On day three of my five-day bike tour, I stopped riding. Gravity and the south side of the Kittatinny Ridge had defeated me.

I'd expected a day of uninterrupted, flat pedaling along the Delaware River. But small nuisances that don't show on a map—that you wouldn't even notice in a car—mounted. A bit of flood damage. Road construction. Angry geese. River Road wasn't flat and meandering as I'd imagined, but Hill Road lived up to its name. The day wore on and the list grew.

Finally, I thought I was approaching the end of my ride. After a 3-mile climb, alternating pedaling and walking—both at the same pace—I looked to turn onto Linaberry Road. "Doesn't exist," said the gate attendant at a reservoir right where the road appeared on my map.

I turned around and glided back down the ridge, then pedaled and pushed back up a different route. Ten miles later, I finally climbed off my bike and trudged up the stairs to AMC's Mohican Outdoor Center lodge. Two hikers sat by the door. Bulging backpacks lay at their feet. "How was the ride up here?" one asked.

"Had to walk most of it," I said, too tired to make eye contact.

"So did we!" he said.

I fell asleep dreading the next day's ride. But early the following morning I was back on my bike.

***

"Where ya headed?"

The voice startled me. Looking up from the beef jerky rack in a deli, I saw a middle-aged man by the coffee machine. His weathered face hid behind a beard, more pepper than salt. He wore a beat-up baseball cap and smelled of cigarettes. After three days alone on the road I hadn't expected to chat with anyone. Figured I'd just pick up some food and press on.

"Old Mine Road?" he asked, before I could speak. "It's the best, isn't it?" A gleam flashed across his eyes. He glanced out at my bike, 70 pounds of steel and camping gear. I was headed for the Old Mine Road, and then beyond. This guy didn't fit my image of a cyclist, but he turned out to speak the language.

"Got a map?" he asked. "I'll show you my favorite ride."

***

For months I'd studied maps of the Mid-Atlantic, deciding how best to explore this region that's become an AMC conservation priority—and how to navigate my first bike tour. I'd unfolded the maps across my desk every day, tweaking my route, swapping campgrounds. A plan had eventually emerged: Head from Philadelphia up the Schuylkill River. Cover 50 or 60 miles. Camp and repeat. Definitely hit Valley Forge, the Delaware Water Gap, and High Point State Park. Two hundred and fifty miles, give or take. Get exercise. Enjoy nature.

Sitting behind a desk in Boston, detached from the white-knuckle intensity of steep descents and narrow shouldered roads, I'd imagined light traffic and short hills. My route expanded. A pile of gear grew on my bedroom floor. It seemed like too much. I eliminated a pound here and there and finally stuffed what remained into my two panniers, stubbornly packing a 4-pound novel.

Graduating from leisurely weekend rides to bike touring compares to the jump from day-hiking to backpacking. A different mental approach and a modest investment in gear are required, and improved fitness wouldn't hurt. Touring, as a result, attracts a passionate, niche group—but it seems to be growing. Membership in the leading bike touring organization, Adventure Cycling, grew 27 percent this decade, to 44,500. The group has also sold a quarter-million long-distance route maps.

Long-distance cycling has never quite caught on in the U.S. We're too spread out, connected by too few roads safe for cycling, and pay too little for gas. Yet beyond the nation's major arteries hides a pleasantly cycleable world. Bicycling organizations and groups like the Rails-to-Trails Conservancy have led the transformation of 20,000 miles of railbeds into bike paths—1,500 in Pennsylvania alone—and lobby to link paths and create safe long-distance routes. They've also revived plans for a U.S. Bike Route System, dormant since the 1980s. This grid of bike-friendly roads, some already in use, would be the world's largest if completed. Similar networks have greatly increased the number of bike rides—long and short—taken in other countries. Green, healthy, and cheap, cycling is blossoming here.

Growing interest has led to an abundance of resources, and I pulled from several to create my route. Monday and Tuesday came from a Philadelphia Bicycle Alliance map, Wednesday and Thursday from Adventure Cycling and New Jersey Department of Transportation brochures. Google's helpful—though not yet reliable—bicycle directions tool generated my Friday ride, and stitched the patchwork week together. The final stack of paper and Tyvek guided me through 300 miles and three states. A third of that was on bike paths, and a majority of the rest on quiet country roads. In hindsight the occasional wrong turn and extra hill don't seem so bad.

***

Outside the deli, I pulled a map of the Water Gap from a pannier. The man flattened it on the back of my bike and traced his finger across the Kittatinny Ridge. "I used to ride all over this place in a recumbent," he said. "It's a hell of a climb up the ridge, but the descent—WOOO!" I pictured a pedaling Peter Fonda in Easy Rider, leaning back in his seat, legs stretched out, screaming downhill.

1 | 2

NEXT PAGE