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.
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.
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.
Sneaking under late day orange light and between tree shadows, we’re on the right roads on the wrong bikes just as we planned.
Somewhere instead of cold and not, flurries rain by the time they reach the Earth again. Shushshushshush pedaling or pushing through the hush the slush the settling grey on a day when the woods are […]
A day arranged haphazardly, a text message, a call, a hand written sequence of names like an inadequate treasure map, a rendezvous, unloading the cars, bagels apples a third full peanut butter jar and a […]
Late summer moment grasp, just and merely, in between swelter and shiver, in between easy free and returns, in between dance and march (I like both), in between days all outside and in. Spare twilighting […]
Touring, none of them are, even if fondness for rewoven recompositions makes for wishing it to be so, even if the delight and embrace makes it okay afterward to say. And, really, merely familiar terrain […]