Two Wheels & Open Road

by LORELEI MEIDENBAUER

A Journey Along the Trans-America Trail

Cholla House

A lone cholla cactus sits in front of Noah Purifoy’s model of a white house on stilts.

by FELIX ROMIER

Place your bets on the oldest bicycle touring route America has to offer. Two wheels, steel frame, and a dream against all Mother Nature has to offer. Success will take you from one ocean to another, but of course it will be far from easy. Your biggest foes: terrain, temperature and time.

Years of dreaming finally come to fruition, and suddenly the road is beneath your tires. The ocean licks at your feet as you depart. Hundreds of miles become a series of moments, one pedal at a time. It’s a state of presence you crave, so much meaning packed behind each movement.

Virginia heat is suffocating, frying your nerves. There’s a weight of centuries that at times feels uncomfortable, as if still reckoning with itself. The rolling hills slowly grow in size and sharpness, but there’s little time to dwell as each day demands so much.

Appalachia is your first real test. The saturated air melts your skin and your resolve. The weight of your ambition hits you hard, each pedal costing more and more effort. East coast climbs are sharp and steep, and your legs scream in rebellion against the relentless hills. Plans are more complicated than ever. The crest Blue Ridge mountains help you take a deep breath, one that resets your body and soul. The land and the sky seem to dance, and you are simply following the horizon. Kentucky and Illinois pass quickly. You use the rolling hills to your advantage, momentum carrying you from crest to crest until you find yourself in the Garden of the Gods. The sun seems to celebrate with you, painting the world with brilliant color as it sets and rises, celebrating the solstice. Your soul shifts on this day.

The Ozarks are next, a sneak attack of climbs. The adrenaline of new beginnings has long worn off and sheer exhaustion is setting in. Who knew there were mountains in Missouri? You keep pushing nevertheless. Let the inclines break you. Let them rip a bit of soul from your heart and make you question everything. They afford you the luxury of healing, too.

Seaside

by WILLIAM MOON

There is no time now for a reprieve. Kansas is home to 30 mile- per- hour headwinds that push back against your progress, shoving against you every which way. The flatness of the land supports few trees as a solace from the brutal sun. It takes double the effort to go half as far, yet somehow you will not help but smile. You find your purpose here, and it defines you.

Colorado is the state of change. You’ve spent so long in rural America that even small cities feel overwhelming, as if you forgot how many people could congregate in a place at one time. It’s especially prominent in this Garden of the Gods, the more famous one. The one where groups of people shepherd themselves from place to place between fence rails.

Halfway through the state you turn northward, suddenly finding yourself at the point of no return; the Continental Divide. Your path weaves up the spine of the country, yanking you through almost unfathomable altitudes. This is the challenge you anticipated, the one you saw coming from thousands of miles away. The Rockies are much grander, their vastness overwhelming; majestic and too huge to truly comprehend. Uphills stretch for twenty miles at a time, rewarding you with unbelievable downhills. The sky and the land feel further apart than ever as you pedal in the space between them. Everything is falling into place now, as if the mountains are supporting your presence on the journey. There’s room for you to exist here, to breathe here. Soak in this feeling, treasure it.

Wyoming is dry. Water is heavy. National Parks are packed. These are facts you learn in the deep true West. The dichotomy of remote town to tourist destination is jarring. It feels almost disrespectful to all the other beautiful places without the same designation. You determine it’s one of those things that’s worth a visit, but is not to your taste. Yet in the middle of nowhere are hot springs, ones that are tranquil and quiet. It’s these you’ll want to return to, reading stories aloud with strangers. Voices ringing through the twilight. Human connection in the purest form.

Montana welcomes you back with open arms, these hills storing hugs of lifelong friends. It’s as if the mountains hold every memory, whispering them back to you as you ride. The heart of the Trans America trail is here, almost 50 years of history. The stories of cyclists from long ago fascinate you, reminding you that this call of adventure withstands the test of time. All those wheels that came before yours are present in your conscience as you move forward.

Then the states blur together. Oregon, then Washington, then back again, skirting between borders. You follow bridges over rivers, hopping from town to town, forest to forest. At first it all feels peaceful, akin to a homecoming. The feeling of a cold yellow Gatorade 45 miles into a century ride in the middle of nowhere. The Pacific Northwest is full of secrets you’ve merely glimpsed, the weather as ever- changing as your emotions.

The landscape slowly changes, the mountains shrinking as you near the coast. Waterfall after waterfall propels you towards your goal.

The Pacific Ocean celebrates with you. The waves remember you, welcoming you back. The wind is colder than expected, as if teasing. As the hours stretch on and the chill sets in, you can’t imagine an ending more fitting than this, though it chips away a piece of your heart. An ending that’s a little too final.

You’re left with a question you don’t yet know how to answer:

Mojave Installation

Noah Purifoy’s art installation looks out onto the mountains and shrubs of the Mojave Desert.

by FELIX ROMIER

Spikes

Joshua Trees snake around and reach up towards the desert sky, seemingly poking through it.

by FELIX ROMIER

Iceland is known for its red-roofed churches, many of which are placed in front of spectacular backdrops. I happened to stumble upon this one on the Western side of Iceland, which is known for its dramatic fjords, valleys, and mountains.

by MICHAEL JI

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