Spring Bike Touring to Vermont & Tennessee

Hi there! Here I am with another long-overdue blog post, about my bike travels through the month of May. Right now, I’m on a brief break from work due to a sprained ankle. It’s been a very busy summer of doing my job, but I’ve found moments here and there to write this post. Being stuck in the house lately is giving me the opportunity to finish it, so please enjoy this silver lining.

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1. Boston to Burlington
2. Stopover in NYC
3. North Carolina to Tennessee
4. The Plant World
5. Camping Around
6. Mountain Climbing is Hard but So Is Eating
7. Natural Building Paradise in Tennessee
8. Back to Charlotte and A Mechanical
9. Choose your fighter, bike tourist edition
10. A Detour to Mud Dauber School
11. Lyme Scare, Going Home

At the beginning of May, I left Boston with a laden bike for a full month away. It’d been about a year since my last big adventure, and I was starting to itch for it again.

The trip came together because I was planning to go back to Tennessee to help out with a natural building workshop at the end of May. I also wanted to go to a conference in Vermont at the beginning of May. Adding some plans in between in New York completed the slate for a full month on the road.

Boston to Burlington

First up on the itinerary was biking to Burlington, Vermont to attend the Bio-Based Materials Collective Summit. It’s quite natural-building adjacent, so totally down my alley. I’d been going to Zoom meetings for a while and volunteering as a working group co-chair, so naturally, I was stoked to meet folks in real life and participate in the activities.

I was also excited to see the Green Mountain State for the first time and get nice and warmed up for the next part of the trip. My route started in Lowell, Massachusetts, went through Concord and Lebanon NH, then veered west towards Montpelier and finally, Burlington VT. It would be about 231 miles and 13,500 feet of elevation over a generous four days.

Notably, this would be my first time bike touring with company. One of my housemates would be joining for days two through four. I was looking forward to the newness of that experience.

The first day, I took the commuter rail to Lowell and rolled out happily into a hot and sunny day. I was treated a few hours later by the Windham Rail Trail, which was lovely, tree-shaded and spacious.

Things took a turn for the worse when my route led me into Bear Brook State Park. The trail started out as chunky gravel. I thought, “This is fine! A little uncomfortable but I can roll with it.” Then the gravel became patches in between rocky dirt. Then, all of a sudden, I was learning to mountain bike. And then I got to the flooded sections.

I’m talking stagnant, room-temperature swamp water that went above my knees at the deepest points. Thick, sticky mud threatened to suction my shoes off underwater, and my bike sloshed miserably as I pushed it beside me. The bottoms of my panniers dragged below the surface, adding even more resistance while blessing me with the knowledge that everything in my bags was getting soaked. The air was thick with mosquitos, so I couldn’t spare a moment to take a picture of this mess. By the time I realized it really wasn’t going to get better, I was already halfway through the park. No point in turning back.

How to Avoid Getting Komooted

I was recently recounting this to my friend and fellow bike tourist, Hayden (who has a great Substack), and he called it “getting Komooted”, which I thought was hilarious. Komoot is a route planning and navigation app that a lot of cycle tourists use. It has several great features for cycle touring, like the option to choose between “regular” cycling, road cycling, mountain biking, and enduro mountain biking route algorithms, the ability to split one route into multi-day stages, lodging suggestions, road surface types, etc. But it doesn’t have perfect information. The “regular cycling” mode has routed me onto a famous mountain bike trail in Utah, while avoiding perfectly good rail trails like the one up next in this post. In this case, I’d foolishly set it to “enduro mountain” mode in order to get the paved/packed gravel Northern Rail Trail included. I didn’t notice the Bear Brook section, which indeed, was mountain biking.

So when you find yourself fighting for your life in a desert, swamp, hellish highway, after dark, or whatever unadvised place that Komoot led you to, congrats: you’ve been Komooted.

To avoid this as a road tourer, use “road cycling” mode and manually reroute to include any bike trails you want but aren’t included. Bonus points if you can get a local to review your route and point out any glaring problems.

Sometimes, when I’m on the struggle bus, or just really bored, I do this thing I call “Imaginary Podcast.” It’s when I loudly pretend I am being interviewed live for a podcast. The questions are usually about my views on life, the world, and how I’m dealing with the present moment. It’s fun—both semi-distracting yet kind of mindful—and especially useful in keeping myself positive during a long slog. So I had a good episode of Imaginary Podcast the swamp.

I emerged soggy and a little scraped, but fine. I rode the remaining 15-ish miles to the Warmshowers host’s home, dusk on my heels. My hosts were super kind, and even lent me clothes to wear while they ran my clothes to the laundromat in town to dry them! We had some great chats about forestry and biking, and I enjoyed a good night’s sleep in their comfy guest bedroom with the rain pattering on the skylight.

The next day I met up with my housemate, who’d taken the bus up to Concord, and we rode the Northern Rail Trail end-to-end. The slight knee pain I’d been having flared up on this day, which worried me. But despite that and all-day rain, we had a good time. My new Cleverhood rain cape kept me dry without soaking me in sweat, which is the benefit of a rain cape (in exchange for adding the air resistance of a small sail).

In Lebanon, NH, we spent the night at a really cool, large co-op home and had a great time chatting with them about cooperative living. We even got out own rooms to sleep in, and they made some delicious vegan food to share with us. I also learned that this is where Dartmouth is.

From then, it was two smooth days of riding through Montpelier to Burlington. The weather cleared up and we enjoyed the endless views of woods, running water, and cute farmhouses. I was especially charmed by the lush beds of ferns growing everywhere.

In Burlington, I busted my social battery for two days at the conference and couch-crashed or camped at the homes of several generous hosts. It was great to finally meet the faces I’d seen on Zoom and Instagram, and chat with folks with similar interests and work.

On my day off after the conference, I enjoyed a bike ride on the scenic bike path and causeway, an invigorating dip in the chilly Lake Champlain, an hike with someone I met on the bike path, and a gorgeous sunset on the shore. It was one of the best days I’d had in recent memory: so full of beauty, peace, and goodwill.

Columbines and trilliums by the hiking path

I’m a fan of Burlington, and will surely be back some day.

Stopover in NYC

The next morning, I rode to the train station. I took the Amtrak Vermonter to NYC, where I spent the weekend teaching a clay plastering workshop at the community garden I’d built a chicken coop in last fall.

It’s always such an experience to be back in NYC for any amount of time: so loud, bright, smelly, and (over)stimulating. Then it was back on the train for 27 hours to Charlotte, NC. Round two, baby.

The duality of man

North Carolina to Tennessee

In this part of the trip, I was retracing my 2023 footsteps (wheel rotations?) to go back to Eastern Tennessee. As a nice full circle event, I was returning to first natural building workshop I went to, but as an assistant teacher. Progress!

This ride was different in several ways to the version I’d done in 2023, which was my first bike tour ever. I took a slightly different route, added a day, and opted to camp most nights, instead of staying with hosts. I felt much more relaxed this time, since I was now more experienced and somewhat familiar with the area.

The Plant World

As I biked and camped under the trees for nearly a week, I was freshly struck by how the plants make the place. Towering above me were tulip trees, white ashes, hickories, sweetgums, tupelos, catalpas, and sycamores. Less familiar trees reminded me that I was far from home, from magnificent magnolias to the fluted trunks of crape myrtles.

Familiar native trees were like friends in the forest: red and sugar maple, American beech, sweet birch. Familiar invasive trees like ailanthus and mimosa, as bemoaned as they are, struck a chord of commonality in disturbed areas. So much remains the same across distance.

In the understory, swathes of rhododendrons impressed me again, even with their flowers still enclosed. Now the other understory plants stood out to me too. The smooth, elongated leaves of sourwood and mountain laurel regularly winked at me once I recognized them. I was delighted by the abundance of American holly, dogwood, and eastern redbud, which I was so used to seeing planted ornamentally around Boston.

Springtime flowers were blooming. Now and then, I’d ride into a cloud of perfumed air and start looking around for the source. I think it was mostly multiflora rose and honeysuckle, but border privet and silky dogwood might have been part of the bouquet too. There were also purple irises, orange daylilies, buttercups, and plumes of something curiously yucca-like.

Without the greenery, the place would be nothing: as appealing as the Martian surface. Learning about plants feels like learning where you are. It’s like you lived your whole life in a house, and one day someone says, look, this here is a staircase, this is a doorway, this is a bed. A botanist friend once described his life as having two periods: plant blindness and plant awareness. It’s a lens that overlays a whole new world to almost every moment of your life. Especially if it’s a life spent outside.

Camping Around

I tried out a large variety of campgrounds in NC and TN this trip, from cute family-run campgrounds to RV parks, state parks, and a hiker hostel. Camping is now one of my favorite parts of bike touring. It’s a little bit different every time, you get to rest, and there’s the option to socialize. A hot shower in a clean bath house is always so enjoyable. And people are always impressed to see a cycle tourist roll up.

On a crisp morning at The Pineola, there was nobody up and about at the campground/inn except for me, the coffee truck operator, and two intimidatingly suited-up, modelesque motorcyclists. I was too nervous to acknowledge them but they started a conversation with me.

“A lady in the bar yesterday told us that you biked here!”

They’d ridden up from Florida and were pretty excited to talk to me about bike touring. I somewhat regretted holing up in my tent last night. Sometimes it happens: you mean to check out the common rooms, maybe give the guitar you saw earlier a twang, but once you’ve showered, eaten, washed the bike shorts, set up your tent, and—fatally—gotten into the sleeping bag, your body turns into molasses. Oops.

Two Boots Campground and Hostel, in Hampton TN, was one of my favorites. It caters mainly to Appalachian Trail hikers, but the occasional glamper, cycle tourist, or confused road tripper would end up there. They had a procedure down pat for arriving hikers: set your packs down on that bench there, wash your hands here, then check in.

The artsy buildings were full of character (and characters). The semi-outdoor showers were a crowd favorite, with a hole-punched metal can for a shower head that generously dispensed hot water. Despite my reserve, I was drawn into several interesting conversations. I even came away with the phone number of an electrician in Boston.

The communal nature of a hostel can’t be beat: there was a guitar, a cat, a bonfire, food to scrounge in the kitchen, free coffee and light breakfast in the morning…

When it comes to camping, there are some inconveniences as well, of course. At an RV campground, my battery pack got stolen when I left it charging unattended (yikes). Another had some stray/unleashed dogs that I felt apprehensive about. But overall, I had a great time, and got a little better at setting my tent up.

Mountain Climbing is Hard but So Is Eating

As a whole, my journey to Tennessee went pretty smoothly: about 225 miles and 17,000 feet over five days. The hardest section was a climb of about 3,000 feet over 12 miles, which is a long grind when you’re also hauling a small child’s weight in gear. But putting my head down and pedaling is the simple part.

Eating is always a challenge with bike touring. It’s like what they say about ultramarathons: it’s not a race, but rather a very long eating contest done while locomoting briskly. Grocery shopping wasn’t very fun. I often felt overwhelmed and unenthusiastic about picking out food. Eating entire pints of vegan ice cream had lost its appeal. I just needed to throw somewhere near an adequate amount of food down the gullet without getting sick.

Nightly, I’d take stock of my food supply and try to outline my meals and stops for the next day. Here’s an excerpt from one of my end-of-day notes on the ride back to Charlotte.

Almost veered off a turn bc i was looking at landscape lol

Realize i gotta wear the gloves w sunsleeves or else my wrist tan line is crazy lol

In bed by 8:40 excellent.

I think i can make it to boots tmrw if i start early, likely since ill wake up 6ish prolly and be ready by 8. Est 10-11 hrs for tmrw bc its 80mi w 5500 ft. That puts arrival at 6-7pm which is fine. If im cooked by newland can do backup plan (motel??). But otherwise try to get to boots and the next day can be a rest day yay. Grocery shop and buy a knife or can opener. 

At 8:50 it poured. I am cozy in bed everything zipped up. Pannis in vestibule.

 How to get more calories in? Trail mix maybe. Sugary drink mix? More sugar while riding. Gummies. Whole can of beans for dinner. Food for tmrw: i have granola, bread, sunflower seeds, apple, banana, and soup cans i cant open. Bfast granola and coffee. Lunch stop or dinner carb pickup.

Listening to music as it rains is blissful. Hozier hits.

Natural Building Paradise in Tennessee

In Greeneville, I had a lovely six days in a natural builder’s playground, getting my hands in the dirt and helping the workshoppers learn. It was just a wonderful time. I really enjoyed getting to know the attendees, chatting with my teacher/friend/mentor Alex, and just vibing. Natural building is a niche field, and I’ve been alone during most of my work this year, so being in this supportive environment was a great re-energizer.

I taught a little lesson on clay paints and made a dorodango (burnished clay ball) and wattle-and-daub sample. The clay in this region is just so luscious: beautiful shades of orange and brown, and often present in thick layers of high purity, near the surface. What a resource!

Back to Charlotte and A Mechanical

At the end of the 5-day workshop, I packed my little home back up into two panniers and said goodbye.

I was a little nervous to hit the road again because my rear wheel had started acting funky lately. The freehub didn’t seem to be working very well. I basically had to ride it like a fixed-gear bicycle, keeping the pedals moving at all times, or the chain would unspool and start slapping the ground. When riding downhill, I had to stay on top of shifting, and when I picked up too much speed, I’d have to lift my feet up and just let it spin. It was either that or burn up my brake pads.

So the 10-mile descent back down the mountain was not nearly as fun as it should have been, given that I was balancing on just my butt and hands, exhausting my hip flexors by holding my legs tucked up, and trying not to fall over on the turns.

I’d stopped by a bike shop up north when I’d first started getting moments of this issue, and they told me that nothing short of replacing the wheel entirely would fix it. So I just coped with it. By the end of the trip, I’d gotten pretty used to this way of riding.

Choose your fighter, bike tourist edition

As I was looking through my notes from the month, I found this list of archetypes that I’d written to entertain myself at some point:

The Leapfrogger: Does not know how to keep pace (will pass and be passed at least fifty times a day) 

Not On My Watch: Insists on bringing a u-lock everywhere,  has found the best thing in sight to lock to before you’ve even started to slow down, has separation anxiety, bike is registered on Bike Index (obviously).

Euro Roadie: Was born in bib shorts, will leave a $4000 bike literally anywhere, has planned international vacations around biking, faster than you.

The Donkey: Carries half of what they own plus extras for other people. The only thing bigger than their quads is their heart. Probably has a full size floor pump somehow.

The Leech: Forgets several essential items every trip. Remembers several inessential items every trip. Who needs to plan when the world is full of other people?

The Incline Demon: Some kind of mutation in their brain stem makes it so the steeper the grade, the harder they want to work. If you’re climbing a mountain, say goodbye for the day.

The Navigation Whiz: MVP of the pack. Has a bike computer or is a bike computer. More accurate than a GPS and has memorized the entire route. Just let them do their job.

Project Runway: Has sewn all their own bags. Coolest looking rig in the group. Always gets asked about commissions. Secretly loves the attention.

The Stoic: Perfectly happy riding in silence all day. Would prefer not to talk afterwards either. Bike could snap in half and they probably wouldn’t care. Will make you feel mentally weak.

Guess which one I am!

A Detour to Mud Dauber School

After I reached Charlotte, I spent the night with a Warmshowers host (for the the third time! Thanks Pam) and took the train just two stops the next morning to make my final detour before heading home. I rode a quick 20 miles to Snow Camp, NC to visit the Mud Dauber School of Natural Building.

Greg and Danielle were very kind to let me hang around for a day and a half, and sleep in one of their many adorable little cottages. It was a huge treat to explore their amazing natural building campus, and get to chat with them for a while despite their busy lives, prepping for a hempcrete workshop that weekend. I wish I could stayed longer and helped out, but we were all on tight schedules!

Lyme Scare, Going Home

My last night in North Carolina, spent at the cheapest hotel in Greensboro had a chaotic twist.

Right as I sat down on the couch and took my socks off, ready for a night of lazing about, I noticed a small rash on my foot that looked ring-like. Since there’s lots of Lyme-carrying ticks in this region, I started worrying that I’d gotten infected without noticing. I texted my family and they encouraged me to err on the side of caution, so I went to urgent care and then a 24-hour pharmacy to pick up antibiotics. There went my night of luxuriating.

A few weeks later, another doctor would tell me they were confident the bite was not Lyme, and that had all been unnecessary. Welp.

The next morning, I biked through drizzling rain to the Greensboro station and hopped on the train home. Nothing like having been bike touring makes train-riding so comfortable and relaxing.

Lately, I’ve noticed that every time I go traveling, I seem to miss home more. I think it’s a positive indicator that I’m forming closer bonds to community here. But I also just like having my own familiar space.

I don’t think I’m cut out for a heavily nomadic life—I don’t think many are. This isn’t to say I don’t like traveling at all, I just don’t see myself doing it a majority of the time. A hint of “the grass is greener” thinking actually seems like a good thing, to me. Being away from home makes me appreciate it more. And writing this blog post makes me appreciate my travel! Let me rephrase: “this grass in green, but so is that grass.”

Being in New York City makes me appreciate how quiet and peaceful Boston is (in comparison). Being in rural areas makes me appreciate how lively and walkable Somerville is. And being in the city makes me appreciate how green and serene the country is.

In this trip, I rode about 690 miles with 45,300 ft of elevation over fourteen days of riding, with about the same number of days not riding. More importantly, I met new friends, spent quality time with myself, learned stuff, and made memories.

Bike touring always puts me in touch with myself in a way that I really appreciate. I become so aware of what I’m capable of, how I think and make decisions, what I notice in the world, and how I’m affected by it.

Even small trips bring these benefits. In July, I rode one day each way to a timber framing workshop in New Hampshire. It felt like self-care, in a way, to leave my usual occupations, shed many distractions, and just sit in the simple reality of my body, the bike, and the road.

As work eases up somewhat in coming weeks and months, I’m hoping to do more recreational riding. I have some bike travel coming later this month. I’ve also got a few ideas brewing for more extensive cross-country riding this winter/spring. Who knows what adventures will come next?