The best way to see the USA isn’t channeling Peter Fonda in Easy Rider. It’s under your own power, soaking in the beauty and inspiration of varied landscapes while enjoying civilized outposts. Not only can you see parts of America at a leisurely pace, but it’s also a great way to combine exercise with having fun.
If you don’t know where to begin, and you can afford to invest a few bucks that may open horizons you never dreamed of, try exploring bicycle touring packages. They typically run three to seven days with all the logistics handled—hotels, meals, snacks, transportation. And if you don’t bring your own two wheels, they’ll supply the bike. Trips are designed for families, couples, solo travelers, and groups, with routes based on fitness level.
My experience is with Backroads out of Berkeley. I won’t mislead you—it isn’t cheap. My trips were in the 1980s, but friends who’ve gone as recently as last year have given the company high marks. Today, they offer more than 200 active trips in the U.S. and even more worldwide.
I took two trips with Backroads—five days in Death Valley and seven in the Taos–Santa Fe region of New Mexico. At the time of my first trip, I’d only been cycling seriously for 13 months, mostly on Sacramento Valley roads and the Placer foothills. The $800 cost in 1986 was steep for me (a similar trip today starts at $3,799), but I did it to celebrate being 190 pounds on my 31st birthday.
To be honest, today I could plan a seven-day Death Valley trip on my own for a third of the cost, covering food, lodging, gas, and even the stack of books I always buy at the visitors’ center. But here’s the thing—I never would have gotten hooked on Death Valley, or crossed mountain passes like Tioga or Sonora on a bicycle, without Backroads.
Backroads takes care of everything: itinerary, meals, rooms, bicycles if needed, airport rides, even sag service if you want to stop early. On that first trip to Death Valley, I fell so hard for the place I’ve been back 22 times since.
There were three big takeaways. First, I realized what I was missing by exploring California mostly from a car. The world looks more imposing, more stunning, and more endless when you’re moving at 15 mph under your own power. That’s when I began to truly appreciate California’s smorgasbord of geology and wilderness and decided not to waste the chance to explore it.
Second, I became more comfortable with strangers. I met folks from all walks of life, and one judge I rode with gave me advice that stuck: stop staring at the top of the hill. Keep your head down, glance up now and then, and just keep pedaling. That shift in thinking kept me from obsessing over pain and distance. Years later, after hauling a loaded bike over Sierra passes, I realized Hell’s Gate wasn’t the beast I’d made it out to be. But the lesson—don’t let the mountain psych you out—was priceless.
And then there was the thrill of the descent. On one ride down the Beatty Cutoff, I pushed off, started pedaling, then coasted. Thirty seconds later the wind was blasting my face, and I realized the judge and his wife were dots in the distance. I glanced down at my cyclometer and nearly did the No. 2 in my cycling shorts. Sixty-three miles an hour. I tapped the brakes, which did about as much good as blowing on them, and my heart pounded harder than it had on the climb. When I finally rolled onto the flat at Highway 190, I was shaking. Not from fear anymore, but exhilaration.
The New Mexico trip was more of the same: incredible scenery, incredible riding, and incredible people. I met Boston grads seeing the West for the first time, a corporate board member, and—most memorably—a young Illinois lawyer I rode with for three days.
We climbed Red River Pass above 9,000 feet when the temperature dropped from 80 to stormy in minutes. Thunder rumbled. She calmly counted the seconds between strikes, explaining she’d ditch her bike if it got too close. A Midwesterner, she knew her lightning. Moments later it started snowing—on June 1. She had rain gear; I was in summer shorts. I broke trail through the snow while she followed, cars sliding beside us. By the time we crested nearly 10,000 feet, it turned to pounding rain. I was frozen, soaked, and barely hanging on. Thankfully, Backroads had a hot tub waiting at the lodge. We sat in it for hours, swapping stories, laughing about the insanity, and thawing out.
Backroads today offers trips in Napa, the Redwoods, Yosemite, and far beyond. Based on my experience—and what others tell me now—their crews are professional, organized, and friendly. If you want a taste of adventure with a safety net, you can find more at backroads.com.
