I’m Lane, an American cyclist taking a year to get out and see the world and this is my blog
Hey, it’s me!

Way back in 2015 I got the crazy idea that I wanted to ride my bicycle across the state of Oregon. So the summer after my sophomore year of highschool, my dad and I set off on an amazing journey across the state we call home. He rode with me from Bandon on the Southern Oregon coast to Redmond, just across the Cascade Mountains. From there I continued the journey to the border with Idaho, totalling over a thousand miles in about a month, completing a journey that I will forever cherish and which left me with but one question: where next?

In America, high schools do their best to push students right into college, regardless of what they actually want from life and when most students haven’t got a fucking clue what they’re doing. I’m in this camp. In my mind, spending years and thousands of dollars trying to decide what to do with my life doesn’t sound near so appealing as just getting out there and living until I know what I want to do. As such, I’ve taken two years off from school to do what so many people look back and wish they had done. As I write this, the first of those years is coming to a close; I have spent it working on a local grass seed farm where I have learned more than I could ever have hoped. I’d like to give a huge thanks to the wonderful people at Cala farms for taking me in, for teaching me how to work, and for making my next step possible.

That next step will be the focus of this blog: my year of world travel by bicycle (as well as trains, planes, and automobiles). I have chosen the bicycle as my mode of travel because it is one of the most intimate ways to experience a country. The speed is perhaps the most obvious factor; instead of zooming past houses, valleys, mountains, trees, and everything else that makes up a place on the way to a tourist attraction, you have the time to observe and appreciate far more of the things along your route than when traveling by car, bus, or train. Additionally, my last tour taught me that traveling on a bike is, in many ways, a vulnerable persuit. It’s that vulnerability and transience of your presence which draws strangers to strike up conversations with the traveling cyclist, first asking about the cyclist’s stories, then sharing their own.