Advocate Cycles

The Access Project - A travel experiment on the Oregon Timber Trail

By

Words and Photos by Daniel Stranahan

In recent years, I’ve been most inspired by what Seattle climber and cyclist Matt Alford has called “front door adventures.” I would loosely define this as fulfilling an objective via human power, public transportation, and rides that come up along the way, when needed. Many have been doing this for years (see Kyle Dempster, Steve Fassbinder, and Lael Wilcox riding to the start of the Continental Divide). However, these trips have received far less visibility in outdoor media than the glamours of heli-access riding, international flights and road trips to 5-star trail networks.

My objective was to ride the Oregon Timber Trail, and make it a front door adventure. I wanted to navigate the nuances of various forms of public/non-motorized transportation myself, as a personal experiment and attempt to make this style more visible/accessible. Below is the story of my experience.

I. Sail

A 33ft. wooden boat, 4 crew, and a course from Port Townsend, WA to the Bay area was how it started. Boats are small, and the need for spares and tools are high. So I anxiously prepared my bike to be shipped to the Bay Area, nearly cleaning out the packing material at the local bikeshop. Kissing my bike goodbye, I cautiously stepped aboard the deck with no open ocean sailing experience. We left the dock around 2:30am, when the tides were best; half asleep, I stood on deck squinting, looking for submerged crab pots as moonlight danced in the wake of the boat.

We get to Southern Oregon, the wind has been howling for the last 500 miles. Everything is damp. My father and I cling to the tiller as the occasional wave breaks over the rear of the boat, and we keep her pointed down the waves. It is around 2am.

Alice, our other crew member my age (but with much more experience) comes out from below deck and suggests we heave-to, (this is a means of stopping the boat, minimizing drift, going below and hoping for the best). We agree on the idea. Sitting below, we take turns every 20 minutes between cat naps to look at the gps monitor and track our drift, making sure there are no container ships in our path as we drift among the shipping lanes. Fortunately, there are none.

We arrive in San Francisco tired and ready to step onshore. It is around 1 in the afternoon, I hear the consistent blare of fog horns as we round the rocky coast under the golden gate. The fog lifts slowly around the bridge, and a whale surfaces. I notice warm, inland air brushing my cheeks. It feels worth it.

II. Train

I finish assembling the Hayduke, and packing my things in a friends Marin County garage. Finally. I learn that it is difficult, yet possible to prepare for a long bikepacking trip in an unfamiliar place.

I take the BART from San Francisco to Oakland, and happen to arrive at the beginning of a city wide event. There are thousands riding from place to place, in a critical mass-like party rolling throughout the East Bay. Before I can blink I find my friends in the stream of bells and wheels, and pedal my loaded bike through bob trailers with speaker systems stacked aboard, and the occasional dance party. This feels like a once in a lifetime send-off. I check the Amtrak app on my phone. My train is delayed, arriving at 1am. More dancing.

An hour later I look again: Delayed and arriving at Jack London Square at 3am. We get tacos, I feel lucky that my train is late, that I get to catch up with old friends over carnitas and lime. Around 1am we say our goodbyes, and I start my beer and salsa fueled pedal toward the station. It arrives—the time is 3:20am. I slowly drift off as the Amtrak winds north toward Klamath Falls, OR.

III. The Oregon Timber Trail

A sea of saltwater is now a sea of cows. Reluctantly they part, bewildered by my presence. I feel excited, and nervous about embarking on one of the most remote sections alone. When the cows heed my yell, I feel a small wave of confidence in the little power I hold.

I roll into Paisley, the first town on the route and see the owner of the tracks I’ve been chasing. Henry is tall, wearing dusty cotton and bent in a slight slouch, hinting at the thousands of road miles in his wake. Canvas Rivendell bags hang from an old 29er, sagging yet well supported by a matrix of bungee cords. The setup mimics his million-mile hunch.

We ride the next section together, Winter Rim, and Henry tells me of a life on bikes-riding the Paris-Brest-Paris self supported, riding across Australia. Between stories the trail grows more primitive and technical, and despite it Henry pushed his way through as we continue to get acquainted.

200 miles go by, we arrive in the highway town of Chemult, OR. An old college friend, Sam meets us in our cheap, ground level motel room. A yard sale of food and dirty gear explodes within the room and the next day we leave, all 3 of us keen to climb high into the alpine lakes flanking the cascades. This is Sam’s first bikepacking trip, and he does it with style. Days before leaving, Sam stitched up his own frame and handlebar bags, piling everything into his 90’s Volvo station wagon and hitting the road north. He’s got a little weight on his back, but it works just fine. We finish climbing a steep 1,200 feet, and Sam is happy dusting the soft singletrack linking the alpine lakes around Oakridge, OR.

I’m grateful for the company, despite having planned on doing the route solo if needed. We camp at Summit Lake, content to be on singletrack and in the mountains after miles of gravel. The next day, the middle fork trail proves to be my favorite section of single track on the route. It’s 30 miles long, and drops nearly 5,000 vertical feet falling off the edge of the upper lake basins. Steep at first I pull my weight back, feeling the loaded bike blow through duff and rooted drops as tires and forks compress and rebound, trying desperately to keep up with the steepening terrain. I feel the music of bikepacking.

We fiddle with our junk at the bikeshop in Oakridge, and they send us off with greasy fingers and warm wishes. It is too warm—and there are fires. Dropping into Bend we meet a couple via Warmshowers, Alex and John. Avid bikepackers, the time passes quickly as we listen to stories from their experience riding the divide and living in Bend. I look out from their top floor apartment, into a haze of smoke and telephone wires.

The smoke thickens as we ride north. Eventually we hit the Cascade Lakes, Mt. Jefferson’s jagged edge peeks above the clouds and we fill our lungs with clean air, relieved. It doesn’t last long. We drop off the ridge on Crescent Mountain, and get to Tule Lake, ready to lie down. We are surprised when a cloud of dust moves up the road. A diesel pickup appears, slowly coming to a halt near the lake. An older man in a wax canvas jacket climbs from the cab.

“Is this the Oregon Timber Trail work party?” he asks. “I guess I’m the first one, we were supposed to meet at Tule Lake.”

We later learned that Jim is often early. That evening, Jim shares stories of horse packing through northern Canada, cutting timber in his youth, and the countless hours he has logged building trail in the Oregon Cascades. We all sit quietly, I feel glad to have met Jim and admire his love and dedication for trail work. On the other end of his crosscut saw the next morning, Jim asks if I could hear it sing. A whine resonated across the steel band, and Jim grins.

That morning we did the dishes for hungry volunteers, packed up and rode north. We go up and down until we are circling Mt. Hood. The trees clear and we see the mountain and a Huey flying low through the valley, a misty cradle of water dangling below. We get to Parkdale; the next day, Hood River.

We have arrived. Tiny brown waves lap at the shore of a small beach as kids wade knee deep in the Columbia River. Sam targets me with a squirt gun found in the sand. I don’t care to move. Right now, water is the surest sign of success.

Six Days and Nights – Stagecoach 400

By

Words and Photos by Cedar Kyes

The stagecoach is a roughly 400-mile collection of desert road, double and singletrack and enough pavement to keep you honest. It was co-created and organized by Brendan Collier of the Hub Cyclery in Idyllwild, California where the event begins and ends. The route was created with the idea of a multi-day adventure ride in mind and it takes riders through a diverse collection of southern California surroundings from vast desert, high mountains, coastal regions and a bit of urban. To ride the Stagecoach 400 is to experience all of the raw beauty that southern California has to offer.

Embarking on this ride was the beginning of something way bigger than I had ever imagined and luckily, the start of the Stagecoach 400 was as informal as I had hoped it would be. While most people do treat this event as a race or ITT (Individual Time Trial), I was treating it more like a long bike ride with one of my good buddies, Brendan.

SC400 Start

I was content to watch the crowd gather and cheer them on as they departed in a kind of bikepacking critical mass that rolled out of town and down the highway towards the first long climb of the route. That climb would ultimately put a huge amount of distance between myself and the rest of the pack. Having embarked on this journey with literally zero training—and couch legs that had barely seen any physical activities all winter long—I was in no hurry to get the suffering started. I instinctively knew that I needed to ease into this ride if I wanted to have any chance of finishing.

After the initial warm-up and shakedown of my bike and my body, I was starting to find my pace and trust these wagon wheels. Having just built this fresh Advocate Cycles Hayduke with 29” wheels for the long journey ahead and having never ridden a 29’er before, there was a slight learning curve for me. After the first long descent, I was feeling comfortable enough to let it rip. The decision to build the bike as a 29’er would definitely pay off over the course of the ride for me—I don’t think I had the fitness to push a fully loaded plus-sized bike the entire distance of this route.

Since I had fallen way off the back of the pack on the second long climb of the day, I took this opportunity to take a look back at where I had come from earlier that morning—this was the last time I would see the snowy peaks of the Idyllwild area for quite awhile.

Eventually, after a long morning out back, I met up with my crew again. Brendan had a mechanical malfunction right at the start of the ride, which set him back a little bit. That delay gave me the head start I needed to get my legs and lungs working well enough to try and keep up with him for a few days.

Brendan and a few others caught up to me just in time to pull me along towards Sunshine Market with the promise of cold beer and sandwiches. I was happy to see them and even happier to crack that beer, which would be the fuel I needed to keep on the wheels of this steady paced crew for the rest of the day and into the night. We would ultimately end up pushing on into the late night hours and pitching camp in a cow pasture somewhere deep in the SoCal Countryside.

Morning came far too quickly and we needed to get back in the saddle in order to reach our destination for the day. Part way through the morning, we stopped at an old abandoned country store to soak up the morning vibes and ease into our day. While the others enjoyed their lightweight snacks, the genius of my morning coffee ritual became clear to the crew. I brewed a few cups and distributed with egalitarian generosity. I got the impression that most of the Stagecoachers don’t bother with a stove or coffee on this route. I’m not sure what would possess anyone to embark upon such a journey without and it sure did make this morning more enjoyable for us all.

Dropping into Black Canyon after our stop, the super green countryside funneled into the canyon and sent us spiraling down into a lush gorge filled with wildflowers and water flowing through huge boulders in the creek beside us. With all of the rain that California received throughout the winter, there were tons of crossings and streams where people had rarely seen water flowing before. Unfortunately, the fun would come to a screeching halt for me. After making a ridiculous navigation error and succumbing to a serious lapse of reason, I was left hopelessly chasing the crew for the rest of the day.

After losing a couple hours to some sort of physical breakdown, I finally came back to the world of the living and crawled out from under the bushes where I had lost consciousness trying to rehydrate myself in the shade. I’m pretty sure my body shut itself down in some sort of physiological self-preservation fit of revolt. I’m not really sure how long I was out for but I eventually came to the realization that it was a bit cooler and there was more shade to be found now. I pulled myself together and pushed on. Later I would find texts from Brendan that kept me motivated to catch up to the crew again. “You’re not that far back” and “We’re at Pizza Port in Ocean Beach” were the words that kept me going. Thoughts of cold beer and warm pizza were coursing through my numbed mind. So, onwards I charged towards the ocean.

At another water crossing, I came across a woman on horseback with her dog roaming nearby. The horse was taking a drink from the stream—I waited patiently for them to clear the crossing. I must’ve looked like I had just died and been reborn because this woman was genuinely concerned about my well-being. She asked where I was going. “To the beach” is all I could muster. She asked if I lived there or had a car waiting there. “No, neither of those” is what made it out of my mouth. She proceeded to question me about what I was doing there. I was able to articulate the basics about riding from Idyllwild to San Diego and back to Idyllwild and that I was trying to catch up to my friends who were already in San Diego. She offered me a ride to meet back up with them and said she would drop me off a few blocks away so nobody would ever know. I was tempted but I told her that I had to do this on my own. She then offered to say a prayer for me—I gladly accepted. It was a very nice prayer—warm and genuine—and I felt that she fully believed in its power. I thanked her and jokingly said, “I hope that helps me climb up this steep hill ahead.” She knew that it would. Thank you stranger! I thought of how nice that gesture was when I got my first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean.

Just as the sun was setting on the second day of my Stagecoach 400 ride I made it to Torrey Pines State Park. Even though I was in a bit of a hurry to catch up with my crew, I stopped for a moment to soak it all in. This was in itself a huge accomplishment for me. I had just ridden from way up in the Mountains of Idyllwild all the way to the Pacific Ocean—in two days. I met up with the crew in San Diego and we spent the night at a friend’s house in the city.

Exiting San Diego and heading back into the mountains, Day 3 would prove to be the most challenging of the entire ride. I struggled to keep up with the pack for the entire day and fell off the back on every climb. After the last re-group at a gas station in Alpine, I, decided that I needed to fall back and ride at my own pace if I wanted to finish. It was not a pretty moment for me—not until I finally got out of my head, listened to my body, and looked up at the beauty all around.

I was literally one click or call away from the wambulance when I realized that there was no rush and I could just soak it all in and finish the ride on my own pace. I also realized that I was just past the point of no return and it would be harder to bail out than it would be to continue forward. So, I sat there for a while and got my head straight. I watched the sun set and felt it cool down considerably. I had great lights and lots of battery power left and decided that I needed to ride more in the evening hours when it was cooler. This was a critical epiphany for me and I continued the relentless climb into the darkening night.

I coached myself through the next few miles of the route and, reading through the cue cards, learned that there was a restaurant and country store on the other side of this climb—giving me inspiration to push on. I made it up and over that mountain and on to the restaurant but it had just closed. Luckily, the store was still open so I grabbed a cold beer and a bag of chips. I found a nice little spot in the middle of a grassy field and I sat there under the stars, sipping my beer and savoring each and every salty chip.

I was uncertain about the next move. The cue cards alluded to the notion that there was another store at the campgrounds a few miles further along the route. “She makes great burritos for the Stagecoach riders” it said, which was the motivation I needed to push on into the late night hours. It was a sluggish uphill push on muddy trail but it was very peaceful.

When I rolled into the campgrounds I found a spot to throw down my sleeping bag and the nearby stream serenaded me to sleep. I slept like a baby all night and well into the morning. I took my time packing up and wandered over to the store. It was closed. As it turns out, most of the stores on the rest of the route are closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. I was able to refill all of my water and headed out for day 4.

This day featured a relentless climb up and over Mt Laguna. There was little to no shade and the temperatures were rising by the minute. Thankfully, the trails were pretty awesome and the views were amazing. I took my time and listened to my body—seeking refuge in every bit of shade that I encountered and being mindful of my hydration and nutrition, I chugged along all day. I was enjoying myself again. Even though it was slow going, I was happy to be making forward progress and I knew that this mountain had a summit—somewhere up there. I did not see or hear a single soul for the entirety of the climb. It was almost surreal how much solitude this stretch provided. Finally, I had gotten out of Babylon and into the Backcountry—this is what I truly enjoy and appreciate about bikepacking.

SC400 Mt Laguna

As I reached the summit of Mt Laguna and popped out onto the highway, I was blown away by the amazing view. I could see the Salton Sea way off in the distance and the snowy Tahquitz Peak/Mt San Jacinto way back up in the mountains where I had started the ride. The experience was enhanced from ten to eleven when I dropped in on the awesome singletrack that parallels the highway for most of this stretch. I forgot all about the long day of climbing and just ripped sweet singletrack for what seemed like an eternity. In fact, it was so good that I missed my turn and continued on the trail for quite a ways before I realized that I should be pointed in the opposite direction for my descent into the desert and to make it to the next store, which was supposed to be open until 6. This would be a critical re-supply before heading off into the most serious desert section—I was determined to make it to that store.

I knew that it would be a serious downhill into the desert from here. Once I was certain that I was dropping in on the right track, I let it all out. I’m not sure many people have gone as fast on a fully loaded bikepacking rig. It didn’t stop. I smashed through rocks and drifted into corners and in retrospect, it was downright foolish—I was determined to make it to that store in time.

The shreddy downhill gave way to a sluggish sand trap and my roll was slowed tremendously. I somehow managed to keep afloat in the sand and rolled it all the way out to the pavement where I put the hammer down and made it to the store with minutes to spare. It was closed—spring hours.

Welcome to my desert oasis. While it was indeed true that the store was closed, I did find what I needed to continue on my journey. There was a sign on the door that said to track down Doug for after hours registration. I wandered over to Doug’s place and knocked on the door. Nothing. As I was walking back to my bike and kicking rocks, I saw a guy headed in the same general direction as me and I called out “Hey there, are you Doug?” No. It was not Doug. “Doug is off today. It really pisses me off when he closes the store.” Meet my new friend Alber—Alber is the ranch hand at Butterfield. He’s on a mission of some sort. Thankfully for me, he just happened to be right there at that exact moment. He was genuinely concerned for me and he understood that I really needed to get into that store before I could proceed into the desert. He said he would try to get the keys from Doug and open the store for me in the morning.

As I sat there in front of the closed store, I was optimistic that this would all turn out alright. Soon after, Alber came over with an apple, banana, and orange and his two young daughters running along beside him. They had each made me a sandwich and wanted to bring them to me personally—I almost cried. I could not believe the genuine kindness of this family. I went from complete deflation to complete gratitude and full nourishment of body, soul, and spirit. Those little angels shined so bright—It was truly amazing. Thank you Alber and your wonderful daughters.

He told me about the cabins and the pool and the hot shower—I was indeed in heaven. That night I had a shower and slept in a bunk bed—It was a good thing too because the wind kicked up and was howling all night long. As I was cozy inside my little cabin eating homemade sandwiches, I couldn’t help but think about the prayer that I had been granted earlier in the ride. However you want to look at it, The Universe was shining down on me.

In the morning I made coffee by the poolside and by some other stroke of luck, I ran into Alber at the store before he took off on his work day. He let me in and I got what I thought I needed to carry me through the next stretch—I was good to go.

Welcome to the desert. Massive ocotillos were like gateway guardians to the Anza-Borrego Desert and they were in full bloom as I passed through. I gave a nod of respect to each and every one of them on my passage. They seemed to return the gesture as they provided me with little bits of shade where otherwise there was none to be found. Dropping into Diablo Drop and the Wind Caves was impressive and a little bit spooky—this is definitely where the Sand People live and I did not linger long.

Back to the pavement—with minimal shade and nothing but an endless row of power lines stretching off into the horizon, it was best not to think about it too much. I put my head down and focused on cadence. It wasn’t until I got to the next store that I even looked up—it was closed. The bar across the street was open and I bellied up to the bar for a cold beer.

Here I ran into a fellow Stagecoacher who had also wandered off on a solo mission. We shared some stories and helped each other feel not-so-out-of-place in this strange desert watering hole. As I walked outside to check on my bike, I noticed that a distinct change in the weather had occurred—then came the chatter from the locals about rain coming and that we were screwed. I slammed my beer, settled up, and saddled up. There was a strong and sustained headwind for the next 20 miles or so as we struggled our way towards Borrego Springs. We rolled into town just after dark and hit up the Taco Shop before heading out of town to find a spot to hunker down for the night.

SC400 Scorpion

I had known about the sculpture gardens around Borrego Springs and I wanted to see them in the daylight so I steered us to this spot just outside of town for the night. It was one of the best nights of sleep on the whole trip. We were out of the wind and the sky was booming with stars. Knowing that I had a big day ahead, it was a very quick and unceremonious morning at the sculptures before the two of us took off.

Making it to Bailey’s Cabin was a milestone for me. I had ridden this stretch once before but we were coming down the canyon and it was all downhill that time. I remembered the “Willows” section of Coyote Canyon and I was a bit nervous about getting through there. The last time I passed through it was so overgrown that it felt like we were trudging through the jungle. Thankfully, it was cut way back and our passage through was easy. That did not help the fact that we were headed uphill through the canyon. It was so sandy that I had to walk for long stretches.

Finally reaching the road at the entrance to Coyote Canyon was a great feeling. Despite the fact that I knew I was in store for a really long climb, it was good to be standing on solid ground again. The climb was every bit as long and strenuous as I had imagined and I pushed onward with a great sense of accomplishment that I had come this far.

It was only fitting that I finished the Stagecoach 400 at night since I had ridden so much of it this way. The night was definitely my friend on this journey. Thankfully, I had the best lighting system you could ask for. My Lupine Lights system worked flawlessly for 6 days and 6 nights of riding while also keeping my phone and my camera charged the entire time.

I got back to Idyllwild just hours before this snowstorm hit—I had seen the system moving in and I cranked up the pace on the final day so that I might beat it. I pushed hard from Borrego Springs all the way into Idyllwild and made it in time to get a cold beer and some warm stew at Idyllwild Brewery.

Many thanks to them for finding me some hot food even though the kitchen was closed when I rolled in. Another huge thanks to Marlin and Dawne for the hot shower and cozy bed to crash in. It was a wonderful way to finish an incredible journey. Last but not least, thank you to Brendan for putting together such an amazing bikepacking route through some of the most remote and untouched places in Southern California. It’s definitely the best way to experience the diversity that SoCal has to offer and thanks for pulling me along as far as you did. I don’t think I would’ve made it without your support and encouragement.

I also couldn’t have done it without the support of my awesome girlfriend who was holding down the fort and taking care of Bushido while I was gone. I look forward to doing this ride again—I pushed myself beyond my comfort zone and I tested every bit of strength that I could muster. It was by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

A huge thanks for support from Advocate Cycles, Kali Protectives, Lupine Lights, Terrene Tires, Tifosi Optics & Zoic Clothing.

Until next time…

Idaho Sweats

By

Galena Pass-1

Idaho Sweats

Stories from the Idaho Hot Springs Mountain Bike Route

By Bruce Saxman

 

Where is the fire?

As we pulled into Idaho City a wisp of smoke curled up from a distant ridgeline. I considered us lucky that the widespread wildfires common to Idaho had not ignited yet—apparently that was changing. The next morning as we were loading our bags, small teams of Forest Service vehicles and fire trucks were trickling into town. “Don’t worry, those boys will have it out by the end of the week,” the owner of the gas station told us. Reassured, we set out and began the 14-mile climb up Thorn Creek Butte.

Hours later, after a lunch in the lupines and enjoyable ridge riding, another wisp of smoke appeared from a nearby ridge and quickly grew into a plume. We began descending toward Arrowrock Reservoir with a little more urgency. The plume towered into a cloud on the ridge that was now directly above us. As we reached the turn toward the Middle Fork of the Boise River, a Forest service ranger assured us the fire was going to be contained. Still, it felt good to be close to the water.

 

“You don’t mind if an old mountain man drip dries, do ya?”

Grateful to be moving away from what would be called the Mile 16 Fire, we pedaled up the Middle Fork of the Boise River and camped at our prettiest campsite at Sheep Creek Bridge Hot Springs. The next day’s ride was pleasant up-river double track, but our progress was limited by the number of available hot springs and access to the river. We stopping for a hot soak every half hour in the morning and to swim in the cool river water in the afternoon. We could have traveled six miles a day at this point, but were tempted by beer and burgers in Atlanta.

We arrived by mid-afternoon and found a forest service campsite after the burgers and Rainier tallboys. We also found some of the better hot springs on the route. After scoping out the options we hiked down to Chattanooga Hot Spring where 102-degree water cascades 20 feet off the cliffs above into the pool. “You don’t mind if an old mountain man drip dries, do ya?” was the greeting we received by the large, local, very naked caretaker. We proceeded to be educated on using soap in the hot spring (this is our shower), the evils of PokemonGo, and the lack of mining and logging jobs in the area. While the conversation was cordial, we got the feeling we were being tolerated if for no other reason than we were wearing bathing suits.

 

Slap the bag

All of the advice we heard was to not ride the single-track on the route so out of Atlanta we skipped the Willow Creek Trail and headed up FR 126 over James Creek Summit and rejoined the official route in the gold mining ghost town of Rocky Bar. After a few days in the sticks punctuated by hot springs and redneck bars, arriving in Ketchum was a jarring experience.

Trees, rivers, and dusty trail were replaced by pavement and cars of vacationers. We sucked it up for a re-ration and brewery lunch. Stressed by the bustle, we headed north to get out of town, weaving through traffic, strollers and unyielding bikers. Our bikes were heavy, it was hot, and our legs were sluggish—a few miles out the bike path turned to loose pea gravel.

After burgers and beers, crowded grocery stores, and a hot blazing sunny ride the pea gravel was a morale crusher. We had lost Alex in town, but as Jenn and I rested under one of the few shade trees he rolled up with a bag of wine on his handlebar bag. Morale improved and we plowed through the gravel toward Galena Pass and Stanley.

Bonneville Hot Spring-1

 

Where is Alex?

We were packing up in Stanley and the map was nowhere to be found. Alex rode out of town a few miles the night before while Jenn and I stayed at a motel. We figured either he had it or someone left it at the bar the night before. Apparently no one in Stanley sells the map. After a few stops and a couple hours wasted we bought a forest service map and pieced the route together. A maze of dirt roads, a single-track push over Galena Summit, and a long downhill cruise put us in the high desert heading toward Banner Summit and the headwaters of the Middle Fork of the Salmon.

With little shade and water we slogged past the closed single-track of Boulder-White Clouds wilderness toward the Lowman cutoff and the promised hot springs at Bonneville Campground. We had expected to catch Alex somewhere near Galena Pass but saw no sign of him. After a screaming downhill on the pavement of Banner Summit we arrived at Bonneville Campground—still no Alex.

The hot spring at Bonneville became one of my favorites—a clean tub in an old shack provided the perfect solitary relaxing experience after a long, dirty day. After soaks in the tub and the pools by the river we returned to camp in the encroaching dusk. As we finished dinner, Alex finally rode up, wine bag nearly extinguished, body nearly exhausted. Also without the map, he had made a series of wrong turns in the maze of dirt roads north of Stanley putting in quite a few extra credit miles. We were relieved to have him back, and he was relieved for the tub.

 

Can we get through?

As we circled back toward Idaho City on the Lowman Cutoff the pungent smell of fire was becoming stronger. The wisp of smoke we witnessed as we pulled into Idaho City days earlier had whipped into the Pioneer Fire, and would become the largest fire in Idaho that season. The South Fork of the Payette River provided a natural barrier for us, but we would have to cross it to get back to our starting point.

Two thirds of the way through the tour, we were unsure if we would be able to finish. Due to the fast moving fire, information was scarce and unreliable. We chatted with a couple who were sure they were going to close the road and were turning back toward Ketchum. A Forest Service employee at the Lowman Ranger Station seemed offended that we were trying to save our vacation while the locals were trying to save their property. We brainstormed alternative plans in the steaming waterfalls of Kirkham Hot Springs.

The route back to Idaho City formed the boundary closure, but no one seemed sure it would remain open. While eating fried taquitos and chicken fingers at a Garden Valley gas station we were able to get fire and weather reports off of an internet connection. The fire was moving east and we were going west. The weather forecast was hot but with calmer winds than days past. We were going to get up early and ride the boundary through Placerville and New Centerville.

 

Riding the Border

Cool morning air and fire anxiety gave us wings on the 1600-foot climb out of Garden Valley. Nervous urgency powered us on dirt roads through mining towns, lawn sprinklers running non-stop. Cruising downhill into town we discovered sleepy Idaho City had turned into a bustling camp. Our vehicles, which previously sat solitary in a gravel parking lot were surrounded by the utility vehicles of the Forest Service and regional wildland fire outfits. We ate ice cream while helicopters shuttled gear and supplies to the fire line feeling grateful for their efforts, and that we were able to finish.

 

The Idaho Hot Springs Mountain Bike Route is a roughly 750-mile route developed by the Adventure Cycling Association that guides riders throughout the breathtaking landscape of central Idaho, from blue ribbon trout streams to sub-alpine terrain and cozy mountain towns. Riders will pass through some of the most spectacular country the West has to offer, with the opportunity to indulge in the highest concentration of soakable hot springs in North America. Visit the route website for more information, ride resources and helpful logistics.

Colorado Trail - Lessons Learned

By

Words and Photos by Eric Hockman

“Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity.”

-John Muir

There’s something very exciting about turning on your out of office reply that signifies the beginning of your time away from the daily grind. Whether you are jumping on an airplane to fly somewhere half-way around the globe or keeping it local with a stay-cation, it’s important to take time off and put yourself in new places to experience the out of ordinary.

It may sound crazy to most to call a physically and mentally demanding journey across multiple ranges of high altitude mountains a vacation, but to me, it’s just about the best way I can imagine to spend my time off. Luckily, my fiancé shares this feeling, and so we go as a pair. For us, the best growth we see as individuals and together is gained by taking ourselves away from our typical routine and overcoming the challenges we face on our adventures.

In the early spring months of 2016, we made the decision to thru-bike the Colorado Trail together over the course of two weeks. The challenge of it all was bigger than either of us had ever faced, but we knew it was exactly how we’d want to cash in on our time off from work. The end result was unwritten at this point and the logistical spider web grew each day as we started looking into how we wanted to take this massive challenge on.

The Route:

Consisting of a mixture of mostly single track, a fair amount of dirt forest service roads, and a small stint of paved mountain highways, the Colorado Trail stretches 539 miles between Durango and Denver, CO. While the trail remains predominantly above the 10,000 ft. elevation mark, there is over 70,000 ft of ascending and descending to really satiate your appetite for challenge and reward.

The CT is not a directional trail; however, most travellers typically start their journey in Waterton Canyon, near Denver and work their way into the most rugged terrain towards the latter half of the journey. The decision for us to ride the trail from Durango to Denver came out of wanting to ride back towards our home, rather than away from it. And so we did.

Let the journey begin.

A few things we learned on the Colorado Trail:

You don’t know until you go: Photos do not do this trail much justice when it comes down to it. Both majestically or for predicting the ability to ride certain sections that appear buttery smooth and flowy. What appears in images definitely inspires the soul, but there are many sections that must be pushed and cannot be easily flowed on two wheels. It’s best to accept that some things cannot be ridden and that time spent off the bike is great for taking in the views.

A loud freehub or bell can save you: Some may side with the opinion that a loud freehub is disruptive to other trail users or the serenity of being out in the backcountry; however, our loud free wheeling bikes managed to alert a momma moose with her two calves and alert a distant bull moose in the willows. A few follow up rings of the bell on your handlebars also alerts wildlife that you’re in their zone. Having a bell on your bike is also a great way to alert other trail users when you’re gassed and can’t muster any words to let them know you’re there.

Marmots are always looking for handouts: I sort of already knew marmots were pesky little creatures, but after meeting our friend Bruce about 3 days into the trip, we quickly realized you should never let your guard down when food is around. Bruce may have never successfully gotten close enough to our breakfast to snag a bite, but he sure did try… more than once.

Instant coffee and oatmeal can be really good tasting: Our first breakfast each day consisted of oatmeal and coffee. Adding dried fruit or broken up chocolate chip cookies to your oatmeal is a game changer and keeps things interesting. After you’ve devoured breakfast, mixing a packet of instant coffee in your camp mug both tastes great and leaves your cup or bowl nearly spotless.

You learn a lot about your travel partner: A trip of this length and challenge brings a lot of perspective to your life. There are times of struggle and times of triumph, moments of being slap-happy and hangry all at the same time. Needless to say, if you travel with a friend or significant other, you’re going to see the best and worst of them. Take it all for what it is, just don’t forget to give yourself the time you need to reflect as each day passes. Most importantly, enjoy the journey.

You meet a lot of really cool people from all over: Every interaction out on the trail is different. We spoke with hikers from all over the US and the globe, saw an older couple travelling with some llamas to carry their weight, and passed opposite directions with bikers racing the CTR from Denver to Durango. In the end, we had a lot of positive interactions and actually finished the trail having made a new friend on the side of the road near Leadville. No, it wasn’t one of the llamas.

America’s Tip Expedition - Tierra del Fuego

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Words and Photos by Federico Cabrera

My Adventure started at Tolhuin in Tierra del Fuego where I gathered food for 10 days and headed out onto Peninsula Mitre carrying only the essentials. It took me 17 days to reach Cabo San Diego, also known as Peninsula Mitre, and to return to Tolhuin’s Panaderia La Union.

In total, it was a 450-mile solo & self-supported adventure through deserted beaches, forests & peatlands and I was the first one to get this far by bicycle—probably because nobody else was stupid enough to try it sooner, as 90% of Tierra del Fuego’s peatlands are located at Peninsula Mitre. During the expedition, my biggest concern was being able to cross the 5 rivers separating Estancia Maria Luisa from Cabo San Diego.

On my 2nd day, a few hours after crossing Rio Irigoyen, I reached Puesto La Chaira, the last inhabited place at Peninsula Mitre, and met Hector Oyarzun who lives there the entire year and sometimes spends up to 9 months alone. I also met Agustin, who was visiting and learning the Gaucho’s life and I was able to get a lot of information about my challenge ahead. Aside from a lot of helpful information on the landscape, they gave me the tide schedule for the next 4 river crossings—a very useful piece of information for the adventure ahead.

Along Peninsula Mitre there are 4 old uninhabited refugios, which were restored by Adolfo Imbert, Centro Hipico Fin del Mundo, where travelers can get shelter from the tough environment. All of them have beds, a wood stove, & potable water. Unfortunately, many people traveling in the area, using ATV’s or other motorized forms of transportation, don’t appreciate how important these places are for trekkers like myself. One such Refugio, Puesto Rio Leticia, had been destroyed in the last couple of years—with its walls torn down to make fires and litter all around.

At each new river crossing along the way I would end up making 7 crosses across and back, as I wasn’t sure exactly where to make the cross and how deep the rivers were. The first time I would make it without any gear to check the river, the 2nd time I carried the electronics, the 3rd time I carried the camping gear & clothing, and finally the 4th time I carried the bicycle.

One such crossing, the Rio Policarpo, which is one of the largest crossings, is essential to cross at the lowest tide. I arrived there at perfect timing and by the time I was crossing my bike, the water was up to my chest and the river was at least 100 meters wide.

From the last Refugio, Bahia Thetis, I had one more river crossing and only 9 miles to Cabo San Diego’s lighthouse, the farthest point and turn around point of this trip. In the Bahia Thetis’ logbook I found information stating 6-7 hours were needed for a round walking trip to the lighthouse. Just in case I planned for a 10 hours round trip and I carried some gear—bivy sack, sleeping bag, & some dry food.

By the time I finally reached America’s extremity in the 9th day of my trip, I knew I probably wasn’t going to make it back to Bahia Thetis in time to cross the river at low tide, so instead of wasting any time, I just took a few minutes to skinny dip at Estrecho de la Maire & to make a couple images at the Lighthouse before heading back on the 9-mile journey.

The last couple of hours I found my way through the peatlands with just a small headlamp as it was a very dark and cloudy night. By the time I made it to the river crossing I was 2 hours late for the low tide so I had to spend that night with just my bivy sack & summer sleeping bag. Fortunately, it was the first night without rain the entire trip.

A few days later I found out the person who took 6-7 hours in his round trip from Bahia Thetis to Cabo San Diego had crossed the river by boat in 5 minutes, instead of walking 4 miles to cross the river—2 miles each way like I had—through ankle deep mud, taking an extra 4-6 hours. From Bahia Thetis it took me 5 days to get back to Tolhuin with good weather.

For anyone that decides to head down and try this route, remember to carry as little weight as possible as there is plenty of pushing/walking the bike involved. It is also essential to get an updated tide chart/schedule and to carry food for at least 2 weeks—you might find some food at some shelters, but you can’t count on it.

You should also expect to find at least a couple rainy days and strong winds—in your return trip you will probably have head winds all the way to Ruta 3. Wider tires and rims will be highly appreciated to ride on the beach with low tides and to get through the endless peatlands that will be encountered.

In order to preserve this wild & remote place we need to request that the local authorities protect and regulate this area. Please make a difference and sign this petition: https://www.change.org/p/preservar-peninsula-mitre?recruiter=50229550&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=copylink

Ride Report - Tour of Aotearoa New Zealand

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Words and photos by Ihi Heke

New Zealanders love to bike. Even New Zealand’s prime minister, Hon. John Key, funded a cycleway that links one end of New Zealand with the other. Enter, first time Māori (Indigenous New Zealander) adventure mountain biker lining up for a “short” ride with the “tiniest of little” issues being that my first ever adventure ride happens to be the inaugural Tour of Aotearoa. Couple this with having no bike two days prior to the event, no training in the last six months and no idea what was required to set up a bike for a ride of this distance.

Running the entire length of New Zealand from north to south, the Tour Aotearoa is a 3000km bikepacking tour from the north tip of Cape Reinga all the way down south the town of Bluff. The tour is a collection of several of the greatest rides in the country all connected by the best available backcountry roads.

Luckily, the owners of Advocate Cycles are good mates of mine. On a recent trip to New Zealand, I convinced them that Māori were riding not for health, physical activity or even mountain biking but to seek the knowledge that only a mountain could pass on from several centuries of watching humans move across their pathways. In helping me out, they inadvertently helped Māori improve their connection to their lands through mountain biking.

Mountain biking is not only becoming popular with Māori communities seeking knowledge but it’s also becoming the new “rugby/netball” for Māori with too many injuries to play contact sports any longer. On top of this burgeoning interest in mountain biking, I’m convinced that adventure cycling as a form of mountain biking is the modality that will capture the imaginations of Māori due to the cultural importance of mountains within the Māori world view.

How this recent move to rediscover indigenous physical activity has come about has been a fascinating process in its own right. It was recently discovered that pre-European Māori had a highly comprehensive array of physical training techniques to improve power, agility, quickness, speed, coordination, flexibility, muscular endurance and aerobic conditioning. These strength and conditioning techniques were garnered from pre-European Māori’s most abundant resource, the environment that they lived in and shared with other living beings. That is, Māori appear to have looked to their ancestral ties with their atua (gods), kaitiaki (guiding animals) and tipua (spiritual animals e.g., taniwha) to make sense of their world and strengthen their control over their collective destiny by training as a reflection of what they saw in their local environment.

Initially, the whole idea of the Aotearoa sounded like a massive pain in the ass both literally and figuratively because I came from an era of mountain biking that used one bike for everything and each ride had to be completed within two to three hours. I was part of the era that thought that disc brakes were too heavy, carrying gear was unnecessary, and that suspension was for motorbikes and had no place on a bike—not anymore.

Two days out from the start of the Tour of Aotearoa, a smart looking, fresh, white, Hayduke turned up at my house. With the anthem of “steel is real” in the back of my mind I set about getting the bike up and running.

Twenty-four hours later, on a low tide, we set out on the start of the ride. The first section of the tour was 110km—86km of that on the aptly named, 90-mile beach. That’s right, almost 90km on sand with an incoming tide and 35 knot head wind for good measure. The first day was the filter from hell. A number of people on the start line asked how my training had been, to which I stated, “superb”—not a single issue of overtraining since I’d done none. Several comments were also passed that at a svelte 110kg I was probably “too heavy” to ride this type of event, especially with a 1×11 drivetrain, and I shouldn’t be surprised if I wasn’t successful in completing the tour. I think on both counts, I was finished with the event four days earlier than those who thought I would never get there.

I found the Hayduke to be a dream to ride on multiple, long, 12-hour days. I’ve been around mountain bikes for a long time (since the mid eighties) during which time I had been mostly interested in hill climbing only for the thrill of downhilling. Jump forward some twenty years and mountain biking has a new cousin—adventure biking. Interestingly, adventure biking allowed me to slow down and look around at all of the different locations more intimately because I didn’t feel obliged to rush.

Even more interesting was the number of people who knew about the Hayduke, especially considering it’s a brand new company. Not surprisingly, a large number of those people wanted to be part of the “next level crew” riding a Hayduke. I literally had adventure bike diehards leering over the Hayduke wanting to know every detail about how it rode.

The bike was a pleasure to ride, compliant to a fault, with effortless handling on the trail despite the gear loaded on the bike. In fact, I felt a little bit like the poor hillbilly with my borrowed panniers. Seeing all of the new techniques being used to carry gear including handle bar bags, seat bags and frame bags was out of this world and I intend to have a go at the correct adventure setup next time around.

I had expected to find the Hayduke tiring after a couple of consecutive days riding, considering I’d only ridden to the local store and back as training. However, I can say that I looked forward to getting back on it to ride each day. I think what I had underestimated was the relaxed angles of the Hayduke coupled with the steel ride making for a totally forgiving bike that could literally be ridden many long days in a row with very little rider fatigue.

In the end, the ride only took 22 days, when I had been told to expect 30, if I make it at all. I think the difference for me was the bike. It became like an old friend I’d catch up with for coffee before beginning each day. It was the absence of issues that made for such a wonderful ride. With the blessing of multiple days on the same bike, I was able to see the very direct effect that the Hayduke was allowing—a smooth ride and a great tour of my home country.

To say that I enjoyed being self sufficient and able to carry all my own food and sleeping equipment doesn’t do it justice—I loved it. Māori have had a long history of guiding non-Māori across a multitude of environments, all whilst surviving in often-difficult terrain. Adventure biking gave me a glimpse of my genealogy, of my very essence via mountain biking.

Ambassador Profile - Dejay Birtch

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Best known for his accomplishments on a singlespeed, Dejay Birtch is a mountain biker and ambassador to the mountain biking community involved with the sport both on and off the bike whose illustrious career spans 20 years. He currently lives and rides in Tucson, Arizona, although his roots are found in Port Jervis, New York—a place where he says that he cultivated his creative capacity for finding new and interesting approaches to the world.

When he transplanted himself to Tucson, Arizona, he took along his outdoor experience, added a bike, and began sharing his adventurous mindset with everyone else. Among many other things, he is an urban escapist, tour guide, shop rat and world dirt sampler. Sometimes referred to as a cyclist that races, Dejay tries to deal with that pressure by being the first to the top of many hills.

He’s been an endurance national and world champion and has crisscrossed the continental United States both west to east and north to south on his bike. He has designed trail systems and created cycling events. Recently he has created and promoted fat bike events in Arizona and New York and organized the 2014 singlespeed World Championships in Anchorage, Alaska. He helped start SSUSA (Singlespeed USA) and has been a part of Singlespeed Arizona for over a decade.

For his most recent project, Dejay has followed his roots back home to New York to take on a trail building project in his hometown. Like many east coast towns, Port Jervis was brought up on industry, which has all gone away at this point, leaving the area as somewhat of an economic ghost town. But the town does have an amazing natural resource that has been virtually untouched and completely off limits for 100+ years.

This particular resource is a large, city-owned, 2,000+ acre piece of land in town that is part of the watershed and houses three reservoirs, along with many rolling ridgelines and ideal terrain for a trail system. For a while now, Dejay has seen the potential in this piece of land for outdoor recreation.

With other nearby outdoor attractions like the Delaware River that runs through town, the nearby Appalachian trail, the Poconos and Catskill Mountains within a short drive—and the possibility to ride the commuter train all the way from NYC—the area stands to be the next best playground in the region for cycling, hiking, and other sports year-round.

And so he went to work convincing the town that this would be an ideal place to build some trails and start to draw people back to the town. Finally last August, he got the go-ahead to start building and went to work putting together the beginnings of a trail system.

To say that he helped to make a miracle happen could be truth. Currently, they are in the infant stages of building singletrack with at least 30 miles laid out and about 15 miles of doubletrack already existing. On March 19, Dejay held a fatbike event on the trails as a grand opening, which turned out to be a hit, and now has plans for a MTB event to be held on October 29th.

Dejay tells us that, “all of this is to spread the love of the outdoors of course, but it holds a special place to me, to help my small home town come back from the economical ashes of what was a booming industrial town.”

If there’s a bike involved, Dejay will always be there. Just stay tight on his wheel and follow him into his next adventure.

Rider Profile - Lael Wilcox

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If you haven’t heard of Lael Wilcox, allow us to introduce you. Lael has spent the better part of the last decade touring around the world on her bike. It all started about 8 years ago when Lael and Nicholas Carman decided to take off on a two-month paved tour in the United States—in some ways, the ride has yet to end. Since that tour, they have been splitting their years between working to save up money and traveling by bike.

They have spent time touring throughout North America, two summers chasing dirt routes across Europe and a substantial amount of time in both South Africa and the Middle East. Recently Lael has also taken to ultra-endurance racing with great success, setting the female record for the Tour Divide in the summer of 2015, although for the both of them, travel is most important and will probably always remain the focus.

Currently, Lael is down in Baja, Mexico aboard an Advocate Cycles Hayduke where she and Nick are working on mapping and planning a roughly 2,000 mile bikepacking route through the area. In the end, they hope to be able to publish the route for others to use as a springboard for their own rides. You can check out their project online at www.bajadivide.com. We caught up with Lael during her tour and asked her a few questions about what it’s like living this lifestyle.

RK: For starters, when you aren’t riding, where do you call home?

LW: I grew up in Anchorage, Alaska. That’s where my family lives so that’s where I’d call home. I don’t spend too much time in Anchorage. I don’t have a house or a car, but I’ll always go back there. When we’re not traveling we may work in different places. We’ve lived in Tacoma, Denali, Key West, Annapolis, Albuquerque, and France, but for the last eight years, we’ve spent the majority of our time riding.

RK: What do you do for work in between these long rides? Do you keep a similar schedule or does it change year to year?

LW: I usually work in restaurants as a server or a bartender. I’ve been working in restaurants since I was sixteen. The first year I cleaned a bar in the mornings and washed dishes in a cafe for the afternoons. Since, I’ve worked in at least twenty restaurants. It’s usually an easy job to find and an easy job to quit, and I enjoy the work. I’ll work hard for four to six months in a stretch, often two jobs at once. I save money so I can travel on the bike again.

I’ve done other jobs as well. I taught English in France and yoga in Anchorage and once worked the door for a bar on New Year’s. I’ll take any job I don’t dread. Although, serving is fast-paced and fast cash and I prefer it.

I don’t have a set pattern of work and bike travel. Mostly, I travel until I run out of money and pick up a job to save for the next trip and leave town when I can. It’s nice to mix it up. I’ll often live and work in different places. It’s fun and exciting to learn a new place and make new friends along the way, but I’m always ready to leave after a few months. There’s a lot to do and see.

RK: Tell us about your first extended bike tour and what effect that tour had on your cycling and the course of your life.

LW: I met Nick when I was twenty years old while in college in Tacoma, Washington. He gave me a bike so I could commute to work four miles away—otherwise I got around on foot. The bike opened up my world. I love walking, but the problem is walking takes a lot of time. The bike really speeds things up. We started biking all around town together.

At the time, one of my sisters lived in Seattle. The other sister flew in for a weekend visit. I wanted to go see them both. Normally, I would’ve taken the bus—its only $3 even with a bike. However, we didn’t have enough cash to pay the fare. So I said, hell let’s just ride there instead.

At the time, Nick and I were riding fixed gear bikes and it was definitely the longest ride of my life—45 miles. We pedaled and talked the whole way on bike paths, through industrial zones, outskirts and in town. Along the way, I turned to Nick and said, “If we can bike to Seattle, we could bike across the country!” I’d never known anyone to do it, but I could imagine the lifestyle of pedaling all day and camping somewhere different every night. We figured, I’d graduate in the spring and we’d leave from Tacoma and ride to the east coast.

I graduated, but we didn’t have any money—none. So we worked all summer, saved what we could and left in the fall. We flew into Boston to visit Nick’s sister, rode north to Montreal and south to Key West, Florida. We chased fall colors all the way to South Carolina and then rode the coast. Sometimes it was cold and hard, but we learned a lot: how to camp, eat, ride, and spend all day with each other and feel safe and free.

We ended up in Key West in November. It was the end of the road and we were out of money—it seemed like a great place to spend the winter and work. We both got jobs as pedicab drivers and I worked in a restaurant. We shared a small house on a tropical lane with a French guy who assumed the name Jack. We dove off the pier for lobsters and I spent many afternoons at the outdoor laundromat down the street because we only had two white work-shirts. Besides, Felix the coffee man made good Cuban coffee and sassed me cause I was from Alaska. He called me Palin.

We saved enough money in three months to ride out of town and we haven’t stopped since. That was eight years ago.

RK: What do you look forward to most on these adventures? Is it the riding itself, travel to new places, seeing new cultures and landscapes? Tell us what it is that makes you want to live this lifestyle.

LW: This is my life. How does anyone look forward to their life? Do they appreciate what they have? Do they daydream about what could be different? Do they daydream about other places or other people’s lives? Does traveling on the bike allow me to do all of these things? Yes.

I see and experience and feel new things everyday with my best friend in the whole world. We do this together. And then we talk about it. And then we sleep next to each other on the ground and then we wake up and do it again and pedal somewhere else. What else could I want?

It’s not always easy and sometimes it rains and sometimes we fight, but that’s life. Life is not always easy, but it can be damn good.

I look forward to mixing it up. And along the way, I look forward to sunny weather and climbing mountains and sleeping hard and smiling until the wrinkles at the ends of my eyes hurt.

What I look forward to most is going somewhere new every day.

Everywhere I’ve been, Ukraine, South Africa, Israel, I’ve been invited in and I feel like a special guest. People see us on the bikes—they’re curious about us and we’re curious about them. To be invited into someone’s home, you learn so much about how they live and what they care about. If we share a language, then we talk. If we don’t, then we do our best. It’s real and it matters.

In the end, I guess we find a home away from home. We learn new places. We ride our bikes and we’re happy.

NicholasCarman_Baja-5676

RK: Why did you decide on Baja? What was it about the area that made you want to ride and travel there?

LW: Baja is just south of California and, snowbiking aside, it’s one of the last mountainous places we could ride in North America in winter. We rode here five years ago, mostly on narrow, paved Highway 1. This time we came back with bigger tires and less luggage to ride a mostly dirt route. To do this, Nick invested a lot of time and money into printed and digital maps. We’ve decided to commit more time to this project to ultimately publish a high quality route for other riders to enjoy in the future. This means we’ll probably ride the peninsula again this spring to explore alternative routing. I’ve come to learn that the Hayduke is the perfect bike for Baja. The 27.5+ wheels eat up loose rock, sand and washboard.

The peninsula is a desert, the least populous region in Mexico, with open water on either side. On Christmas Eve, we arrived at the dead end of a dirt road. A family was slaughtering a cow and they invited us to stay for dinner and singing and breakfast.

In the month we’ve been here, we’ve ridden along both coastlines, spent a lot of time in the mountains, and encountered lots of fresh water and the camping has been awesome, with mostly clear skies.

Throughout this ride, we have been working on connecting dirt roads and rough jeep tracks as much as possible. We hope to share our route with others and encourage them to ride here too.

RK: What’s next? Any plans after your time in Baja?

LW: We plan to be here for another month or two. We’ll be riding with friends and working on the route and then we’ll see. I’ll need to work sometime in the next few months. We might go back to Alaska to ride fatbikes in the snow. I’d love to ride parts of the Iditarod Trail and in the White Mountains near Fairbanks.

RK: Thanks so much, we wish you all the best in the rest of your Baja tour and will be excited to see where you end up next.

NicholasCarman_Baja-5675

All photos courtesy Nicholas Carman

Their Only Portrait - A Bike Tour That Gives Back

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As cyclists, it is hard to quantify what we get out of riding our bikes. It is a sport and lifestyle that gives us endless enjoyment as well as countless memories and experiences in the locations we see and with the people we meet along the way.

Buenos Aires photographer Federico Cabrera and his “ Their Only Portrait” project ask the simple question, “What if we all gave back a little more along the way?”

DSCF6387At the end of October, aboard an Advocate Cycles Hayduke Ti, Federico will be taking off on a 4000-mile bike tour along the Cordillera de los Andes from La Quiaca to Ushuaia giving away 1000 printed portraits along the way. In addition he will be giving away portable solar lanterns to people who need them most.

Federico came up with the idea for this project during his previous travels. In underdeveloped areas he would often notice hundreds of tourists taking photos of the local people without showing much if any respect for the subject. Furthermore, he learned that many of these local people did not possess a single family portrait of their own. With this realization, the idea for “Their Only Portrait” was born.

During his upcoming bike tour, Federico plans to make family portraits of the local people he meets along the way while riding thousands of miles through developing communities. To do this, he will bring a small portable photography studio along, which will allow him to create and give each family a printed copy of their photo. His intention is simply to give back to local communities and hopefully inspire other people to find their own way to give back.


We caught up with Federico in the final days of preparation before taking off on his tour to find out a little bit more about his project.

RK: First off, I want to say that this is such a great idea. We all dream about long rides and adventures, but to connect with people in such a personal way is very special. I can only imagine the remarkable people you will meet along the way, but what excites you most? Is it the adventure of a long ride or the adventure of the new faces and communities that you will surely find in the process?

FC: Thank you! It’s certainly both, but if I had to choose just one it would be the people I’ll be able to meet along the road. The portraits are the most important part of my trip and so the people are central to this idea and I want to make these portraits the best I can, even when that means carrying gear that is definitively not light or “bike friendly” such as the Studio flash & printer and possibly even an umbrella for lighting.

RK: Surely there are many other ways to visit these communities and meet these people. What is it about bicycle travel that you enjoy most? Have you done other long rides like this in the past?

FC: I have, and I still remember the freedom I felt exploring Patagonia on a self-supported bicycle trip almost 20 years ago. On a ride like this it is so easy to appreciate nature and blend in with the environment. It is by far the best way to relate with local people, and to engage with life in its every form.

RK: No doubt, this is a long bike ride. How long do you think it will take you to complete this adventure?

FC: For this trip I’m also collaborating with Fundacion Ruta 40 (a local NGO contributing in the comprehensive development of rural schools) to make & print their students’ portraits. Depending on how many schools I manage to visit before the end of classes in December, it should take around 4 months to make it to Ushuaia.

RK: I see from your photos that you have done some portraits for families in preparation for this project. What kind of reactions have you received from people that you gave portraits to?

FC: Yes, I already did two trips through some of Argentina’s most remote & wild areas in an effort to put myself and my gear to the test before the main trip. Outside of the big cities, most people are very shy with strangers, especially at Argentina’s original communities, and are not used to big flashes, photometers, and the rest of the gear I’m carrying along on these trips. It usually takes them a while to understand what I’m doing and that it is a gift for them to keep, for free, even with other printed portraits as examples. Usually, as soon as someone is brave enough to pose for the camera and they see a familiar face in print, they want their family portrait taken and one of just their kids as well, because they don’t know when they might be able to get another one.

RK: Will you be updating on your progress along the way? Where would someone be able to check in on your adventure in the coming months?

FC: Yes, I’m traveling with satellite technology to keep people abreast of my progress online. You’ll be able to track my daily progress on the project website at www.theironlyportrait.com and also keep up with regular updates through social media on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

RK: We wish you well on your journey. Thanks so much for letting us be a part of your project.