My Year on a Bike
All the way up! As far north as you can go by road in North America: The Prudhoe Bay General Store.
On July 24, 2013, my friend Mark and I flew to Deadhorse, Alaska with our bikes, a week’s worth of food, freshly shaved faces, and a whole bunch of naiveté. Our plan? Ride as far south as we could, with the intention of reaching Ushuaia, Argentina more than a year later. In between? Well. A whole lot happened.
This isn’t a recap of what it was like to ride 15,000 miles and sleep in a tent almost every night for a year straight. It’s not all that hard to learn how to pitch a tent in the dark, or to figure out what form of packable food tastes best after biking 80 mountainous miles (pretty much anything, frankly, but especially mac n’ cheese topped with Doritos crumbs). Fixing a flat or macgyvering a temporary bike rack isn’t too tough, either, although it’s just a little bit easier when you’re not being eaten alive by mosquitos, or when it’s not pissing down rain.
There are countless blogs that provide incredible, beautiful, detailed accounts of bicycle journeys far and wide. There are at least as many that review cycling products, cycling routes, and everything else cycling. If you’re curious about which ones I like, I’m happy to share. The best ones do a better job than I ever could, but I’ll still gladly talk your ear off about what it’s like to bike/camp/hike/travel if you want to drop me a line. Need recommendations? Have questions? Wanna chat? Let’s do it.
As for this particular time in my life: years later, specific memories of my time on the road return to me in fits and starts, usually out of the blue. Sometimes, when I close my eyes at night, I’m right back in La Paz, Bolivia, eating a salteña for breakfast in a cafe. Or, I’m pushing my bike up Atigun Pass with Mark, cresting the divide between Alaska’s North Slope and its vast interior, covered in sweat and rain and mud and mosquito bites. Other times, I’ll remember vividly what it was like to stake my tent in the ground in the Redwoods of northern California; on the beaches of Baja; in the jungles of Panama; or on the altiplano of northern Argentina.
The most enduring memories, though, aren’t really memories at all. They’re feelings and experiences that played out over the course of those 14-ish months, repeated and re-lived so frequently that they ultimately changed who I am. My life is certainly different than it otherwise would have been had I not flown to Alaska with Mark in July of 2013. Not necessarily better, and certainly not worse, but different.
The beauty of our planet is endless and inspiring. I had an idea of what was in store for me when we set off, mostly from browsing the blogs and videos of likeminded travelers who had paved the way before me. I felt prepared, but nothing compares to actually BEING there - under the stars in northern Chile, or on a hidden beach in Costa Rica, or atop a mountain in British Columbia.
What I wasn’t quite prepared for - or perhaps, what I didn’t even expect or really consider - was how wonderful nearly every human encounter would be. Especially, ESPECIALLY in Mexico and beyond. I went into this adventure as something of an angry, stubborn 20-something. Mostly, I came home from the trip still angry and still stubborn, but not because of my interactions with locals and other travelers along the way.
We were regularly invited into strangers’ homes to eat and to sleep. On more than one occasion, a friendly face offered a ride in the back of their truck when I needed it most. So many people offered water and food and advice and assistance with zero expectation of reciprocity. I was welcomed to the dinner tables of families after mere minutes of conversation. Some of the most memorable and generous nights came when sharing a meal with those who seemingly had the least to give, materially speaking.
Traveling by bicycle through Central and South America imbued in me an unshakeable belief that people are good, and that our “differences” are mostly superficial constructs. La gente de Mexico, y Nicaragua, y Panama, y Peru, y Bolivia, and every country in between, were the kindest and most welcoming to me. I will never forget that kindness.
And, while the world showed me love and generosity as I cycled south, I carried an inner turmoil that I didn’t fully reckon with until well after I had returned to the United States. I left for Alaska angry, but I didn’t realize it at the time. I pedaled south with a friend (and at times, several friends), but I had closed myself off and forged ahead, purposefully alone. The weight of my angst and my stubborn refusal to recognize its existence kept me from fully experiencing the world as I passed through, beautiful as it was.
So, when I say that I’m still learning from my bike trip, what I mean is this: I had always known that the world is spectacular and beautiful to look at - just load up Google Maps and browse around, and it’s easy to see from afar. But what I didn’t really know was my own self. Ironically, introspection had no place on that trip, as I had built up the “adventure” so much in my mind that there was no room for distraction or undesirable thoughts. Stubborn.
But eventually, I changed my mindset. Travel without self-awareness is an impoverished, boring sort of tourism. “Happiness is only real when shared.” That phrase always bugged me, but I realized it only bugged me because it was true at a time when I wished it wasn’t.
So yes. I’m still learning from my bike trip. I’m still applying lessons and recalling moments and evaluating interactions through a personal lens acquired by spending a year on my bike. I will forever be grateful that I had the chance to ride south, not only for the beautiful vistas and the humanity-affirming encounters, but for the fact that, even years later, the experiences gained have changed my perspective on what’s most important. I left expecting the world to show me some big truth through its grandeur and adventure. Instead, I eventually learned that the most important journey - the one that will last a lifetime - is the one within.
Oh man, I wish I’d taken more photos. I won’t make that mistake again. But, if you’d like to see just a tiny fraction of what that year looked like, click through the gallery below.
This is mostly the route I followed. I actually stopped recording nightly GPS coordinates about halfway through the trip, but I placed the remaining markers from memory. Check it.
More from the road:
Pavement was a sporadic luxury on the Dalton Highway.
The Dalton Highway: A Review
There is a space between man's imagination and man's attainment that may only be traversed by his longing.
Kahlil Gibran wrote that in his 1926 book "Sand and Foam," a collection of parables, poetry, aphorisms, and observations, but it suits my attachment to Alaska quite nicely.
Where the pavement ends and the fun stuff begins.
To the salt flats!
July 4, 2014
I'm sitting in a bar in Villazon, Bolivia. The Argentinian border is a mere 6 blocks away and there's still plenty of sun left in the day, but Bolivia will keep me for one last sunset…
Sleeping on the Salar de Uyuni.
A few thoughts on the days ahead from Oruro, Bolivia
June 15, 2014
I'm laying in a cheap hotel bed in Oruro, Bolivia right now. Argentina is playing Bosnia-Herzegovina on the tinny, rattly TV suspended from the ceiling in the corner of the room, and there are two empty M&M wrappers in bed next to me…
Juicy in Colombia
April 24, 2014
I'm a juice man. I love juice. Any kind, any season. Preferably cold; preferably fresh. Really, though, I'll try anything at least once.
You know who's got juices? Colombia's got juices.
Bob and Dave, Navy pals and generous boat captains.
La Paz to Puerto Vallarta: Our time aboard “Andante”
February 12, 2014
I flung open the starboard side door. No one saw me as I stumbled past the ship's wheel and out onto the deck. Good.
Clinging to the railing as the boat listed and swayed in the salty bathtub, I worked my way astern, looking for the best place to hurl what little food I'd eaten overboard…
Travel buddy.
The caption is the whole thing.
February 7, 2014
lil butterfly landed on me and hung out for a while.
From the deck of the Andante.
Video: I like mustard and riding on boats but I like mustard more!
February 4, 2014
This family invited us into their home and fed us dinner during a desert sandstorm.
In which I quickly describe Baja, California
January 24, 2013
The gritty wind came in waves. Whipping from my left to my right, it sniped sand and dirt and debris across the highway and into my mouth, my nose, and my ears. Visibility dropped to 100 feet or less at times…
Guanajuato from above.
Guanajuato, etc
January 21, 2014
I have so many thoughts in my head right now. I'm sitting in a window seat at some unnamed bar near the cultural center of Guanajuato. I'm on beer number 4…
On the dot!
5000 Miles!
December 26, 2013
It's the Christmas holiday in Cabo San Lucas. Five months ago, Mark and I had just landed at Deadhorse Airport, freshly shaven and laden with expectations of the days ahead…
Fireweed. Fielding Lake, Alaska.
Thanksgiving from the road
November 27, 2013
It's 9:20pm the night before Thanksgiving, and I'm sitting at the dining room table in the San Diego home of my good friend Francis and his wife, Clara. I've just finished off a dozen of the cookies my mom sent me…
Enjoying a beer at Silver Gulch Brewing in Fairbanks, Alaska, just after finishing the Dalton Highway.
From the top.
November 5, 2013
In the spring of 2012, a series of circumstances conspired to put my life onto the path I'm currently traveling. I'd spent a year and a half at Groupon…