In the United States, we commonly associate road trips with freedom for good reasons: on the road, your choice of route is yours alone, and every stop sign and off-ramp holds possibility. On the road, your daily web of everyday responsibilities dissolves into a simple goal: get from here to there.
Of course, there has never been a worse time for the great American road trip than now. Gas prices are forcing many citizens to cut back on summer travel, and the specter of global warming makes our fossil-powered joyrides look just plain irresponsible. With these things in mind, I recently set off on a bike tour of Vermont. Over 9 days, my friend Spencer and I did a 460-mile loop through the state, carrying a tent and the rest of our gear on our bikes, propelled by nothing but leg and lung power. The goal, for me, was a road trip in tune with the times.
The most difficult part of our journey, it turned out, was not the riding itself, but the preparation. In rural Vermont, the distance between bike shops means you need to know basic repairs; how to fix a flat tire, a broken chain, or a wobbly wheel. I filled in some of the gaps in my knowledge with a visit to Times Up, a non-profit environmental organization in NYC with a bike co-op where volunteer mechanics will teach you to fix your own bike.
I spent about $220 gathering the necessary gear, from a chain tool and spoke wrench to bungee cords and energy bars. Of course, the cost of preparation was insignificant compared to the hundreds of dollars we would have spent on gas over 9 days of driving, to say nothing of the greenhouse gas emissions we avoided by biking. Even if you factor in the energy required to make your bike, and the elevated number of calories that you consume while riding, bicycles get thousands of miles to the gallon.
Our trip intersected with Memorial Day weekend, and with the Harley Davidson riders out in force, I couldn’t help but reflect smugly on what it must have cost to fill their hogs.
To map our route, we pulled out the atlas to find the quietest roads and calculate mileage. This was particularly important since our movement depended on your our own (limited) strength, rather than an internal combustion engine. Of course, accurately planning a route has never been easier, since you can verify everything with Google Maps, then refine it once you hit the road.
Before we knew it, we were standing on a street corner in Chinatown in New York City on an early Tuesday morning, waiting for the bus that would take us to our starting point in Albany. (We wanted the cheapest, if not necessarily the safest, route, and Chinatown buses are a steal, at $25 one way. They also let you carry bikes on the bus without boxing them, while Greyhound does not.
As we hit the road and began winding through Vermont, I reflected on the road trips of my youth, spent cozied up in the back of the family suburban. The difference with biking was immediately apparent: on a bike, you notice more.
Geography takes on heightened meaning, as mountain passes that are little more than large hills in an automobile begin to teach you life lessons about hard work. You note changing smells, like manure and soil as you enter farm country.
By the trips end, I was sunburned and bug bitten, and much stiffer than when I began. But the bike trip also reminded me of something that is easy to forget in an age when most of our needs can be met by flipping a switch or stepping on the gas: If I really need to get somewhere, I can do it myself.
Why Napping is Good for the Planet (And Other Healthy Slow Living Ideas)
Put simply, conveniences cost our planet (and our pocketbooks). That is why the art of slowing down is not only good for our mental and physical health (stress hormones have been found to lower immunity andare linked to cancer and aging), it's good for the planet too.
The more quickly our lives move, the more shortcuts we need to take; faster food, faster housekeeping, even (ironically) faster entertainment.And all this speed takes energy and lots and lots of resources. By slowing down, we can reduce that stress -which is entirely self-caused- and maybe even enjoy the little things more.
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In the United States, we commonly associate road trips with freedom for good reasons: on the road, your choice of route is yours alone, and every stop sign and off-ramp holds possibility. On the road, your daily web of everyday responsibilities dissolves into a simple goal: get from here to there. 
The most difficult part of our journey, it turned out, was not the riding itself, but the preparation. In rural Vermont, the distance between bike shops means you need to know basic repairs; how to fix a flat tire, a broken chain, or a wobbly wheel. I filled in some of the gaps in my knowledge with a visit to Times Up, a non-profit environmental organization in NYC with a bike co-op where volunteer mechanics will teach you to fix your own bike. 
