A summertime close to home ride with friends. Laughter and conversation both light and serious, the rolling dirt hills and hug of green in southern Vermont, visiting the smiles and textures of the place.

A summertime close to home ride with friends. Laughter and conversation both light and serious, the rolling dirt hills and hug of green in southern Vermont, visiting the smiles and textures of the place.
Rolling waves and roads coastline, we’ll see the ocean overflowing any sensible sensory scale and will get blown sideways across the yellow line on Cadillac Mountain.
Green Mountain Gravel Growler: Logan, Daniel, and I scouted an incredible bikepacking route linking together some of Vermont’s best craft breweries. Follow the link to Bikepacking.com for details.
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Gliding through all greens tans blue but for the red barn flash, sounding loudly still summer silence.
For a month riding has been wholly slow and just to be outside, an excuse for a long talk like a long walk where the bicycles fade, where we’re made into rolling with our joys and sadnesses.
One handed, it’s apple season and I’m biting fresh sweet clean bitter like the air. We’re on a route around the 1930’s Quabbin reservoir in Western Massachusetts, water collected to serve distant Boston and the communities in between.
Heading to work usually a means and a transition, an empty something in between important things, but not this time.
Familiar enough, meet a friend to talk bikes, great cycling trips, heroic riders. But chatting with David is something else entirely.
Andrew doesn’t show disappointment, he just shrugs and says something about well no one said this was going to be an easy ride. My feet are still wet, toes freezing cold from the knee high stream wade. We’re all starting to think about the cold and soon we’ll mutter about it, but it’s mostly fine.
Old—classic? Well, someday—2007 Felt F1x reconfigured for all weather all road jaunts: 38mm Compass Barlow Pass Extralites (supple, fast, brilliant), SKS P45 fenders, Banjo Bros. small handlebar bag, Ultegra. Not least of all I like […]
An ascent is somewhere between a denial and craving for it.
This time of the year New England says something of itself. It’s the landscape and the cultural history that it encouraged that are the boundaries and beacons of the circuit.