Weathered In Vermont

Weathered In Vermont

An Autumn Bike Tour Into The Green Mountains
by Christina Torres

The excitement of camping out in the backcountry loomed over us as we drove. With bright eyes, we imagined the worst scenarios of camping and laughed at all of our worries of unpreparedness, getting lost, and fear of bears. After hours of driving, we drove into our first stop, Jamaica, where we spent our first night in a tiny cabin tucked in the woods behind a junk yard to prepare our route for the next two nights. With maps sprawled on coffee tables we planned 90 miles of cycling and camping through Vermont backcountry trails.

We Are Everywhere

We Are Everywhere

A Meandering Bike Tour Across The US
by Patience Melton

We spent the day without plans, only looking for a place to sleep once the sun got close to setting. Down one of the empty backroads we saw a small bar. As he does with every establishment of interest, Josh checked it out on yelp, and discovered it was listed as a convent. I immediately thought of the movie From Dusk Til’ Dawn. And so we stood there straddling our bikes discussing the plausible reality that within this bar we'd find zombie nun strippers, dancing on counters and eating patrons. We flipped a coin to decide on what to do. Heads, and we’d go get vampire lap dances. Tails, and we’d keep riding. For better or worse, the coin landed on tails. 

In The De Soto Swelter, Day Five

In The De Soto Swelter, Day Five

Pushing to New Orleans
Day Five

The cool air welcomed us with open arms. "Cool" air is relative here, as its in the lower 80s. But lower 80s isn't upper 90s, and maybe I was starting to get condition to the Mississippi atmosphere, but it felt down right pleasant. Today was going to be a cakewalk. Just a quick eighty miles from the town of Gulfport into New Orleans, our endpoint for this fun adventure we stupidly decided to do. Eighty felt like nothing, as this was the all-paved, bike-laned, westerly-winded route that would be so flat- just the flattest, smoothest, easiest eighty miles anyone could imagine.

In The De Soto Swelter, Day Four

In The De Soto Swelter, Day Four

Leaving the Woods
Day Four

Talking is pointless. We ride in silence, on a mission to get out of this forest. The only thing that has changed from the past few days is our awareness of our proximity to the Gulf. Johnny keeps saying he can't wait to dip his feet in the cool, clear water on the beach. I don't have the heart to tell him what he's dreaming of, the gulf coast won't have. We pedal onward.

In The De Soto Swelter, Day Three

In The De Soto Swelter, Day Three

Black Creek Bounty
Day Three

We were so far in, but the gps shows our connecting road- actual, god-bless-it, paved road- is really close. Like, no more than two miles in a straight line. Turning around would take far longer. So we push and drag our bikes, crawling in the lowest gears, shoving downed trees out of the way of what is now just an indent in the forest being slowly taken back over by vegetation.

In The De Soto Swelter, Day Two

In The De Soto Swelter, Day Two

In The Heat of The Moment
Day Two

There's no ceremony to our entrance into De Soto National Forest. Hell, there's not even a sign, instead the road we're on turns to dirt and we go from being on my phone-map's grey area to my phone-map's green area. We've arrived into the woods in the middle of the day, and though surrounded by gigantic slash pine, the sun sits right on top of us.