Issue 160: The American Dream

Ambition is not always enough to succeed, but should the risk of failure stop you trying?

Words and photography by Richard Stoodley

Beautiful pictures and videos on social media fill our brains every single day. They make us dream and desire to be there, to experience what we see. So easily viewed at home, they can make us believe that our own duplication of such challenges is going to be easy. Through social media, by the touch of a finger, our instant likes, comments and shares compound the apparent ease with which talented athletes carry out and chronicle these amazing achievements. We celebrate the victories, the achievements and the goals being reached. But there are many, many more stories of failure, defeat and inability. Unfortunately for me, I fell into the latter. Without documentation of such disappointments, the amazing successes could become diluted as overexposure to mastery becomes the norm. What follows is a cautionary tale…

Great expectations

I’m a 63-year-old mediocre cyclist who lacks a physical athletic history and I’ve only been riding a bike for 12 years. I struggle to bend to put on my socks in the morning. A ‘good’ week for me should realistically be two or three rides, with a big one being about 60 miles (96km). But the desires within, driven by social media and the achievements of friends, drove me to bigger things.

I had already attempted (and failed) the Atlas Mountain Race after hearing amazing tales from two friends (and great riders) Mick Collins and Mitch Jones. Nevertheless, my story of determination as well as my enthusiasm (as well as a freak contact via a rectified complaint to Customer Services) led me to a support relationship from WTB (Wilderness Trail Bikes). Another attempt, but again the Atlas Mountain Race finish eluded me, this time due to illness over the first few days. Failure seemed to be featuring high on my ‘palmares’.

Feeling slightly embarrassed, I wanted to vindicate myself and, more importantly, show a worthy gratitude to my supporters WTB and Tailfin (who had supported me since 2022), and an idea sprung to mind… Why don’t I ride over to WTB headquarters and thank them personally?

Going for a song

I opened up my laptop, searched their location and was shocked to see their HQ nestled in Mill Valley, California, just above San Francisco. My initial consternation soon turned to a ‘why not?’ … but, even worse, my social media-infected brain then started making decisions for me. Why not off-road? Why not solo? Why go straight (about 3,600 miles/5,800km) when I can round it up to 5,000 miles (8,000km)? Why not camp as well as stay in motels?

The planning started. With no real experience or understanding of the terrain, elevation, weather or routes, I assumed everything would reflect the social media posts of the talented, experienced athletes that I follow. I used Strava as my main route planner with the two main metrics set to ‘Off Road’ and ‘Minimise Elevation’. Starting in New York and heading to Mill Valley, my selection of each main interim destination was initially chosen by recognising towns or cities that featured in famous songs. It’s amazing how many songs are written about American towns.

At first, I tried to almost micro-manage the route. Not only did I have no idea about the terrain or conditions I would be experiencing, but I also found out just how big a task detailing a 5,000-mile route across the USA was. My route planning became a simpler job of selecting a 200-mile section of a start point and a finish point and accepting and trusting what Strava would come up with.

Pack up your troubles

For the journey itself, I forsook physical training for equipment planning and was lucky to add GOREWEAR^® as a major supporter alongside WTB and Tailfin. I had brilliant clothing for ultimate protection from whatever nature would throw at me, tyres chosen for endurance, durability and speed (WTB 700 x 45 Vulpine S SG2 120tpi) and the most amazing bikepacking bags from Tailfin to carry my equipment, clothing and supplies. I invested in a very lightweight Durston Gear X-Mid Pro tent (700g inc. poles), and I had a dynamo with a charger built into a Sinewave front light to charge on the go. I was also running brilliant Exposure front and rear lights for vision and safety when needed. To capture the adventure, I went over the top, taking a small DJI Pro 4 Drone and Insta360 Go3 with a small tablet to make editing and communicating easier than just using a phone. A comprehensive toolkit and some spares including one spare tyre along with my camping gear and small cooking facility, five water bottles and clothing completed the kit. It was all stashed on my Scott Scale RC Team Issue Carbon AXS 32 with 10–52 12 speed, fitted with a suspension seatpost, Lithic Rigid Front Forks, a suspension stem and mudguards. I was ready to roll with an all-up weight of just over 38kg.

I arrived in New York City as confident as I could be. Setting off early on a Saturday morning, everything was fine.

An inauspicious start

As the day wore on the heat was becoming apparent, but it was the humidity that drained me. I knew that between the realisation of the task ahead and the unfamiliarity of the country, day one would always be ‘hard’. But the excitement and adrenalin carried me and I decided that I needed to get a good day under my belt.

I had planned 83 days in total, with 70 days of riding and 13 rest days built in, to arrive in Mill Valley with a few days spare to visit WTB and pack my bike for the flight home.

The first day really hit me hard. It was over 40°C, with high humidity and torrential rain. After 83 miles I got to Andover to discover the hotel was closed and there was nowhere for food. Camping the first night in pouring rain was not a good start, with a troubled night’s sleep. I awoke to find a bear just outside my tent, not 20m away, which ran past me and up a tree! Although people are quick to point out that black bears generally will not attack you unless they’re a mother with a cub, this really scared me, especially as I was not expecting any bear threat for another 3,500 miles.

The next morning I found a brilliant café and also received my first real taste of the interest, hospitality and warmth of the American people when I suddenly found that my hearty breakfast and much-needed warming coffee had been paid for by someone just listening to my conversation with the server. Very kind.

Making progress

From this point on the fear of camping was especially eating me as I headed into the Appalachian hills and forests of Pennsylvania. I found myself worrying about where I would be staying each night, often having to add another 10% to the day’s riding to find an affordable motel.

The hills along with the weight of my bike and the heat and humidity were slowly starting to drain me, but I was seeing some amazing sights. I was riding through villages and settlements off the beaten track, I was in forests, on mountain bike tracks and even got totally lost at one point when Strava sent me down a track that was simply not there. I had to revert to hikeabike through long grass, rocks and fallen tree stumps. Just ideal terrain for timber rattlesnakes and copperheads… this was a potential I’d previously not thought of – a life-threatening situation that was a real scary eye-opener to someone whose normal threat in the wild comes from ticks or wasps.

My journey was beautiful; I honestly cannot fault the amazing scenery, the route and the miles and miles of amazing gravel I found. I was able to experience American hospitality and warmth, being invited to stay, sleep and eat free of charge with people and meet their friends. Simply lovely.

Sinking in, soaking it up

My days now saw things and sights I would never have seen if I had stuck to the ‘highway’. I saw politics, I saw amazing wealth and devastating poverty. I saw the effects of drugs on people. I saw agriculture. I saw a billion sweetcorn plants. Forests and fantastic roads, trains a 100 trucks long, beautiful rivers. I saw many, many wooden buildings collapsed from lack of maintenance in poor areas. I met new friends and people I had contacted on the internet or social media. I saw flora and fauna including eagles, vultures, buzzards, deer (literally hundreds), bears, squirrels, dogs, snakes (dead), chipmunks, groundhogs, a raccoon (dead), and even helped a wild tortoise cross a road. I saw and heard so many birds, including an abundance of the beautiful bright red Northern Cardinal.

I felt as if I was in the fabric of the country, the heart of the area that I was in, but equally, when looking for budget motels I saw the worst side – the expanse of concrete and tarmac, the lack of pavements (sidewalks) as everyone drives. I also saw industry. I had some rubbish food, to be honest, and I saw the way everything is disposable with the majority of eat-in restaurants only offering throwaway plastic plates and cutlery.

I saw and waved to people sitting on their porches – almost stereotypical. I spoke with a petrol station attendant who openly carried a sidearm. I saw Trump and Biden posters displayed with such open pride and often insulting to the other side.

I saw history and could really feel the plight of the journeys of the settlers all those years ago and imagined the amazing journeys they undertook. I followed old train lines, river paths and trails. I was even offered and tried a beautiful sweet moonshine made from sweetcorn at a campsite on the Elk River. I benefited from kindness, particularly from a couple of bike shops that helped me.

Reality bites

I rode slowly and it was hard. Two of the days were 95 miles (153 km) on a fully laden mountain bike, so it was not as if I was gently touring. Eventually, I changed my route, deciding to stick to the main road because of the worry of mechanical failure after suffering three broken rear spokes, and then things started to get on top of me.

I was five hours behind the UK so any social media posts I put up didn’t get any response. Each night I finished, I sat alone in cheap fast food joints, too late to speak to anyone at home. I was constantly being chased by dogs, which was frightening, and the number of dead-end impassable turnarounds was increasing.

I had used my drone twice and my GoPro twice… The footage was not the same as the Instagram posts that had inspired me. The feeling I had was of loneliness rather than of freedom and exploration. Amazingly I felt more alone in the USA than in the remote and barren mountain regions of Morocco. My charity fundraising was not getting a response, to the degree that I had to donate myself to see if the website was working.

I considered what was coming next. I needed to fix my spokes. Soon I would be on the flat hot plains, and then the high mountains – if I could get that far.

Pack it up, pack it in

I stopped at a friend’s house in Louisville – we’d never met but who had been a real help on my 2022 D-Day – Stalag IVB journey (where I retraced my father’s route from the Normandy beach landings to a prisoner of war camp). I realised that I was sore – not open sores, but I hurt. I tried to talk myself into continuing, but realised that over the last three days, I had started not enjoying it – I was riding head down just trying to cover the miles. Louisville (and Cincinnati Airport) was my last real chance for a direct flight home and after two days rest I finally succumbed. I scratched from my own adventure.

I had only covered about 1,075 miles (1,730km) over 15 days of riding with 2 days off, but with the road detour, I’d got 1,200 miles along my planned route. I had ridden in six states – New York City, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland, West Virginia and Kentucky, and transversed the Eastern divide of the Appalachian Mountains.

It’s better to try…

I should be proud. I know that this was a huge feat and I achieved a lot, but the original plan was much too ambitious for my ability and personal mindset. Will I go back, better prepared? I do not know, but I have learnt so much about myself. I know I need company; I know I need support and validation from others and I know that next time I will plan each given day to set a definite target rather than either camp or hope for a hotel. More realistically, in that terrain, I would limit myself to 65 miles (105 km) a day max. I would plan differently for future trips, but I wouldn’t change one mile of that USA experience – I loved it.

Regardless of my failure, I hope my journey will inspire others to try. Those who achieve those epic trips you see on social media really deserve kudos and recognition for what they do – they truly are amazing riders. If you get inspired, my advice is to plan much better than I did and don’t bite off more than you can chew.

---

You can see what Rich gets up to next at rapidrich.co.uk