Why I Pulled Over on an Empty Road
Why I Pulled Over on an Empty Road
A Moment of Pause in the Middle of Nowhere
Somewhere in New Mexico, along a stretch of road with more cracks than cars, I pulled over.
Not because I was out of breath. Not because I had a flat.
Just because.
That’s the thing about bicycle touring. You come to realize it’s not about how fast you’re going. It’s not even about the destination half the time. It’s about the road itself — the miles that stretch out ahead, the silence between cars, the hum of your tires, and the steady rhythm of your breathing.
In that photo, you see my bike and trailer. That yellow bag? It’s stuffed with essentials: extra tubes, tools, snacks, a rain jacket, sunscreen, and maybe a little hope. It’s a rolling symbol of self-reliance. Every bump I’ve ridden over, every headwind I’ve pushed through, that trailer has followed me. Faithfully. Tirelessly.
The guardrail became my backrest. The sun beat down. I sipped water and looked at the horizon — a place I wouldn’t reach for hours. And that was fine. Touring teaches you to stop worrying about what time you’ll get somewhere. You learn to value what happens between the stops.
Sometimes I stop to fix something. Sometimes I stop to think.
And sometimes — like on that day — I stop just to feel the road, the moment, the freedom.
That empty road didn’t feel empty at all. It felt full. Of possibility. Of peace. Of proof that I was doing something few people ever do: seeing the world slowly, with all its cracks and wonders, from the saddle of a bicycle.
Have you ever stopped on a long ride just to breathe it all in? Let me know in the comments.
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