I’ve been a runner for 25 years. I grew up in Nebraska, running endlessly undulating gravel roads and pasture paths as a monomaniacal adolescent, bent on success in track and cross-country. I never realised much achievement on the tartan oval, nor as a harrier (that would eventually come a decade later in the mountains, while contending ultra-distances), but what I did discover was an appetite for movement, and thereby, an understanding of place. Hours spent alone, striding over the hills, developed within me a connection to my surroundings. My integration with both the weather and the land resonated far deeper than competitive results or even the act of running. What I discovered was the importance of simply being out there every day, amongst it, developing a relationship with a landscape and its history through regular practice and diligent accumulation of time outside.

I spent my teenage years in these hills of grass, dreaming about the mountains and success as a runner – and I’ve lived the last 20 years in Colorado enjoying both of those things. By means of a bicycle, however, I was suddenly able to see the land of my upbringing in an entirely novel context. In a moment where the virus seems to be inflicting closures and restrictions nearly everywhere, bringing the bike with me back to Nebraska was, conversely, unexpectedly expansive. Instead of feeling perhaps cloistered and uninteresting as it did when I was a teenager, the bike imbues these hills with a sheen of freshness and opportunity, only amplified by the newly green spring grass and incipiently budding trees.

“You are stuck in your body. The furthest I could reasonably explore on foot was about a fifteen-mile radius from my family’s farm, whereas with a bicycle, the diameter of that circle instantly tripled, even quadrupled.”

 
While biking began for me as a means of cross-training to supplement my running fitness, over the past five years it has quickly progressed into a standalone love affair. Bikes afford a unique freedom, autonomy and range that – due to its repetitive impact – running simply can’t offer. Not to mention, the lack of carrying capacity when moving on two legs. You are stuck in your body. The furthest I could reasonably explore on foot was about a fifteen-mile radius from my family’s farm, whereas with a bicycle, the diameter of that circle instantly tripled, even quadrupled.

“I spent my teenage years in these hills of grass, dreaming about the mountains.”

Follow Anton’s adventures on his Instagram and website