Running Late: An Improvised Journey on the VTXL

Words by Jake Bleggi, photos by Jake Bleggi and Burke Collings

It’s noon on day three. It’s rainy, it’s cold, and we’re over it. We rolled into a gas station that looks like it’s barely still standing. We grab the basics: pizza, chocolate milk, a Gatorade, and some trail mix. The gas station clerk looks at us and says, “I didn’t expect to see any more bikers this year. The last group rolled through about two weeks ago.” We understood why.

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Five days earlier, we were sitting in Burke’s garage less than 48 hours before hopping on a plane, still with no idea what we were getting ourselves into. To say that we were a tad nervous is an understatement. Burke rambled off a few last thoughts, “This is different. Never brought this much gear before. Never biked this many miles before. Never flown with a bike.” I’m sure we were forgetting something or something was going to go wrong in our foreseeable future.

The morning of the flight, we threw a few final things in our bike boxes. As we continued on, most of our major worries subsided, and our gear and bikes made it safely to Boston. We spent the night cruising the concrete jungle. You’d have thought nobody in Boston had seen a gravel bike loaded down with gear before. The night was filled with strange looks and questions. As two Utahns, we’re accustomed to open land and dirt roads; Boston was very foreign to us. We were kicked off the only dirt road we found in less than 30 seconds.

We left the heart of the city and headed back toward the airport, where we found a comfy-looking bush, stashed our bikes, pulled out our sleeping pads, and called it a night. We’d arranged a ride to the trailhead via a friend of a friend. The following morning, he showed up right at 7:30, as planned, and we were off. On the car ride up, it was instantly apparent to me that we would not make it anywhere fast. There was way too much beauty, old buildings, and landscapes to take in.

In the planning process for the trip, I was trying to wrap my head around how there was 30,000 feet of climbing on a ride with a max elevation of just 2,700 feet. The first few climbs made me realize how such a thing was possible. Day one was everything you could hope for in gravel riding: smooth roads, winding hills, and beautiful scenery. We finished the day in the Island Pond, a quaint small town with a few old churches and buildings. We stopped in the local bar, snagged some food, and watched a little live music. Then, we took off into the dark to find a place to rest our heads for the night.

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Day two was unexplainable. We passed through farms so perfect they didn’t seem real. As we descended into the small town of Burke, we passed a lady doing her daily chores. She was walking her dog and pushing her wheelbarrow down the middle of the street, and she kindly smiled and waved. We knew we were somewhere special. Going into Burke, we had yet to learn we were in such a bike-friendly town. We stopped by a local bike cabin and they pointed us in the direction of some singletrack that would take us further into town.

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We snagged some food, checked out the local bike shop, and took off. We were hoping we’d luck onto a piece of public land as we did on night one, but as we ventured down the road, the “No Trespassing” signs got thicker. Finally, we made it into town and hopped on WiFi, and with GPS, we found a campground just over a mile away. We called the owner, but she informed us that they closed for the season as of that morning. Thankfully, she kindly offered for us to stay in the campground anyway. On our journey, this was one of many acts of kindness from the people of Vermont. My biggest takeaway from this trip is how pure-hearted and caring the people along the route are.

Every road name in Vermont ends with the name “Hill.” On the morning of day three, we woke up to cold temperatures and heavy fog. The hills seemed steeper, and the frigid temps made the downhills as unenjoyable as the ups. At about 2 p.m., the rain rolled in, and that’s when morale hit an all-time low for the trip. We were spent and sad. We rerouted to hit a local store, and it sent us around a hill and onto a long stretch of paved road. It turned out to be our saving grace.

We rolled into town and grabbed some fish and chips from a diner. We then headed off for a lean-to shed we had read about as a place to sleep. Again, we were pedaling way later into the night than expected. Being mid-October, the sun didn’t stick around for long. We rolled in a ways after dark, but the lean-to shed was more of a cabin and more than anything we could have expected.

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Waking up on day four after a good night’s sleep in the cabin and some warm Vermont apple cider to start the day, we had a new view of the day. We started riding in an overwhelming vert position, so the downhill went on for miles! We biked through some of the most beautiful sections of the VTXL and incredibly smooth roads. We ripped into a mid-day stop town and grabbed some famous chili from our newfound gas station friend. She wasn’t very excited about making it every day, as she explained to us, but she knew it was good.

With many miles to cover and no legs to do it, we rerouted once again and caught some fast pavement miles, a much-enjoyed change. Rolling into Horseshoe Canyon just before dark, we were greeted by the host. It was supposed to get well below freezing that night, and looking at our condition, she offered for us to stay in the warm community game room. Without hesitation, we took her up on the offer. It was yet another act of kindness from the people of Vermont.

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As we figured out that night, our plan to find a route from the bottom of the VTXL to Boston via public transportation was critically flawed. We learned that such a thing doesn’t exist. We sat on our phones for hours and shot options back and forth until we finally found a way. There was a train out of Fitchburg that beelined into Boston. The only problem? Fitchburg was nearly 90 miles away, and our biggest day to this point was just below 70. Five days into a bikepacking trip, a 90-mile day didn’t sound like the most enjoyable option. Unfortunately, it was the only one we had.

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We woke up the next day to find frost covering everything in sight. The downhill coming out of the campground was freezing. But after a few solid hours of pedaling on and off dirt roads across incredible covered bridges and past waterfalls, we learned that you don’t have to be on the VTXL to experience Vermont’s beauty. It’s everywhere. The route we’d haphazardly created the night befor was absolutely beautiful. At about noon, we rolled into a small river town and grabbed some incredible breakfast served by a friendly staff.

Leaving breakfast, we headed off to New Hampshire. We had a few hours of fun ups and downs, and we ran into an old bikepacker who pointed us in the direction of some roads he’d enjoyed riding. After a good few hours, we had hit the Massachusetts state line. Regardless of feeling incredibly burnt out by this point, we pushed on.

As we were riding through a small town, I got a phone call from a local number, so I answered it. It was Erik, the guy who gave us a ride up to begin our trip. He had just seen us pass him. It was a hilarious coincidence because we had no idea where he lived and weren’t planning to ride that way, regardless. After one last painstaking hour of riding, we finally arrived at our hotel. It was over, and all we had to do was roll over to the train station in the morning. We could finally look back at the good times. That’s how secondhand fun works, right?

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After a long overdue night of good sleep, we hopped on the train to Boston, where we met a new friend, Joann. She was 87 and had lived on the East Coast all her life. She was incredibly excited to hear about our story and tell some of her own. We swapped numbers to send her the video we’d been working on once we had it ready. Getting off the train, we headed toward Community Cycles, where the staff graciously hooked us up with new bike boxes. We rode through downtown Boston with the boxes on our backs, making our way to the airport. The looks and comments people gave us were some of the trip’s high points.

Bikes disassembled, and on the plane, all the worries of the trip were behind us. It was a remarkable journey, and quite incredible that everything worked out as well as it did with as minimal planning as we put into it. Our experience taught us not to sweat the small stuff. It’s better to hop on your bike and make the first few pedal strokes. The rest will work itself out, and that’s half the fun.

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