Travel Writer of the Year

Good news: I've been named 2016 Travel Writer of the Year by the Society of American Travel Writers Foundation. Which is pretty cool. Actually, they call it Travel Journalist of the Year, but even though I sometimes do journalist-y things, I like to imagine I'm more writer than reporter. Humor me, okay?

The judges, professors from the esteemed Missouri School of Journalism, said this about my work: "His stories are expertly crafted to capture the tension and the scenes. His readers ride with him. His stories are narratives with character, tension and resolution."

Thanks guys. I work hard on my stories to do just that. And publishers take note — readers want stories with personality and verve. They want to hear the writer's voice. They want to be transported and be in the story as they read.

Big thanks to Sierra, National Geographic Adventure, National Geographic Traveler, Adventure Cyclist, SUP, and The Clymb for giving me the platforms to tell the stories that won this award. A special shout-out to Sierra for their partnership the last few years and for the great editors I work with there, with a special nod to Reed McManus, who skillfully edited my stories on dancing with wolves in Glacier Park and climate change's affect on skiing shortly before passing away of a heart attack in early January. His untimely departure is a reminder for all of us to enjoy our lives while we're here. Let's get out there, have fun, help people whenever possible, and explore this amazing world while we're able.

Here are some of the stories that won me travel writing's highest honor.

"The Wildest Valley," Sierra magazine, Nov/Dec 2015

"Circling the Volcanoes, One Family Circumnavigates Nicaragua's Ometepe by Bike," Adventure Cyclist, May 2015

"North of the Border, A Family Explore Alberta by SUP," SUP the Mag, Summer 2015

"How to Become an Outdoor Writer and Photographer," The Clymb blog

"Worlds Most Unexpected Ski Areas," National Geographic Adventure

Lastly, you may have noticed, or maybe you didn't, ahem, that this blog has gone fallow. With the uninspiring Blogger design and fact that I'm busy with paying work, I wouldn't expect it to come alive with new posts anytime soon. If I do get inspired to write something without a paycheck (seriously, I spend enough time sweating blood at my desk as it is, and I'm also working on a book, which pays squat for the time being), it will probably be at Medium where I can make things more engaging and prettier. 

In the meantime, feel free to follow my professional page on Facebook and turn notifications on so you don't miss it when I post images like this, from my upcoming story on grizzly bears. And, yeah, my camera now has teeth marks on it.

Swell on Wheels: Riding Utah's San Rafael Swell

I was pedaling alone through a deserted corner of Utah, the first stars punching through the dome of the evening sky, when I saw the lion. Or what looked like a lion. It was too shadowy and quick to say for sure, but I feathered my brake levers, which were secured to my handlebars with zip ties and duct tape, and futilely squinted into the dusk. Riding on, faster now, rock walls launched into the sky at my side, their crenelated faces blushing in the day’s last light. I wanted to look up the names of the more dramatic peaks, but I had no map. No matter, it was all achingly beautiful and my smile led the way as I continued on, pedaling hard, further and further into nowhere. 

To understand why I’m streaking down a remote dirt road through failing light into one of the more isolated deserts in America — out of water, without a map, lights, or overnight gear of any kind — you have to know the convoluted history of this star-crossed bike journey into Utah’s San Rafael Swell. 

One family goes big

High in a remote corner of the Swan Valley we roll around a bend in the trail — 11-year-old Silas, 7-year-old Jonah, and me on one colossal mountain bike we call the Teasdale Train — when suddenly it’s there, not more than 30 feet away: a grizzly bear on its hind legs. I grab the brake levers of our rolling 200-pound behemoth and, in a motion practiced countless times, whip bear spray out of my pack’s side pocket the instant my feet hit the ground. As the boys would later revel in telling friends and family members, “Then dad said the ‘S’ word!”

The bear, it turns out, is tiny — which is even scarier than being huge. As the kids stare wide-eyed at the bruin, I twist my neck from side to side and scan the greenery for sound or movement. There is only one electric thought in my mind: Where’s mom?

Riding for our lives in Trempealeau County

While I was gallivanting through the wilderness this summer, Adventure Cyclist published a story of mine about riding the Trempealeau, Wisconsin area, which quietly has some of the best road riding in the country. Normally I try to avoid riding paved roads, with their rush of hurtling metal death traps, but I'd go back to ride Trempealeau in a heartbeat. (The cover shot was one of only a few dirt patches of the trip — a service road through the Trempealeau National Wildlife Refuge at sunset.) Most roads there are beautifully paved, roller-coaster rides through impossibly idyllic countryside. It's all bluffs, farms, and narrow river valleys. The roads are more like bike paths — narrow and twisty with barely a car to be seen. I might even start riding them if more roads were like that.

So Trempealeau County is not only one of the best kept secrets in American cycling, but it also happens to be where my father's ancestry comes from. So we went there together to ride and explore the landscapes of our past.

Ended up writing a story about mortality, which I then had to turn into a cycling story. I was a little worried when I first sent it in. It was a relief when the editor said he liked it; I half expected him to call and say, What the hell is this bizarre thing you've sent me and where's your real story? I suspect it's not often people send in stories that open in cemeteries...

The Flathead: a celebration

British Columbia's Flathead Valley is a special place. In fact, it might be my favorite special place on Earth. The last undeveloped and uninhabited valley in southern Canada, it's one of the wildest of our remaining wildernesses. An international border bisects the valley, and its southern half lies in Montana where my family has a small cabin. The North Fork of the Flathead River flows through the valley bottom and forms the western boundary of Glacier National Park. (It's also a river I had the pleasure of fording a few days ago on a ski trip into the park, but that's a story for future entry.)

For now, it's enough to know that the Canadian Flathead is a stomping ground for grizzly bears, wolves, wolverines, mountain lions, and every kind of toothy creature that lived there when Columbus landed. But for years this sprawling nursery for everything wild has been under threat. Turns out it's rich in more than animal life and soaring mountains. First there were proposed coal mines, then coalbed methane, then gold mines. Things didn't look good.

I started heading up to the Flathead for adventures — and for stories that could help inspire people to demand its protection. Then, just yesterday, out of the blue, the B.C. government announced that they've decided not to allow mining or energy development in the valley.

To say that I'm jumping out of my underwear with excitement is an understatement. I'm rocketing out of my underwear until it's just a speck far, far below me and I realize, wow, it's really cold up here with no underwear, but I'm so excited it doesn't matter, so I just keep rocketing and rocketing.

In other words, I'm excited.

My story in current issue of Mountain Bike magazine

Anyone that has enjoyed my recent posts of bikepacking images might want to head to their local newsstand (assuming they still have a local newsstand) and pick up the current issue of Mountain Bike magazine. It's been out for a while, so may not be on the stands much longer. The story is called "Riding Loaded" and it's about using the latest in ultralight camping equipment to take a five-day, backcountry mountain bike ride in the Canadian Rockies. A shout-out to Jeff Boatman over at Carousel Design Works who was a great riding partner on the trip and who designs the excellent bags we used to carry our gear.

Below are a couple pre-production spreads of the story. To see the entire piece, visit my issuu page here.

still more campfires of 2009

This is John Stamstad and Todd Tanner attempting to dry out their feet around the fire. We'd crossed approximately 5,000 bone-freezing creeks that day and were seriously wet. Which is yet another example of how campfires are both hypnotic and practical.

If you're curious about our trip, you can read the article from Mountain Bike magazine here.

Yet more campfires of 2009

Heavenly descent

Continuing yesterday's singletrack tangent from the ongoing campfire series, here are a few images taken the morning after the campfire from the previous post. It was the last day of a spectacular five-day bikepacking trip in the Canadian Rockies and all that remained was the three-mile descent from our campsite high in the mountains to the truck at the trailhead below. Fortunately, it was three miles of singletrack so good, so beautiful, so seductively sinuous, that it left us buzzing for days. A perfect way to end a glorious trip...

More campfires of 2009

This was one of my favorite campfire spots of the year. Super secret location in the Canadian Rockies. Though I guess it's not actually all that secret since my article on the trip ran in Mountain Bike magazine. (the curious can view it here.) We slept 50 yards below here in the shelter of some trees, but it was the campfire perch overlooking emerald alpine lakes that I'll always remember.

Last rides of the year

I love riding in late autumn. The air is always crisp and bracing. The colors are muted yet rich. The trails are firm and snow lingers in the shadows. Here are a few images from recent rides...