on a bluff above the river. The only downside? The mosquitoes. There were so many, I’m still half convinced they could’ve flown off with me and the tent if they had tried. Thankfully, my bug net kept them at bay while I watched the sun dip behind the bluffs. Eventually the heat broke and the cool night air settled in. I’m excited to explore Wisconsin’s roads and landscapes in the days ahead.

Floyd County, IA, US | 82.1 mi | 2,044 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1GYFMoesSc/ I woke up in Marble Rock, Iowa, and got moving under clear skies. Not long into the ride, I noticed something off with my front fender. A quick stop confirmed it had broken Its mounting bracket, probably just worn out from all the miles. I pulled it off and strapped it to my rear rack, then kept on rolling. After crossing Shell Rock Creek, I headed south through quiet farm roads, then turned east at Allison and picked up the Rolling Prairie Trail. It was a great change of pace, mostly paved with lots of wooden bridges and no cars in sight. Somewhere along the trail, I passed through a small town and spotted an ice cream truck parked under a tree. I didn’t even think twice. I pulled over and enjoyed a cold treat in the shade before continuing on. In Clarksville, I stopped for a cold sugary drink and met another cyclist who was also taking a break. We got to talking, and they offered to ride with me to the next town. The miles flew by as we chatted about bikes, touring, and Iowa’s backroads. We stopped in Waverly for a cold beer at a brewery right off the trail. After the pit stop, we parted ways and I continued east, eventually making it into Oelwein for the night.

Wesley, IA, US | 84.0 mi | 1,798 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1BBVxEV1Tk/ After a very uncomfortable night sleeping on a deflated pad, I packed up early and hit the road. My mission for the day was clear, find a store that carried sleeping pads. After about 50 miles of pedaling through the usual mix of rural Iowa roads and endless cornfields, I rolled into a small town with a sporting goods store. The options were limited, but I picked the most promising one and hoped for the best. The rest of the day passed without much fanfare. The terrain was flat, the weather hot, and the scenery consistent corn, soybeans, and more corn. Eventually, I made it to a small local campground, where I lucked into some unexpected company. There was an archery competition happening nearby, and I ended up spending the evening chatting with folks about bows, arrows, and all the gear that goes with it. Hopefully the new sleeping pad holds up. Looking forward to another full day on the road tomorrow.

Emmetsburg, IA, US | 45.3 mi | 928 ft

The day was hot. I pedaled along Highway 18 in the morning, enjoying the rhythm of steady highway miles for a change. That is, until the shoulder disappeared and traffic picked up. I gave a side road a shot, but the gravel was deep and loose, making the riding extra tough. Back on the highway, I continued east until reaching a small town with a park campground. I decided to make it a half rest day and spent the afternoon cooling off at the local pool and lounging in the shade. After the heat faded, I crawled into my tent looking forward to a good night’s rest. Unfortunately, my sleeping pad had other plans. Sometime after midnight, I woke up to a loud pop—the internal baffles had blown out. What was once a sleeping pad was now a lumpy balloon with a giant bubble in the middle. I ended up finishing the night on the ground. Still got some rest, but definitely not ideal.

Osceola County, IA, US | 83.2 mi | 2,064 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1A3f2DHBtT/ I woke up rested despite last night’s storm. My campsite neighbors invited me over for a hot breakfast, and we shared stories over coffee and eggs. Encounters like this keep reminding me how generous and kind people can be, something I’ve seen again and again on this ride. Leaving Hawkeye Point, I continued east along quiet country roads. The heat came on early, but it was manageable and the miles passed easily. Around midday I rolled into Spirit Lake, a small town with a bit of a tourist vibe. I refueled with a big sandwich and soaked up the air conditioning for a bit before heading back out. The afternoon followed the same theme—back roads, open skies, and steady pedaling. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, I found myself finishing dinner and debating whether to set up my tent in the local park. Instead, I grabbed a motel room for the night and enjoyed the comfort of a real bed. Looking forward to what tomorrow brings.

Sioux Falls, SD, US | 58.6 mi | 2,044 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/173eADAQZY/ Leaving Sioux Falls, I said a teary goodbye to Mom over coffees and began pedaling out of town. The city faded quickly into peaceful countryside, an easy mix of gravel and pavement with quiet roads and wide open skies. I took my time, soaking in the sounds of birdsong and the rustling cornfields that stretched toward the horizon. Crossing into Iowa marked the official end of my journey through South Dakota. I was pleasantly surprised by how much the state had to offer. It’s more than just prairie, between the winding roads of the Black Hills, the excellent George Mickelson Trail, stiking colors and terrain of the bandlandsnand, and the smooth champagne gravel cutting through the heart of the state, South Dakota turned out to be a gem for cycle touring. Sioux Falls, especially, stood out for its welcoming city loop and bike infrastructure. I wrapped up the day at Hawkeye Point, the highest point in Iowa. It’s a fun little park with old farm equipment and a quiet campground just across the street. It was calm when I turned in for the night, but not for long. Around 1am, a thunderstorm rolled through, bringing strong winds, hail, and one of the most intense lightning shows of the trip. Thankfully, I stayed dry and warm in the tent and eventually drifted back to sleep, curious and excited to see what Iowa has in store. Support Veterans Expeditions This ride is part of One Mile at a Time: Stop Veteran Suicide, a fundraiser supporting Veteran Expeditions, a nonprofit helping veterans heal through outdoor adventure. If you’d like to support the mission, even a small donation goes a long way. www.onemilefundraiser.com

Chamberlain, SD, US | 150.8 mi | 3,120 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/19VwkyXJwf/ After a wonderful weekend visiting my mom in Sioux Falls, I got dropped back off right where I left off, on the banks of the Missouri River in Chamberlain. I’d booked a room nearby to get an early jump on what I hoped would be a big day. I woke up feeling ready to go. After a hearty breakfast, I got on the I-90 frontage roads and started pedaling. The rolling hills that had been relentless before gradually smoothed out the farther east I went. The sun climbed high and the heat returned, but it wasn’t nearly as brutal as the prior week. The miles kept ticking by. I had good momentum, and the roads were mostly quiet and smooth. Before long, I realized I was on pace to hit my longest ride yet. I rolled into Sioux Falls as the sun dipped lower in the sky and was greeted by their city bike loop, an awesome path that winds through the city. I followed it around to the southwest side of town where mom picked me up, and we headed out for a much-needed pizza dinner. It felt good to put down that many miles in one go. A real benchmark for the trip. Tomorrow I’ll be saying goodbye to family and setting my sights on Iowa. This ride is part of One Mile at a Time: Stop Veteran Suicide, a fundraiser supporting Veteran Expeditions, an incredible nonprofit helping veterans heal through shared outdoor adventure. If you’d like to support the cause, even a small donation goes a long way. www.oneMileFundraiser.com

Presho, SD, US | 40.1 mi | 1,588 ft

Day 54 – Crossing the Missouri It was hot. Really hot. My goal was to make it as close to Sioux Falls as possible so I could spend the holiday weekend with my mom. I rolled out of Presho in the morning, aiming for Chamberlain before the worst of the heat set in. For most of the day, I stuck to the I-90 frontage roads. The riding was peaceful, low traffic and open views. Unfortunately, about ten miles before Chamberlain, the shoulder disappeared and I had to hop on the freeway. It wasn’t ideal, but it got me where I needed to go. Trying to stay cool was the real game of the day. I stopped at every gas station I could find for a slushie, chugging down icy drinks just to keep the heat at bay. The sun was relentless, but those little breaks made a big difference. The reward? A big moment in the journey, I crossed the Missouri River, and crossed the 3000 mile mark of my journey. Chamberlain greeted me with a beautiful riverside park and a cool breeze off the water. I waited there for my mom, who picked me up so we could drive the rest of the way to Sioux Falls and spend the holiday together. Don’t worry, I’ll restart my ride right where I left off. No cheating here. 😆 Fun fact about Chamberlain: The city sits right along the Missouri River and is home to the Dignity of Earth and Sky sculpture, a 50 foot tall stainless steel tribute to Lakota and Dakota women. It’s a powerful symbol and an incredible sight above the riverbank. If you’d like to support the cause, I’m riding to raise funds for Veterans Expeditions, a nonprofit that helps veterans heal through outdoor adventure and shared challenges. Every dollar helps support their mission. 👉 www.OneMileFundraiser.com

Kadoka, SD, US | 78.8 mi | 3,225 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/16tVx8eSRV/ I woke up in Kadoka, SD, hoping for a smooth and easy day. Well out of the Black Hills, I was expecting flat roads, and the forecast called for a tailwind. On paper, a perfect combination. I rolled out using the I-90 frontage road, optimistic about making good time. But South Dakota had other plans. The terrain wasn’t flat, it was a relentless series of rollers. Each descent gave me just enough speed to climb halfway up the next rise before gravity stopped helping and it was back to grinding. That rhythm of pedal, crest, repeat wore on me through the morning. By midday, the temperature had climbed to 95 degrees, and the humidity was hanging in the air like a wet blanket. I pulled into Murdo, SD, and found a small roadside milkshake stand. That frosty shake disappeared in record time. Fun fact: Murdo is home to the Pioneer Auto Museum, a quirky roadside attraction with over 275 classic cars and relics from the Old West. The museum has seen better days and appears forgotten and neglected from the outside. After a short break in the shade, I pressed on. The heat didn’t let up, and neither did the rollers. I kept grinding through the afternoon until I reached Presho, where I called it for the day. The campground had small air conditioned cabins available, and I gladly booked one, hopeful for a solid night's rest. Unfortunately, the air conditioning inside was more symbolic than functional, barely able to cut the edge off the heat. It did at least pull some of the humidity out of the air, but sleep came in sweaty fits. Still, it beat setting up a tent in the sun. More rollers and heat await tomorrow. Time to hydrate and hope for better sleep. If you'd like to support the mission and help veterans find healing through outdoor adventure, please consider donating to Veterans Expeditions: 👉 www.OneMileFundraiser.com

Rapid City, SD, US | 113.9 mi | 4,199 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/18JEZFPm6d/ I left Rapid City feeling excited for what was ahead. Today’s route would take me through the iconic landscape of Badlands National Park, a place I’d been looking forward to since the beginning of the ride. The morning heated up fast and stayed hot. I followed Highway 44 through the prairie, heading southeast toward Scenic, SD. From there, I entered the park and rode along Sage Creek Road and Rim Road. The riding was quiet and remote, with sweeping views of the surreal landscape. It looked like someone had picked up a chunk of Utah and dropped it in the middle of South Dakota. The contrast of colors from the lush prairie to the barren landscape was striking. Fun fact: The Badlands contain one of the richest fossil beds in the world. Ancient rhinos, horses, and saber-toothed cats once roamed here, long before bicycles did. As the afternoon wore on, the sky started to change. Massive thunderstorms were building all around me, turning the horizon dark and dramatic. Just as I was leaving the park, I checked the radar and spotted a narrow gap between two huge storm cells. I decided to go for it. Riding north, I threaded the needle between the storms. It mostly worked. I got lightly rained on but avoided the worst of the lightning and wind. The heat returned as I pushed east, eventually rolling into Kadoka for the night. Despite the flat terrain, the heat, headwinds, and exposure made the day feel long. I went through way more water than usual. Still, the chance to ride through the Badlands made it all worth it. Tomorrow, I’ll keep pushing east toward Sioux Falls.

Deadwood, SD, US | 48.2 mi | 2,943 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/19HYkaDPHW/ The weather was much nicer today. I left my hotel in Deadwood in the morning feeling rested and ready to go. I jumped back on the George Mickelson Trail and pedaled just a few mellow miles to Lead, an old mining town that sits just up the hill from Deadwood. Fun fact: Once home to the Homestake Mine, the largest and deepest gold mine in North America, Lead now hosts a major scientific research facility underground studying dark matter and neutrinos. (https://sanfordlab.org/) From there, I got on Highway 385 heading south. It’s a two-lane highway with very little traffic and plenty of space for a cyclist. The Black Hills made for great riding. Rolling climbs, sweeping views, and forested hills in every direction. When the weather cooperates like it did today, it’s just about perfect. After 10 miles or so, I turned east onto Nemo Road (Highway 404), which delivered a mostly downhill cruise all the way into Rapid City. Gorgeous riding all the way. The sun got hotter as the afternoon wore on, and I started thinking about milkshakes the way a prospector thinks about gold. I made it to the edge of town and jumped on the bike path that follows the river. It was peaceful and shaded, just what I needed to wind down the ride. From there, I pedaled south to my aunt Carla’s place, where I was greeted with hugs, smiles, and a much needed shower. It had been many years since I’d seen Carla, and even longer since I’d seen my cousins Laura and Heather. Reconnecting with family after decades made the ride into Rapid City even more meaningful.

50.1 mi | 2,598 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1AsthQuSmj/ Day 50 started with a choice: cut east toward Rapid City or stay on the trail and ride it all the way to Deadwood. The Mickelson Trail had been too good to leave behind, so I committed to riding the full length. Even if it ultimately meant some backtracking.  The morning miles rolled by easy, just like the rest of the trail steady rail grade climbing through forests and rocky cuts. As I pedaled, a thunderstorm rolled in. I quickly donned my rain gear and kept moving. Before long, I was being pelted by hail. Mercifully, the storm didn’t last very long, and once it cleared the weather turned nice again. The cool air and damp trail actually made for some really enjoyable riding. Later in the day, as the second storm started building, I spotted another cyclist coming the opposite way. His name was Max, a bike tourist from Germany riding from Vancouver to Massachusetts. We both pulled off under the trees to wait out the hail together. While the hail fell around us, we chatted about our routes, gear setups, and Max shared how impressed he’s been by the friendliness of people throughout the US. Once the storm passed, we said our goodbyes and continued on. The final miles into Deadwood were a blast, an effortless descent straight into town. As soon as I arrived, I booked a room and grabbed a much needed shower. I was feeling weak and starting to worry I might be coming down with something. Then I realized I hadn’t eaten all day. Just a small breakfast, no lunch or snacks during the ride. With that realization, I headed into town on a mission to find something healthy to eat. Deadwood’s history is undeniable,home to the Black Hills Gold Rush and the place where Wild Bill Hickok was famously shot. These days though, the downtown is packed with casinos, neon lit bars, and souvenir shops selling every manner of trinket. The streets were crowded and loud, with a steady stream of tourists bouncing between slot machines and themed saloons. After wandering around for a bit and realizing healthy food options were limited, I grabbed what I could, ate a big meal, and headed back to my room. The riding had been fantastic, the storms gave me some good stories, and meeting another cyclist on the trail was definitely the highlight of the day.

Custer, SD, US | 18.2 mi | 935 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1AsthQuSmj/ I left Custer in the late afternoon after a full morning of taking it easy. I lingered over breakfast and coffee at a local shop, giving myself time to rest after the miles from the past few days. The relaxed pace felt right. By the time I got rolling, the sun was high and the trail was quiet. Fun fact about Custer: It’s one of the oldest towns in the Black Hills, founded near the site of the 1874 gold discovery that kicked off the Black Hills Gold Rush. By late afternoon, I was back on the George Mickelson Trail, pedaling a mellow 18 miles north to Hill City. The trail was in great shape, gentle grades, beautiful scenery, and not a car in sight. Hill City trivia: Known as the “Heart of the Hills,” Hill City started as a gold mining camp in 1876 and today draws visitors for its art galleries and historic railroad.

Lusk, WY, US | 115.8 mi | 5,295 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/18WqZW5j7m/ I had an amazing night’s sleep, perfect temperatures and the familiar comfort of my tent. After waking up, I quickly packed my gear and headed over to the coffee shop to meet Simon and Renate for coffee and chai. The little coffee shop in Lusk (bean roasters) turned out to be an absolute gem, full of friendly locals and good energy. After we said our goodbyes, my new friends headed south while I pointed the bike north, out of Lusk and out of Wyoming. I cruised north on Highway 85. The low road grades and light traffic made for fast and easy miles. Before I knew it, I reached Mule Creek Junction and turned east onto Highway 18. Another wide shoulder, another stretch of peaceful riding. By early afternoon, I rolled into Edgemont, South Dakota. Edgemont, founded as a railroad town in 1890, sits at the southern gateway to the Black Hills. It’s also the starting point for the George S. Mickelson Trail, a 109-mile rail trail that runs all the way to Deadwood. A cyclist’s dream! Car free, well maintained, and with frequent water stops along the way. First though, food. Edgemont has two restaurants, and only one was open. Luckily for me, it happened to be a Thai spot 😁 and to my surprise, the Penang curry was the best I’ve had since Colorado. Total hidden gem. After eating way too much Thai food, I rolled over to the start of the Mickelson Trail and began pedaling north. No real destination in mind. Just enjoying the beautiful scenery, quiet gravel path, and the peace that comes with being away from cars. When I rolled onto the Mickelson Trail to start pedaling north, the temperature was pushing 100 degrees. It was hot and the air was heavy, but the trail itself was beautiful and well worth it. The shaded stretches and gentle rail grade helped take the edge off the heat, and I was just happy to be off the highway. By sunset, I found myself in the tiny “town” of Pringle. There’s really only one business there, the local bar, so I popped in for a quick beer. The scene was hilariously stereotypical 🤣, The people watching was next level. Guns on the walls, mounted heads of dead animals everywhere, and loud politically charged conversations… I was definitely a fish out of water in that place. As dusk settled, I hopped back on the bike and continued riding under the night sky. With no car traffic and no real reason to stop, I pushed on another hour before rolling into Custer. Custer has its own quirky history, named after George Armstrong Custer after his 1874 expedition through the Black Hills. It was that same expedition that touched off the Black Hills Gold Rush, a key chapter in the history of this region. I grabbed a small hotel room, took a much needed shower, and crawled into bed. I think tomorrow will be a half-day of riding. Not sure if I’ll head east or north out of Custer… probably won’t decide until I’m at the trailhead. The freedom of cycle touring is intoxicating. Just me, the horizon, and the open road. If you’ve been following along and want to support the cause that’s driving this ride, check out the fundraiser I’m doing for Veteran Expeditions. A nonprofit that helps veterans heal through outdoor adventure and shared challenges. www.OneMileFundraiser.com

Wheatland, WY, US | 86.7 mi | 4,354 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1B4jBjDbda/ I left Wheatland in the morning, well rested and ready for a full day of riding. Heading north along Wheatland Highway, I enjoyed light traffic, wide shoulders, and peaceful miles. The scenery was amazing… rolling hills, endless farmland, and big skies. The birds were singing, the grasses swayed gently in the breeze, and for a while, it felt like riding through a painting. Before long, I turned east onto Highway 26 and cruised through easy miles toward Guernsey and then Fort Laramie. Guernsey is notable for its proximity to the Oregon Trail Ruts, deep grooves carved into sandstone by pioneer wagons in the mid 1800s. These ruts are a tangible reminder of the thousands who journeyed westward in search of new opportunities. More importantly, a reminder of the lasting scars left on the land and the devastating impact this migration had on Native peoples whose homelands were forever changed. The town itself was named after cattle rancher C.A. Guernsey and has a history intertwined with the expansion of the American frontier. The day was heating up fast as i approached Fort Laramie. I grabbed a cold soda and enjoyed some shade outside the only store in town. This small town is named after the historic Fort Laramie, a significant 19th-century trading post and military installation. The fort served as a critical stop for migrants on the Oregon, California, and Mormon trails, and it played a pivotal role in various treaty negotiations with Native American tribes. Unfortunately, like so many treaties from that time, many of the agreements made here were later broken or ignored by the US government, leading to displacement and hardship for the tribes involved. From Fort Laramie, I continued north, turning off the highway onto a dirt road that quickly shifted from smooth gravel to more of a rugged doubletrack trail. It made for some fun and interesting riding. The surface was mostly fast and hard-packed, with just enough challenge to keep things exciting. Eventually, I popped back out onto Highway 85 and headed north toward Lusk. The shoulder was wide, and the traffic didn’t bother me. I threw in my headphones, found a good rhythm, and started chewing through the miles. Lusk seemed like the perfect target for the evening. Lusk is home to the historic Lusk Water Tower, built in 1886 to serve steam locomotives and now listed on the National Register of Historic Places. I rolled into town with enough daylight to grab a pint and a pizza at the local joint. Both hit the spot after a long day in the saddle. At the campground, I got a pleasant surprise. The couple in the spot next to mine were also bike touring! Visiting from Switzerland, they had started their journey in Washington, D.C., and were making their way west to Vancouver. We swapped stories about gear, routes, and the joys of bike travel. Super friendly people. We made a plan to grab coffee together in the morning before heading our separate ways. As I settled into my tent that night, tired and content, I found myself reflecting again on how rewarding this trip has been. Touring by bike strips things down to the essentials:food, water, shelter, and the steady rhythm of turning the pedals. It’s been one of the most fulfilling adventures of my life so far, and I’m grateful for every mile.

Laramie, WY, US | 98.5 mi | 3,842 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/19TxkAQm2X/ Rested and full of energy, I rolled out of Laramie, Wyoming with a big smile and some excitement for the road ahead. I took Roger Canyon Road northeast, winding through a beautiful canyon with a steady, moderate climb. The morning air was crisp and the riding felt smooth. As I crested the top, I was greeted by endless rolling hills and mile after mile of champagne gravel. The surface was perfect, fast, hard-packed, and quiet under my tires. It was one of those days where the bike just wants to move. The scenery opened up into wide vistas, dotted with buttes and antelope scattered across the landscape. Peaceful and picturesque. After a few hours, I pulled off for a snack break and devoured an entire package of strawberries I had been saving. Sitting there on the roadside, eating strawberries with a cool breeze in my face, it felt like a perfect bike touring moment. The gravel continued for miles and I soaked in every bit of it. Eventually I descended a steep canyon, dropping onto the plains below. The dirt road kept going and I kept pedaling, fully content and loving the isolation of the Wyoming countryside. Eventually I reached a paved highway. A local I met the day before had recommended this stretch, saying it had no shoulder but almost no traffic. They were right. It was smooth and quiet. But the Wyoming weather had other plans. As I rode north, small puffy clouds started to build and darken. Within an hour, the clouds had grown into a full-on thunderstorm. I could see lightning crashing to the ground behind me and knew I needed shelter fast. Just before the storm caught me, I spotted a small bridge over a creek and pulled underneath just as the hail started falling. The lightning was close and loud. The hail was the size of nickels. I boiled some water and enjoyed coffee under the bridge while waiting for the storm to pass. When the rain finally let up, I started riding again… but the adventure wasn’t over. The deluge had turned the dirt road ahead into sticky, clumping clay. Not deep, but heavy enough that it clogged the wheels. After less than a mile, I couldn’t even turn the pedals. The wheels wouldn’t spin. I ended up dragging my bike through the mud for miles. I kept checking the map, eight miles until pavement. I hoped the mud would break, but it never did. The entire way, I pushed and dragged my bike through Wyoming kitty litter. It reminded me of the sticky mud near Fruita Colorado where I used to live. By the time I finally reached pavement, I felt physically spent but emotionally relieved. I hopped on the bike and pedaled another ten miles to I-25, stopping at a roadside café for a much-needed calorie refill. The mud slog had cost me precious daylight and I knew I wouldn’t reach my original target of Guernsey. I made the call to hop on the interstate for the last stretch of the day and squeezed out the remaining miles before sunset, rolling into Wheatland just before dark. It was one of the toughest days of the trip so far, but exactly the kind of struggle you look back on and smile.

Jackson County, CO, US | 66.5 mi | 2,205 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1D3ELyKpQ7/ I woke up in the city park campground in Walden, well rested and ready to cross another state line. There was a little sadness knowing I’d be leaving Colorado behind, but mostly I felt excited to keep the journey moving forward. Up until now, every mile has been taking me closer to home. Today marked the start of riding away from home, and that gave the trip a slightly different feel. A little more adventurous, maybe even a bit melancholy. As I headed north out of town the sun started rising, and with it came the heat… and the mosquitoes. An absolute army of them. Determined to suck me dry before I made it to Wyoming. I was thankful for long sleeves, long pants, and a generous coating of DEET. I even had to break out my secret mosquito weapon… the net face hat. Not the most stylish look, but I was desperate and very thankful to have it. Crossing into Wyoming, the Colorado mountains and the melancholy faded in my rearview mirror and the wide open landscape of southern Wyoming spread out in front of me. Rolling hills, small buttes, and open country stretched to the horizon. It was beautiful, and I was eager to explore it. I set my sights on Laramie and followed Highway 230 all the way in. The ride felt good and the miles ticked by. When I arrived, I found a wonderful and bustling downtown. I stopped at an ice cream parlor for a root beer float. One wasn’t enough… I had two. Afterward, I swung by a local bike shop where the staff were incredibly friendly and helpful. I booked an Airbnb for the night, got cleaned up, and settled in for a solid night of sleep. Feeling recharged and ready to push deeper into Wyoming’s heartland tomorrow.

Grand County, CO, US | 66.8 mi | 3,333 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1CbMK64zPv/ Day 44 started with a classic false start. I took a wrong turn out of camp and ended up riding back towards Granby. But it turned into a win when I stopped at a roadside cafe for a full breakfast. With a belly full of eggs and coffee I turned north and climbed up Willow Creek Pass. It was a great day to be on the bike. Blue skies, perfect temperature, and a steady but manageable climb all the way to the top. I crossed the Continental Divide for the fourth and final time on this trip and enjoyed a long descent into North Park Valley. The final miles of the day were hard fought. Strong headwinds slowed me to a crawl and destroyed any hopes I had of putting down a big mile day. After several hours of battling gusts, I called it a day in the town of Walden. I camped in the city park and I went to sleep content, knowing I’ll be riding into Wyoming tomorrow.

Grand County, CO, US | 19.3 mi | 1,017 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1CbMK64zPv/

Eagle-Vail, CO, US | 78.9 mi | 5,233 ft

https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1CbMK64zPv/ After spending the weekend in Vail and Boulder, catching up with friends and enjoying some much needed time with my girlfriend, it felt good to relax and reset. Well, sort of relax. I still managed to rack up 122 miles and over 11,000 feet of climbing riding with friends. What can I say, I like riding bikes 🤷. On Monday I returned to Vail where I left off on the tour and started pedaling again. Only this time I wasn’t solo. My great friends Nick and Mahir joined me for the climb up Vail Pass. Having company for that long uphill made the miles fly by. We chatted and laughed our way to the top and then coasted down the other side into Frisco. From there we rolled along the Summit County bike paths to Silverthorne and grabbed some well earned burritos for lunch. With a belly full of tacos, we said our goodbyes, the guys headed back to Vail and I continued north along Highway 9. That’s right, I’ve officially changed direction. I’m now heading north instead of east! Next stop is Badlands National Park in South Dakota, and from there I’ll keep heading further north and east. I turned off Hwy 9 onto Ute Pass Road and climbed steadily through open meadows and forest. The day was heating up, so I took shade breaks where I could find them. I ended up drinking all of my water on the climb. The traffic was light and the views were excellent. From the top I looked back and said goodbye to the Gore Range. The descent was on a hard packed gravel road and absolutely beautiful. I ended the day by camping at Williams Fork Reservoir. Thankfully one of my camp neighbors was wiling to share their extra water with me so I could cook dinner. I spent the evening relaxing along the shore, happy to be back on the tour. The next morning was a short ride into Granby. My girlfriend met me there to bring some replacement camera gear and spend an afternoon together before I got too far out of reach. She kindly dropped me and my gear at Willow Creek campground just outside of town.

Eagle-Vail, CO, US | 33.2 mi | 2,874 ft

Eagle County, CO, US | 21.0 mi | 2,270 ft

Eagle-Vail, CO, US | 25.5 mi | 2,562 ft

Eagle-Vail, CO, US | 20.0 mi | 1,627 ft

Minturn, CO, US | 4.7 mi | 279 ft

Not much for today. Just a quick ride into Vail where I will spend the weekend enjoying the mountain games festival.

Leadville, CO, US | 34.1 mi | 1,545 ft

Day 40 – Tennessee Pass, a Campground Slip-Up, and a Surprise Town Stop I left Leadville after a solid night of sleep, looking forward to a short and chill day in the saddle. The plan was simple, ride over Tennessee Pass and make camp near Camp Hale National Monument. The morning weather was perfect and traffic was light. Just one of those quiet, easy starts that sets a good tone. The ride up the pass was mellow and beautiful. I soaked in the views and rolled into the campground feeling relaxed and ready to enjoy the rest of the day. I spent a while setting up camp, looking forward to a peaceful afternoon and settling into a slow rhythm. Then I realized I had made a pretty frustrating oversight, I forgot to grab cash for the campground fee back in Leadville🤦. Without cell reception to pay the fee online, I walked over to the campground host for an awkward conversation... I chatted with the campground host, who was understandably not thrilled. Rather than try to talk my way around it, I packed up the tent and rolled out, deciding to continue on down the valley. Along the way I passed through Red Cliff and chatted with the locals, a town I’ve driven by plenty of times but never taken the time to visit. Pedaling through it was a reminder of one of the best parts of bike travel, getting to stop in places you’d normally miss. I really encourage everyone to go for a ride, even if it’s just out the door and down the road. You never know what small, beautiful moments or new, interesting people you might run into. I wrapped up the day in Minturn with a brew and dinner at one of my go-to spots, Magusto's Pizza & Burger Pub. Tomorrow I’ll roll into Vail to check out the Mountain Games and spend the weekend off the bike. After that, I’ll be heading toward Boulder for a few days of rest and time with my incredible girlfriend and friends. The tour continues next week. Keep on pedaling.

Chaffee County, CO, US | 54.3 mi | 3,901 ft

Day 39 – Rail Trails, Wind Battles, and a Night in Leadville The day started with a short 500 foot climb out of the riverside campground and back onto Highway 285. Traffic was much lighter than the day before and the shoulder was decent for most of it, with only a few tighter sections. About 20 miles later I rolled into Buena Vista and stopped for lunch at The Simple Eatery and Gear Store. Great food, and perfect weather to take my time eating it. I lingered for a while, enjoying the sunshine and letting my legs recover before the next stretch. After lunch, I followed a route suggested by my new friend Nick Watson from Veterans Expeditions. The road was called "Railroad Tunnel River Road" and it was easily one of the best parts of the day's ride. About 18 miles of scenic, easy rail grade pedaling with beautiful views the entire way. Riding through the old railroad tunnels was a treat. If you're ever in the area, I can’t recommend it enough. Eventually the trail ended and I was back on the highway. That’s when the headwinds started. The climb up to the Twin Lakes area was tough with the wind in my face. I stopped for a short break near the lakes, Nick and his doggo were passing by with his adventure van and offered me a water refill and sun break. After the short break I pushed on. But just before reaching Leadville the winds picked up again. I could see a storm pouring out over the nearby mountains and I was definitely catching the outflow. My pace slowed to a crawl, but I kept grinding away. I finally rolled into Leadville and decided to save Tennessee Pass for the morning. I grabbed a room for the night and wrapped up the evening with an excellent pizza from High Mountain Pies. Solid end to a great day on the bike.

Salida, CO, US | 14.1 mi | 988 ft

I had some time to kill this morning while waiting for a package to show up at the UPS store. The day before had been a full rest day, and I was lucky enough to meet up with a great veteran group in Salida. I’ll have more to share about that in a future post, really exciting stuff is happening. Most of the morning was spent hanging out with the crew at Subculture Cyclery. I did a bit of maintenance on the bike and picked up a new stem to raise the bars a little and add some comfort for the next stretch. The folks there were friendly, helpful, and knew their stuff. If you're ever riding through Salida, I can’t recommend them enough. My package finally showed up, but not until later in the afternoon, so I got a pretty late start. As I pedaled out of town, I realized it was Friday and weekend traffic was already in full swing. The steady stream of cars and trucks started wearing on me after only a few miles. I could feel my mood slipping and decided it wasn’t worth pushing through just to stack more miles. I pulled off after about 10 miles and rolled down into a quiet campground along the Arkansas River. It was the right call. I set up the tent, soaked my feet in the cold river water, and spent the rest of the evening playing music and letting the road noise fade away. Tomorrow’s a new day. I’m rested, recharged, and ready to keep on pedaling.

Gunnison, CO, US | 67.7 mi | 4,413 ft

After leaving the beautiful town of Gunnison, I eased into the day with 30 miles of gentle uphill. Tomichi Creek flowed alongside me the entire way, making the morning feel peaceful and steady. I stopped a few times just to take it all in, including one moment where I watched a fox hunt in an open field for several minutes. It felt like the start of something good. As I neared the small village of Sargents, I crossed paths with another cyclist. His name was John, and he had started his tour on the East Coast. Recently retired, he was riding across the country while his wife drove the camper support vehicle. We swapped stories and smiled at the familiar rhythm of life on the road. Meeting other cyclists out on tour always brings a sense of instant connection. I hope to meet more along the way. After a well earned root beer float in Sargents, I started up the long 3,000 foot climb to Monarch Pass. The road climbed steadily for 10 miles. There was a climbing lane most of the way, and drivers were courteous for the most part. Except one. There was a semi truck driver who I can only describe as intentionally dangerous. I keep replaying the event in my mind trying to make sense of it. I was in the slow lane, riding as defensively as I could, leaving a safe distance from the edge of the road. There was no shoulder at this section, just a 100 foot dropoff. I saw the truck approaching and gave a little wave, like I usually do to help drivers spot me. There was no oncoming traffic. The passing lane was wide open. The driver moved over early, so they defiantly saw me. But the driver chose to pass me within inches. I mean that literally. As the trailer swept by, they swerved hard back into the lane, forcing me off the road. I had to jump off the bike to avoid being pushed over the edge. Scariest moment of the trip! I’ve found that commercial drivers are the most respectful and thoughtful folks on the road. They give space, a wave, even a thumbs up sometimes. But this was different. There was a company name on the trailer, and once I reached a pullout, I called to report what happened. They took the info and said they could identify the driver based on time and location. I hated to make that call, but it felt necessary. What happened wasn’t careless, it felt deliberate. And if they did it to me, they could do it again, maybe with a worse outcome. With that behind me, I kept climbing. One hour and many calories later, I reached the summit of Monarch Pass, which also happens to be the Continental Divide. It was my first time crossing it on this trip, but definitely not the last. I spent about 20 minutes at the top and in that time the weather flipped between sunny, rainy, snowy, and sunny again about seven times. Classic Colorado. I had been looking forward to the next stretch of road all week, the 25 mile descent into Salida. I don't think I pedaled once. It was perfect. The air changed from pine and wet forest to the warm smell of valley flowers and juniper. I followed the sound of the South Arkansas River all the way into town, feeling completely in the moment. I checked into a room for the night and walked straight to dinner. Two burritos and a big smile to wrap up one of the most memorable days of the trip.

Montrose County, CO, US | 44.0 mi | 3,540 ft

I woke up in Pleasant Valley to the sound of the river moving gently past my tent. After packing up, I got back on Highway 50 and kicked things off with a 1,500 foot climb, nothing too brutal, just enough to get the legs awake, followed by a brief but enjoyable descent. From there, the road mellowed out and followed the shoreline of Blue Mesa Reservoir for nearly 20 miles. The skies were moody in the best kind of way. Patches of rich blue overhead mixed with dramatic streaks of virga dropping from distant clouds. I caught a few sprinkles now and then, but nothing that got me truly wet. The views were stunning, the shoulders were wide, and even though I’ve driven this road before, it felt like a whole new experience from the saddle. I stopped at a small general store for a cold soda and a moment to enjoy the quiet. Holiday RV traffic was a bit heavy at times, but there was enough room on the shoulder to keep things relaxed. As the afternoon wore on, a headwind picked up and made the final miles more of a push, but I kept on pedaling, determined to make it to Gunnison. Rolling into town, I checked into a private room at the Wanderlust Hostel. The staff were incredibly welcoming, and it felt like the right place to land for the night. I wrapped up the day with a hearty pizza from High Alpine Brewery and called it a night. Rest day tomorrow, time to recharge.

Telluride, CO, US | 94.4 mi | 5,112 ft

The day started early, really early. I woke up in the tent around 3:30 AM, packed up in the dark, and was already rolling north out of Telluride by 4:30. The air was cold and the mountains were quiet. I had a long, steady descent to start the day, which meant almost no pedaling, but every warm layer I had went on to keep the chill out. After sunrise, I stopped at a state park along the highway to brew up a couple cups of coffee. That warm-up was much needed. From there, I kept riding. About 15 miles in, I turned onto Highway 62 toward Ridgway. Traffic was almost nonexistent at that hour, and I rode in silence, catching occasional shots of warmth whenever the morning sun broke through the trees. I hit the top of the pass just before 9 AM and dropped down into Ridgway. The scenery changed again, mountain forest faded into the high desert and open spaces of Colorado’s Western Slope. I stopped in town for a well earned breakfast at a café and crushed a stack of pancakes. From Ridgway, I picked up the local bike path and took it north to the reservoir. Eventually I rejoined Highway 550, still heading north. The weather was perfect, blue skies and cool air. The climbs were manageable and the descents long and fast. Before I knew it, I was another 30 miles north rolling into the town of Montrose. Touring hunger had set in hard. I was craving a root beer float, so I stopped at a local ice cream parlor, and had two 😂. Fueled up on ice cream and soda, I considered my options: stay in Montrose for the night or keep moving. Holiday traffic in town was noisy and relentless, so that made the choice easy. I rode out. The roar of trucks and RVs faded quickly, and soon I was climbing again. The scenery opened up, peaceful and quiet. I passed Black Canyon of the Gunnison and continued up over Cerro Summit. By the time I rolled into Pleasant Valley, the sun was low and the day was winding down. I found a small campsite, grabbed a cold beer from the camp store, and set up my tent. I fell asleep fast, tired but not sore, and completely content. This was one of the longer mileage days of the trip, but it didn’t feel like it. It felt right. I’m exactly where I want to be.

Dolores, CO, US | 69.4 mi | 5,036 ft

Day 34 – Dolores to Telluride After a solid night’s sleep at the hostel, I took a slow start to the day. I’ve been fine-tuning how I pack my gear and finally decided to ditch the frame pack. Conveniently, the post office was right next to a coffee shop, so I hung out with a cup of coffee while I waited for it to open. While I was there, I met another cyclist who was attempting a 220-mile day ride called the Death Loop. Incredible to imagine that kind of mileage in a single day. After shipping the pack back to Boulder, I hit the road. It felt good to be back in the mountains. The air cooled as I gained altitude, and I followed the Dolores River for miles. The constant roar of the water made for a great soundtrack. I kept pedaling up toward Lizard Head Pass, soaking in the fresh green hillsides, the leftover snow from spring melt, and the high alpine beauty I hadn’t seen in a while. This part of Colorado always reminds me of the Alps—lush, dramatic, and full of long climbs. At the top of the pass, I cruised past the last patches of snow, then started the long descent into Telluride. I stopped at every National Forest campground along the way, but everything was full. Turns out the Mountainfilm Festival was going on, and town was packed. I took a chance on the city campground, no luck. I doubled back into National Forest land and managed to find a quiet spot along the river to pitch my tent. It was secluded and peaceful, right next to the water. I cooked a massive spaghetti dinner with ground beef and fresh sauce from a local market. I crawled into my tent just as the sun dipped behind the mountains and fell asleep to the sound of the creek. Completely content.

Montezuma County, CO, US | 9.1 mi | 463 ft

Day 33 – Rest and Reset in Dolores I rode the short 10 miles into Dolores and checked into the Dolores Bike Hostel—a low-key, welcoming place with a friendly vibe. I brought Linny to Kokopelli Bike and Board for a much-needed once-over. Huge thanks to them for taking great care of the bike. With chores done, I spent the rest of the day relaxing and enjoying a cold beer from the local brewery. Just what I needed.

Blanding, UT, US | 80.7 mi | 5,725 ft

I rolled out of Blanding after a small hotel breakfast, and I made sure to stuff every available pocket with fresh apples from the breakfast bar. The morning pedaling was easy, with a cool breeze and gentle grades as I made my way north. Twenty miles later, I reached Monticello and stopped for lunch at Gustavo's Mexican Restaurant. The enchilada special was delicious, hot, flavorful, and just what I needed to power the rest of the day. After lunch, I turned east and started heading toward the Colorado border. The scenery opened up into long rolling hills and farmland, with the faintest outlines of the San Juan Mountains off in the distance. I could just barely make out the snowy tops above the horizon. Slowly, those distant peaks began to take shape—first as pale silhouettes, then more defined as the day went on. I started to pick out the treeline and individual ridgelines as I crept closer. At the Colorado border, I pulled into the State Line Bar and Grill and treated myself to a cold beer. When I started this trip, Colorado felt like an impossibly distant goal. It feels a little surreal being back in my home state on the bike. From there, I kept pedaling east toward Dolores. The approaching mountains continued to tease me, slowly revealing themselves in the late afternoon light as I inched closer. By the time I neared the reservoir, the San Juans had fully come into view in all their grandeur, snowy peaks, ridge lines, and the first hints of true high country riding. Before I knew it, I reached McPhee Campground just outside of Dolores and settled in for the night with a full heart and tired legs. Taking a rest day in the town of Dolores tomorrow.

San Juan County, UT, US | 66.4 mi | 5,614 ft

Days 30–31 – Hanksville to Blanding I rolled out of Hanksville feeling good and ready to see some of Utah’s most remote and scenic landscapes. Highway 95 took me into Glen Canyon and it was stunning, subtle trickles of water ran alongside the road, occasionally dripping off canyon walls every quarter mile or so. It was a peaceful ride at first, and I was soaking in the views. Some light construction slowed things down for a moment. As I approached the flagman, he flipped the sign to “SLOW” for me. I yelled, “That’s the only speed I got!” as I passed, and he gave a good laugh and waved me through. But as the road pushed deeper into the canyons, the headwinds picked up. Downhill sections became hard work and I had to really grind to keep moving forward. I thought about camping near the bridge over the Colorado River but decided to keep going. Climbing out of the canyon, the landscape opened up into wide, iconic southeastern Utah—monumental sandstone buttes and open views that made me stop and catch my breath more than once. There were a few cars out, but most sped past without a second thought. I almost felt sorry for them—sealed up in their metallic cocoons, missing this incredible place in full exposure. I pedaled on into a series of rolling hills paralleling White Canyon, each rise pulling me forward with the promise of what was just over the next ridge. By the time the sun started to dip, I found a quiet spot off the road and set up camp. After dinner, I crawled into the tent and fell asleep quickly, tired and content. The next morning started slow with coffee and a late breakfast before I struck camp and got back on the road. About 10 miles in, I spotted another cycle tourist heading my way. I crossed over to meet him, his name was William, from Belgium, and he was traveling with a stuffed whale named Willy strapped to his shoulder. Together, they were riding west, cycle touring from Texas to the Pacific. It was such a joy to share the road for a while and trade stories with someone living this same crazy life on two wheels. I still had about 60 miles to Blanding and was grateful for the wide shoulder and relatively flat terrain. But the final 10 miles were brutal—a relentless climb that pushed me to the edge. I even had to hop off and push the bike for about 100 yards, only the second time I’ve had to do that on the trip. When I finally reached Blanding, I beelined for an ice cream shop and ordered the biggest milkshake they had. I was cooked. I got a room at a cheap motel, took a long overdue shower, and passed out almost instantly.

Hanksville, UT, US | 64.7 mi | 4,678 ft

Days 30–31 – Hanksville to Blanding I rolled out of Hanksville feeling good and ready to see some of Utah’s most remote and scenic landscapes. Highway 95 took me into Glen Canyon and it was stunning—subtle trickles of water ran alongside the road, occasionally dripping off canyon walls every quarter mile or so. It was a peaceful ride at first, and I was soaking in the views. Some light construction slowed things down for a moment. As I approached the flagman, he flipped the sign to “SLOW” for me. I yelled, “That’s the only speed I got!” as I passed, and he gave a good laugh and waved me through. But as the road pushed deeper into the canyons, the headwinds picked up. Downhill sections became hard work and I had to really grind to keep moving forward. I thought about camping near the bridge over the Colorado River but decided to keep going. Climbing out of the canyon, the landscape opened up into wide, iconic southeastern Utah—monumental sandstone buttes and open views that made me stop and catch my breath more than once. There were a few cars out, but most sped past without a second thought. I almost felt sorry for them—sealed up in their metallic cocoons, missing this incredible place in full exposure. I pedaled on into a series of rolling hills paralleling White Canyon, each rise pulling me forward with the promise of what was just over the next ridge. By the time the sun started to dip, I found a quiet spot off the road and set up camp. After dinner, I crawled into the tent and fell asleep quickly, tired and content. The next morning started slow with coffee and a late breakfast before I struck camp and got back on the road. About 10 miles in, I spotted another cycle tourist heading my way. I crossed over to meet him—his name was William, from Belgium, and he was traveling with a stuffed whale named Willy strapped to his shoulder. Together, they were riding west, cycle touring from Texas to the Pacific. It was such a joy to share the road for a while and trade stories with someone living this same crazy life on two wheels. I still had about 60 miles to Blanding and was grateful for the wide shoulder and relatively flat terrain. But the final 10 miles were brutal—a relentless climb that pushed me to the edge. I even had to hop off and push the bike for about 100 yards, only the second time I’ve had to do that on the trip. When I finally reached Blanding, I beelined for an ice cream shop and ordered the biggest milkshake they had. I was cooked. I got a room at a cheap motel, took a long overdue shower, and passed out almost instantly.

Torrey, UT, US | 49.7 mi | 1,562 ft

After a wonderful weekend in Capitol Reef with my girlfriend hiking, relaxing, and exploring the park, I was excited to get back on the bike and start putting some miles under the tires again. Today’s ride was a short stretch of Highway 24 through Capitol Reef and into Hanksville. Mostly downhill, the miles came easy, almost as if the road was welcoming me back. The scenery along this route is something else. It’s one of those places that makes you feel small in the best possible way. The exposed rock layers, canyon walls, and ancient formations are a reminder of just how brief our time here really is. Riding through it all was humbling and beautiful. I rolled into Hanksville in the late afternoon and grabbed a tent site at Duke’s RV and Tent Resort. I stuffed my face with a massive burrito from The Roost, then wandered over to Stan’s Burger Shack for a milkshake. After dinner, I hung out at the campground where I met a friendly group of folks who were out on multi-day Jeep adventures exploring the surrounding canyonlands. We talked for a while and they insisted on sharing their morning coffee and breakfast with me, which I was seriously grateful for. First day back on the bike and I’m already meeting amazing people again. Feels good to be rolling.

Escalante, UT, US | 67.3 mi | 6,936 ft

Cannonville, UT, US | 35.6 mi | 2,080 ft

Day 27 I left Cannonville under clear skies with Escalante as my destination. It was a pleasant ride, rolling hills, light traffic, and courteous drivers made for a smooth day on the bike. I reached town around lunchtime and treated myself to a pizza at Escalante Outfitters, which lived up to the hype. I made camp nearby and spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the area and taking in the mellow, friendly vibe of the town. This weekend I’ll be meeting up with my amazing and supportive girlfriend in Capitol Reef for some hiking and off-bike adventure. I’ll be taking a couple days off the bike to rest, recharge, and soak up some time together before picking up the ride again next week.

Garfield County, UT, US | 31.0 mi | 1,407 ft

Day 26 started off slow and peaceful. I woke up rested, although I had to deal with yet another deflated air mattress during the night. I spent the morning patching a new set of pinholes, making breakfast, and relaxing by the river. My cough had improved noticeably, and I was excited to keep things light with a short ride ahead. Today also marked the start of a new chapter, I officially joined the Western Express Bicycle Route. It’s a welcome change to be on an established cycling route, with designated campgrounds, local bike shop listings, and loads of helpful resources curated by the folks at the Adventure Cycling Association. Their site, adventurecycling.org, is an amazing hub for anyone planning a long ride. I rolled out and immediately turned onto scenic Highway 12. The route climbed through Red Canyon, and it was absolutely gorgeous. A dedicated bike path paralleled the road through much of the canyon, winding between bright red rock walls and eroded sandstone cliffs. This was the kind of riding I had imagined when dreaming up this tour. At the top of the canyon, I stopped at a small sandwich shop for lunch, then began a long descent past Bryce Canyon and toward Capitol Reef. After just over 30 miles, I rolled into the town of Cannonville and grabbed a campsite listed along the bicycle route.

Orderville, UT, US | 46.9 mi | 3,068 ft

Days 22–25 – Through Zion and Onto the Western Express I rolled out of Red Cliffs Campground with a scratchy throat and a nagging cough that had been interrupting my sleep. I wasn’t feeling full-on sick, but it was clear my body was working hard to fight something off. I kept the pace slow, pedaling gently along Highway 9 to Hurricane while rain clouds gathered behind me. The rain caught up with me after I reached the far side of town. I decided to wait it out instead of heading up the canyon in limited visibility. I ducked into the Main Street Café, a cozy spot recommended by the crew at Over the Edge bike shop, and enjoyed a big salad while the storm passed. The food, the warm room, and the pause in motion were all welcome. Once the skies cleared, I continued into Springdale and found my site at Watchman Campground in Zion. The next day was all about recovery. I did a few short hikes, tried to steer clear of the crowds, and gave my body time to rest. Zion is undeniably stunning, but with that much foot traffic, it was tough to find quiet moments. Still, I have to applaud the National Park Service staff. Keeping a place like that running, clean, and accessible with so many visitors has to be an endless and monumental task. They’re doing an incredible job. On Day 24, I climbed out of Zion Canyon, up the winding switchbacks toward the Mt. Carmel Tunnel. Since bikes aren’t allowed through the tunnel, I flagged down a pickup truck and asked for a lift. The first couple I asked said yes without hesitation. They dropped me on the other side, and I hiked out to the Canyon Overlook for a quick look before continuing east. The ride along Highway 9 was scenic, but my energy was still low. My cough was getting worse, and I could feel the fatigue setting in harder than usual. I reached Mt. Carmel Junction and made camp next to a friendly father and son. The father had solo sailed around the world and bike toured across Europe—he had stories for days. We talked over dinner, and I felt recharged just being in the presence of someone who’d seen so much of the world under his own power. Day 25 started early, partly because I kept waking up throughout the night to a deflated air mattress. By morning, I had found and patched four holes that mysteriously appeared overnight. I was feeling tired—not just from the interrupted sleep, but from still not feeling 100 percent. After sorting out the gear, I made my way to a diner for a well-earned double breakfast, my appetite still ramped up from fighting off this bug. I headed north on Highway 89 and enjoyed the scenery, at least for the first few miles. The shoulder disappeared quickly and I spent the next 20 miles riding with laser focus, pulling off the road whenever space allowed. Traffic was heavy and not giving much room. It was one of the sketchier stretches I’ve ridden so far. Eventually, mercifully, I reached the junction with Highway 12 and the start of the Western Express bicycle route. What a relief. I found a peaceful campsite next to the Sevier River and pitched my tent. As the sun started to dip, I sat barefoot on the riverbank with a beer in hand and my feet cooling in the stream. I aimlessly cast my fishing rod as the fatigue of the day slowly melted away into the cool stream. My cough was finally easing up, and I hoped the tide was beginning to turn. Looking forward to a better night’s sleep and a safer, more relaxed day on the bike tomorrow.

Springdale, UT, US | 29.8 mi | 3,071 ft

See Day 25

Hurricane, UT, US | 33.6 mi | 2,175 ft

Days 22–25 – Through Zion and Onto the Western Express I rolled out of Red Cliffs Campground with a scratchy throat and a nagging cough that had been interrupting my sleep. I wasn’t feeling full-on sick, but it was clear my body was working hard to fight something off. I kept the pace slow, pedaling gently along Highway 9 to Hurricane while rain clouds gathered behind me. The rain caught up with me after I reached the far side of town. I decided to wait it out instead of heading up the canyon in limited visibility. I ducked into the Main Street Café, a cozy spot recommended by the crew at Over the Edge bike shop, and enjoyed a big salad while the storm passed. The food, the warm room, and the pause in motion were all welcome. Once the skies cleared, I continued into Springdale and found my site at Watchman Campground in Zion. The next day was all about recovery. I did a few short hikes, tried to steer clear of the crowds, and gave my body time to rest. Zion is undeniably stunning, but with that much foot traffic, it was tough to find quiet moments. Still, I have to applaud the National Park Service staff. Keeping a place like that running, clean, and accessible with so many visitors has to be an endless and monumental task. They’re doing an incredible job. On Day 24, I climbed out of Zion Canyon, up the winding switchbacks toward the Mt. Carmel Tunnel. Since bikes aren’t allowed through the tunnel, I flagged down a pickup truck and asked for a lift. The first couple I asked said yes without hesitation. They dropped me on the other side, and I hiked out to the Canyon Overlook for a quick look before continuing east. The ride along Highway 9 was scenic, but my energy was still low. My cough was getting worse, and I could feel the fatigue setting in harder than usual. I reached Mt. Carmel Junction and made camp next to a friendly father and son. The father had solo sailed around the world and bike toured across Europe—he had stories for days. We talked over dinner, and I felt recharged just being in the presence of someone who’d seen so much of the world under his own power. Day 25 started early, partly because I kept waking up throughout the night to a deflated air mattress. By morning, I had found and patched four holes that mysteriously appeared overnight. I was feeling tired—not just from the interrupted sleep, but from still not feeling 100 percent. After sorting out the gear, I made my way to a diner for a well-earned double breakfast—my appetite still ramped up from fighting off this bug. I headed north on Highway 89 and enjoyed the scenery, at least for the first few miles. The shoulder disappeared quickly and I spent the next 20 miles riding with laser focus, pulling off the road whenever space allowed. Traffic was heavy and not giving much room. It was one of the sketchier stretches I’ve ridden so far. Eventually, mercifully, I reached the junction with Highway 12 and the start of the Western Express bicycle route. What a relief. I found a peaceful campsite next to the Sevier River and pitched my tent. As the sun started to dip, I sat barefoot on the riverbank with a beer in hand and my feet cooling in the stream. I aimlessly cast my fishing rod as the fatigue of the day slowly melted away into the cool stream. My cough was finally easing up, and I hoped the tide was beginning to turn. Looking forward to a better night’s sleep and a safer, more relaxed day on the bike tomorrow.

Washington County, UT, US | 21.1 mi | 1,404 ft

Day 21 – A Slow Roll and a Full Heart Today was all about taking it easy. It wasn’t about big miles or hard climbs, it was about enjoying the town and taking in the sights and sounds of St. George. I’ve been pushing pretty hard lately, and this felt like the perfect place to slow down and soak it all in. I spent the morning wandering the streets of downtown St. George. It’s a beautiful city with a surprisingly small town feel. I meandered through the shops, grabbed some lunch, and just enjoyed the slower pace. In the afternoon, I pedaled northeast along Telegraph Street toward Red Cliffs Campground, where I had a site reserved for the next two nights. The forecast called for rain and I’m glad I planned ahead. Sure enough, the rain came in and stuck around most of the day, giving me a short break in the evening before picking up again. That’s when things got interesting. Just after dark, a guy showed up at my site and told me he had the same spot reserved. I pulled up my reservation and, sure enough, it was clear, the site was his. I had booked the wrong date. I was mortified. Thankfully, Andrew was incredibly gracious and offered to share the site and we ended up chatting over dinner, swapping stories about travel and the outdoors. By the end of the night, I felt like I had made a new friend. The next day was wet, but peaceful. I spent the morning hiking some of the trails near the campground whenever the rain slowed to a drizzle, and hunkered down in the tent during the heavier showers. That evening I wandered into the nearby town of Leeds and found a tiny Mexican restaurant that absolutely hit the spot. While I was eating, I got to talking with a kind couple who lived just down the street. After hearing about the ride and fundraiser, the Kents insisted on paying for my meal. Total strangers just looking to help out. I keep meeting the kindest people on this trip.

Mesquite, NV, US | 53.9 mi | 4,980 ft

After yesterday’s canyon scramble and unexpected mileage, I was ready for a chill day in the saddle. I woke up well rested with no destination I had to reach, no miles I needed to hit—just a good day to be on the bike. I followed Route 91 out of Mesquite, taking my time as I rolled through the open desert. The road climbed gently, winding through big landscapes and wide skies. Just before the town of Littlefield, I saw storm clouds forming on the horizon, so I took refuge in a small taco shop. The gust front hit before the rain did, tumbleweeds flew across the highway as the sky darkened. I was happy to be inside watching it all with a plate of tacos in front of me instead of getting battered on the bike. After the storm blew through, I continued climbing north on 91, which also happens to be a section of the old Spanish Trail. The road rose gradually for over 15 miles through the Beaver Dam national conservation area, gaining nearly 3,000 feet of elevation. I wasn’t in a rush. About halfway up, I came across a Joshua tree forest. I rested under one of the larger trees, enjoying that rare peaceful feeling that comes when you realize you’re exactly where you want to be. At the top of the pass, I rode beneath Castle Cliffs, a key landmark for early travelers on the Spanish Trail. For them it marked the end of the harshest parts of the trail and the beginning of the mountainous Utah stretch, where the terrain shifted and resupply was more plentiful as they continued east. It felt meaningful to ride through a place so steeped in history. Like those travelers, I felt a sense of relief. The brutal desert was behind me, and I could feel the landscape beginning to change. More water, cooler temperatures, and the quiet reassurance that the hardest stretch might be easing up. The descent into St. George was incredible, 20 miles of gentle, scenic downhill through the Paiute Reservation. The landscape through this stretch was absolutely stunning. Painted sandstone mountains stretched out in every direction, with layers of deep reds and bright white bands slicing through the cliffs. The contrast in the rock formations was striking, like pedaling through a desert mural. I hadn’t planned to make it all the way to St. George, but when you’re pedaling carefree, the miles just add up. Just west of town, I found a quiet patch of BLM land, set up camp, and zipped into my tent just before another storm rolled through. I drifted off to the sound of rain tapping softly on the tent walls. What an amazing day on the bike. Huge thanks to everyone who’s been following and supporting the ride. If you’d like to help spread the word, please share the fundraiser with your friends and family. Every share helps raise awareness and makes a difference. 👉 https://gofund.me/730f7a59 I’ve also been posting more photos and behind-the-scenes updates on Instagram—check it out if you want to see more from the road: @briangreeson Thanks again for being part of this journey. I’m looking forward to sharing more of what’s ahead. And as always, keep on pedaling

Clark County, NV, US | 56.9 mi | 1,742 ft

Day 19 – Sand, Slot Canyons, and Milkshakes What a day. The adventure-to-cycling ratio was off the charts. I started the morning with a quiet cup of coffee at Atlatl Campground in Valley of Fire State Park, then set off through the sandstone landscape toward Silica Dome. The ride through the park was gorgeous—towering red rock formations, endless desert views, and a surprising number of longhorn sheep. From Silica Dome, I turned onto a dirt administrative road that quickly disappeared into sand dunes and cactus. A sign of things to come. I pushed the bike through a stretch of deep sand until the road picked back up again. Based on satellite maps, trail overlays, and a conversation with a park ranger, I had mapped a route that should have connected back to the highway. But the ground truth was very different. I rolled straight into a silica mining operation—an ugly scar on public land. The route was completely cut off by fencing, heavy machinery, and dust. These kinds of industrial sites are a blight—permanently disfiguring the landscape, poisoning nearby communities, and stealing beauty from all of us. Cliffed out in nearly every direction, I was lucky to have a sliver of cell service and enough battery to study satellite imagery. Backtracking would take the rest of the day and a brutal uphill grind. My only option was a dry riverbed to the north that eventually intersected a dirt road. Getting there meant a steep descent into an unknown canyon—one I couldn’t verify was passable. I double-checked the route, my water, and the maps again. Then I committed. The terrain was harsh. Jeep trails turned to erosion. Sand made pedaling impossible. After nearly an hour of rugged cross-country travel, I reached the edge of the canyon—only to find it was a full-on slot canyon, complete with cliffs and dry waterfalls. Totally impassable with a loaded bike. I scrambled along the rim until I found one rocky chute that looked like it might go. It still required a quarter-mile of canyon floor travel, but it was my only shot. I lowered each pannier down separately, then the bike. That 1/4 mile became 4 miles of lifting, scrambling, dragging, and repeat. Finally, I hit the sandy wash at the canyon’s end. From there, it was another mile of ankle-deep sand pushing to reach the dirt mining road. Posted signs warned the public to stay out—even though the road cuts across public land. I rolled past them, tired but moving. Eventually, I made it back to pavement. I hit Overton and immediately crushed a full lunch and two milkshakes. From there, it was back on the road—north on Highway 169 with a solid bike lane and a good tailwind. I needed those calories. Before long I reached the on-ramp to I-15. It was intimidating, but legal—and the shoulder was the most generous of the trip so far, a full 10 feet between me and traffic. After a steady climb, I was treated to a long, smooth descent. The kind of low-grade cruise cycle tourists dream about. The miles melted away. I rolled into Mesquite right at sunset. I had planned to camp, but the morning's canyon expedition earned me a hotel room, a hot meal, and the promise of an easy breakfast tomorrow. I’ve got a few chores to take care of in the morning and the rest is more than welcome. --- We’ve made incredible progress on the fundraiser, and the support continues to mean the world. If you’d like to help spread the word, please share the fundraiser with your friends and family. Every share helps raise awareness and makes a difference. 👉 [https://gofund.me/730f7a59](https://gofund.me/730f7a59) I’ve also been posting more stories and updates on Instagram—if you want to see more of the day-to-day and some wild desert photos, check it out: [@briangreeson](https://www.instagram.com/briangreeson) Thanks again for following along and for being part of this ride. I’m excited for what’s ahead. And as always, **keep on pedaling.**

Clark County, NV, US | 15.6 mi | 1,542 ft

Day 17 & 18 – Valley of Fire Retreat I woke up and realized I had camped just a stone’s throw from the lake—I hadn’t noticed how close I was when setting up the tent in the dark the night before. With a long road ahead in the coming weeks, I decided to keep today’s ride short to give my body some time to recover and recharge. I followed Northshore Road east until I reached the entrance to Valley of Fire State Park. I didn’t have a reservation for that night, just for the following day, but the park attendant was incredibly kind and excited to hear about the ride. She helped me secure one of the last available spots for the night. The campground was beautiful—tucked among dramatic red sandstone formations, with ancient petroglyphs just a short walk away. After pitching the tent, I spent the rest of the afternoon giving the bike a bit of overdue love. A little maintenance, a lot of relaxing. I watched the sun dip behind the rocks while reading my book and soaking up the quiet desert evening. The next day I moved over to my reserved spot—site 21 at Atlatl Campground. It was perfect. Tucked back in the red sandstone with big rock walls on both sides and desert views in every direction. I spent the day exploring the park and just soaking up the landscape. Got some good reading in too. It was a quiet day, and the whole place had this peaceful desert stillness. I felt recharged and ready for more cycling and adventures. Thanks again to everyone who’s been supporting the fundraiser. Every bit of encouragement helps fuel this ride. If you’d like to help spread the word, please share the fundraiser with your friends and family. Every share helps raise awareness and makes a difference. https://gofund.me/730f7a59 I also started posting more trip updates and photos on Instagram if you want to follow along there too: @briangreeson

Clark County, NV, US | 48.0 mi | 2,933 ft

Day 16 – Back on the Road After a couple of productive weeks back in Colorado handling life admin, it felt great to return to Las Vegas and get the wheels rolling again. My good friend Brian VanCise—who graciously stored my bike while I was away—picked me up from the airport. We had a great time catching up, and with his help I got new tires installed and everything packed for the next leg of the ride. Brian, who works in law enforcement, convinced me to skip some less-than-friendly parts of the city and dropped me off on the outskirts of Vegas to resume the tour. I started back up on Highway 147 and pedaled east toward Lake Mead. The scenery was incredible—sandstone mountains glowing in the late sun and the wide-open desert stretching out ahead of me. After a few miles, I turned left onto Northshore Road (Hwy 167), a scenic stretch that winds its way through the Lake Mead National Recreation Area. It was quiet, beautiful riding, and I was stoked to be back out there. I knew I was racing daylight, so I kept the pace steady. As dusk settled in, I flicked on the bike lights and continued into the night. I made a short stop to check out Rogers Hot Springs—tempting for a soak, but I passed after reading the signage warning about Naegleria fowleri, a brain-eating amoeba that can thrive in warm freshwater. Definitely not the kind of adventure I’m looking for. Still, the spring was beautiful in the quiet night. The silence of the desert was broken only by the sound of the warm stream bubbling over the rocks. A few more miles down the road, I peeled off the highway and coasted down to Stewarts Point. I pitched my tent in the still, moonless dark and crawled in for the night, feeling excited and refreshed to be back in motion. I'm incredibly grateful for the support this ride has received so far. We’re still sitting strong at over $5,000 raised, and the ride isn’t even a quarter done yet. Your encouragement keeps me going. If you'd like to help spread the word, please share the fundraiser with your friends and family. Every share helps raise awareness and makes a difference. 🔗 https://gofund.me/730f7a59 I’m also posting more updates and photos on Instagram if you want to follow along there too: @briangreeson Thanks again for being part of this journey. I’m really looking forward to sharing more of this ride with you and keeping everyone updated as the journey continues. And as always, keep on pedaling.

Shoshone, CA, US | 81.8 mi | 5,043 ft

Day 15 – Across California and into Las Vegas Another incredible day out on the bike—big miles, big climbs, and some big surprises. I left Shoshone a little later than planned after dealing with a flat tire. My rear tire is pretty much done at this point—a big gash in the sidewall and another tear on the bald tread. I’m definitely overdue for some fresh rubber. Once rolling, I pedaled south out of Shoshone (population 31) and into Tecopa. After filling my bottles at a coin-operated water station, I set out along the Old Spanish Trail Road. The scenery was breathtaking—wide open desert, distant mountains, and a landscape that feels both timeless and harsh. After cresting Immigrant Pass, I crossed into Nevada. It felt amazing to finally finish my crossing of California and officially turn this into a multi-state ride. The road was desolate, and traffic was rare. As a Jeep passed me, it suddenly pulled off onto the shoulder. I was a little on edge as I rode by, but the driver rolled down the window and said, “Brian Greeson?” “Yes…” “It’s Brian Van-Cise!” I couldn’t believe it. Brian and I were friends 20 years ago—training together in martial arts back in Michigan before I joined the Army. Running into an old friend in the middle of nowhere was surreal. We caught up for a few minutes, swapped stories, and made a plan to meet up again when I reached Las Vegas the next day. I rolled away from that encounter with a big smile on my face, feeling like the world had just gotten a little smaller. I pushed on toward Nevada Highway 160. The highway was busy, but it had a wide, smooth shoulder and a great bike lane. About the time I started relaxing, my back tire went flat again. I took the tire off, cleaned the inside carefully, and installed my last emergency tube. It had to last all the way to Vegas—I was completely out of spares and patches. The final big climb of the day took me up and over Mountain Springs Pass. My original plan was to camp up at the pass, but as I started my descent, the view of the city lights far below was absolutely mesmerizing. The smooth, winding road and the glowing skyline pulled me onward. I missed my planned turnoff without even realizing it, and before I knew it, I was completely swallowed up by the lights and bustle of Las Vegas. It was an unreal moment—starting the day alone in the middle of the desert, crossing two mountain passes, and finishing the night riding straight into the chaos and brightness of Las Vegas. One of the most surreal and unforgettable days of the trip so far. If you’d like to help spread the word, please share the fundraiser with your friends and family. Every share helps raise awareness and makes a difference. https://gofund.me/730f7a59 More trip updates and photos on Instagram if you want to follow along there too: @briangreeson Thanks again for all the support. I’m really looking forward to sharing more of this ride with you and keeping everyone updated as the journey continues. And as always, keep on pedaling.

Inyo County, CA, US | 42.5 mi | 4,186 ft

Days 13–14 – Crossing Badwater Basin I woke up early in Stovepipe Wells and packed up camp. Furnace Creek was only about 25 miles away, and I wanted to get there in time for breakfast. I rolled out by 6:30 a.m.—getting a little quicker at packing, but still some room for improvement. The ride to Furnace Creek was perfect. Cool temperatures, stunning views, and the slow reveal of Badwater Basin off in the distance. I reached Furnace Creek just in time to stuff myself silly at an overpriced breakfast buffet. Full and happy by 9:30 a.m., I realized I had about eight hours to kill before it would be safe to ride again. I spent the day tucked into shaded corners of Furnace Creek, wandering around the excellent National Park visitor center, and waiting for the heat to break. By 6 p.m., the temperature finally dropped below 100 degrees—time to ride. Crossing Badwater Basin was one of the major goals of this trip. I left Furnace Creek just as the sun dipped behind the mountains. The temperature finally started dropping to something manageable. Pedaling into the twilight, I soaked in the surreal beauty of the desert at night—the silence, the changing colors, and the feeling of real isolation. A few miles into the crossing, I heard the dreaded hiss of a flat tire. I found a slash in the sidewall, threw in a couple of plugs, and hoped the sealant would do its job. It held for about half a mile before the hissing started again—this time from both tires. I stopped, threw tubes into both wheels, and got back on the road as quickly as I could. I knew I was burning precious cool-night hours, and I was determined not to get caught in the basin when the sun came up. Even with the setbacks, crossing Badwater Basin was an experience I’ll never forget. I crossed it mostly under a bright full moon. Wildflowers opened up under the cooler night air, and the desert, which looked lifeless during the day, suddenly felt alive. I stopped midway across the basin to catch a few hours of sleep—laid out under the stars, on rocks still warm from the brutal sun. By morning, I was climbing. From -230 feet below sea level to over 3,400 feet in a single stretch. It was humbling, beautiful, and one of those climbs you feel proud of when you reach the top. Crossing Badwater Basin was a huge moment for me—and honestly, I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

Inyo County, CA, US | 58.3 mi | 1,581 ft

I woke up early in Stovepipe Wells and packed up camp. Furnace Creek was only about 25 miles away, and I wanted to get there in time for breakfast. I rolled out by 6:30 a.m.—getting a little quicker at packing, but still some room for improvement. The ride to Furnace Creek was perfect. Cool temperatures, stunning views, and the slow reveal of Badwater Basin off in the distance. I reached Furnace Creek just in time to stuff myself silly at an overpriced breakfast buffet. Full and happy by 9:30 a.m., I realized I had about eight hours to kill before it would be safe to ride again. I spent the day tucked into shaded corners of Furnace Creek, wandering around the excellent National Park visitor center, and waiting for the heat to break. By 6 p.m., the temperature finally dropped below 100 degrees—time to ride. Crossing Badwater Basin was one of the major goals of this trip. I left Furnace Creek just as the sun dipped behind the mountains. The temperature finally started dropping to something manageable. Pedaling into the twilight, I soaked in the surreal beauty of the desert at night—the silence, the changing colors, and the feeling of real isolation. A few miles into the crossing, I heard the dreaded hiss of a flat tire. I found a slash in the sidewall, threw in a couple of plugs, and hoped the sealant would do its job. It held for about half a mile before the hissing started again—this time from both tires. I stopped, threw tubes into both wheels, and got back on the road as quickly as I could. I knew I was burning precious cool-night hours, and I was determined not to get caught in the basin when the sun came up. Even with the setbacks, crossing Badwater Basin was an experience I’ll never forget. I crossed it mostly under a bright full moon. Wildflowers opened up under the cooler night air, and the desert, which looked lifeless during the day, suddenly felt alive. I stopped midway across the basin to catch a few hours of sleep—laid out under the stars, on rocks still warm from the brutal sun. By morning, I was climbing. From -230 feet below sea level to over 3,400 feet in a single stretch. It was humbling, beautiful, and one of those climbs you feel proud of when you reach the top. Crossing Badwater Basin was a huge moment for me—and honestly, I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

Inyo County, CA, US | 31.3 mi | 3,409 ft

Day 12 – Into Death Valley What an incredible day. The ride was short, but what it lacked in distance it made up for in experience. I left Panamint Springs early and jumped right into a massive climb—over 3,000 feet up Towne Pass in just 9 miles, with an average grade over 7%. It was a tough start, but the payoff was unforgettable. From the top of Towne Pass, I was gifted a 17-mile descent that dropped 5,000 feet straight into Death Valley. Along the way, I felt the temperature rise over 30 degrees. It was one of the most dramatic shifts I’ve ever experienced on a bike. The views were otherworldly—huge, raw, and stunning. I’m still buzzing from that descent. Absolutely incredible. I spent the rest of the day bouncing between the general store and the restaurant in Stovepipe Wells. The store had chairs and misters to help beat the heat, and I took full advantage. After the sun finally dipped behind the mountains, the temperature dropped to something much more comfortable. I left the rainfly off my tent and spent the night stargazing. The desert sky was unreal—clear, quiet, and full of stars. I stayed up later than I expected, just soaking it in.

Ridgecrest, CA, US | 74.0 mi | 2,877 ft

After some long days in the saddle, I took a rest day in Ridgecrest to recharge. I posted up next to the China Lake airbase, and I definitely needed the downtime. My legs were cooked, and I was running low on energy. It felt great to eat real meals, knock out a few chores, and catch up on life stuff before heading into one of the most remote sections of the ride. Day 11 was an incredible follow-up. I rolled out of Ridgecrest around 8 a.m., riding west along the airbase and slowly making my way toward Trona. It’s a small, desolate outpost dominated by massive mineral extraction facilities—a truly harsh place to live. I followed the remnants of a bike path out of town and into the open desert. From there, I headed north and climbed into a landscape that was straight out of another world. The desert was blooming—red and gold hills covered in wildflowers, dramatic rock formations, and wide, empty views in every direction. Every now and then, the quiet was broken by the roar of fighter jets flying low overhead. The contrast of silence and sonic booms made the whole ride feel surreal. The climb was solid and the descent on the other side was even better. I rolled into Panamint Springs that evening with a huge smile on my face. Found a simple campground with showers, grabbed a cold beer and some ice cream from the restaurant across the street, and fell asleep as soon as I hit the sleeping pad. We’ve officially passed the halfway point toward the fundraising goal, and I couldn’t be more thankful. The amount of support this ride has already received is incredible, and it’s a huge boost as I head into the tougher stretches ahead. Thank you to everyone who’s donated, shared, or followed along—it truly makes a difference. If you’d like to help spread the word, please share the fundraiser with your friends and family. Every share helps raise awareness and makes a difference. https://gofund.me/730f7a59 I also started posting more trip updates and photos on Instagram if you want to follow along there too: @briangreeson Thanks again for all the support. I’m really looking forward to sharing more of this ride with you and keeping everyone updated as the journey continues. And as always, keep on pedaling.

Kern County, CA, US | 54.9 mi | 3,071 ft

Day 9 – Over Walker Pass 🚴‍♂️ 55 miles ↗️ 3,074' ↘️ 3,432' I started the day feeling pretty wiped from the windstorm the night before. Sleep was rough, and I was anxious to get moving—another round of high winds was in the forecast, and I wanted to get out of the canyon before it hit. The first stretch of the ride was relatively flat, winding along the base of the mountains until Canebrake, where the real climbing began. From there, it was a steady 3,000-foot ascent up to Walker Pass. It felt harder than climbs earlier in the trip, partly from the fatigue and partly from the heat kicking in as I gained elevation. Eventually, and thankfully, I made it to the top. The descent on the other side was fast and rewarding, dropping me into the heart of the Mojave. The landscape changed quickly—suddenly I was in a real desert, with dry air, open roads, and the kind of silence you only find in wide, empty places. I made it into Ridgecrest by afternoon and found a quiet spot in town to stay for the night. Tomorrow will be a rest day to recover and make final preparations for the upcoming stretch through Death Valley. We’ve officially passed the halfway point toward the fundraising goal, and I couldn’t be more thankful. The amount of support this ride has already received is incredible, and it’s a huge boost as I head into the tougher stretches ahead. Thank you to everyone who’s donated, shared, or followed along—it truly makes a difference. If you’d like to help spread the word, please share the fundraiser with your friends and family. Every share helps raise awareness and makes a difference. https://gofund.me/730f7a59 I also started posting more trip updates and photos on Instagram if you want to follow along there too: @briangreeson Thanks again for all the support. I’m really looking forward to sharing more of this ride with you and keeping everyone updated as the journey continues. And as always, keep on pedaling.

Lake Isabella, CA, US | 9.9 mi | 463 ft

Day 8 – Windy Rest Day at Lake Isabella 🚴‍♂️ 9.9 miles After stacking up a few big-mile days, I took a well-earned rest day at Lake Isabella. I moved to another campground about 10 miles down the road and planned to relax, enjoy the lake, and recharge a bit. The morning was beautiful. The lake was calm, the temperatures were perfect, and it felt good to slow down for a bit. That is, until the wind rolled in. By early afternoon, gusts were hitting 40 mph. At one point, I had to collapse the tent completely just to keep a pole from snapping. I spent a few hours riding out the worst of it, and eventually found a spot tucked behind a slope that offered just enough shelter to get the tent back up. The wind howled through the evening and finally started to ease up about an hour after sunset. Not exactly the peaceful rest day I was hoping for, but I still appreciated the break—and the chance to reset before heading into the next leg of the ride. We’ve already raised over $5,000 and we’re just getting started. I’m so grateful for everyone who’s supported the ride and the mission so far. Thank you for being part of this. If you’d like to help spread the word, please share the fundraiser with your friends and family. Every share helps raise awareness and makes a difference. https://gofund.me/730f7a59 I also started posting more trip updates and photos on Instagram if you want to follow along there too: @briangreeson Thanks again for all the support. I’m really looking forward to sharing more of this ride with you and keeping everyone updated as the journey continues. And as always, keep on pedaling.

Delano, CA, US | 63.9 mi | 7,149 ft

Day 7 – Into the Mountains 🚴‍♂️ 63.9 miles ↗️ 7,151' ↘️ 4,749' This was the best ride of the trip so far. I left Delano and took Highway 155 all the way up to Lake Isabella. The route climbs steadily from the Central Valley into the Sequoia National Forest, and the scenery was nothing short of stunning. I went from wide-open farmland into rolling foothills, and then into dense forest with tall trees and flowing mountain streams. The higher I climbed, the more beautiful it got. The climbing was consistent and solid—over 7,000 feet of gain—and the road itself was smooth and quiet. If you ever get the chance to cycle Highway 155, I highly recommend it. It’s a tough climb, but absolutely worth it. The descent into Lake Isabella was fast, flowing, and completely empty of traffic. As I dropped out of the forest, the landscape opened up into a dry, desert-like basin surrounding the lake. I rolled in just as the sun was setting behind the mountains and set up camp on the lakeshore. The campground was excellent—right on the edge of the water, well kept, and almost completely empty. There were great tent sites with plenty of space and quiet. It was the perfect end to a big day in the saddle. I was blown away by how awesome the day was and fell asleep almost immediately after crawling into the tent. We just passed $5,000 raised, which means we’re already halfway to the goal—and the ride isn’t even a quarter of the way done. I’m blown away by the level of support. Thank you to everyone who’s donated, shared, or cheered me on. It really means a lot to know so many people are behind this cause, and it keeps me motivated to keep pushing forward every day. If you would like to help spread the word, please share the fundraiser with your friends and family. Every share helps raise awareness and makes a difference. https://gofund.me/730f7a59 I also started posting more trip updates and photos on Instagram if you want to follow along there too: @briangreeson Thanks again for all the support. I’m really looking forward to sharing more of this ride with you and keeping everyone updated as the journey continues. And as always, keep on pedaling.

Kings County, CA, US | 79.6 mi | 643 ft

Day 6 – Across the Valley 🚴‍♂️79.6 miles ↗️ 644' After a few days without reliable internet, today is a double update! Today was a great day for covering miles. After spending a few days riding through hills and mountains, rolling across the flatlands of the valley was a nice change of pace. I spent the whole day cruising past orchards, farmland, and sections of California’s massive aqueduct system. I have been so lucky with the weather—blue skies, light winds, and just about perfect riding conditions all day. The miles felt easy, and it was one of those days where you could just settle into a rhythm and enjoy being out there. When I first started across the valley, I couldn't even see the Sierra Nevada mountains. It was just open fields stretching in every direction. But as the day went on and I got closer to Delano, the mountains slowly came into view. It was exciting to watch them grow on the horizon all afternoon, knowing I would be climbing back into them soon. I had planned to camp at a state park just outside of Delano, but I misread the map and found out when I got there that camping wasn't allowed. I pushed on, hoping to find a quiet place to pitch my tent, but all the fields were lined with bee boxes and swarms of bees—must be pollination season. With sunset closing in, I reluctantly pedaled back to Delano and grabbed a motel room for the night. Ready for tomorrow and a return to the mountains. I just want to say thank you to everyone who has donated so far. The support has been amazing. It really means a lot to know so many people are behind this cause, and it keeps me motivated to keep pushing forward every day. If you would like to help spread the word, please share the fundraiser with your friends and family. Every share helps raise awareness and makes a difference. https://gofund.me/730f7a59

San Benito County, CA, US | 73.6 mi | 1,923 ft

Day 5 – Down from the Mountains Today was one of those rare days where everything feels like it is going your way. I started the morning from the top of Laguna Mountain. After a brisk start with a short descent and a 400 foot climb to wake up my legs, the ride opened up into something amazing. I spent almost 60 miles pedaling downhill on a gentle grade, dropping out of the forested mountains and into the wide open San Joaquin Valley. It was wild to watch the landscape change. First the trees gave way to open hills, then I found myself riding through oil fields near Coalinga. I stopped in Coalinga for a quick lunch break, then pushed on through endless orchard dirt roads heading south. I finished the day near a small town on the eastern side of the valley called Kettleman Station. What a day. Covering big miles with a mostly downhill ride felt great. I am looking forward to crossing the valley tomorrow and seeing what comes next. I just want to say thank you to everyone who has donated so far. The support has been amazing. It really means a lot to know so many people are behind this cause, and it keeps me motivated to keep pushing forward every day. If you would like to help spread the word, please share the fundraiser with your friends and family. Every share helps raise awareness and makes a difference. https://gofund.me/730f7a59

San Benito County, CA, US | 58.2 mi | 5,213 ft

Some days just pack it all in. Easy miles, tough climbs, and a little bit of chaos along the way. I left Hollister State Recreation Area around 10:30 in the morning. My legs got a gentle wake-up call with a steady climb out of the valley. From there, I dropped into some of the most beautiful countryside I have ever ridden through. Vineyards, rolling hills, light traffic—about 30 miles of absolutely perfect cycling. At one point, I even rode through a massive swarm of bees. Luckily, no stings, just a lot of buzzing. By 2:30 I made it to Pinnacles National Park. Unfortunately, they turned me away. Acres of parking lots for RVs but apparently no room for a bicycle and a tent. Pretty frustrating. I pushed on another 20 miles toward the Laguna Mountain BLM area. The last stretch was a brutal climb with grades hitting 8 to 10 percent and higher. I had to push my bike for about 500 feet at the very end just to make it over. The first campsite I tried was full, so I kept going. About two more miles down the road I found a big site and a fellow camper willing to share. I cooked up a giant stir fry, had a cookie with hot cocoa, and crawled into my sleeping bag right as the stars came out. What an amazing day. I cannot wait for more days like this.

Capitola, CA, US | 47.2 mi | 2,539 ft

Day 3 – Leaving the Coast Behind You could feel the shift today. After a couple of easy coastal rides, this was the last planned "easy" day before the real work begins. I covered about 47 miles with 2,500 feet of climbing, moving from the busy coastline into quiet rolling hills. It was super interesting to watch the change happen. I started the morning in Capitola after reluctantly spending the night in a motel room. I would have much rather camped, but I needed to stop and fix some gear before leaving civilization and the helpful bike shops behind. Once I got rolling, I made my way through the suburbs and out into the countryside. I passed through Day Valley, then Watsonville. On the far side of town, the landscape opened up into an entire valley full of strawberry fields, all ready to be picked. The smell of strawberries filled the air and it was hard to ride through without stopping. It made me seriously hungry for them, but I pressed on. From there, I skirted the southern side of Hollister and made my way to Hollister Recreation Area, where I camped for the night. It was a great spot—quiet, few other campers around, and everyone was respectful. It felt good to be back in the tent. Honestly, I sleep better in my tent than I do in a hotel. My legs are feeling stronger, and I am excited to start cranking up the miles and the difficulty level. Bigger days and more adventure are right around the corner. If you would like to help spread the word, please share the fundraiser with your friends and family. Every share helps raise awareness and makes a difference. https://gofund.me/730f7a59

Half Moon Bay, CA, US | 62.2 mi | 3,173 ft

Day 2 - Sunshine, Tailwinds, and Endless Coastline You cannot ask for a better day on the bike! Tailwinds, blue skies, and the California coast stretching out in front of you. I traveled about 62 miles with 3,000 feet of climbing, from Half Moon Bay down past Santa Cruz to Capitola. The weather was perfect. Cool, sunny, and just windy enough to give me a strong tailwind most of the way. It made the pedaling feel easy, and the miles rolled by fast. After a stormy first day, it was a welcome change. I spent most of the day riding along the coast. There were big waves, open beaches, and the ocean off to my side almost the whole way. The rolling hills made the riding a lot of fun. Every climb was followed by a smooth descent back toward the ocean. Between the views and the flow of the ride, it was the kind of day that reminds me why I love being out on the bike. I finished the day in Capitola just past Santa Cruz, feeling grateful for the good weather and the good start to the journey. I also want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has donated so far. I am honestly overwhelmed by the support. Seeing how many people are behind this cause has been incredibly encouraging and it gives me even more motivation to keep riding.

Marin City, CA, US | 37.6 mi | 2,815 ft

The day before setting off was a whirlwind. I flew into San Francisco and met my bike, which I had shipped ahead to the hotel. I was hoping everything arrived in one piece—and luckily it did. I spent the evening reassembling the bike in the hotel room, packing up all my gear, making the inevitable last minute supply run, and getting everything ready to roll. After that, it was time to grab a few hours of sleep before the real adventure began. The ride kicked off at the ferry terminal in Sausalito. Right out of the gate, I crossed the Golden Gate Bridge under heavy clouds and scattered rain. From there, I wound through the streets of San Francisco and down the coastline toward Half Moon Bay. The first day brought cold rain, strong winds, and plenty of puddles—but the excitement of finally being on the road kept me warm. The plan is to take it easy on the miles for the first few days of the tour. I covered about 37 miles and climbed 2,800 feet. Riding across the bridge with the stormy ocean in the background was unforgettable. The coastline looked wild and powerful, the perfect backdrop to start this ride.

San Francisco, CA, US | 2.7 mi | 115 ft

Catching the ferry to Solido to start my USA bike tour