I can. One of the things I still can do is ride a bike. Well, not really; I can ride a tricycle– a recumbent trike. Which isn’t like riding a bike, really, but it is a decent substitute, allowing me to explore and adventure and ride wherever I want, limited only by my will, creativity and resourcefulness. A sort of freedom.

Pete Quinn, an Avid Cyclist and Waypoint Adventure Board Member

One of the locations I have always loved to ride is Vermont. It’s what I imagine riding in the Ardennes region of Belgium to be like, with its rugged, forrested landscape, rolling, steep climbs carved by streams, dotted by villages. It is also home to bike racing’s spring classics like Liège-Bastogne-Liège, my fave. Vermont’s mountains and valleys similarly weave countless options to explore for those who thrive on embracing the climb, the journey, the trial– for those who need such adventures to feed their soul, fan their spirit and fuel their passion for life. No guarantees. I may fail in my attempt, but the victory is in the courage and bravery to try…to be on the start line.

And so it was that I woke up in Waitsfield, Vermont, on the morning of Juneteenth, 2025. As we were commemorating the end of slavery in the United States, I was also reaffirming my own freedom; unbound, unconstrained and unlimited by my disease for a day, thereby renewing my commitment to live fully– to “suck the marrow out of life,” as Thoreau would say. I had mentioned my yearn to ride the hills of Vermont to my friend, Dan, who is the Executive Director at Waypoint Adventure, where he and his team find ways to help people with disabilities say, “Yes, I can,” to breaking down their barriers to outdoor exploration and adventure. True to the DNA he instilled in the organization he co-founded fifteen years ago, Dan thinks in terms of possibilities; always finding a way to say yes…rather, “Yes!”. So we let the idea of a Vermont ride percolate on the horizon for a few months, like a glimmer of light not quite in focus…

From time to time Dan and I would talk about the Vermont ride, the shape it might take, the location, the route (gravel!), the people, the why…We began to float the idea by some friends. There was some interest, and like an aromatic cauldron of soup coming to a boil over an open flame after a cold, rainy bike ride with friends, momentum started to build. I sensed the potential for an extraordinary and epic experience…I just had a feeling.

The morning of June 19th, we slowly gathered at Madbush Falls, some arriving the night before, others making the 3-hr drive from Boston in the morning, one driving all night after his band performed! One by one we rolled in. At dawn, Dan and Steve had reconned the route. I was up early and decided to explore the Madbush grounds on my wheelchair, which I almost rolled as I attempted to take it up an incline at a trailhead on the edge of the parking lot. That was the second close call– Dan and I came dangerously close to being hit by a truck as Dan escorted me to the bathroom at a gas station on the way north. Dan’s split-second thwacks on the truck’s window saved us. That was serious, despite our attempt to joke it away. The adventure had begun.

As the rollout time of eleven approached, we gathered in Waypoint’s traditional ‘opening circle.’ Welcoming everyone, Dan asked people to introduce themselves, disclose how they know me or their connection to me, and then answer the question, “Where do you find joy on the bicycle?”. Authentic answers: peace, to explore and adventure, think, challenge myself, get lost, be present, be a kid again, freedom,community! Although we did have to stop “Coach” before he launched into stories (dirt!) about me and Huss at UNH! (Huss and I were teammates on the ski team at UNH, coached by Paul.)

We rolled out. The forecast had been for scattered showers, but early clouds gave way to brilliant sun as we turned on to a short section of single track, then gravel, which quickly turned toward the sky. I quickly attached myself to Jeff’s wheel so he could tow me up the densely forested ascent, going faster or slower depending on my commands, which were in French, Italian or Spanish depending on the European bike race I happened to be thinking about.

For a moment I feel the bursting energy, joy and passion I felt when I used to race, which is also why I like to ride close to other riders. Because my trike has one wheel in front and two in back (see above), it is called a “delta.” Trikes with two wheels in front are called “tadpoles.” During one section of the ride, I was riding between Huss and his son, Tom, who were both riding tadpoles. Picture this: two tadpoles riding tight side-by-side, and then me on my delta, sliding right up between them to the point at which our bodies were in a straight row– amazing! We talked for a bit but were present and together also in the silence, the only sound that of our knobby tires eating up the gravel…those moments (and so many more) are with me forever.

[A few days before, when Huss mentioned to me that he and Tom would be riding trikes, it stopped me in my tracks…how thoughtful, kind and generous; the definition of empathy.] 

On we rode. Like an accordian, we stretched and contracted from end to end, periodically stopping to regroup or to fix a mechanical (thanks Henry and Tom!). Ride hard, ride easy, silence or conversation, drafting or not, up (15%!) and down, but always together…always supporting. Just in time, we rolled into the Warren Store, where we lunched and some of us cooled off in the stream!

Reenergized (hopefully), we rolled out, turned left and began a long, steep climb; as all thoughts of easing into things post-lunch were replaced by collegial but independent suffering and the joy and collective strength that comes with it. After about an hour of ups and downs and very little in-between, our local tour guide extraordinaire, Trish, recommended we take a quick detour to Blueberry Lake. We were down– despite the incline of the detour, which had us smiling or frowning depending on your perspective. But regardless, we were all glad we said “Yes!”.

Returning to the route, we “au revoir-ed” Blueberry Lake…and we will meet again! Over the next timeless hour, we soaked it in– each other, the glorious vistas, sprawling farms, magnetic horses…and the occasional dig, of course…

One last speedy gravel descent, we turned right on Rte 100 and were back at Madbush. Dan had made a reservation for everyone at the Madbush suana, which was conveniently located next to an irresistable short trail that led to this!

I actually briefly entertained the thought of having people get me into the pool, but my body reacts differently now to cold water, as does my heart…This and Blueberry Lake were the only times…well…you know…

Check out a reel from the Vermont ride on Instagram.