A dirty little bike touring blog. Mostly about bikepacking and rigid single speeds. By Montana Miller
We just finished dinner at a little farm called the Cinnamon Eco Lodge, and the grandpa of the family just brought out his jungle pipe. As long as we've been here, I've been seeing guys sitting next to the road hitting these things- it's a bamboo bong, used to smoke Lao tobacco, which is very … Continue reading Ha Giang to Lao Cai
Close to the top of a giant climb, I see a pack of six little kids running down out of a steep field. Nothing unusual, kids are constantly running out to scream "Hello! Hello! What's your name!" I wave to these ones, and say hello, and keep moving up the steep hill. They're down to … Continue reading Vietnam: Cao Bang to Ha Giang
"Man, Colleen couldn't you have picked a place farther up the hill?" I'm doing the paper boy up the super steep street in Cat Ba Town, to the hotel Colleen picked which is like five feet below the very very top. "You're being super dramatic," she says. "No, I'm just telling you, please pick the … Continue reading Vietnam: Ha Long Bay to Cao Bang
“You looking at the bird?” There's a little black bird hopping around the grass. “He's called B-fah. You see? B for bird!” T starts cracking up at his own joke. He's an older Maori guy, thin and wiry, fluorescent camo bucket hat and little pink reading glasses. “I named him, he follows me everywhere. Poor … Continue reading Wairoa to Napier
It's raining in Rotorua. Which is just fine, because we're happy and dry in a house. “You guys could probably jump on a trip today,” says our friend Dicky. The raft trips are quick, only 30 minutes or something down the Kaituna River. We went a couple years ago, and the river is gorgeous- blue … Continue reading Rotorua to Gisborne
The road is one of those impossibly steep ones, the kind where you'd shift a car into first gear to try to creep down, but it's still too steep so the by the time you're at the bottom the brake warbles and smells like shoes that were supposed to be drying by the campfire, but … Continue reading Auckland to Coromandal
We've just crossed the Alabama Florida line, and the 15th and 16th dogs that day run out of their yard to chase me, and I snap. "Arff arff arff arff arff!" they yell. “Fuck you fuck you fuck you!” I yell, and boot the closest dog in the head. Four really good, solid kicks, excellent … Continue reading Florida and Mississippi
