Words and Photos by @ry.liewaters and @baby.ogre.motor- @rollingtides.rt
We're stoked to introduce you to Rylie and Tristan and their ambitious plan to bikepack and surf their way through the Americas. Tune in for their reports from the route as they share their adventures, new friends, methods to the mileage, and conservation efforts.
RY-
It was just over a year ago when Tristan called me and told me he was going to cycle from Canada to Patagonia. Now I can't remember when I agreed to come along, but I remember it being a no-brainer. My knowledge of bikepacking was minimal, but as we weaved through the crowd on bikes at our first festival together, I became obsessed.
The plan morphed with our developing relationship. At one point, we were going to tow a trailer of surfboards down the entire coast. Sharing our plans with people was like a test run. How did that feel to say? Was this the version we wanted to do? Reactions were mixed, some confused, mostly positive, some hysterical. Even when the outlines of this adventure were blurry, we knew one thing–we were doing it.
The trailer idea disappeared; it was too ridiculous, then it came back, strong. Suddenly, we were biking around Tofino, British Columbia, surfboards strapped to the thing like we really meant it.
I pulled out of the US portion, knowing it was much less my dream than Tristan's to begin pedalling from home, and I was determined to be on the coast learning surf manoeuvres. I spent the summer planning, planting trees, and bringing up childhood dreams that had been sitting in the shadows. With each shovel throw, I put my ideas in the light and let them grow.
Suddenly, I had a plane ticket booked for Indonesia, for my bike and me (anyone reading this who has driven the streets there is wincing for my ignorance right now). I would tour the best surf spots in Indonesia, and then meet Tristan in San Diego in November to start the long road to Patagonia! We would ship the surf trailer to a friend in mainland Mexico and pick it up as we passed through. Slowly, we would roll down the coast in flow with land and water. This was it, a true surf-bikepacking hybrid expedition–in theory, of course.
I started to hear more reactions from family members about how brave I must be, but I didn't feel brave at all; rather, I felt insatiable. Anyone with their head far up the adventure sport hole knows that an expedition is often no heroic choice. It just feels like something we are drawn to do, like a moth to the light.
Expedition preparations were disheartening. We got tariff f*cked ordering packages from the US, and I was up to my tits in bike mechanical issues. I became more anxious than I'd ever felt before a big life change. So much was riding on this, but also there was so much backing this–endless support from friends, family, and brands that we reached out to. All nourishing our drive to make this dream a reality.
Our hope to fundraise for land conservation throughout the journey was also developing. With this key part falling into place, I could breathe a little deeper; it all started to take shape. We were both ready to hit the ground, tires spinning, first on our separate journeys and then together to finish the route in style.
TRISTAN-
A year of planning went by in a blink, and suddenly I'm in the saddle, putting my head down and gritting my teeth for climb after climb. Gosh, my bike feels really heavy. Did I really need all this food? Soon enough, my Hyperlite Stuff Sacks (which have been incredible for food storage) roll down smaller as I devour calories, and still my bike weighs as much as an elephant. I thought having ultralight gear meant I could then bring heavy stuff, to balance it out, ya know? The camera, the laptop, the harmonica, all nullifying the precise engineering of my Hyperlite kit.
The harmonica had to come, though–my grandmother gave it to me right before I left. Do I know how to play the harmonica? Not at all. But I can breathe into it, and that seems to be good enough. The melancholic sound that comes out likely tells bears: This dude is in his feels, he doesn't need to be eaten right now. #1 bear deterrent in my books. The proof? Have you ever heard of a bear attacking someone while they played the harmonica? I didn't think so.
Most jokes aside, the road feels like home. I guess it could be because my lifestyle was already so similar to bikepacking prior to this journey. Planting trees in the summertime, grinding it out in the land, and coming back to devour food and sleep in a tent. Otherwise, it was Rylie and I living out of a car, bouncing around and transitioning into the wintertime, where we bundle up from the cold every day and go for a ski tour. Or run laps at the resort until our legs fail us and we're forced to straightline. It's a beautiful life we live, and I'm filled with gratitude for the privilege of choice.
Chosen suffering is a world away from the real thing. I remind myself that every day when I roll out of my sleeping bag stiff as a board. Another reason why the road feels like home is the humans. People are curious to hear more about the journey. Conversations are often along the lines of "Heck yeah! Do it now!" They're right, I love early retirement.
The support warms me from within. However, it doesn't seem to reach my toes, which are frozen in my waterproof socks and Bedrock sandals. Maybe because I lost a shoe as I bounced down a singletrack descent, never to be found. As a friend tells me later, "If it can fall out, it will." Ah, shucks. My bungee cords are no match for the bumpy roads of the GDMBR.
To warm my toes, old friends host me in their homes. Strangers become new friends as they cook a warm meal and offer a place to sleep (Blessings to you all! Thank you!!). Kindness really is currency, and every day someone warms my heart by going out of their way to make life a little bit better. I hope I'm repaying in kind.
It's an adventure already, and this is just the beginning. Our timeline is looking like 2.5 years to cycle over 30,000 kilometers, surfing our way down the Pacific Coast of Central America. Rylie is already across the world, cycling to the swells. We're both in the thick of it. The ebbs and flows and highs and lows, like rolling tides.
We'll be sharing stories from our journey on The Trailhead every few weeks, so stay tuned! To see a map of our progress and learn more about our land conservation initiatives, check out our website: https://www.rollingtides.net/
With love, Ry & T
