Rider: Brian Berry

Rider: Brian Berry
Rider: Jack Lyons
Surprise revelation of public art while riding from Barcelona to Malaga.
I frequently visited Patagonia when I lived in Tucson in the 1990s.
The terrain south of Tucson—rugged dirt roads, old mines, Elephant Head butte, thorny cactus single track, canyons and sky and dry—has filled me for 30 years. The bikes have changed but they’re a distant second to the landscape and emotions and riding with friends.
West Virginia has a long and storied tradition of East Coast mountain biking. The pitched terrain, the remoteness of woods noisy with life, mountain tops holding up humid air and sunlight.
A landmark, a place to focus a quiet fun story, a metaphor.
Bikepacking isn’t the slightest bit a novel or recent idea. Late nineteenth century black and white photographs of cyclists with bedrolls and framebags heading out into the countryside or on months long trips over international borders show that the bicycle has always been for freedom and exploration. If anything is new in the current enthusiasm for bikepacking, it’s firstly that specific and optimized gear is now widely available for it, and secondly and more importantly, there is a critical mass of the aesthetic sensibility to make it within the imaginative grasp of all of us.
This inland Maine, mosquitoes and a low rippled earth, a thickness, a null-time and none-here, a forward that feels like a happy stuck.