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“When did you get into cycling?” he asked invitingly. Our wheels hummed side-by-side down a quiet rural highway somewhere in Wyoming, or maybe Nebraska, it’s all a blur. I privately hazarded a guess…

I spent several hours in Rustee's yard, organizing myself in the rain-slush-snow. My bike bags kept filling up with water as I packed them, but I happened to have a large sea sponge in my car so I…

In my dream, I am riding up a steep climb on a narrow road winding through redwoods, barely able to turn the pedals. But I am happy. Ecstatic, really. I am one with my bike, an extension of my body,…

I met my wife on a college camping trip in 1992. At the time I was trying not to spend the week drunk beyond imagining. A friend convinced me to sign up for this trip through the community service…

I've been a cyclist most of my life. My life has had little permanence, but cycling has been as close to permanent as anything short of my parents. Cycling didn't care whether I rode or not. My bike…

A thing I wrote years ago for Red Kite Prayer. On this Monday, when the words are all stuck in between my ears, refusing to find my fingertips, a good reminder that sometimes it helps not to try so…

The conversation in my head while riding Bull Run last weekend in Moab was dawdling along something like this:  “I’m riding really well. I’m gonna try to keep it mellow, keep from redlining cause…

Back in 2016 my friend James Winchester pulled together an incredible number of people, bikes and machines to celebrate the 90th anniversary of the venerated Italian brand, Masi Bicycles. …

The year draws to a close, whether you're done with it or not, and 2022 was a banger here at TCI. Readership grew throughout the year. More people listened to our podcasts. Subscribers subscribed,…

Crater Lake. The Pacific Coast. Ghost towns in the high desert. That's cool, but how can you do so much riding alone? This question is usually followed by a comment like "you're so courageous." I…

A call to commerce! An unsubtle, attention-grabbing shout out! A gentle plea. Please witness the arrival of the brand-new, classic Cycling Independent Black t-shirt. Excuse the smirking…

Hello Friends, Just us, checking in from the end of summer (unless you're one of our Southern Hemisphere readers...we're not trying to be hemispherist). It's been a busy time for us, Padraig…

I know just enough about bikes to know that I don’t know s#*$ about bikes. And I don’t want the mountain of what I don’t know to ruin the truth of what I do know … which is I f*@%ing love riding my…

You open your eyes. Disoriented. Dirty. Details are sharp but nonsensical. Rising dust motes. The tick of a spinning freewheel. A dog with five white whiskers licking your arm. The smell of Christmas…

A good friend of The Cycling Independent, Elizabeth Allen, has started a really cool new video blog series called Turtle Wandering. In her words, this is the description: "It is about the places…

I have been thinking an awful lot about cycling advocacy and inclusivity. Why? Because I dream of a self-powered world, one in which all citizens glide around on a bicycle of one flavor or another. I…

Life changed for us 365 days ago. I doubt you or anyone you know would have been willing to guess that the life you're living today was even possible. It was certainly beyond my imagination, and I…

I chose cycling because it's the only time I don't feel like a klutz.I chose cycling because I can't stick the ball. I chose cycling because I didn't play team sports.I chose cycling because I'm…

I'll be brief. Our primary goal at The Cycling Independent is to make our community as large as we possibly can. Part of that is selfish. We can't continue without your financial support. This is…

Right now you might be thinking, "How can this be an editor’s letter on a website? This isn't print!" You very well should be thinking that because we’re not just another website with a bunch of…

The way I tell the story, my love of magazines, of periodic publications, began with Skateboarder Magazine in 1977, but that’s not actually true. I can trace it further back, to Boy’s…

A single day can feel like a month. Processing a massive ride afterwards is like staring at a Salvador Dali painting. Fifty miles dissolves into a blurry moment. Turns out it took a village…