A dirty little bike touring blog. Mostly about bikepacking and rigid single speeds. By Montana Miller
I'm way behind on this as usual, but we're taking a few days off before our last couple weeks of riding, so I'm going to try to get caught up. Back in December: From Colville at the top of the Coromandal, we ride south to Whitianga. A vacation community with some houses attached to a … Continue reading Colville to Rotorua
We're in a Mexican restaurant that's playing twangy country music. New Year's Eve. It was a long day, not much above freezing and heavy rain and we had no choice but to ride 60 miles to get here, Ozark, Alabama, because it was the closest place with a motel. I look over the available beers- … Continue reading Alabama
A little black and tan chihuahua sprints flat out down the hillside. "Ahrahrahrah!" he yells at us. We're on a nice quiet road outside of Athens, Georgia. "Look at this little guy," I say. He keeps coming, hits the raised shoulder of the road with those tiny little legs, trips, plants his face in the … Continue reading Georgia
"I can see a trail down there. We should turn around," says Colleen. We're 20 feet above the swamp, balancing our bikes on a railroad trestle that's being rebuilt as a bike bridge, but isn't quite done. It has some real janky boards to walk across, which makes me feel like we're some old timey … Continue reading Railroad Tracks and Raccoon Trails Across America: South Carolina
“I think I left your water bottle in the mini van, let me grab it,” Colleen says. It looks like someone filled the bottle with beer. She unscrews the top. Scrunches up her nose. “This is full.” She pauses and makes another face. Kinda the face you'd make if you'd just sniffed 24 ounces of … Continue reading Mystery Pee (and we’re riding cross country)
“Now, we enter the Plains of Despair!” I say. We’ve left the mountains and are have to cross about a hundred miles of very flat farm country before Christchurch. “I really wish you would stop calling it the Plains of Despair,” Colleen says. “Los Llanos de Triste.” “God,” Colleen grunts. “You’re depressing me.” “But I … Continue reading To Christchurch
I loaded up my Pigsley with camping stuff (in some really nice Oveja Negra bags that I'm testing for the Dirt Rag) rolled out the door, and headed towards the Thompson Divide. 15 miles of dirt and pavement, then onto the snow. The last week of warm weather and sun melted and baked the snow … Continue reading Thompson Divide
