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Thank you Erin Flynn for taking the time to write up this blog post! It means the world to us when folks take the time to reflect and document their experiences!!

“It’s just like riding a bike!” 

A common phrase used to describe a skill that you never forget how to do, even if you have not done it for a long time. 

My experience with riding bikes was limited to my childhood and quick rides around my rural town neighborhood. I could not tell you the last time I rode a bike prior to my mid-20s but it fits the definition of “long time.” Getting back on a bike after what I can only assume was 15 years, I can safely say, “it’s just like riding a bike”, is a bit misleading.

There are factors that you do not take into account when all your experience with biking is the simple rides around the neighborhood as a kid. City streets and greenways are more packed than empty culs-de-sac. You need to find a bike that fits you properly (I knew I was short but borrowing a bike really highlighted that). How to ride in groups, cycling gear, hand signals and call outs, and route planning and wayfinding. Additionally, I am much more acutely aware of getting hurt as an adult, which makes me more cautious.

However, getting back on a bike was one of the best things that I ever did.

My first experience back on a bike was attending The Bike Library’s Espresso Express ride in November 2024. This ride is a short, easy pace, no drop, with a stop at a coffee shop in the middle, every Tuesday morning. An easy group ride to get you started! Except, I did not know about the factors - how to shift my gears and on a bike that was just ever so slightly too tall for me. I did fall behind but there is always someone there who is experienced and knows where the group is going that stays with you. We did find our way to the coffee shop, but riding a bike was a bit more difficult than I remember it being.

After that ride, I became determined to continue biking and get better at it. I practiced while borrowing my friend’s bike but had not yet committed to getting one of my own. Until one day, after scouring Facebook Marketplace, I bought my first bike. It was a mountain bike and though it was the right size, it was heavy. I used that bike three times on fairly short rides and sold it within four months. I learned that it was not the right bike for me.

I then bought my hybrid bike but was afraid to ride it. I had endured some falls and group rides where I walked up hills, feeling nervous about making people wait (all things I have now learned are common and not something to be self-conscious about). Due to my hesitation, I was holding myself back from an amazing experience.

I had heard about the Greenway Gear Collective (GGC) Bike Academy. It seemed like a great opportunity to learn more about bikes and become more comfortable while riding. I decided when the opportunity came around again, I would take it and in April 2026, I got that chance.

The Greenway Gear Collective Bike Academy helped me get over the subconscious fear that was keeping me from biking.

It helped being around others who were also looking to learn more about bikes, whether that was route planning, bike maintenance, and/or just getting comfortable riding in groups. There were six sessions on gear, wayfinding, bike maintenance, group riding and signals, technical skills such as turning and braking, and commuting/public transport. I also walked away with helpful tools and resources that I use while biking today.

I met so many amazing people through Bike Academy, whether they were there as a participant or an instructor and formed connections with people I see weekly at different bike rides. 

Part of our homework on the third week was to attend the Wednesday night group ride at Crank Arm Brewing Company. This is an 8-10 mile ride, between 10-12 mph, no drop. On this ride all the instructors from Bike Academy were there to support. Debra Rezeli, Executive Director of GGC, was checking on me throughout the ride, ensuring I was in the right gear and not falling behind. Debra, along with the other instructors, were encouraging me throughout the ride, checking in to see how I was doing and giving plenty of kudos at the end for completing the ride.

I was also able to call on my friends who attend the Crank Arm ride weekly and were there to support me. I have been back every Wednesday since.

I feel prepared to bike solo or in a group, how to find my way, to use my bike for commuting, what gear to wear for any kind of weather, and to fix my bike if maintenance issues were to arise. I also feel safe while riding my bike in a way I had not felt before.

I am grateful for the confidence GGC Bike Academy gave me to get back on a bike. 

Since finishing up Bike Academy in May 2026, I have been a regular at various weekly bike rides, building my way up to longer and faster rides. I now attend Espresso Express every Tuesday and no longer fall behind. I have also started volunteering at the Greenway Gear Collective container as a Trailside Bike Tech, learning more about bike maintenance and helping folks with free bike repairs.

Biking has opened me up to a whole new community of people who are supportive and fun. I can now tag along with my friends who were already biking and join in, while making new friends along the way. Getting those basic skills and confidence from Bike Academy showed me that it really can be “just like riding a bike.”

[Originally published Nov 14, 2025]

Kaya's story is vivid, inspiring, and full of life. Paying members of Greenway Gear Collective will be able to read the full article, including the details about the Portugal trip. Please consider joining as a paid member; it helps the GGC team continue to inspire more people into biking and sustainable living through efforts like Bike Academy, advocacy support, and stories like this. It takes time to interview, write, and edit. Your contributions help make it happen!

Cameron: First off, thank you for doing this. For folks who have not met you yet, can you introduce yourself and share how you ended up in Raleigh - and eventually on a bike?

Kaya: Yeah, absolutely. I am Kaya. I spent about five years in Raleigh before I technically “moved away” this past July, when my lease ended. Even though I do not have a permanent address here right now, I still think of Raleigh as my home base. That is why I am back in town for a while.

When I first got here, I was doing in-person coaching. Eventually I shifted into working as a remote, online personal trainer. It actually took me a long time to find my place in the community. Once I did, though, I realized how special this city is. That sense of community is what eventually led me to bikes.

This past year, through friends of friends, I met you and Lauren, and that spiraled into meeting Mia and Thomas and Ashley and Jens and so many others. I remember telling everyone at the beginning, “I don’t ride bikes. I don’t do that.” But I also kept saying, “I can feel myself getting sucked into the bike vortex.” It was clear foreshadowing. Not long after that I was riding bikes, joining group rides, crashing bikes, showing up at The Bike Library events - and it all happened very fast.

From team sports to exercise science

Cameron: Where did you go to school, and how did fitness become such a big part of your life?

Kaya: I grew up and went to school in upstate New York. I graduated from the University at Buffalo with a degree in exercise science. It is part of the SUNY system - State University of New York.

I actually started my undergrad on the pre-med track. At some point I realized that I was much more interested in preventing health issues than treating them after the fact. That is what pulled me toward exercise science and health promotion. That path led me into personal training, and eventually into yoga. I did my yoga teacher training, became a certified yoga instructor, and taught classes here in Raleigh as well. All of that - the coaching, the strength training, the yoga - sort of blended into the approach I have now.

Cameron: Growing up, what did “fitness” look like for you? How did you move as a kid and teenager?

Kaya: I played sports all through elementary, middle, and high school. Soccer was my main sport, but I also ran track, played tennis, and tried volleyball and basketball.

The interesting part is that I was always pretty averse to competition. I got really anxious around it, but it was socially important. All my friends played sports. My parents were also very adamant that my brother and I stay active, so it just felt normal that I would be doing something athletic.

That stayed true up through high school. It was not until college that my idea of fitness shifted away from organized sports.

Discovering lifting - and a different kind of discipline

Cameron: What did your fitness life look like in college if you were not chasing team sports anymore?

Kaya: College is when I realized that I was not actually interested in competitive sport itself. What I did like was the idea of becoming the healthiest version of myself. That mindset brought me into lifting.

I started strength training in the campus gym. Through social media and what I was learning in class, I realized that lifting was a very accessible way to move my body. I could go by myself, follow a plan, and really see changes over time.

It became this ongoing experiment. I was learning how my body responded to different movements and loads. It was my first real introduction to discipline in a physical context - putting myself in uncomfortable situations on purpose and seeing what happened.

For a long time that environment fit my personality. I am more introverted by nature, so I liked the “headphones on, block out the world, follow the program, dial in technique” vibe. It was solo, inside, structured, and controlled. That was very me for those years.

Leaving the comfort of structure

Cameron: You mentioned you are “branching away” from that version of yourself. What do you mean by that, and how do bikes fit into the picture?

Kaya: The relationship with the bike is interesting. When I think about where it really started, my mind goes to a random YouTube video. It was a solo female bikepacker riding along the coast of Iceland, and she made a mini-documentary about the trip.

I watched it and thought, “Wow, I would love to be able to do something like that.” That idea settled into the back of my mind like a tiny seed. At the time, the distance between who I was and that version of myself felt massive. I could not even picture it as a real possibility. The idea of riding a bike alone, loaded up, in some faraway place was honestly pretty intimidating.

That part is funny to admit because I work as a fitness coach. I encourage people to step into new movements and challenges all the time, so it felt almost hypocritical to say, “This scares me.” But that fear actually helps me be a better coach, because I remember exactly what it feels like to stand at the edge of something that seems too big.

For a while, the bikepacking dream stayed a “maybe someday” idea. No plan, no timeline, just a vague “that would be cool.” The thing that finally nudged me into biking at all was friends.

One day my friend Tanner said, “Let’s go for a bike ride.” And I said yes.

We went out, and I was like, “Whoa, this is awesome.” You can get so far with just your own two legs. You see your city in a completely different way. And it was not as hard as my brain had convinced me it would be. I felt pretty hooked after that.

Crank Arm, Critical Mass, and the magic of community

Cameron: So Tanner takes you out on this first ride, you get hooked. What happens in the next month or so?

Kaya: I started telling people, “I rode a bike for the first time.” The response I got was basically, “Great. Come on the next group ride.”

So I went back to Tanner and said, “Can I borrow your bike again?” My first group ride was Crank Arm. That ride took everything I liked about that first solo ride and multiplied it. The distance, the feeling of movement, the city at a different scale - and then you add this layer of social energy.

All these people show up, just to ride together, on a random evening. That was huge for me.

Right after that I did a Critical Mass ride. Same thing: lots of people, so many different types of bikes and riders, music playing, people being fully themselves. Those rides happened at the same time that my appreciation for community was really maturing. My “bike journey” and my “community journey” were on parallel tracks, and they started to feed each other in a way that blew my world open.

The Swift Campout leap

Cameron: At that point you still knew you were leaving Raleigh soon. How did that affect what you decided to do next on the bike?

Kaya: I knew I was moving at the end of the summer, so I did not rush out to buy a bike. I did not sign up for a race or a big training plan. I just thought, “Let me say yes to whatever I can before I leave.”

Then I heard about the summer solstice Swift Campout bikepacking trip. As soon as I heard the details, I knew I had to do it. It triggered that old Iceland bikepacking seed in my head.

It was a few weeks before I was leaving Raleigh. The idea of biking to a campsite with friends, camping out, and riding back the next day felt like the perfect bridge between that dormant dream and my current life.

I was nervous, though. It was a big jump for me.

Cameron: For readers who were not on that trip, can you lay out the basics? How long was it, where did you go, what did you have to do to get ready?

Kaya: The route was about 60 miles total. We rode roughly 40 miles the first day, then 20 miles back the second day. At that point, the longest ride I had ever done was around 15 miles. So the first day alone was almost three times my longest ride.

We rode out to Falls Lake, camped overnight, swam, ate, slept, and then rode back the next morning. There were maybe 15 to 20 people on the trip, and almost everyone had more riding experience than I did.

My friend Regan came too. She had slightly more experience than me, and we really teamed up mentally for that weekend. We basically said, “We are going to do this,” and then we committed.

I was nervous about the distance. I was nervous about keeping up. I was nervous about doing something that felt “too big” in front of people who knew what they were doing.

Learning to keep pedaling

Cameron: You did not just survive that trip. You rode really strong, on a brutally hot weekend. From the outside it looked almost effortless. How did it feel from the inside?

Kaya: I appreciate that. All the ingredients were there to make it difficult - the heat, the distance, my inexperience. My base fitness definitely helped. Years of lifting and movement gave me a foundation I could rely on.

But the biggest thing I took from that trip was mental. I discovered how powerful my mind is when I am right up against my edge.

On almost every significant hill, I would look up and think, “I cannot get up this. I literally cannot turn my legs over one more time.” And then my legs would go around again. And again. And again.

Eventually I would be at the top of the hill with everyone else.

On paper, that might sound small. To me it was huge. I have spent most of my life backing away from situations where I might hit my limit. Suddenly I was living inside one of those situations and choosing to stay. The reward on the other side was enormous.

That trip gave me a new internal voice. She was born on those hills. She says, “Just keep pedaling.” That voice has been very important to me ever since.

Planting Portugal in the middle of it all

Cameron: Fast forward a bit. Somewhere in here, you decide to go ride your bike across a foreign country. How did we get from Falls Lake to Portugal?

Kaya: About a week before this conversation I got back to Raleigh from a two-month stint in Portugal.

I started planning the trip in February. It is November now. By that point, I knew my Raleigh lease would end in July. I wanted to do some longer term travel and just needed to pick a place. I landed on Portugal before I ever considered biking there.

Then bikes entered my life. The Swift Campout happened. That little Iceland seed started to sprout.

While I was figuring out my Portugal itinerary, I realized that at some point I would need to get from the northern part of the country to the southern part. One day the idea popped into my head: “What if I ride a bike instead of taking a bus or train?”

That is when I started asking around. I asked you. I asked Lauren. I asked a family member who has bikepacking experience. I floated questions like, “What is it like to ride 250 to 500 miles?” and “How hard is that really?”

Somewhere in that process - I cannot pinpoint exactly where - the idea turned into a decision. I decided I would ride from Porto to Lisbon.

Planning a big ride without owning a bike

Cameron: Once you committed, how did you go from “big idea” to something you could actually do, especially without owning a bike?

Kaya: I went all in on research. I looked up routes, watched videos, and searched for stories from people who had ridden in Portugal, especially between Porto and Lisbon. I needed to know what I was getting into.

There was also the gear problem. At that point I still did not own a bike. I remember you telling me that your number one piece of advice was to ride your own bike on a trip like this. I agreed completely, but it was not an option for me.

So I looked for a workaround.

I found a rental company that would drop a bike off with me in Porto and pick it up in Lisbon. That solved the biggest logistical hurdle. They provided the bike, the panniers, the safety gear, and all the basic setup so I did not have to source it all once I landed.

That arrangement felt like the right balance of risk and comfort. The trip itself was still very challenging for me mentally, but the logistics were not chaos.

I went back and forth on the exact route until I was already in Portugal. Eventually I settled on a plan where the longest days were at the beginning of the trip, when the terrain would be flatter and my energy higher. Later days got shorter and hillier.

I booked all my accommodations ahead of time - hostels, mostly. I chose cities that were reasonably populated, with access to bike shops and people. I considered what kind of hostel environment I would be in so I could sleep well. I knew recovery would matter a lot.

Looking back, I can see that planning was my brain’s way of finding safety in a situation that felt very nerve-racking. I could not control everything, but I could stack the deck a bit.

Confidence, doubt, and the “you have no right to be here” voice

Cameron: From the outside it sounds bold and decisive. On the inside, did you always believe you could actually do it?

Kaya: The short answer is no. Definitely not.

Leading up to the trip, and even during it, I bounced between two extremes. On one end was this hyper confident voice, saying, “I can do anything I decide to do if I just go do it.” On the other end was a very harsh, very doubtful voice saying, “What are you doing? You have ridden a bike maybe ten times in your entire life. You have no business doing this alone in a foreign country.”

I moved back and forth along that spectrum daily. Some days I was fully in my main character energy. Other days I felt completely delusional.

The helpful part is that the Swift Campout voice - the “just keep pedaling” voice - came with me to Portugal. She was loud. She shook my hand and said, “Okay, girl. We are doing this.” When things got hard, she would repeat the same thing: “Just keep pedaling. Just keep pedaling. Just keep pedaling.”

And I did.

The thorn: day one

Cameron: Let’s do a classic rose and thorn. What was the low point of the trip, and what was the high?

Kaya: The thorn was the night after day one. That was the longest ride I had ever done - just over 60 miles. The route was almost completely flat, but I rode it much faster than I had planned.

Early in the day I met another bikepacker, and we ended up riding together. It was amazing to have the company, but my attention shifted away from fueling and hydrating at my usual rhythm. I was matching his pace, not mine.

By the time I reached my hostel, I felt absolutely wrecked. Physically drained, emotionally flooded, and on top of that, my nervous system was already amped from being in a new country, on this big solo mission.

Lying in bed that night, I knew I had another 50 plus miles the next day. I was scared.

The good news is that it got much better from there.

The rose: a night in Nazaré

Kaya: If I had to pick a single high point, it would be day three.

By then I had found my groove. I was riding solo again, setting my own pace, stopping when I wanted to, listening to my body instead of someone else’s cadence. The miles were flying by, and I was starting to climb more, so the views were beautiful.

I rolled into Nazaré, which is famous for having some of the biggest waves in the world. The energy there is wild. Big water, big sky, big everything.

That evening I was sitting in the hostel kitchen with a group of other travelers. There was another bikepacker from Colorado. We were all sharing dinner, telling stories, laughing, and I had this moment where I thought, “This is exactly what I imagined.” I had crushed my miles for the day. My body felt strong. I was in a place I never thought I would go, surrounded by strangers who suddenly felt like friends.

It was not just about the bike anymore. It was about experiencing a country at bike speed, fully immersed. That felt like the dream coming true in real time.

Eight days, six rides, one very heavy bike

Cameron: How long was the trip altogether?

Kaya: The whole trip from Porto to Lisbon took eight days. I rode on six of those days. One rest day was planned after the first big efforts. The other extra day was a spontaneous choice to stay longer in Nazaré because I loved it so much.

The second half was more physically demanding. There was more elevation, and I was carrying way too much weight.

I feel very strongly about this part. One of the main things I will do differently next time is change my packing strategy. The rental company gave me 20 liter panniers, and my brain thought, “If I have the space, I should fill it.” That is terrible bikepacking logic.

My bike was so heavy, completely unnecessarily. Those hills at the end of the route pushed me hard. Thankfully I had mentally prepared myself for a difficult experience. I expected to be pushed to my limit in ways I could not even imagine. Ironically, I think I struggled more on the Swift Campout than I did during most of this eight day trip.

In Portugal my mindset was solid. My vibes were high. I climbed every hill. I did not have a single flat tire. My chain dropped once on a busy state road on a climb, which was stressful, but that was the only mechanical issue.

There were a few other blips, of course, but nothing trip-ending. Overall it felt surprisingly smooth.

The quiet finish

Cameron: So you reach Lisbon. You have just done something that once felt ludicrous. How did it feel at the finish?

Kaya: I had built up this cinematic ending in my head. I pictured rolling into the city with tears streaming down my face, maybe some dramatic song playing in my one AirPod. I imagined hugs, celebrations, some kind of visible marker of what I had done.

Reality looked very different.

I rode into my final city and went straight to the bike shop to drop off my rental. They had forgotten I was coming, so I waited around outside for a while. When someone finally arrived, they took the bike, said, “Thanks for your service, have a good day,” and that was it.

After that I walked to the library, opened my laptop, and started my workday.

My friends and family back home were all asleep because of the time difference. Nobody was available to call. There was no finish line banner, no medal, no patch.

It was anticlimactic, but in a way that taught me something important.

In that quiet moment, it was very clear that this trip was never about anyone else. It was about me. It was about who I became in the process, not what anyone saw or applauded.

That realization mattered, especially because throughout the trip it was so easy to compare. I knew riders here in Raleigh who casually knock out 100 mile rides every weekend. I met people on the road who had ridden from Amsterdam and were going much farther south than I was. I saw influencers on social media doing outrageously big efforts.

Standing next to them, my little Porto to Lisbon ride could feel small.

But sitting alone after dropping off that bike, I remembered that it was not small to me. It was huge. And that is what counted.

So I celebrated. Quietly, but fully.

Owning your dreams

Cameron: I love that. I have had my own version of that same anticlimactic finish. People who have been there will read this and feel it in their bones. People who have not will still think it is cool, but they will not fully get that inner shift until they do something similar themselves.

To close this out, what would you say to someone - especially a woman - who is sitting on a dream like this and not sure if they are allowed to chase it?

Kaya: I want to invite everyone, but especially women, to really own your dreams. Figure out what they are. Name them. Let yourself want what you want.

Do not let anyone else decide if your dreams are realistic. Do not wait for someone to give you permission. If there is something you want to do with your one life, claim it and move toward it.

Remember that there is almost nothing actually stopping you. Most of the barriers live in your head. That does not mean it is easy. It means it is possible.

That is the lesson that carried me onto that bike in Portugal. That trip is not the end of the story. It is the door. It showed me that I can do things I once thought were impossible. It reminded me that I am allowed to take up space and chase big, slightly wild ideas.

So yes. Own your dreams. And if one of them involves loading up a bike in a foreign country without even owning one yet, I am here to tell you it can be done.

Thanks to Josh Godwin for sitting down with me for over an hour to tell all the nitty-gritty details of his recent epic expedition down the Eastern Divide trail. Staring down a cancer diagnosis and stuck in a dead-end job, he decided to take his life into his own hands and, in July of this year, embarked on a 3,000-mile bike trip... on a single speed!

Next week, Part 2 will be published and sent to paid subscribers of the blog. Please consider supporting our programming with a tax-deductible $9 monthly subscription! See below to subscribe. (If you can't see the big green box below this text, try opening this article in your browser)

Part One

“I Worked Ten Years For A Life I Didn’t Want”

Cameron: Josh, who are you and how did you end up here, having just ridden a bike thousands of miles down the Eastern Divide?

Josh: My name is Josh. Long story short, I spent about ten years in the automotive industry. For the first four or five years, I thought that was it. I thought that job would get me a house, help me settle down, give me that normal life a lot of people in our age range grew up imagining: property, house, family, the usual.

Over time, a bunch of things happened that pushed me out of that mindset and eventually out of that life. Some of it was personal stuff, some of it was the industry itself. It all added up to this feeling that maybe a “normal” life was not actually mine.

Cameron: What were those moments that broke the white-picket-fence picture for you?

Josh: In 2020 I was diagnosed with testicular cancer. I had surgery, luckily no chemo, but it shook me. I was working, paying medical bills, just trying to figure out what I wanted my life to look like after that.

People sometimes find that kind of story inspiring, like “you went through this thing and now you can help others.” For me, it mainly forced me to ask hard questions. I realized I could not just coast through life waiting for some payoff down the road.

At the same time, I was waking up to what the automotive business really was. It is a very money-driven industry. There are a lot of people who rely on you to make them money. I started doing extra things trying to move up: recruitment at job fairs, being in promotional videos, being the “face” of the shop side on YouTube.

For a while, I thought I was building a career. After a few years I realized I was being used. I was doing all this extra work and not really seeing any benefit. That sank in slowly, and it felt terrible. Almost like a depression. Nobody wants to feel like they are just a tool.

Cameron: And this was all while you were still at the dealership?

Josh: Yeah. Around 2020 it really came to a head. I ended up out of work for about a month on short-term disability. That time gave me a lot of room to think.

Through coworkers I found out my manager had said things like “don’t give him a raise, let him work himself out of here.” Comments like that. Hearing that when you are doing your best hurts. It made it clear I was not being looked after, no matter how hard I tried.

I was also burning out. Before 2020, I might burn out, take a couple weeks off, then bounce back. After 2020, the burnout became serious. I would have whole months where I did not want to go to work, did not want to be in that environment at all.

I ended up in therapy for about a year and a half. I was trying to understand my neurodivergence. I am pretty sure I am on the spectrum. That played into the burnout too. I am very routine-oriented, I care a lot, and I throw myself into things. If the environment does not fit, it grinds you down.

Cameron: Same here on the neurodivergent side. And yet you stayed another five years.

Josh: That is the thing. I knew I needed to leave, but I was stuck in the routine. I had been there so long I did not know anything else. After 2020 I spent about five more years in that same cycle. Telling people “I’m going to get out of this job” and never making the jump.

Then there was everything happening in the world. Housing costs went up. I ended up in some credit card debt just trying to keep my head above water. That made it even harder to walk away. I kept thinking: I can not leave, I have to pay this, I have to cover that.

In early 2024 I left a long-term relationship. We had moved in together. I learned a lot in those two years: how I show up in relationships, what I do well, what I need to do better. Later in 2024, my dog of nine years passed away. That one hit very hard. By the end of 2024, mentally, I was in a rough place.

Hatching a Plan

Cameron: When did the idea for the trip appear?

Josh: Probably a month after my dog passed. Suddenly the responsibilities I had been carrying dropped away. It became just me. I still had debt, but that was it.

Around October 2024 I decided I was done talking about changing my life and I was actually going to do it. I set a date: end of July. That gave me about nine months to grind. From October through late July I worked as much as I could, paid off my debt, and put around five thousand dollars into savings.

The plan was to ride a long-distance bikepacking route. At first I wanted to do the Continental Divide. The season for that is roughly July through October or November, so July made sense as an exit date.

Later I shifted to the Eastern Divide Trail, which runs from Newfoundland down to Key West. I decided that would be my route. End of July, I would leave the job and go.

Cameron: So October rolls around, you pick July as your exit, you put your head down and go.

Josh: Yeah. The date is what kept me honest. For about six months it was just work, save, plan, build the bike, collect gear. Six months is not enough time for a trip like this, and I know that now, but at the time I figured I could make it work.

That final week at work was surreal. I had told my manager and some coworkers what I was going to do, partly to hold myself accountable. It felt like closing one era and opening another.

Packing was surreal too. I went out, got a big box, broke down the bike, and packed it days before the flight. I had not flown since I was maybe five years old, so honestly the airport stressed me out more than the trip. The timelines, security, all the “official” stuff. My mom joked that I was more worried about TSA than riding across a continent.

It is a very neurodivergent thing. I am routine-based and very particular about time, interviews, serious stuff like that. I am the guy who shows up way too early for everything.

The Trip Begins

Cameron: So you pack the bike, get on a one-way flight, and land in Newfoundland.

Josh: I flew into St. John’s, Newfoundland. The official starting point for the Eastern Divide is Cape Spear, just outside of town. It is the easternmost point in North America. There is a sign, a lighthouse, trails along a cliff that drops straight to the ocean. You literally cannot go any farther east.

I got there a couple of days early. Day one was building the bike and riding around St. John’s. It is a really beautiful little maritime town, full of fishing boats, bars, and old bunkers. I spent that day making sure the bike felt right. The second day was resupply and logistics. I wanted to start riding first thing the next morning, so I gave myself time to gather my thoughts.

On the morning I rode out to Cape Spear, I biked about sixteen miles from St. John’s. That was my first real wake-up call on climbing. It was my first fifteen or sixteen percent grade for a mile or two, on a loaded single-speed mountain bike. I remember thinking, “Oh, this is going to be serious.” I was standing in the pedals, walking sections, just doing whatever I could to get over the hill.

Getting to the Cape itself was emotional. You are standing on a cliff over the Atlantic, next to this sign that says you are at the most eastern point of North America, and you know you are about to point your wheel toward Key West. I spent a couple of hours at the lighthouse, wandering around, drinking a smoothie, just letting it sink in. Months of grinding at work, years of frustration, and now this huge reset.

Cameron: When you look back at who you were standing at Cape Spear and who you are now, what changed?

Josh: A lot. I am not stressed about things the way I used to be. I am staying at my mom’s house right now. I did take on some debt from the trip and I have bills to pay, but it does not weigh on me the same way.

My idea of space changed. I do not feel like I need an apartment anymore. Give me a ten-by-ten room and a twin mattress and I am good. Life got simpler.

I also learned how much other people’s emotions do not need to run my life. When I was saving for the trip, I was working late, grabbing the higher paying jobs, doing everything I could to stack money. Some people at the dealership hated that. It is a flat-rate culture, so if you are doing well, someone thinks you are stealing their work.

At first I cared a lot about what they thought. Over time I realized their jealousy was not my problem. I care about people making money and being okay, but I do not have to shrink my life to keep someone else comfortable.

The other big thing was anxiety. Before the trip, something like an airport felt huge. Now, after months of navigating fires, reroutes, border crossings, and long stretches of nowhere, walking into an airport feels like a drop of water in a bucket.

Cameron: What did those first days of riding look like? Tire-dip in the ocean, ceremonial start, that sort of thing?

Josh: I wish. Cape Spear is basically a cliff. There is no friendly little beach to roll your wheel into. You are standing a hundred feet above the water.

So my start was more like: ride out there, sit with the moment, look at the lighthouse, then roll away from this big cliff. I was so eager I did about ninety miles that first day, which might have been a mistake, but I was just excited. I ended up at this beautiful campsite next to a little stream, pitched the tent, and felt like I was really out there.

Day two, the reality of logistics set in. I got weirdly intimidated about finding a campsite. There are plenty of places in Newfoundland where you can just stealth camp, and that is what locals and other riders do. There are snowmobile cabins, open land, all of that. But in my head I was thinking, “I do not know this place. I do not know the rules.” So after about eighty miles I bailed to a hotel via the highway.

Newfoundland was my learning ground. I was treating that first week like a vacation. I had just worked ten straight years. I was riding, but I was also wandering, figuring out how I wanted to travel. I was underbiked. Most of Newfoundland is on this rail trail called the T’Railway. It is not like our mellow rail trails in North Carolina. It is rough, built for snowmobiles, ATVs, and UTVs. On a rigid 26-inch single speed, chunks of it were barely rideable. I was getting off, pushing through rocks, just trying to keep moving.

All told, it took about twelve or thirteen days to get from St. John’s to Port aux Basques on the western side of the island. Then I hopped a ferry to Nova Scotia.

Cameron: That is about twelve days in. What happened when you hit Nova Scotia?

Josh: The ferry from Port aux Basques to North Sydney, Nova Scotia is an all-day thing. I camped a few miles outside town, rode into the ferry early in the morning, then spent eight or nine hours on the boat. By the time I got off, I basically just rolled to a hotel and used it as a resupply and reset point.

Wildfires and Reroutes

That is where the first big curveball hit. This was August. There were wildfires in New Brunswick and another one starting in southern Nova Scotia. There was even a fire back in Newfoundland. I started checking the news and realized this was serious. The Canadian government ended up passing an order banning “unnecessary wilderness travel.” The fines were huge, something like fifty thousand dollars.

I am sure some riders still went through. For me, as a foreigner, it felt like a bad idea to gamble with that. The official route would have taken me up into Cape Breton and then back down across northern Nova Scotia, which meant a lot of remote land that might have been closed or unsafe.

So I scrapped the official track and built my own. That was a theme of the trip. The Eastern Divide is still new and there are sections that are not fully ironed out yet.

In Nova Scotia I spent a couple hundred miles riding a mix of back roads, the Trans-Canada Highway in spots, and quiet country routes along long lakes. I crossed this tiny cable ferry, stumbled onto a reconstructed Scottish settlement on a hill overlooking a huge lake, spent a day wandering around while people in period clothes did demos. It was one of those things that was nowhere in my original plan, but I am glad I rerouted. After the remoteness of Newfoundland’s rail trail, it was nice to be on pavement with towns and little places to stop.

Cameron: And then the fires caught up with you again.

Josh: Exactly. As I got closer to New Brunswick I started seeing haze. There were fires to the north and south and my planned path would run between them. I was already riding in some smoke and I did not like that at all.

So I made another call. I took a ferry to Prince Edward Island, which is not on the Eastern Divide route. If anyone wants incredible, low-stress riding, PEI is amazing. They have this grid of resurfaced old wagon roads. They feel like rail trails, very flat, very smooth, and you ride through farmland and rolling countryside.

I spent two or three days there, ended up in Charlottetown, and then faced the same question: do I push back into the fire zone or do I protect my lungs and my health for the long term? I chose health. I caught a bus from Charlottetown to Woodstock, New Brunswick, which is about fifteen miles from the U.S. border.

That decision was hard. I sulked about it. I had a similar feeling in Nova Scotia when I first left the official route. I really wanted to be able to say I followed the Eastern Divide exactly. But eventually I realized this is what a big adventure looks like. You make it your own. Nobody else is there with you in that moment. Nobody else is breathing the smoke. You have to do what feels right.

Crossing the Border

Cameron: So you get to Woodstock, roll down toward the U.S. border, and finally cross back into the States.

Josh: Yeah. I rode from Woodstock to the border one day and then from the border to Houlton, Maine the same day. I kept it short because I did not know what to expect from the crossing. I figured Customs might have a lot of questions about a guy on a loaded bike.

The crossing ended up being pretty chill. I just lined up with the cars like anyone else. The officer looked at me and asked, “What are you doing?” I told him I was trying to ride down the East Coast and we had a short conversation. He said someone had come through not long before doing something similar. Then he radioed someone, waved me through, and that was it.

As soon as I got across the border there is a bridge where the Eastern Divide route passes over I-95. I was riding up that bridge when I met Scott, another rider doing the route. He had already done the southern section and was now working north-to-south on this part, trying to connect it.

We were basically neck and neck from then on. Not riding together every day, but leapfrogging. Sometimes we would camp in the same place and swap stories or share tips about the route. Sometimes we would both want our own space. It was nice having a trail friend appear right at the border. It made the transition into New England feel less lonely.

Thanks for reading! Next week, tune in for Part 2 – available for paid members of the blog. Sign up below for $9/month to support the efforts of this nonprofit + access exclusive writeups, interviews and more.

Thanks to Jeff for this guest post! It's a story about how things don't always go to plan, but sometimes, that's part of the real adventure.

Upgrading to a $9/month paid subscription will get you access to the full article and support the nonprofit's efforts to educate, empower and inspire human-powered transportation in Raleigh.

“Let’s go someplace warm with a nonstop flight from Raleigh”. My wife, Debra, had an airline voucher to use before it expired in early December. Phoenix, AZ fit her limited criteria, so we were off to the desert southwest for a few days of urban adventure.

For accommodations, Debra found a renovated Airstream trailer permanently set in a neighborhood on the north side of Phoenix. As a recovering architect I appreciated the modern design aesthetic of the property, with steel posts suspending a fabric canopy over the trailer and chairs on the outdoor deck. A linear, steel fire pit was the focus of a minimal but very intentionally designed oasis inside a painted wood privacy fence. And then there were the bikes, of course. The property listing promised a pair of professionally maintained classic Schwinn bikes that would allow us to explore the city. What we found when we arrived was a little different.

By design we did not rent a car and chose to pack our helmets and some lights and arrived ready to explore the city on 2 wheels.

When I pulled back a tarp covering the bikes I found 2 single speed step-through department store beach cruisers with 24” wheels and plastic wicker baskets. They were covered in dirt and had four flat tires. One bike was missing a nut to secure the front axle making it a veritable death trap. The brakes rubbed the rims and kept the wheels from turning. In short, the bikes were unrideable without a lot of love. Luckily, my volunteer work with Raleigh Community Kickstand has given me plenty of valuable experience repairing department store bikes.

So, I got to work. I cleaned up the bikes, put air in the tires, adjusted the brakes, tightened the handlebars, and extended the seat posts well past that etched in warning in an effort to avoid knee surgery after riding this thing. In chivalrous fashion I climbed aboard the death trap, and we tentatively pedaled off toward a local bike shop, Velo Cycles, in hopes of sourcing the missing part to keep the front wheel firmly attached to the bike. It was obvious that Velo was a high-end bike shop, so I knew what to expect when I wheeled my bike into the store. After only a hint of judgement, we wore down the mechanic and staff with our witty banter and became fast friends with him and the woman working the retail side of the store. We shared some stories while he found the elusive missing part and quickly had it installed for no charge. We went on to buy some bike lube and all kinds of nutrition in return for the favor.

So now we were free to explore Phoenix. The city grid is extraordinarily flat with distant views of mountain outcroppings in every direction. We quickly learned that Google Maps steers you toward some decent bike infrastructure and bike lanes provided on some of the busier streets; however, the residential streets in between were all but deserted and felt extremely safe and carefree for biking, so we favored those quiet options whenever possible. The other thing that you can’t help but notice in Phoenix is the presence of Waymo driverless taxis. They are everywhere and you will interact with them dozens of times on an urban ride. At first, we were a bit tentative being alongside them at stoplights or at 4-way stop signs, but to their credit, the one thing they are is decisive. There is no hesitation in the way they drive, and we came to enjoy the predictability of their operation. While not perfect, and there are certainly stories of their foibles, including one that wandered onto the light rail tracks in Phoenix a few weeks after we were there, their attention to the road and their surroundings appears to far exceed that of the typical urban driver. They had earned our trust.

When we awoke the next morning ready to romp on the streets of Phoenix we found one flat tire on each bike. I put air back in the tires and, once they were open, we were once again off to Velo Cycles. They did not have the 24” tubes we needed, so they recommended we head further north to Sun Cyclery, who caters to the less discerning cyclist. They were great and had the tubes we needed. I set up shop in the parking lot and swapped out the tubes so, by late morning we were finally ready to begin our ride proper.

The destination for the day was sunny Scottsdale, and the route would make use of a sometimes paved, sometimes gravel path along one of the canals that winds through Phoenix. The canals were dug over 1000 years ago by indigenous people that used them for irrigation. Now they appear to serve as a form of flood control and convenient option for a smattering of walkers, joggers, and bikers. With our early detour to the bike shops, we were going to be on the hook for about a 35-mile round trip on our klunkers. Along the way we peeled off from the canal and stopped for a late lunch at OHSO Brewing. The manager saw us park our bikes and identified himself as a fellow cyclist and quizzed us about our ride while offering advice about other routes, including some caution about the safety of our plan to ride the southern canal to the Arboretum. We had a great meal and out of kindness or mercy for our long beach cruiser ride, they comped our beer.

We rolled into Scottsdale and I found a place to sketch a pedestrian bridge over the canal while Debra was able to do a little exploring around town. Scottsdale had a much different uptown/resort feel, catering to the 1%ers. We didn’t dawdle too long before reversing course. On the return ride there was a not-so-safe-feeling narrow pedestrian bridge crossing of the highway that had a rather permanent homeless encampment requiring us to walk our bikes over someone’s area rug. We finished by cruising a long, straight bike lane into the setting sun back toward downtown Phoenix and our AirBnB.

The next day we did chance a ride along the southern canal and knew right away, based on the number of shopping carts deposited in the canal, this had the feel of “the other side of the tracks” or perhaps, “the road less traveled”. The Desert Arboretum proved to be stunning and well worth the effort. The Arboretum is laid out in 4 loops, each with a unique desert environment curated to reflect the 4 desert climates in Arizona. It was also hosting a mesmerizing exhibit of outdoor digital screens that used 365-day time lapse scans to illustrate the dynamic nature of desert and urban landscapes. For the return trip to downtown Phoenix, we made use of their light-rail system, which has cars conveniently dedicated to cyclists.

On our last full day, we biked to the Heard Museum. Built in 1929, the museum has a vast collection of American Indian art and artifacts of more than 40,000 pieces. We had intended to spend a few hours but ended up eating lunch at their café and spending most of the day absorbing everything the museum had to offer. We learned a ton and appreciated both the quality of the work and honest presentation of difficult issues.

Similar to Raleigh, Phoenix hosts a First Friday art walk. Unlike Raleigh, the event draws 20,000 people monthly. It is more street festival than art walk, with a combination of musicians, food trucks, craft vendors, with a little art sprinkled in. We arrived early and left around 9 PM before things got, in the words of one bartender, “a little chaotic”. Traffic was at a bit of a standstill, but we were thankful to have brought our bike lights and were able to weave our way out of the chaos and find our way home on deserted residential streets.

We have found urban vacations, both in the US and especially abroad, work best without reliance on a vehicle. Walking, biking, and transit options make for an authentic experience that challenge and expose you to the art, architecture, people, and complexities of the urban fabric. Phoenix was no exception and proved to be an excellent place to explore by bike, even if it was a clunky beach cruiser.

[Originally published May 26, 2026]

The Greenway Gear Collective Bike Academy welcomed its second cohort this past spring! After hosting our first series in Fall 2025, we spent time reflecting on participant feedback and making thoughtful updates to improve the experience.

This round, we shortened the program from seven weeks to six, reduced the class size to create a more hands-on learning environment, and introduced a registration fee. As the curriculum continued to grow and evolve, we recognized the amount of time, planning, and resources being invested in the program and wanted to ensure participants received the best experience possible.

Here’s a look back at our six-week journey.

Week 1: Introductions, Cycling Types & Gear

We kicked things off by getting to know one another and building community within the group. Participants learned about different styles of cycling—from commuting and recreational riding to road, gravel, and adventure riding—and explored the basics of cycling gear, clothing, helmets, lights, and bike accessories. More importantly, riders began to see how biking could fit into their own lives and interests.

Week 2: Bike Maintenance Basics

For week two, we shifted gears into hands-on bike maintenance. Participants learned how to care for their bikes, fix a flat tire, and troubleshoot common mechanical issues. The goal was to help riders feel more confident and self-sufficient when out on the road or greenway. There’s something empowering about realizing you can solve a problem on your own and keep rolling.

Week 3: Route Planning & Wayfinding

Week three focused on navigation and route planning. We started with a short ride along the greenway to Dorothea Dix Park before returning to The Bike Library to explore route-planning tools like Strava and Ride with GPS. Participants mapped routes to some of their favorite destinations around Raleigh and learned how to make biking a more practical part of their daily routines.

Week 4: Multi-Modal Transit

Our fourth week took the classroom on the road with an off-site field trip focused on getting around Raleigh without a car. We met at Raleigh Union Station and discussed the benefits of combining biking with public transportation before setting out to catch the R-Line, Raleigh’s free downtown circulator bus.

Along the way, participants learned how to use transit apps, track bus schedules, and take advantage of one of Raleigh’s hidden gems: the IKE Kiosk. These free interactive kiosks help residents and visitors navigate the city, find destinations, and even connect with city services when needed.

Of course, one of the most important lessons of the day was learning how to load a bike onto a bus rack. While it can feel intimidating the first time, practicing together as a group helped remove the uncertainty and build confidence. By the end of the afternoon, everyone had successfully navigated downtown using multiple modes of transportation and walked away with new tools for getting around Raleigh without relying on a car.

Week 5: Biking & Beyond

Week five revolved (literally) around skill building. As a group, we rode from The Bike Library to a parking lot at Dorothea Dix Park overlooking the Raleigh skyline. With a little instruction and a lot of practice, participants worked through a series of drills designed to improve bike handling skills, including balance, precision braking, and increasingly tight S-turns and figure eights.

Between drills, we discussed different cycling disciplines, including bikepacking, racing, and commuting. We wrapped up the evening with a crowd-favorite activity: the slowest bike race. The enthusiasm was contagious, and it was incredible to see the confidence and bike-handling skills participants developed in such a short period of time.

Week 6: Graduation Ride & Celebration

For our final class, we figured the best way to celebrate was with a bike ride. We rode from The Bike Library to NC State’s Centennial Campus during their live concert series and wrapped up the academy with good food, music, and great company.

It was the perfect way to celebrate six weeks of learning, growth, and community building on two wheels. What started as a group of strangers interested in learning more about biking ended as a community of riders with new skills, new confidence, and new friendships.

One participant summed it up best:

“Bike Academy is a way of learning about different forms of biking, keeping up with your bike, and all the fun things you can do on a bike! It is a great way to get involved in the biking community and make friends!”

We’re incredibly grateful to everyone who joined us this spring and helped make the program such a success.

Keep an eye out for Fall 2026 Bike Academy registration, which will open later this summer. We can’t wait to do it all again.

*Thanks to Jacob Rex for this fantastic guest post! If you're interested in having your work featured, please send your piece to greenwaygearcollective@gmail.com.

Genesis

I am on my first long bike ride of spring. It’s a warm, bluebird Sunday in the triangle-themed amusement park of central North Carolina. I whiz by sprouting wildflowers and pollen-starved bees. The sun slowly falls to the horizon as I chug along the Neuse River Greenway. I spent all weekend staring at a computer screen and running errands. This is my time to take out my saturated brain and wring it out in the sun.

Winding down along the river, I get to thinking about how great it would be to have a little pocket radio on my bike rides. I have been slowly unplugging from the internet-ecosystem for the last six months. I have committed to no subscriptions, no cloud services, no social media usage — really just trying to leave as many online services as possible. I want to cut the proverbial umbilical cord tying me to as many tech “necessities” as possible. So far, I have really been enjoying my more analog life.

One of the pillars to fall was music streaming. Seeing the Spotify CEO bragging about his investment in AI murder drones really spoke to me, and what I heard, loudly, was: “Fuck that.” So I ditched the murder-drone-billionaire-AI music company. Instead, I have been using radio apps on my phone. Warm voices from across the world now fill my home as they queue up a human-curated, human-first playlist.

After a while, I thought it would be nice to ditch the phone, too, so I decided to get an emergency weather radio: hand-crank, flashlight, solar charging, NOAA alerts — the full nine yards. It also doubles as a battery bank and Bluetooth speaker.

The idea being I can take it camping, use it in my garage while I wrench on bikes, take it on picnics to the park, but also feel a little comfort as the world becomes more and more unstable, knowing I have alternatives to an internet connection for information. Boy, I have been obsessed with the thing. I have it almost permanently on the classical station in my window. It charges with the sun during the day and rarely needs an outlet.

I love tuning into my local NPR station when I am woodworking or listening to the NC State University station while I cook dinner. I still connect the Bluetooth and use the Bandcamp or Radio Paradise apps with my phone, but the pure radio experience has been fun.

So here I am, pedaling and thinking a little pocket radio on my bike rides would be perfect — just throw it in my bike bag and have company with me the whole ride, no phone needed. Hell yeah. A radio and a bicycle. No algorithm, no micro-transactions; my money isn’t being used to bomb hospitals or pay a pedophile’s salary.

Bicycles and radios are the best inventions humans have ever come up with, I think to myself. In my mind, a new category of godlike objects has just been christened. But I felt this pair was incomplete. It needed one more addition, to make it a trinity of sorts.

These thoughts scratch an itch. Like a plumber snaking a drain, the built up stress clogging my mind begins to give way. I felt myself filled with some kind of latent, punk-rock, Holy Spirit. Suddenly the final ingredient to my trinity is obvious.

Slingshots. Of course, it’s slingshots.

Latchkey Punk

Latchkey kids were left to explore their neighborhoods with little to no supervision while their parents were at work — no tracking apps, no smartphones, no playdates. Being bored was an essential ingredient in character development. My little sister, Halie, and I were latchkey kids in the early 2000s, growing up outside the Smoky Mountains of East Tennessee. Many of our friends had helicopter parents and didn’t let them wander farther than their driveway. Maybe it was because they were too busy keeping their heads above water or they simply trusted us to navigate the world without them, our parents were pretty hands off. While we were young, they cobbled together the money for some cheap bikes and left us to our devices.

While our mother usually dropped us off at school, getting home was our problem. Halie and I would take the bus for an hour to our stop and then walk a mile home. Apparently, not enough kids lived out in the sticks to qualify for a more convenient bus stop. That would change a few years later, when a friend of our parents nearly plowed through a group of kids as she crested a hill. After my mother got a hold of the person in charge of bus routes, a new stop was added down the street from us.

Halie and I often sat together. The name-calling for being in the little kids section was tough, but preferred to being used as a punching bag by my contemporaries. We took turns listening to an old Walkman, swapping discs between Alan Jackson and the “Grosse Pointe Blank” soundtrack. “It’s alright to be little bitty,” we were told through the mesh of the polyurethane headphones.

There are no sidewalks in the boonies. Walking on the road meant getting honked at or nearly getting hit by pickup trucks. So when we got to our bus stop, we would traipse through the woods, jump over creeks and poke the massive hornet’s nest engulfing a mailbox outside of an abandoned house.

Usually, there would be a whole troupe of hillbilly chitlins dropped off at that same bus stop. Together, we’d spend the late afternoon bullying each other senseless or throwing rocks at the herds of incestuous pygmy deer that roamed our little holler.

Once while taking a new way home in unfamiliar woods, the group suggested that Halie and I be left behind as a joke. Kids are real funny sometimes. We were the youngest of the group — or at least the most gentle — and often drew the short straw when it came to who was at the bottom of the totem pole for the day.

The group all took off running through the woods in opposite directions. Halie and I held hands to instill assurance. Was it me or her that was doing the assuring? Despite being the firstborn, it was I who started crying first; it usually was. I sometimes wonder if Halie only cried because I did. Even now, I am not convinced she was all that concerned. As a kid, Halie was quiet and calm. She often chose to listen whereas I chose to speak. I did my best as the older brother to guide us in the direction from whence we came. We boohooed and called out for someone to come get us, our hands clasped tightly. We were greeted by the re-assuring sound of silence.

Through the leaves we would see the sun fall towards the peaks of the distant Smokies. Before it dipped too low, we spilled from the briars and tall pines and oaks onto a quiet road. The tarmac was lit by specks of sunlight that shimmered an amber glow in the late afternoon sun. We weren’t that far from our usual route and managed to get home before anyone could ask any questions. The next day, getting off the bus, our little gang acted as if nothing had happened. Ah, childhood.

During those summers, Halie and I were mostly left alone while our parents worked. The sounds of cicadas and mourning doves drowned out the sound of our parents’ cars starting and driving away. The AC was often broken, and the sweltering songs of a Southern summer filled my room. If it wasn’t the cicadas that woke me up, it was the sweat pooling in my sheets.

Priority No. 1 for Halie and me was cooling off as soon as possible in our local Band-Aid-filled community pool. We rode our Wal-Mart bikes across town to the dilapidated country club that doubled as a community center, restaurant, and watering hole. If we weren’t doing cannonballs or shoving each other into the water, we were taking turns with the Walkman.

On weekends, we would walk through the woods to the coast of a TVA lake to climb fallen trees and build forts from the driftwood and trash that collected in small coves along the shoreline. The wonders of a trash heap were endless to us. We were latchkey kids, but we still had some rules. Swimming alone in the lake was a non-starter for our folks. We heard about kids drowning there every year. If it weren’t for that, I doubt we would have ever gone to the community pool to swim. I for one would have welcomed more days spent along the lake side. There were significantly fewer bullies in the woods.

One summer, my grandfather and step-grandmother came to visit from California and took me and Halie to the county flea market. My step-grandmother is a large Guamanian woman, always in gas station T-shirts with howling wolves or dream catchers on them, her long black hair brushing her flip-flopped feet. At 9 or 10, I was nearly taller than her. She smoked like a chimney and smelled like Camels and fina’denne’.

When I asked if I could buy a wrist rocket, she didn’t look at me at first. She took a drag, let the smoke hang in front of her, and then said, “Sure, baby. Don’t tell ya mama.”

After that, Halie and I would set up bottles we found in our trash cove on fallen logs and take turns trying to smash them. We particularly liked green bottles. There were hundreds of them wedged between logs and buried in the silty lake bed. The most interesting ones still had mystery liquids in them, locked away by rusted caps. When an old Mountain Dew bottle shattered, the emerald shards glinted like fireworks against the mountains.

A mean old lady named Margaret lived alone in a house that overlooked where Halie and I romped around. Once, she had the audacity to call my mother and tell her that I was shooting rocks at her windows. I can assure you, dear reader, this crime was not in my wheelhouse.

When I got home, my mother took the slingshot from me, exclaiming I didn’t need a weapon. From the other room, my father said he had one at my age and suggested I was probably just shooting at bottles. I crossed my heart and hoped to die that I had never shot at Margaret’s house and, knowing that she was kind of a crazy old hen, my mother relented.

Looking at my father, she returned it with conditions: never at a person, never at a house, never at a car. Let me just say it was a bad day to be a Mountain Dew bottle.

One of our other rules during those years was that we weren’t allowed to go back inside until the streetlights came on or until we heard my dad’s whistle. We could hear that man whistle clear across the goddamn county.

Gratefully, our parents did their best to keep Halie and I in the dark about our family financial status. At night, we would crawl from our bedrooms to the top of the stairs to listen to them talk. In between the countdown beeps of Jack Bauer’s 24 we would hear words like “mortgage” and “recession” and long tense silences. We knew he was unemployed because he would kick us out of the house so he could apply for jobs and, probably, weep in peace. To make matters worse, he had slipped a disc in his spine soon after I was born, and by then was in debilitating pain. He was desperate for relief and tried all kinds of wacky remedies that might ameliorate the pain.

Once, I walked in on him hanging from an over-the-door neck traction thing. His face was all smooshed and red. Through the wide fabric of his neck hammock, he managed a pitiful whimper: “I, uh, promise I’m not hanging myself.”

Mostly oblivious to these domestic tribulations, Halie and I would head off into the neighborhood. Sometimes we would knock on doors asking if other kids — the nice ones — wanted to play. We took nothing with us except our bikes, the wrist rocket I had sworn to be responsible with, and the Walkman.

I yearn for that freedom again. To me, slingshots, bikes and radios encompass a category — a lifestyle — hearkening back to a lack of supervision and a desire to explore the world as if it were your neighborhood. Popular cultural fixations like Stranger Things, Super 8 and The Sandlot prove my point.

I reached for a word to describe this feeling — a genre that isn’t solely about nostalgia, but about the future, too. When someone says “steampunk,” you probably think of oversized machines, top hats and dystopia. If I say “cyberpunk,” it’s neon lights, rain and, again, dystopia.

Latchkey Punk is not a dystopian idea, but an alternative to the current world we live in. If we could just stop technology with the invention of the handheld radio, I feel like we’d be OK. If we could ride bikes to our friends’ houses and shoot rocks at glass bottles on a fence instead of grinding and syncing, it might all be bearable.

Slingshots, bicycles and radios — I see that they are genetic cousins, evolved from a common ancestor. Though their genus is now miles apart and their kingdoms split long ago, like bananas, zebrafish and Homo sapiens, we are closer to being kin than we think. The physics that propels a thrown pebble at bone-shattering speeds, the energy transferred to a bike’s crank arm and the sound waves of our voices through the air are all amplifications of our own movements. I feel like Alan Watts might say something like that. Something about the ocean waving and the universe “peopling” and green bottles smashing and so on and so forth.

They are also rhetorical figureheads, symbolizing freedom, self-determination, community and a middle finger to authority and control. A holy trinity of seemingly unlikely comrades, they are also the peak of human design — the zenith of invention. To me, they require no improvements. They are the philosophical “essence,” or “form,” Aristotle tried to tell us about. Everything else is the shadows in Plato’s cave.

Though seemingly different, these three objects unite in a perfect union and represent a mindset — a political and spiritual movement, an awakening for many in this late-stage capitalist nightmare we call home.

Bikes

Bikes, as is well established, fucking rock. There is something spiritual about them — the way you can move through the world on what you carry and what you find. Food, water, a few tools. That’s it. It feels like the cleanest version of motion we’ve managed as a species. Why we invented anything beyond the bike, I will never understand. What started for me as a cheap way to get to class and work transformed into a beautiful medium to connect to the world. A bike has carried me through some of the most important and transformative moments of my life. I have also found that if you’re patient, a bike can get you out of almost any pickle.

I thought about a ride I tried in the early spring of 2024, a solo stretch of the 300+ miles Trans-Western North Carolina route. After two adventure bike races in West Virginia in 2023, I was ready to try my hand at a longer expedition. My trip quickly became more than I bargained for after being attacked by a group of pit bulls. In my flight from their snarls and maws, I tore a tendon in my knee. This injury left me to pedal almost 100 miles to a pick up location on one leg.

My escape route had limited cell service and few reprieves. A monstrous thunderstorm on the second night left me wet, cold and exhausted. On my final day, to add one last snub, it snowed.

The fear I felt at times was real. I was hours away from help, hurt and often without signal. Even though I was never far from a community, I wasn’t guaranteed any comfort from the folks living there. The pit bulls made that very clear. On that trip, my bike felt like my sole comfort. Never once did it do anything other than carry me home, albeit slower than I had hoped.

I limped into a small mountain town, greeted with warm grass and cold ice cream at the general store. Once my rescue team scooped me and got me home, I bought a satellite communicator. Being hurt and without reliable cell service, I had yearned to feel close to people. I also now always ride with some kind of dog deterrent, be it pepper spray or a slingshot.

More than anything, I began to look at my bike as more than a tool for recreation. Like a cowboy whose horse saved him from an ambush, I felt like my bike was looking out for me. We were thrown into the Thunderdome together, and together was the only way we were getting out.

Radios

Now, on the Neuse, I give my handlebars a little pat. If I could give my bike a sugar cube, I would. As the path swayed back and forth along the river, so did my thoughts. Feeling appreciation for my bike, my mind turned back to radios and my yearn for the connection I craved on that trip.

They require almost no power, a small solar cell or hand crank can keep them going indefinitely. And seriously, they harness the fucking air. The airwaves are just free to tap into for almost unlimited information and connection. No subscriptions, no AI, no tailored ads — just stories and music and art straight to my ears. I have to tell people about this, I laugh to myself.

Last May, I took a group of college students on an expedition to the Andes in the Jujuy region of Argentina. The area we were in is one of the most remote places in the world. Due to a combination of food poisoning from some bad chimichurri and a student struggling with the elevation, the two of us stayed behind while the rest of the group finished the route.

We stayed in a guesthouse in a village that was only accessible by helicopter or on foot. The Starlink internet we did have was weak or nonexistent. No one in the village spoke English, and my Spanish was mediocre at best. This student and I had little in common. Conversation was scant.

I feigned interest when he pulled out his shortwave radio — that was until the voices from WMOT, my undergrad radio station in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, began to play in our casita.

I was bowled over. He explained that shortwave radios harness the signals playing in the atmosphere and can be picked up from all over the world. We walked into the yard under the star-filled Andean sky and adjusted a massive, wiry antenna until we got a strong signal.

We listened as the world opened up to us.

He had a book with some frequency designations. We listened to Chinese cargo ships, church hymns in Chicago and air traffic controllers in Moscow. A brilliant Milky Way floated above us, filled with the signals of a billion people talking to each other. I learned you are never alone with a radio. I looked down at this handheld piece of wizardry and thought: radios fucking rock.

Bikes and radios — they are the pinnacle of community, self-determination, and freedom. Radios offer a low barrier to entry, nearly unregulated (gone are the days of truly free radio…), and no subscriptions — a goddamn miracle in today’s world. They don’t need any more improvements. If you need to, you can build and repair them at home with spare parts. iPhones could never.

Slingshots

You may be thinking, what do slingshots have to do with bikes and radios? The sling, or the modern slingshot, is the OG choice for anyone who wants to scream “Fuck you!” from a distance. It is a symbol of the underdog and nature’s atom smasher. The slingshot is as human as inside jokes and bombing hospitals. It is an invention that is accessible to anyone and is recognizable across cultures. It requires no license or registration or fees (at least here in the good ol’ U.S. of A.), and the ammunition can be sourced from your local creek bed.

The slingshot fills the role of the iconoclast — the rebel, the cowboy, the punk inside each of us. The bike and radio by themselves aren’t enough. For there to be true harmony, there has to be a little bit of good trouble — it keeps the shareholders on their toes.

No matter how much you arm someone with freedom, self-determination, community and all the other good and noble things, if you’re not carrying some kind of stick, some shareholder is going to try to manufacture some consent that no one asked for.

The slingshot is self-determination without outright murder being the first option. Unlike a gun, a slingshot has more of a chance of leaving a nasty bruise than disemboweling someone. A slingshot’s place today is not exactly to fell giants or to bag your next meal (although both are still possible). A slingshot today is both a deterrent and a tool for the civically minded. It is not so much what the slingshot can do, but what it could do.

For instance, if I am camping and a raccoon keeps trying to steal my candy bars, do I need an AR-15 to unload 30 5.56x45mm NATO rounds through him to get him to stop? I mean, maybe, but it seems excessive, no? But a few acorns at 150 feet per second is more than enough. Or, let’s say, if my local corporation is dumping toxic waste into my waterways, could I smash some of their shareholders’ car windows with some crushed spark plugs? Yea for sure, they’re like $5 a piece.

Without the slingshot, our civically minded citizen is defenseless and has no way of letting someone know how they feel about them from a distance.

It tells anyone around who can see it sticking out of your back pocket or bike bag: Go ahead, ask me if I like being controlled — the answer, buddy, is no way, José

Not to mention that knocking down pinecones from a big conifer or dinging beer cans off a fence rail is a pastime that never gets old.

I’ve met Appalachian Trail thru-hikers who always pack a wrist rocket and some bearings. Once, while working at a local bike shop, a scruffy-looking bike couple came into the shop asking if we had any leftover bearings. When I asked them if they needed bottom bracket or hub bearings, they told me it didn’t matter — it was for their slingshots. They made grapeshot with them to use to scare off squirrels and bike thieves.

If it came down to it, I could use a bike to power a radio. They compliment each other that way. The slingshot, added to the equation, allows me to protect my holy shrine.

Bikes, radios and slingshots are all the same matter in different states — slices of the same pie, layers of the same cake. They are complementary colors; they are different forms of the same Latchkey god. Amen.

Evolution

Despite my excitement, this revelation is nothing new. We’ve been pining for this for a long time, you see. From the moment we first began to walk upright, we gravitated toward this kind of spirituality. We aren’t the fastest or strongest and most of the time we aren’t even the smartest animals. But our throwing arms set us up as top dogs pretty quick. Organizing and talking with charcoal drawings, quipus, and clay tablets were natural next steps in our love of information sharing. Looking to see more of the world we tamed some horses — maybe some donkeys, too. However, even the layperson can see that those three things needed some tweaks.

The timeline of the Latchkey Punk inventions as we know them is simply thus: The sling was the first and simplest of the three — Jesus, a bit of a rapscallion himself, wrote about that one in the Bible. His buddy David needed a way to let the authorities know what he really thought of them from a distance.

Fast forward a few years, and we got bikes when Henry Bicycle invented the bicycle. Legend has it that Henry was a private man. He was sick of people seeing his horse parked at his favorite swimming hole and joining him to chat for hours. Henry sought a more inconspicuous mode of transportation. He found that a bicycle can be tossed in the bushes, leaving the rider to swim alone.

A few years after that — no one really knows when — some scientists invented the radio to talk to the Moon at night because they were lonely. When word got out and everyone tuned in to listen to the Moon, they also heard each other liked that almost as much.

It was at this point they really could have thrown in the towel and had a toast: “To freedom! To community! To self-determination!” they would cheer. Many credible philosophers tell us that if we had stopped there, the world would be much better off. Everyone would ride their bikes around town, feeling the sun on their faces and the wind in their hair. We would have so much to talk about as we gathered at the end of the day — how the flowers are coming in so vibrant this year, and how the rain smelled extra fresh. Then, after all the talking, we would all sit around the radio and listen to Shakespeare, Vonnegut, Mary Oliver, Mozart and our sweet Moon. There would be no need for violence, since everyone carried a slingshot around — and even if someone decided to use theirs, it wouldn’t instantly blow someone’s brains all over the place.

If we had just stayed at that moment in time, everyone would be happy now. But no — Ronald Reagan told Jesus and Henry and the scientists that they had to invent more to increase shareholder value. From there, like Adam and Eve eating from the fruit of knowledge, our perfect creations were modified into horrible abominations as we wanted more and more.

See, the shareholders got lots of money, and they were happy with the whole thing. Slingshots were not very lucrative with their free ammunition and ability to make them at home. So, they turned them into guns. A whole religion sprang up around them and shareholders were really happy to give that religion a whole lot of money to point the guns where they want them to, and they now represent control.

Bikes are also pretty weak when it comes to profit margins. So they bribed the gun worshippers to tell Ronald Reagan to require everyone to own a car and pay for the oil that they also owned. Now, you have to work for the rest of your life to afford the car that you are required to own. Now, instead of riding your bike to the swimming hole, we are told to buy cars. We are told it’s patriotic to run over people we love, dump oil into rivers and creeks and oceans, smog up the clouds and make cities a place that humans no longer belong in. So the bikes, which were all about freedom and choosing your own fate, became cars and are now all about control.

Lastly, the shareholders said radios weren’t good enough. “Who wants to talk to the friggin’ Moon?” they said. They wanted to use radios to sell more guns and cars. They wanted us to be addicted to buying guns and cars and to tell us that this was all good for their gun religion and good for us, so they invented the internet. Now everyone can talk about how much they love guns and cars, and we can no longer hear the Moon with all the hatred in the sky. The radio, which was once about community, is now the internet and is all about control.

So now the fix is in and shareholders are owed all of the money and tell us what freedom is and the government can bomb more hospitals and abuse more little kids without anyone asking too many questions.

Curtains

Towards the end of my bike ride, I can see, through the piney woods, a sky that was starved for attention. I haven’t been out to see it in some time. The whole forest was a warm rose. The swirling blue and gold background of the sky looked like pillowey fish floating between the trunks. Bird songs swirled around me like doorbells and dog whistles. I felt a bit ashamed I had been hiding from that sky. The last six months had been spent behind computer screens.

When someone dies young and out of order, what little they own is quickly given away or donated. For most of human history, when a living soul is no longer around to usher their story along, it is inevitable that the lives they left behind will blow back into the sky like sea spray. There was a time when that was that — a time when the memories might be all we kept of the departed. The effects left behind could be dispersed among family and friends for keepsakes. Their souls could rest, and that rest, I figure, was about the only upshot to crossing over.

Now, thanks to shareholders, souls are broken up and stored in company-owned machines. Every email, every post, every keystroke, every meme liked is a tiny part of someone that is now all owned and controlled by people who never knew them. Every drop of data we create has a little asterisk next to it: *Property of Meta or *Property of Alphabet. If you think, for even a second, about not handing over your monthly subscription, they will lock away your loved one’s digital soul for eternity, Roko’s Basilisk style.

When Halie was killed by a drunk driver in 2024, I was handed the keys to her digital soul. I just assumed that since I had the login information, the little shards of her online life would stick around. About eight months after her death, Meta permanently locked Halie’s Facebook account with no warning. Any bits of herself on that profile are trapped like a horcrux and owned by one of the least human entities to slither upon the Earth. I read Halie’s eulogy and laid her remains to rest. The fact that I cannot lay that small portion of her to rest myself, keeps me up at night.

Halie was in a coma for five days before I watched her die on the night of a full Moon. Inconveniently, there was never a moment where I could ask, “Hey, little sis, I know you’re really busy right now, but what do you want me to do with the thousands of gigabytes of texts, notes, photos, messages, and hopes and dreams you have on the internet?”

The police station released to me everything she had on her person when she was hit: her black shoulder bag, with her golden hair clip still clamped to the strap; her wallet, with her two-month-old East Tennessee State University graduate student ID in it; the crumpled hat she had in her bike bag, a mountain and the words “VERMOT” embroidered on the front. When the officer handed me her iPhone, my stomach lurched. I didn’t know her passcode.

The only thing they wouldn’t release at the time was the bike she was riding. I was able to see it, but they were keeping it as evidence for a few more weeks. The bike was being stored with the car that hit her. A white Honda Civic, with the front window smashed in the shape of my sister, was parked next to the bike we had built together only a few months before. Her rear tail light was still on, a dim, blinking red in that dark, suffocating garage.

The week of Halie’s funeral, my friends and I moved everything out of her apartment into my parents’ basement. We spent every day that week organizing her things into piles of keepsakes and donations. Her phone and MacBook haunted me. I did not know her passwords and was paralyzed with the thought of never being able to open them.

Preliminary research made it clear that Tim Apple, no matter what, would not let me in. He owned that part of her soul.

Halie left a password hint on the laptop that puzzled me for days. Only after talking with some of her friends from her time teaching English abroad did a phrase appear to match the hint. I had the phrase — but had she used numbers? Symbols? Capital letters? I didn’t know. Two attempts, using her birth year or birthday mixed in, were met with warnings of being locked out.

I imagined myself, in my 80s, still holding on to her laptop with the faint hope that I could get into it one day — imagining the notes, voice memos and photos I would never get to see. I saw myself on my death bed, yearning to hear her voice again, to read her poetry, to know what was going on in her life that last day. My heart broke all over again.

On a walk the night before the funeral, I stopped at the spot we came out of the woods when we had to find our way home. It was the end of October, and a half Moon was lighting up the woods in a pale blue silhouette.

What was I losing if I could not get into her digital soul? Would it make the pain any easier to bear? Would she want me to have that kind of access? Did I really know Halie if I couldn’t guess her password?

I closed my eyes and let the guilt and rage and sorrow burn a hole through my stomach. I looked up at the Moon. The answers to these questions, as it would turn out, mattered little.

The answer to her laptop password hint dawned on me as I stared up at those familiar Southern stars. I suddenly knew what it was. Like some voice from far, far away whispered to me that I knew damn well what her password was. I walked back home, like we had that day almost 20 years ago, and unlocked her laptop — and, with that, a part of her soul.

The preceding week at the hospital, we all realized that Halie had temporarily deactivated her Instagram account — presumably to decrease the time she spent online. There was no way to access a single photo on her cloud accounts. We all knew she had poetry and journal entries on her Notes app. All of this, at the time, was lost forever.

I would look at her on the hospital bed, her chest rising and falling with the whirring of the ventilator. I would watch the numbers that showed the swelling in her brain slowly, but surely, rise. Then I would look at the phone in my hand that had her voice, the files that had her words.

I was grieving two deaths at once.

My friends were gathering up what they had digitally of Halie to send to me. It was a kind gesture, but it was a meager consolation compared with what I knew lay behind four secret digits.

As I had hoped, access to Halie’s laptop and that master password gave me instant access to everything — every password to every account, to every scrap of data she created. If she had it digitally, I had access to it.

Her iPhone had last backed up at 1 p.m. Oct. 12 — eight hours before she was hit by a drunk driver running a stop sign and would never wake up again. When I reset her phone and restored that backup, it was only those eight hours that were missing. She took those with her.

Halie was a private person. Whether she would approve of my access, I don’t really know. On one hand, I know she would want to ease my pain. On the other hand, you don’t need to know everything about a person.

It would take more than a year and a half to go through it all.

The first thing I did was listen to a voice memo. In it, Halie is walking the streets of Crosshaven, Ireland, reciting a haphazard poem to herself.

…no one in Ireland seems to have curtains/

each house covered in windows/

…is it that they trust each other/

to not let curiosity get the best of their neighbors/

…there is something so sweet/

and honest about a country with no curtains

Activating her Instagram was met with a wave of calls and texts from friends — each happy to have their own small piece of her life returned to them. Photo albums could be made and shared with friends and family. Bank accounts could be closed. Distant friends could be notified.

There was a lot to do.

From there, I knew I had an important but monumental task. I needed to keep these little bits of her soul safe. The responsibility of what to keep was almost as daunting as deciding what to delete. Doing my due diligence, I needed to know what I was working with.

This ride today signaled some of the last days of a months-long project. I have gone through hundreds, if not thousands, of gigabytes of my sister’s life. I worked across multiple devices and platforms. I organized, cataloged, cleaned up and backed up every text, photo, voice memo, note and email she ever created.

I became a Halie historian.

Every photo and its metadata, every navigation request on Google Maps, showed me a timeline of the last 10 years of her life. I discovered that the data companies keep and can export is both wonderful and sickening. Before setting off on this bike ride, I completed my first hard-drive backup for safekeeping. I whittled her digital world down to 300 GB of files.

My timeline for this project, at first, was years. I figured I had time to go through everything now that I had her passwords. However, when I saw that Meta had padlocked her Facebook account, I felt panic rising in my chest. What else might get sealed away in some secret server that I can never reach?

Securing the rest of digital Halie became a race against a clock I could not see.

In a period of months, I saw 11 years of her digital life unfold before me. Sometimes, I couldn’t do it. Often, I spent hours just re-listening to voice memos or watching her videos to hear her voice, to hear her laughter. Other times, an email might cause me to weep to exhaustion.

But most of the time, I would stay up late, night after night, exporting data, reviewing it, naming it, organizing it and copying it to drives and laptops so that the only people who control her data are her people — and not a shareholder or soulless technocrat.

The Bean-Field

At the same time Halie and I were playing in the hills and valleys of the Blue Ridge, we were devouring books. The bullying might make more sense as I go on.

As teenagers, we stumbled upon Thoreau’s Walden. The book would inspire both of us to become vegetarians. While I dropped the diet after a few years, Halie maintained it until the end. It was the first of many books we would bond over through the years — from Kerouac and Plath to Oliver and Hemingway.

Halie became a die-hard “Vonne-guy” in her final years, tattooing “So it goes” on her arm in an effort to remind herself not to take life too seriously. Books connected us until the end. The day before the accident, while on the phone for the last time, we laughed as we realized that we had coincidentally been reading the same book about owls.

Now, as I write, I think about our first literary connection, Walden. We had our own annotated copies and I keep Halie’s on a shelf in my bedroom. Although the exact philosophies and creeds we would abide by would evolve separately, Thoreau’s craving for simplicity and his search for deeper meaning by paying attention to the world became the foundation for both of our lives.

I cannot tell you why I felt compelled to write all this down. I was more than a little possessed. I have a backlog of other things I want to write about — stories that are probably a little more interesting than radios and bicycles and slingshots. Every time I open my garage, Halie’s bike is there to remind me. When my radio plays an old country tune in the warm sun, I hear her voice asking me to swap the CD. When a car honks at me on my bike as they drive by, my fingers itch for a way to tell them what I think of them. The Holy Spirit of the Latchkey Trinity must have been sending me a message through the air and vibrations that connect me to Halie.

In a way, this is my ode to the analog — my carnal desire for the simple and utilitarian, for a world that feels like it might have kept my little sister alive.

In the chapter “The Bean-Field,” Thoreau writes about his path to deliberate living. His small plot of farming land, where he planted, among other things, beans, kept him close to the earth. The soil and birds and weeds kept him humble and aware of his world. He toils for weeks and yields questionable results, which only focus his feelings of love for the world.

His toiling he likens to that of Ascetics staring into the sun and depriving themselves of pleasure to sharpen their spiritual aptitude. Although, I don’t think the Ascetics’ mommies were making their lunches and doing their laundry like Thoreau’s was. I suspend my disbelief for the principle in this case.

Picking up my life in Halie’s absence has been one thing. There is nothing I can do for the emptiness but grieve and commit to seeing the sun rise again.

Having to shepherd what she left behind — that is my bean field. My deliberate life now is to ensure that what is left of her is cared for by those who loved her most.

After I put my bike back in the garage, I check the status of my data transfer. Complete. A customized hard drive of the best of Halie Ann Rex, ready to be shipped to our parents.

My recurring nightmares often have to do with the morning I got the phone call. Picking up the phone, driving hours to the hospital, walking into the ER. When I saw her, intubated, bloody, and limp, I took her hand and told her I was there. Her hand gripped mine as if she was letting me know that she knew I was there. It might be the last thing she ever told me in person.

Though I am troubled by the occasional Halie-themed nightmare, I sleep a little better at night now. I know her remains are home, where I laid them to rest. I know that her digital keepsakes are going to be cherished and protected.

I know her bike will be cleaned and maintained and ridden, almost entirely out of spite.

I know I will keep tuning in to the airwaves flowing through the Milky Way, listening for the Moon to talk to us again.

I know on the edge of a shrinking stretch of woods, mixed in with the iron coated shale and limestone coast of our lake, are little pieces of green glass, worn smooth over time under the gaze of the Smokies.

What we do

Education

We provide workshops, classes, and resources (like this site!) to

make a life on bikes more accessible. Whether it’s one of our monthly Basic Bike Maintenance workshops, a skills clinic, or a blog post on how to choose a good route to get to the grocery store via bike, we aim to educate and demystify the world of bikes.

Community Building

We host weekly, monthly and annual rides + events. Our weekly rides include casual-paced social rides to encourage more people to get out on the roads. Monthly events include the Basic Bike Maintenance workshop, Adventure Series events, and Raleigh Critical Mass. Annual events include the Triangle 200, Bike Month, and more. Check out our calendar for more details.

Bike Repair

Sometimes, the only thing standing in the way of a nice bike ride is a flat tire, a squeaky brake, or a rusty chain. We work with The Bike Library to offer a full menu of bike repair services to get you out on the trails.

What’s in a name?

Greenway

Anywhere that human-powered transportation dominates. Rail trail? Yes! Multi-use path? Totally. Bike lane? Say less. I-95? No.

Gear

The gears on our bikes help us explore the world, and the gear we use helps us live a human-powered life year round. We teach our members how to use, maintain and love their gear.

Collective

The only way we can change the world is through collective effort. Our strength is in our members. Come as you are!

Clouds? Check. Rain? Check. Gorgeous sunset? Absolutely.

This past Saturday, GGC members joined our friends at Frog Hollow Outdoors for a sunset paddle on Lake Raleigh. After a pretty soggy day, we weren’t sure what the evening had in store—but the sun came through for us in a big way!

If you’ve only seen Lake Raleigh from the shore, you’re missing half the fun. Getting out on the water gives you a whole different perspective of this little gem right here on Centennial Campus.

We loved getting out together and supporting our fellow container operator, Frog Hollow Outdoors. They offer boat and paddleboard rentals on weekends and for special events, so check them out if you’re ready to explore the lake from a different angle.

And this won’t be our last adventure together… stay tuned for our next GGC partnership!

What's happening this week?

Monday 08/31 - Craft Night at TBL Cafe

Join us for a craft night at the TBL Cafe! All crafts and crafters are welcome to join! There will be full espresso bar and plenty of good vibes. Bring a friend and you project!

Friday 09/04 - First Friday at TBL Cafe

Join TBL After Hours with a First Friday Art Night! There will be art for sale by local artists, full espresso bar open with wine and beer for a suggested donation, music by a local DJ, and vibes. Bring a friend and spread the word!

Other things:

Volunteer with GGC

We need your help to operate the GGC container! Sign up below to help us make this a unique, vibrant bike co-op in Raleigh.

Sign Up Here to Volunteer

What you need:

• A good attitude

• A desire to work on bikes in the sunshine next to the lake

• 4-8 hours of your weekend

• Basic bike maintenance skills help A LOT... but the container is also a great place to learn!

What you get:

• Free bike education, if you're learning

• The satisfaction of helping your fellow humans learn basic bike skills, if you're teaching

• A day in the sunshine next to the lake

Sign Up Here to Volunteer

This past Tuesday, Greenway Gear Collective joined NC State Transportation for the annual Bikes on the Bricks event, helping students, faculty, and staff get their bikes ready for the new academic year.

Our volunteers Debra Rezeli, Jeff Rezeli, and Ned Mellon worked on nearly two dozen bikes during the three-hour event! We handled everything from basic air and brake checks to more involved gear adjustments, while also talking with cyclists about safe riding and keeping their bikes in good working order.

Bikes on the Bricks gives the NC State community a chance to get free bike safety checks, register their bikes, learn about sustainable transportation options, connect with campus and community organizations, and pick up some goodies for their next ride.

We also enjoyed telling students about GGC’s bike container at Lake Raleigh on NC State’s Centennial Campus. Whether you need some bike help, want to learn a new repair skill, or just want to hang out with fellow cyclists, come see us!

Thanks to NC State Transportation for inviting GGC to be part of another great Bikes on the Bricks. We love helping make bicycling around campus safer, easier, and more accessible!

Now on to this week!

Thursday 08/27 - Dusk MTB Ride with TORC + GGC 7pm at Centennial Middle School

Meet at 7pm at the Centennial Campus Middle School. We will meet at the trail head and do a loop. Each loop at Lake Raleigh Woods is about a mile long so there will be opportunities to collect riders and do multiple laps or potentially to leave after any loop, depending on the ability level and time available to individual riders on each ride.

Friday 08/28 - Critical Mass 7pm at NC State Belltower

Critical Mass is a casual group ride held every last Friday of the month. We meet at the NC State Bell tower at 6:30pm and roll out at 7:00pm. The ride is meant to be a statement. The purpose is to promote bike presence on the streets, build community, and encourage awareness around everyday cycling. The pace is steady, the route is short, and riders of all experience levels are welcome. It’s a social ride meant to highlight the number of people who move through the city by bike and to create a safe, collective riding experience.

Follow @raleighcriticalmass on instagram for updates and news!

Saturday 8/29 - GGC and Frog Hollow Sunset Paddle 7pm at Lake Raleigh

Join GGC members for a sunset float with Frog Hollow Outdoors to support our fellow container operations on Lake Raleigh! BRING YOUR OWN BOAT OR RESERVE ONE BELOW

Reserve your paddle

Sunday 8/30 - The Long Shot Ride 8am at TBL Cafe

The Long Shot ride is led by Micaela Fox and Thomas Weybrecht coffee lovers and casual riders. The ride is intended to be a casual, longer-distance group ride exploring great coffee beyond Raleigh. Designed for riders of all levels, it’s a low-pressure way to go a little farther, try new routes, and connect with others along the way. We roll at an easy pace, stick together, and always have a solid coffee stop waiting for us. We will be heading to the Jubala at the Lafayette Village this month!

Other things:

Volunteer with GGC

We need your help to operate the GGC container! Sign up below to help us make this a unique, vibrant bike co-op in Raleigh.

Sign Up Here to Volunteer

What you need:

• A good attitude

• A desire to work on bikes in the sunshine next to the lake

• 4-8 hours of your weekend

• Basic bike maintenance skills help A LOT... but the container is also a great place to learn!

What you get:

• Free bike education, if you're learning

• The satisfaction of helping your fellow humans learn basic bike skills, if you're teaching

• A day in the sunshine next to the lake

Sign Up Here to Volunteer

Have you heard of the Triangle 200k?

The Triangle 200k is hosted by Durham Courier (rip) and will be on Sunday September 27th. This year marks the 10th year of the race. We use the word "race" very lightly. The race is 200km of roads, greenways, cuts, and corners around the triangle. Riders will start in Durham at Duke Park and head to Raleigh, then Chapel Hill, ending right back at Duke Park for a grill out. Registration is $5 and begins at 6:00am, departure will be at 7:00am.

This is a great opportunity to tour the triangle by bike. There is no official pace and you will be fully self-supported. Riding in a group is always helpful.

Route from last year

If you have any questions about the Triangle 200k reach out, we'd love to chat about it.

What's on the schedule for this week?

Thursday 08/20 - Dawn MTB Ride with TORC + GGC 7am at Centennial Middle School

Meet at 7am at the Centennial Campus Middle School. We will meet at the trail head and do a loop. Each loop at Lake Raleigh Woods is about a mile long so there will be opportunities to collect riders and do multiple laps or potentially to leave after any loop, depending on the ability level and time available to individual riders on each ride.

08/21 - Open Mic Night 7pm at TBL Cafe

Join TBL every third Friday of the month for an evening of creativity and community! Whether you’re a musician, poet, storyteller, or just want to cheer others on, everyone’s welcome. Bring your talent (or your friends) and enjoy a relaxed night of local voices, good vibes, and connection at our storefront space. Doors open at 6:30pm, open mic from 7-9pm.

On Saturday, Greenway Gear Collective volunteers Colin, Jack, and Jeff provided free bike repairs for children preparing to head back to school as part of the first (annual?) Love the City event sponsored by Multiply Church and held at Broughton High School. Children and families that attended were able to pick up backpacks filled with school supplies, get free vision, dental, and other health screenings, and have some fun in the pop-up skate park where the music was pumping. GGC donated a bike that was raffled off to a deserving and appreciative family and stayed busy with a steady stream of repair work throughout the event.

What's happening this week?

08/10 - The Strategy Lab, by CreativeMornings RDU at TBL Cafe

The Strategy Lab, by CreativeMornings RDU, was created as a place to gather and share more in-depth industry knowledge from local business and creative leaders. Each evening event will feature respected business leaders sharing five practical tips or key takeaways that attendees can immediately apply in their own work. This will include lessons from their own journey, strategic decisions that made a meaningful impact, common pitfalls to avoid, building with legacy in mind, and frameworks they rely on when leading and scaling a business.

Lauren and Cameron will talk about their story as a team and as business owners, how they live their lives today and how that has evolved over the past few years, and what they are doing to make the city a better place.

Seating will be limited. Doors open at 5:15 PM. The event starts at 5:30 PM. There is plenty of street parking available, as well as free two-hour parking in the adjacent parking garage.

08/14 - House Plant Crash Course at TBL Cafe

Join us for an evening of all things houseplants! Quin will lead a casual conversation on houseplant care and propagation, sharing tips, tricks, and answering your plant questions along the way. The coffee bar will be open, vinyls will be spinning, and the conversation will be flowing. Whether you're a seasoned plant parent or just getting started, everyone is welcome.

08/16 - Kiko Cafe Matcha Workshop at TBL Cafe

You all have asked for it! TBL is partnering with Kiko Cafe for a Matcha Class. Learn all about matcha basics from it's rich history to how to make a yummy iced matcha latte. If you have a bowl and a matcha whisk please bring your own, supplies are limited. The class will be $20 use this link to get your tickets.

Sign Up Here!

Other things:

Volunteer with GGC

We need your help to operate the GGC container! Sign up below to help us make this a unique, vibrant bike co-op in Raleigh.

Sign Up Here to Volunteer

What you need:

• A good attitude

• A desire to work on bikes in the sunshine next to the lake

• 4-8 hours of your weekend

• Basic bike maintenance skills help A LOT... but the container is also a great place to learn!

What you get:

• Free bike education, if you're learning

• The satisfaction of helping your fellow humans learn basic bike skills, if you're teaching

• A day in the sunshine next to the lake

Sign Up Here to Volunteer

The Bike Library is having a one year anniversary party!! Here's what they have going on:

All Day: Enjoy a special Birthday Cake Latte or Birthday Cake Matcha in collaboration with Kiko Cafe.

9:00 AM: Join Homebody Yoga for an outdoor community yoga class in the Platform Apartments Courtyard. Bring a yoga mat and water bottle. All proceeds benefit Homebody's Scholarship Fund. Sign up here.

10:45 AM: Heights Pilates will be offering a 45-minute, all-levels community mat class. Pilates is a great complement to cycling, helping improve strength, mobility, balance, and recovery. No experience is necessary, and all equipment will be provided. Sign up here.

1:00–4:00 PM: Explore local vendors throughout Dupont Circle and the Platform Apartments Courtyard, including Sauna House, BaySix, Jabin, Onward PT, Nadia Massage, Bold Batch Ice Cream, Drink Reclaim, and many more.

4:00–7:00 PM: We'll wrap up the celebration with live music at the cafe.

Come for some or come for all we would love to see you and celebrate with you!

On to the activities for this week:

Thursday 08/06 - Dusk MTB Ride

Meet at 7pm at the Centennial Campus Middle School. We will meet at the trail head and do a loop. Each loop at Lake Raleigh Woods is about a mile long so there will be opportunities to collect riders and do multiple laps or potentially to leave after any loop, depending on the ability level and time available to individual riders on each ride.

Friday 08/07 - First Friday at TBL Cafe

Join TBL After Hours with a First Friday Art Night! There will be art for sale by local artists, full espresso bar open with wine and beer for a suggested donation, music by a local DJ, and vibes. Bring a friend and spread the word!

Saturday 08/08 - TBL 1 Year Anniversary at TBL Cafe

See more information above

Saturday 08/08 - Melted Crayon Alleycat + Cookout at Jaycee Park

Join community kickstand for their second annual benefit alleycat & cookout! New to alleycats? Alleycats are fun, choose-your-own-adventure rides inspired by bike couriers.

You'll get a list of stops, plan a route, and hit as many stops as you can (or want to) before the cutoff. Each stop earns you a random crayon. At the end, use them to color in a drawing. Best ones win prizes!

Ride solo or party-pace with a group. Perfect for beginners, newcomers, veteran townies, and everyone in between.

Featuring a post-ride cookout with hot dogs (veggie and meat), drinks, and snacks. Proceeds go to Raleigh Community Kickstand, a collective providing free repairs, bikes, and training for folks in need. See you there!

Sunday 08/09 - GGC Basic Bike Maintenance Class at GGC Container

GGC’s monthly Basic Maintenance Class is a great way to learn the essentials of bike care and tune-ups. Each class is shaped by who shows up — we tailor the content based on attendees’ knowledge and experience, so no two sessions are exactly the same!

Other things:

Volunteer with GGC

We need your help to operate the GGC container! Sign up below to help us make this a unique, vibrant bike co-op in Raleigh.

Sign Up Here to Volunteer

What you need:

• A good attitude

• A desire to work on bikes in the sunshine next to the lake

• 4-8 hours of your weekend

• Basic bike maintenance skills help A LOT... but the container is also a great place to learn!

What you get:

• Free bike education, if you're learning

• The satisfaction of helping your fellow humans learn basic bike skills, if you're teaching

• A day in the sunshine next to the lake

Sign Up Here to Volunteer

Critical Mass is this Friday! Bring your friend, bring your family, bring your neighbor!

What's happening this week?

Monday 07/27 - Craft Night at TBL Cafe

Join us for a craft night at the TBL Cafe! All crafts and crafters are welcome to join! There will be full espresso bar and plenty of good vibes. Bring a friend and you project!

Thursday 07/30 - Dawn MTB Ride

Meet at 7am at the Centennial Campus Middle School. We will meet at the trail head and do a loop. Each loop at Lake Raleigh Woods is about a mile long so there will be opportunities to collect riders and do multiple laps or potentially to leave after any loop, depending on the ability level and time available to individual riders on each ride.

Friday 07/31 - Critical Mass

Critical Mass is a casual group ride held every last Friday of the month. We meet at the NC State Bell tower at 6:30pm and roll out at 7:00pm. The ride is meant to be a statement. The purpose is to promote bike presence on the streets, build community, and encourage awareness around everyday cycling. The pace is steady, the route is short, and riders of all experience levels are welcome. It’s a social ride meant to highlight the number of people who move through the city by bike and to create a safe, collective riding experience.

Follow @raleighcriticalmass on instagram for updates and news!

Other things:

The Left Hook Coffee Grand Opening 8/1:

This Saturday August 1st The Left Hook Coffee is hosting their circus themed Grand Opening Block Party!! They are in need of some volunteers to work a couple different types of shifts. Check out the sign up below:

Volunteer with Left Hook Coffee

Volunteer with GGC

We need your help to operate the GGC container! Sign up below to help us make this a unique, vibrant bike co-op in Raleigh.

Sign Up Here to Volunteer

What you need:

• A good attitude

• A desire to work on bikes in the sunshine next to the lake

• 4-8 hours of your weekend

• Basic bike maintenance skills help A LOT... but the container is also a great place to learn!

What you get:

• Free bike education, if you're learning

• The satisfaction of helping your fellow humans learn basic bike skills, if you're teaching

• A day in the sunshine next to the lake

Sign Up Here to Volunteer

It's frikin hot outside ya'll. Since the GGC container operates fully outside with zero AC some weekends over the summer we might cut hours short depending on the heat index. Follow us on Instagram to stay tuned with any updates!

GGC Instagram

Now on to the good stuff, what's happening this week?

7/23 - Dusk MTB Ride with GGC + TORC

Meet at 7pm at the Centennial Campus Middle School. We will meet at the trail head and do a loop. Each loop at Lake Raleigh Woods is about a mile long so there will be opportunities to collect riders and do multiple laps or potentially to leave after any loop, depending on the ability level and time available to individual riders on each ride. Next week we will meet at 7am for the dawn ride.

7/24 - Independent Study Workshop at TBL Cafe

Join us for a drop in self guided art experience. Select watercolor, charcoal, oil, pastel, or collage, and create solo with friends! This is a beginner friendly event, all supplies will be provided, no tickets are necessary!!

7/26 - The Long Shot Ride at TBL Cafe

The Long Shot ride is led by Micaela Fox and Thomas Weybrecht coffee lovers and casual riders. The ride is intended to be a casual, longer-distance group ride exploring great coffee beyond Raleigh. Designed for riders of all levels, it’s a low-pressure way to go a little farther, try new routes, and connect with others along the way. We roll at an easy pace, stick together, and always have a solid coffee stop waiting for us. These week they will be riding over to Milos in Morrisville!

Other things:

Saturday August 1st The Left Hook Coffee is hosting their circus themed Grand Opening Block Party!! They are in need of some volunteers to work a couple different types of shifts. Check out the sign up below:

Volunteer with Left Hook Coffee

We need your help to operate the GGC container! Sign up below to help us make this a unique, vibrant bike co-op in Raleigh.

Sign Up Here to Volunteer

What you need:

• A good attitude

• A desire to work on bikes in the sunshine next to the lake

• 4-8 hours of your weekend

• Basic bike maintenance skills help A LOT... but the container is also a great place to learn!

What you get:

• Free bike education, if you're learning

• The satisfaction of helping your fellow humans learn basic bike skills, if you're teaching

• A day in the sunshine next to the lake

Sign Up Here to Volunteer

07/16 - Third Thursday Cruiser Ride with OCC

OCCs monthly short, fun, and social ride around Downtown Raleigh dubbed the slowest ride in town. All riders of all communities are welcome!! High emphasis on fun low emphasis on speed. Meet at OCC at 7:30pm.

07/17 - Open Mic Night at TBL Cafe

Join TBL every third Friday of the month for an evening of creativity and community! Whether you’re a musician, poet, storyteller, or just want to cheer others on, everyone’s welcome. Bring your talent (or your friends) and enjoy a relaxed night of local voices, good vibes, and connection at our storefront space. Doors open at 6:30pm, open mic from 7-9pm.

07/18 - Free Live Music at TBL Cafe

Join TBL for live music at the cafe! They will have their full espresso bar along with wine and beer for a suggested donation. Kenny Shore will be preforming an acoustic set.

Other things:

Saturday August 1st The Left Hook Coffee is hosting their circus themed Grand Opening Block Party!! They are in need of some volunteers to work a couple different types of shifts. Check out the sign up below:

Volunteer with Left Hook Coffee

We need your help to operate the GGC container! Sign up below to help us make this a unique, vibrant bike co-op in Raleigh.

Sign Up Here to Volunteer

What you need:

• A good attitude

• A desire to work on bikes in the sunshine next to the lake

• 4-8 hours of your weekend

• Basic bike maintenance skills help A LOT... but the container is also a great place to learn!

What you get:

• Free bike education, if you're learning

• The satisfaction of helping your fellow humans learn basic bike skills, if you're teaching

• A day in the sunshine next to the lake

Sign Up Here to Volunteer

Thank you Brennan Hickey for the write up and sharing your experience with the world!

There is something to be said about spending time in nature with people you've just met but already know you'll like. As someone who recently relocated to Raleigh, NC from Phoenix, AZ, finding this kind of experience and community has been more difficult than I expected. So when I heard about the Solstice Bikepacking Trip hosted by the Greenway Gear Collective and The Bike Library I knew it was exactly the type of adventure I'd been looking for.

After a few weeks of prepping my gear and a couple last-minute trips to grab the items I forgot, I pulled up to The Bike Library with my bike loaded for a ~40 mile round-trip ride along the greenway to our group campsite near the Neuse River in Clayton. Everyone was already outside, standing next to their bike setups with bags strapped in ways that ranged from "very intentional" to "we'll see how that holds up." Conversations started themselves as we chatted about the trip, various bike gear, and the excitement ahead.

After a short group introduction and route overview, we filed out of the Bike Library and headed toward the Greenway, beginning our ~20-mile journey to camp.

Riding solo and riding in a group are two very different activities. When you're in a group moving through a 10-ft wide public greenway on the weekend, you share the path with joggers, dog walkers, families, and other cyclists. This requires a level of urban cycling communication that is easily picked up: "Rider up" when someone's approaching from the front, "Pole down" or "pole up" for the bollards ensuring no one takes a front tire to the immovable object.

The first few miles of any adventure of this type is also the real-time test of how well your belongings are secured. A few bags came loose early on, sagged, and were quickly retrieved or re-secured. Fate had it that I earned the most dramatic gear moment of the morning when my rear trunk rack came loose entirely, rotating downward until the whole thing was dragging on the pavement (pro-tip: double check your bolt tightness!). The upside of riding in a group: you never lack tools and have multiple redundancies of gear. With a borrowed 10mm wrench and some elbow grease and extra assistance from Jeff and Debra, the group and I were back rolling.

Having spent most of my NC cycling time in the last 6-months on the American Tobacco Trail, this was my first time on the Raleigh Greenway system and what a treat it was. My cycling background is mostly Phoenix streets and desert gravel, where car dependency leaves very little room for protected, multi-use paths and reprieve from the sun. However, on this Saturday afternoon, winding through the shaded greenway, crossing over wooden bridges, and riding alongside the river hit differently than any urban ride I've done. Perspective requires a diversity of experience.

​​After about 90 minutes of riding, we slowed at a cattle guard gate tucked off the path. We unlatched it and followed a freshly mowed grass trail toward our camp. I'd later find out it was mowed just for us, which foreshadowed the type of accommodating camp hosts we'd have for the evening.

We walked the property, got the lay of the land, found the water and restrooms, and met our hosts James and Sarah. We also met Dorian. Dorian is a horse. Dorian did what he pleased.

Everyone found a camp spot, tents and hammocks went up, firewood was found and a fire was started. Dinner was a classic camp choose-your-own adventure, with some choosing to bike to Deep River Brewing Company in Clayton, while others and I stayed at camp. Corn, hot dogs on sticks, freeze-dried meals, sandwiches, etc., were all on the menu.

The conversations around camp were the kind that only happens when phones are put away and there's nowhere else to be. Talking bikes, nature, adventures, and pretty much every other topic you'd expect from a group like this. The highlight of the evening was just after dinner when our camp host, James, returned to camp for an earlier promised "fire show". James seemed to magically appear as we turned from our own campfire to see him gracefully swirling fire balls set to music. The bright firetrails whooshed through the air as the camp went quiet.

After the concluding applause, we got the background on fire dancing and the "fire chain poi" he was using. The conversation shifted back to our own fire and continued into the late evening.

Morning was a slow rise with everyone emerging from their tents and hammocks at different times. The morning dew left yesterday's cycling clothes damp, but the cooler temps overnight and in the morning were welcome. After a quick breakfast (and some farm fresh eggs brought down from our camp host), we rolled out on the return ride at a noticeably faster pace and fewer stops. We were back at The Bike Library by noon for post-ride drinks and snacks.

I ended with a few things I didn't arrive with. A deeper appreciation for the Raleigh Greenway system, and how genuinely accessible it makes "big nature" for people in the city. A better understanding of how to load a rear rack. And a handful of new people I'm glad to know.

Thanks to the Greenway Gear Collective and The Bike Library for putting this together. If you're on the fence about signing up for something like this, here's the thing I keep coming back to: as with most things in life, showing up and starting is the hard part. Everything after that takes care of itself.