Story by @migeophoto // Curious what it's like to bike across the country? I am diving into the archive to tell the story of my cross-country bike trip with @bikeandbuild in 2010. Keep up with the #bikebuildtps hashtag to see the full series // During the summer of 2010 I rode my bike nearly 4,000 miles with 32 friends from Boston, Massachusetts to Santa Barbara, California to raise money for affordable housing organizations. The trip was meant to be a lot of different things–charitable, a time for growth, an adventure, and for many, a final celebration of youthful freedom. For me it was a break. It would be the first time in eight years that I wasn’t struggling to keep track of a thousand responsibilities. It was, in a sense, a forced primitization. We spent most nights sleeping in churches, averaged 80 miles per day, and ate enough food for a small public school. When your travel depends on the energy stored in your legs, every indulgence feels justified. Approaching strangers became the norm, as we always had a new story to tell. Exploring a roadside oddity was as easy as turning my handlebars. Along the way I feverishly chronicled the stories of intense pain, joy, accomplishment, tragedy, and the general invigoration of being outside for 12 hours a day. Both in my journal and through my lens I documented the faces of America, the absurdity of Route 66, and the breathtaking landscapes we pedaled through.

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Story by @migeophoto // Curious what it's like to bike across the country? I am diving into the archive to tell the story of my cross-country bike trip with @bikeandbuild in 2010. Keep up with the #bikebuildtps hashtag to see the full series // During the summer of 2010 I rode my bike nearly 4,000 miles with 32 friends from Boston, Massachusetts to Santa Barbara, California to raise money for affordable housing organizations. The trip was meant to be a lot of different things–charitable, a time for growth, an adventure, and for many, a final celebration of youthful freedom. For me it was a break. It would be the first time in eight years that I wasn’t struggling to keep track of a thousand responsibilities. It was, in a sense, a forced primitization. We spent most nights sleeping in churches, averaged 80 miles per day, and ate enough food for a small public school. When your travel depends on the energy stored in your legs, every indulgence feels justified. Approaching strangers became the norm, as we always had a new story to tell. Exploring a roadside oddity was as easy as turning my handlebars. Along the way I feverishly chronicled the stories of intense pain, joy, accomplishment, tragedy, and the general invigoration of being outside for 12 hours a day. Both in my journal and through my lens I documented the faces of America, the absurdity of Route 66, and the breathtaking landscapes we pedaled through.


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