Since the shift to remote work that started during the COVID-19 pandemic, a growing percentage of employees are in the position to work and live wherever they want. For some, that has meant relocating to a place with better outdoor access. Hordes of geographically-liberated professionals have made their way to mountain towns��across the country, exacerbating pre-existing issues of housing affordability, cost of living, and overcrowding in popular wilderness areas.

Some towns and counties, on the other hand, found themselves with a dearth of younger adult residents, and are offering incentives to remote workers willing to relocate. Many of these under-the-radar communities have ample trails, mountains, and waterways for active people to explore. In all of these cases, another benefit is the offer of cold hard cash if you move. Who would say no to that?

I selected the states listed below for their outdoor access. And new places are offering incentives all the time. Rochester, New York and the surrounding county, in the state’s beautiful Finger Lakes region, is definitely on my radar. They recently suspended their popular , which offered remote workers cash to move to the area and an extra bonus to buy a home. But they’re planning on relaunching it sometime this year with revised incentives.

West Virginia

The initiative pays remote workers to move to one of five participating communities, with some extra perks aimed at attracting outdoor enthusiasts in particular. Over 100 people have taken advantage of the program, which started in 2022, and the goal is to bring 1,000 remote workers to the state in the next several years.

The Deal: $10,000 received in your first year, paid in monthly installments, and an additional $2,000 at the end of your second consecutive year. Plus, a one-year outdoor recreation package valued at $2,500 that includes guided outings and free gear rentals.

How to Enter: Interested parties can . Promising applicants—showing a love of the outdoors and a desire to be a part of new community helps—continue on to an interview.

Why Move: The aptly-named Mountain State is home to some of the best whitewater and rock climbing in the Eastern U.S., and plenty of opportunities for a wide range of outdoor sports. In winter, skiers and snowboarders get in turns on the slopes of . In New River Gorge, the newest national park in the U.S., there’s camping, hiking, fishing, and whitewater rafting. There’s even lift-served downhill mountain biking on the Snowshoe resort’s ski trails. And in August 2023, Governor Justice signed a bill to designate the first new state park in West Virginia in 30 years—. It sits on the northern shore of the state’s largest lake and has hiking and biking trails, climbing access, and climbing education programs as well.

Owensboro, Kentucky

The Bluegrass State isn’t offering as large of a cash incentive for remote workers to relocate to counties in the eastern part of the state in the Appalachian foothills as others on this list. But some of the small-dollar add-ons are quite charming. Over 1,000 for the program, known as (Shaping Our Appalachian Region), and stipend since it was launched in 2022.

The Deal: A $5,000 cash stipend paid in two installments plus a few other perks, like concert tickets, a health and fitness club membership, free banjo, fiddle, or mandolin lessons with a local instructor, and a year of free donuts and coffee from a local coffee shop. Only remote workers who earn at least $60,000 a year, are U.S. citizens, and are moving to Owensboro or surrounding counties from outside the state are eligible.

How to Apply: There’s currently a waitlist to apply for the incentive, which you .

Why Move: Owensboro is in Western Kentucky, not quite in the heart of the Bluegrass State’s best-known outdoor recreation areas. The , a world-famous sport climbing destination, is four hours away—within reach for a weekend trip, if not a quick one-day outing. Closer to home: Mammoth Cave National Park, containing over 400 mapped miles of (kinda spooky caves), plus singletrack mountain biking trails and access to the Green River.

Topeka, Kansas

Unlike some of the other options on this list, the Choose Topeka relocation incentive, which started in 2019, is geared towards incentivizing people to move to the city to accept jobs with local employers.

The Deal: Up to $10,000 for rent in the first year, or up to $15,000 towards buying a house.

How to Enter: The has information about participating employers—once you have the job, you can apply through them.

Why Move: Skiers and downhill mountain bikers might not want to live in the middle of the Great Plains, but other outdoor athletes and nature lovers will find plenty to do in and around Kansas’ capital city. Several large parks and a lake with boating, fishing, and swimming are within city limits. The state is known for cycling, particularly gravel biking—, the sport’s premier event, is held in Emporia. And there’s unique, beautiful nature right in Topeka’s backyard, like the 40 miles of hiking trails through some of the last remaining old-growth grassland at the Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve.

Alaska

��is actually more of a universal basic income than a relocation incentive. Oil and mining revenues go into the state-run fund, which distributes an annual sum (usually between $1,000 and $1,500) to all Alaska residents. It’s a smaller check than the others on this list, but you’ll continue to receive it for as long as you live in the state.

The Deal: The exact dollar amount varies year-to-year. In 2023, Alaskans received $1,312.

How to Enter: After living in Alaska for one year, full-time permanent residents are eligible to .

Why Move: Where to start? Alaska’s not called the last frontier for nothing—there’s over 322 million acres of public lands in the state, full of bucket list destinations and adventures ��for mountaineers, skiers, hikers, hunters, anglers, and kayakers. If it’s wild and rugged, Alaska’s probably got it. The tallest mountain in North America? Check. Denali stands at 20,310 feet. Massive glaciers? Sure, right outside of many towns. National parks? Undeveloped wilderness? You bet. The on the continent? That’d be , an hour from Anchorage with an average snowfall of 669 inches. Absolutely gigantic wildlife? Look no further.

Miyo McGinn is an assistant editor at�����ϳԹ���.��She’s happily living in Bozeman, Montana, but is seriously considering Alaska for her next move—for the wilderness, of course, but the annual cash payments do sweeten the deal.

The post These States Will Pay You to Move There—Some Over $10,000 appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

Bill McKee was an avid outdoorsman: in 10 years of vacations to Colorado, he and his sons fished backcountry streams, hiked for miles, and summited several fourteeners, until a motorcycle accident in 2002 put him in a wheelchair. Afterward he felt unable to do many of the things he loves most. Trying the Action Trackchair, a beefy, battery-powered wheelchair with tank-like treads, last year changed that.

“Being on a trail in Colorado was a blast from the past,” the 64-year-old McKee, of Garland, Texas, said. Developed in 2008, the Trackchair, which can handle rugged terrain that would stall a traditional chair, “brought me full circle to the adventurer and explorer that lives inside me,” McKee said.

While a volunteer-led program launched in 2016 at Staunton State Park, near Denver, is considered the granddaddy of adventure-wheelchair loaner programs, others are now blooming. On November 4, a collaboration between the Georgia Department of Natural Resources and the debuted a fleet of 12 all-terrain wheelchairs for use, free of charge, at 11 state parks and historic sites across Georgia. This past spring, the Department of Natural Resources launched a pilot program to provide track chairs at five state parks. The Department of Natural Resources, which received its first track chair, donated by , in 2017, now has 15 loaners spread over each of 11 state parks and recreation areas. The Department of Wildlife and Parks offers track chairs at eight state parks, while has one chair and has two at state parks; and Wisconsin has the chairs at stations in 12 counties through the nonprofit . Two years ago Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore in Michigan was the first national park to offer a track chair. It now has three.

In a massive shift, public land managers across the U.S. are beginning to look at accessibility as an integral part of park improvements and additions, rather than a separate and possibly expendable line item in the budget. “We are really following the path of improving accessibility as we improve our overall infrastructure,” said Jeremy Buzzell, manager of the Park Accessibility for Visitors and Employees (PAVE) program at the National Park Service, adding that accessibility “has to be baked into everything we do, so that it becomes a part of the culture.”

The Staunton initiative, which started with one chair donated in memory of the avid outdoorsperson and quadriplegic Mark Madsen, now has five battery-powered Action Trackchairs and three and is leading similar efforts, according to Kristin Waltz, program manager. This year alone, park personnel have consulted with organizations from upstate New York, Florida, and Brazil on bringing track chairs and greater accessibility to their regions.

The Georgia initiative, known as All Terrain Georgia, provides people with mobility impairments with and easy access. A visitor to popular sites like Panola Mountain State Park and Cloudland Canyon State Park simply needs to complete an program to learn how to operate the chair (which costs roughly $12,500 retail), then make a reservation for a hike via the organization’s –no doctor’s note required.

“All Terrain Georgia bridges the gap between accessibility and wilderness,” said Aimee Copeland, director of the Aimee Copeland Foundation, a nonprofit that aims to create outdoor experiences for people with physical disabilities. Copeland has used a wheelchair for ten years since losing her hands, a foot and one leg to amputation following a ziplining accident and bacterial infection at age 24, and tested the track chairs herself. The chairs can go up banks, across streams, and even over fallen trees. “I love that these chairs allow me to safely explore with my friends who love camping,” she said, “without putting the chair I rely on every day at risk.” She hopes to extend the program in the Southeast and South, she said, and into the national parks.

The Minnesota program has met with resounding success, taking off immediately. “The chairs were used often in the first six months of the program, especially on weekends,” said Jamie McBride, state parks and recreation area program consultant at the department. “Feedback from users as well as park staff has been overwhelmingly positive.”

, 13.7 percent of U.S. adults report living with a serious mobility disability. That’s over 28 million people. Though the Park Service’s PAVE program has been around in some form since the 1970s, it’s largely focused on maintaining existing ADA-compliant campgrounds and paved pathways, like South Rim Trail and many of Valley’s trails. Yet the world of mobility devices is rapidly evolving.

“There’s all kinds of stuff out there that even ten years ago didn’t exist,” said Buzzell.

At the moment, is the only unit within the NPS that offers a track-chair loaner program, and it might take some time before larger national parks ramp up. “Our preference would be for organizations that represent the disability community to partner with us, so that the devices can be provided,” said Buzzell. He added that the NPS wants to ensure visitors’ safety by making sure that the people checking out the chairs have the necessary training and assistance. Some parks, like in California and , Colorado, already provide special sand-specific devices, and many more have standard wheelchairs available at visitor centers.

“There has been a lot of interest from the public about us being able to provide better access to mobility devices,” said Buzzell. “Obviously, there’s a considerable expense involved in transporting them from home.”

Syren Nagakyrie, founder and director of , cited “a combination of a lack of awareness and motivation, lack of funding, and complicated protocols” as the biggest hurdles facing improvement of access programs in parks today, while saying that well-designed trails can benefit everyone. For example, an accessible boardwalk leading to a remote campsite at Apostle Islands, in Wisconsin, also helps prevent erosion caused by visitor foot traffic.

When used properly, the burly Action Trackchairs should also leave no trace, even on dirt trails, said Copeland: the chairs are all-electric and quieter than they appear. “Stigma around all-terrain chairs due to misuse and misinformation is an issue,” she said. “When operated properly, the chair’s impact is no more than footprints.” She called this generation of chairs “truly spectacular.”

The age of all-terrain wheelchairs in our parks is instigating a strategy shift in how trails are labeled, too, because these modern devices have the power to travel deep into the backcountry. Rather than marking some paths as “accessible,” because they meet a series of , land managers are instead compiling as much trail information as possible (like grade, surface pack, length, and stair count) and letting visitors decide what works best for them. “What we call an accessible trail might not be accessible to everyone, and what we say is not an accessible trail might be accessible to plenty of people,” said Buzzell.

Buzzell believes all Americans, regardless of their ability level, deserve to experience what he called the magical national park “aha moment.”

“We can design trails that are sustainable and accessible,” he said. “And that’s going to improve the experience for everyone.”

At Staunton, McKee, accompanied by a volunteer, takes gravel trails through dense forests, to airy vistas of high mountain peaks, and even small tarns stocked with trout.

“To be back in the wild and coming across wildlife and smelling the pine-scented air was emotional and satisfying,” McKee said after riding the track chair at Staunton, which he called “a very pretty place.”

“You are in the forest most of the time and there are several small streams and then open fields with wildflowers and some views of large cliffs. There is an accessible area to fish and some small ponds … so you can add fishing to your accomplishments for the day.”

The post “Sustainable and Accessible”: All-Terrain Wheelchairs Arrive in Parks appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

Kansas City, known for its jazz, barbecue and passionate sports fans, is also home to one of the best road races in the country: the . As the largest race in the city, and one of the oldest in the region, it encapsulates much of what makes Kansas City the “Heart of America” and one of the most captivating cities in the Midwest.

The weekend’s festivities begin with the two-day Health and Fitness Expo at Union Station, located in central downtown Kansas City. In addition to packet pickup, runners will be able to see the latest and greatest running technology from Garmin, as well as other vendors selling shoes, gear, fitness accessories and nutrition. Two commemorative posters, designed by local artists and limited to a run of 250, are NEW for 2022. The overall winners (male and female) will receive the original pieces of art as a special keepsake at the awards ceremony.

An enhanced VIP experience returns this year with premium amenities like parking at the closest designated lot, a tented and heated private space with its own bathrooms, coffee, snacks and gear check.

The course, which begins in front of The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, takes runners on a scenic tour past some of the city’s iconic landmarks like the Country Club Plaza, WWI Museum and Memorial, Kauffman Center for the Performing Arts, historic 18th and Vine District and Ward Parkway. While considered moderately challenging, this Boston Marathon Qualifying Course sees a diverse mix of elite, amateur and new runners each year.

After the race, participants and spectators gather at the where runners receive complimentary barbecue and beer to celebrate their accomplishment, while enjoying live entertainment from local musicians. With the Nelson-Atkins on one end and Brush Creek on the other, it’s a beautiful Kansas City backdrop for everyone involved.

This is the Kansas City Sports Commission and Foundation’s biggest annual fundraiser, which means your support directly impacts Kansas City’s ability to secure major sporting events like the Big 12 Men’s and Women’s Basketball Championships, the 2023 NFL Draft and – most recently – the history-making FIFA World Cup 2026. Those events create millions of dollars in economic impact for the city and region, which help to drive opportunity and growth for local businesses.

The Garmin Kansas City Marathon has been recognized by RaceRaves, the leading online race finder and community review site for runners, as the “Best Marathon in Missouri.”�� It was also rated one of the top 20 Marathons on BibRave.com thus qualifying for “The BibRave 100: a Definitive List of the Best Races in America.”

���ϳԹ���+ Member Perk

���ϳԹ���+ members will enjoy the “VIP Experience” — a $75 value — at no additional cost with their Garmin Kansas City Marathon registration. The VIP Experience includes perks such as guaranteed parking in the closest available parking lot, a heated space to relax and stretch before and after the race, private restrooms reserved only for VIPs, private gear check in the VIP tent, complimentary snacks and drinks, and access to post-race food and beer in the VIP tent (skip the line!). Find your ���ϳԹ���+ member code and redemption instructions in the MyPerks section of your ���ϳԹ���+ account.

2022 Garmin Kansas City Marathon

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The federal public lands that are so celebrated today came about in parallel with the Indian reservation system to cement the legal and physical separation of Indigenous peoples from their homelands. The Department of Interior was founded in 1849 to manage issues of domestic concern by the government, but now houses a number of agencies that oversee and manage the millions of acres of public lands violently disposed from Indigenous peoples centuries earlier. The Bureau of Indian Affairs, which is now a part of the DOI, manages a��significant portion of the federal relationship with and the treaty obligations to Native Nations. Consequently, this relationship and who heads this agency directly impacts the millions of American Indians and Alaskan Natives, who are the descendants of this dispossession.

The�� was established in 1824 as part of the U.S. War Department, a precursor to the Department of Defense. Its placement is telling of how the government used the bureau to deal with what it thought of as the “Indian problems,” caused by settler violence and westward expansion. This path led to an increasing level of military engagement with tribes across the West, and consequently the signing of treaties intended to subdue Native peoples and to force the cessation of lands. The immense brutality and death caused by the civil war and the multitude of Indian wars in the decades that followed led to a shift in policies toward Native peoples: instead of complete extermination, policies began to focus more on reformation through assimilation. While the new approach seemed less bloody, the end goal of genocide continued as the U.S. government attempted to erase Native cultures and peoples through tools like boarding schools.

Haskell Indian Nations University, in Lawrence, Kansas, began as an Indian boarding school in the 1870s. Its purpose was to further goals of genocide through the cultural erasure of Native peoples by forcing the removal and assimilation of Native children into white culture. In the 1890s, the federal government issued a compulsory attendance law that allowed for the forced removal of Native American children from their homes. Many of these children, as young as toddlers, would never return home because of assimilation from disease. In other instances, children ran away from the school trying to reunite with their families, but often died from exposure, dehydration, or starvation. The museum on the Haskell campus displays handcuffs used to keep Native children from seeking freedom and escaping these policies.

My own mother was forced to attend boarding schools in the Navajo Nation and was physically beaten for speaking Navajo. When she was eight years old, my aunt ran away from the boarding school and covered nearly 50 miles from Teec Nos Pos, Arizona, toward her home in Red Valley, Arizona, before she was caught. It was from these experiences that my mother was driven to improve education for Native children after her. She was the only child in her family to go to college, and she pursued doctoral studies that focused on the role of language and culture in Native student achievement. She became the president of��, the first tribally run university in the United States, and a political appointee in the Department of Education under the Obama administration, focusing on Tribal Colleges and Universities.

I was raised in Lawrence by my Navajo mother and Scottish and Romanian father. As a child, the juxtaposition between the history of Haskell Indian Nations University and the vibrancy of the young Native people pursuing a college education left me confused about how these two realities could exist on this small plot of land in eastern Kansas. Growing up, I would present my Certificate of Indian Blood to the Indian Health Service clinic on campus for routine dental and medical screenings, as promised in treaties from over a century earlier.��

Because of the unique relationship that the federal government has with American Indian tribes, and the fact that American Indians have a unique political and legal identity in addition to race, my healthcare and education were controlled by the policies of the Department of the Interior. The policies of Congress, the Department of the Interior, and consequently those of the Bureau of Indian Affairs, over the past century have defined Haskell and the many Native people within it by the (failed) policies, (lack of) funding, and multitude of (broken) treaty obligations.

The agencies charged with carrying out treaty obligations, such as the Bureau of Indian Affairs, have historically assumed a paternal relationship with Native Nations, dictating policies to tribes and��assuming them incapable of managing their own affairs. In recent decades, though, the relationship has shifted to one more closely resembling self-determination, with the understanding that tribes are capable of governing themselves. My own experience at Navajo Preparatory School, a Bureau of Indian Education high school in Farmington, New Mexico, was very different and much more positive than what my mother and aunt encountered at boarding schools: it’s where I learned to speak Navajo and was taught about Navajo culture.��

The nomination of an American Indian to the role of secretary of the interior represents another shift in the relationship between Native Nations and the federal government. It’s been a long time coming and a reality that seemed impossible even just a few years ago. Deb Haaland, a Pueblo woman, is the most fitting to serve this role.��

Today, many of the current issues and politics surrounding public lands involve climate policy. Much of��Secretary Haaland’s confirmation reflected this larger existential question, but the impact these policies will have on Native peoples was left out of the discussion. Implementing these climate-focused policies and balancing the multitude of stakeholder positions and complicated trade-offs will appear to be a compromise too far for some on the left and too radical for those on the right. In this mix sits the multitude of tribes: there are those who rely on fossil fuel development and extraction, like the Crow and Navajo Nations, who are heavily invested in coal development. And there are those experiencing the direct effects of climate change, like the many��coastal Alaskan Native villages in the Arctic.

Increasing pressures to reduce carbon emissions will lead to an increased demand in the mining for minerals used in critical components, including power electronics, batteries, solar panels, and modular nuclear reactors. Compounding this demand, national security concerns have led to a more substantial discussion about how the United States should secure this critical mineral supply. Tribes, like my own, have had a tumultuous relationship�� in the name of national security. My grandfather was one of many Navajo miners who extracted uranium ore for nuclear weapons and technology during the Cold War. Companies were allowed to operate with little safety precautions for their workers. And when the uranium market collapsed at the end of the war, many of these mines were abandoned, often poisoning communities nearby.

There is no one size fits all for Native Nations when it comes to economic development, energy, and climate policy. To avoid repeating the past, the government will need to embrace robust tribal consultation early on in creating and establishing these policies. Secretary Haaland understands this, and she committed to doing so. I have little reason to doubt her commitment, as her past includes working for her tribe, both as an administrator and the director of the tribe’s development corporation.

The challenge of this position, in this time, is significant. Secretary Haaland not only inherits the long and tumultuous history of the position she has been appointed to, but also the uncertain questions of the role of federal lands in climate policy. A number of secretaries of the interior in recent decades have been more supportive of tribes and advanced beneficial policies; none have had to live with the effects of these policies after their tenure. Auntie Deb, as she is known endearingly within many Native communities, is well aware of how her tenure will affect her life, those of her community, and Native people throughout this country. She has a stake in the game, and her future success will open the door for many other Native people after her.

The post The Department of the Interior Shaped My Life appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

Looking for a new place to camp��in your backyard or beyond? You’re not alone. As droves of people across the U.S.��look to safely travel by , it’s no surprise that campgrounds are more popular than ever. ,��the online and app-based booking system for both private and public campsites, is a great resource��for those looking��to stay away from the hordes. From affordable camping near National Parks to decked-out glampsites with epic views, here are our favorite Hipcamp sites in every state.

Alabama

Pinewood Nature Cottage (From $85)��

Located in the shrimping village of Bon Secour, 11 miles north of the Gulf of Mexico, is the perfect base camp for paddling and wildlife viewing in ten-mile-long Little Lagoon, fishing the��Bon Secour River, and��surfing the sandbar break at West Pass in the nearby town of Gulf Shores. Birders will want to check out the estuary at or .

Alaska

Seaside Farm Meadows (From $25)��

This affords access to , a roughly 400,000-acre refuge that borders both the Kenai Mountains and Gulf of Alaska. You reach it via a 30-minute water-taxi ride from the town of Homer, four hours��south of Anchorage. Once there, you can walk to a 20-mile-long beach to spot sea otters and eagles. But with stunning glacier views across the water from camp, we don’t blame you if you choose to simply linger by the raspberry patch.

Arizona

Grand Canyon Glamping��Eco-Yurt (From $89)

A 45-minute drive from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, , set on ten��acres, is only eclipsed by its hosts. They’ll make you breakfast with farm-fresh eggs, arrange private yoga classes, and��set up guided hiking or biking tours in nearby and National Forests.

Arkansas

Thunder Mountain River Camp (From $70)

This on the South Fork of the Caddo River, about 95 miles west of Little Rock, offers complimentary kayaks, tubes, and a paddleboat. It also has��access to a multilevel deck and—here’s the kicker—an open-air bathhouse overlooking the river and the Ouachita Mountains.

California

Glamping in the Sierra Foothills (From $85)

Two and a half miles from the Yuba River’s Middle Fork, and��95 miles north of Sacramento, these boast new beds, an outdoor shower, and an onsite veggie garden between the property’s dual orchards. Swim or boat at , and hike, bike, or climb in .

Colorado

Riverside Glamping in the Rockies (From $75)��

Soak in a claw-foot tub after a day exploring Rocky Mountain National Park—a 25-minute drive northwest—or the 20-plus miles of��trails in adjacent��.����also overlooks a seasonal stream and has a private trail that leads to miles of hiking and mountain biking routes.��

Connecticut

Quarry View (From $100)

You’ll find waterfalls and dinosaur tracks near , which is perched on the edge of a former��quarry, a national historic landmark that’s��now a lake. At the neighboring , an adventure-sports center, swim in��the lake, rent stand-up paddleboards or kayaks, go scuba diving, or climb man-made��routes.

Delaware

Top of the Pond (From $55)��

Enjoy simple pleasures at this primitive but serene : take a walk in the woods, go fishing, or paddle the large on-site pond or one of several lakes located within a mile of the property. For a day trip, head to , six miles away.

Florida

Live Oak Cove (From $50)

Ideal for those with an RV, a trailer, or a van, sits beside a private lake that’s perfect��for swimming, boating (two canoes are provided��at no cost), or fishing. Bonus points: there’s��a fenced-in area for your pups (and the owners’��lovable Labs) to run free.

Georgia

Stone Mill Camping (From $45)��

The owners share their remote homestead (located just over an hour north of Atlanta) with . Hiking, swimming, fishing, and off-roading await 30 miles northeast at in the North Georgia mountains.

Hawaii

Hamakua Camping Cabanas (From $38)��

Swim or paddle��in the Big Island’s Hilo Bay, hike rainforest trails along the northeastern Hamakua Coast, or surf at . Then crash in these screened-in , located just east of —blankets and pillows will be waiting for you.

Idaho

Mountain Top Getaways (From $12)��

Get back to the land at these almost entirely at the mouth of Cub River Canyon��in southeastern Idaho. In return��you’ll enjoy��sweeping views from��9,460-foot Wilderness Peak��and everything the nearby has to offer: hiking, bouldering, snow sports, and more.

Illinois

Farm Girl and Friends (From $25)��

Pitch a tent at (or bring a trailer to) . If you can tear yourself away from the miniature piglets, swim at or head to to hike, fish, and boat.

Indiana

Luxury Tiny Beach Cabin (From $100)��

Wood-fired cedar hot tub? Check. Lofted, king-size��memory-foam bed with 800-thread-count sheets? Double check. This posh��, located one block from on Lake Michigan, also comes with an outdoor shower, two bikes, and two kayaks.

Iowa

The Barnyard (From $55)��

From , bike across the river to , or rent a canoe or kayak from , roughly 15 miles southeast, to float the Wapsipinicon River. Don’t spend all your energy, though—there might be a live band playing when you get back. If you don’t have the gear, the host offers a six-to-eight-person rental tent for $20 more.

Kansas

Enchanted Oaks (From $20)��

Camp in a grove of walnut trees just 25 minutes from downtown Kansas City. This seven-acre property has , hiking trails, and a fishing pond with a paddleboat.

Kentucky

The Lookout at Raven Ridge (From $35)��

Roll out your sleeping mat on a deck overlooking the famed Red River Gorge. Situated on 50 acres, is a stone’s throw from the Red’s��popular climbing routes, hiking trails, and , which is home to the excellent fly-fishing spots of Cave Run Lake and the East Fork of Indian Creek River.

Louisiana

Cajun Retreat Campsites (From $38)��

This in southeastern Louisiana has its own boat launch for kayaking Bayou Manchac or simply watching birds and turtles. Let the friendly hosts, who live on-site, cook you a meal, set you up with fishing gear, or��point you to the best local seafood markets and swamp tours.

Maine

Off-Grid Oceanfront Acadia A-Frame (From $120)��

An off-the-grid A-frame? Yes, please! Literally steps from a swimmable (at high tide) sand beach��on Mount��Desert Narrows, ��has access to surrounding hiking trails, a dining deck, and views of Acadia National Park, a 30-mile drive away.

Maryland

Willet Family Farm (From $50)��

The sound of bullfrogs will lull you to sleep at this private, secluded . Tucked away on a 100-acre farm, you’ll be just a ten-minute drive from fishing at ��or can head off on five miles of multi-use trails at the 240-acre .

Massachusetts

Bakers Island Light Campsite (From $35)��

Set up camp on a raised platform on a grassy knoll overlooking Salem Sound. Located on Bakers Island next to its eponymous light station, three miles off the coast of Salem, this is the perfect base camp for those looking for seclusion.

Michigan

Lynx Run Wilderness Retreat (From $125)��

A lush haven within the Lower Peninsula’s , features both Japanese and English country gardens, as well as an orchard, a trout stream, and a natural spring with not one but two Japanese-style bridges. Although the cabin is off the grid, you can plug in at the main house, and there’s warm water for showers and the antique bathtub on the porch.

Minnesota

The Stuga (From $79)��

Named after the Swedish word for “cottage,”��this 10-by-12-foot packs a lot in. Beyond��the basics—three beds and a table—you’ll find a kitchenette, a rocking chair, and a propane heater that resembles a fireplace. It’s the perfect setting for relaxing after a day spent exploring the adventure capital��of��Duluth.

Mississippi

Camp Topisaw (From $35)��

Drive right up to Topisaw Creek��and spend your days splashing in the sandy, spring-fed waterway, or hit up the nearby state parks, Percy Quin and Lake Lincoln, from 90 miles south of Jackson.

Missouri

ItzaWayzBack Farm (From $99)��

Near a good halfway point for float trips on the Current River, two sides of�� in the Ozarks are bordered by��. Grill on your private deck, cook from��the outdoor kitchen’s wood-burning��stove and oven, and enjoy��coffee and tea delivered to your doorstep each morning.

Montana

Cabin on Bank of Mountain Stream (From $125)��

This sits on the bank��of Bear Creek’s North Fork, a quarter-mile walk from , six miles from the Yellowstone River—a whitewater destination—and less than 20 miles from Yellowstone National Park’s north entrance.

Nebraska

Gorgeous Tiny House (From $209)��

Get the lowdown on permaculture during a tour of the owners’��organic farm, or use as home base for exploring , located on the banks of the Missouri River, a ten-minute drive away. Breakfast supplies and a hot tub are included.

Nevada

Water Rock Ranch (From $125)��

Roughly 30 miles east of Death Valley National Park and 30 miles west of , ��at Water Rock Ranch is surrounded by ample��hiking and climbing. Guests can take advantage of a pergola sitting area plus a fire pit and grill for cooking.

New Hampshire

Sacred Nectar Sanctuary (From $77)��

With broad views of the White Mountains, is situated��next to a trailhead for Mount Whiteface, a 11.3-mile��loop. There are quiet country roads for scenic biking and a small communal shelter, but be sure to bring tents or a vehicle to sleep in if��inclement weather is��forecast.

New Jersey

Restorative Lakeside Retreat (From $400)��

This ��(adjacent to the property’s main house)��on Cape May��offers hiking in addition to the��big��attraction: the hosts’��20-acre lake. In the summer, launch free kayaks, canoes, SUPs, or a sailboat from the dock, or opt for the ocean,��five miles away.��

New Mexico

Abiquiú��Tiny House (From $60)��

In the high desert of northern New Mexico, in the village of Abiquiú boasts sweeping vistas of the Chama Valley. Walk among piñon and juniper in the footsteps of artist Georgia O’Keeffe, who called this area��home for many years, raft the Rio Chama, swim at Abiquiú��Lake, or day-trip to Taos or Santa Fe.

New York

Birdsong Cabin (From $125)��

This is the definition of cozy: a��wood-burning heater warms the space, which features plush armchairs, a rocking sofa, and a queen-size bed in the loft. Come summer, six-foot-tall windows on multiple walls let in lots of light, and French doors open up onto a petite porch. For active day trips, there are plenty of nearby trails, plus��swimming at Dorset Marble Quarry and fly-fishing at just across the border in Vermont.

North Carolina

RV Paradise (from $100)��

Ideal for motorized vehicles, ’s most popular feature is its mountaintop observation deck, which��features��spectacular views of . Your stay��comes with a slip on Lake Glenville, where you can launch the property’s complimentary canoe, kayak, and SUPs.��

North Dakota

Cottonwood Campground (From $15)��

This spartan in is a good jumping-off point for backcountry hiking, road biking, fishing, cross-country skiing, or��a multi-day float down the Little Missouri River.

Ohio

Creekside Cottage (From $80)��

This fully equipped, is part of a campground in the Appalachian foothills, just over 70 miles east of��Cincinnati. After hiking, biking, and hanging out creekside, drive eight miles to the , a prehistoric Native American structure slated to become a Unesco��World Heritage site.

Oklahoma

Dragonfly Tiny Cabin (From $50)��

Only two people can fit inside this postage-stamp-size��, but more guests can camp outside. Located about��15 miles east of downtown Oklahoma City, you’ll��be surprised at the variety of adventure found��nearby: angling, climbing, boating, biking, and hiking are all possible at , a half-hour south.

Oregon

Owl Creek Cabin (From $125)��

In the mountains just east of Ashland, this delightful is adjacent to BLM land. Day-hike a section of the Pacific Crest Trail, or paddle around one of several nearby lakes, including the neighboring Howard Prairie Lake, before retiring to the claw-foot tub set under a canopy of boughs.

Pennsylvania

Summer Smiles Honey Farm (From $88)��

Roam around ’s environs, a 34-acre working farm, before heading out to fish at the farm’s lake or explore nearby hiking trails. For an additional fee, the hosts will cook you meals (think wood-fired pizzas) made with fresh ingredients produced on-site. Keep an eye out for their friendly Irish wolfhound.

Rhode Island

Burlingame State Campground (From $10)��

Set right beside Watchaug Pond in , this�� offers 20 cabins and��700 tent sites. Rent a canoe, hike through rocky forestland, or drive ten��minutes to or 15 minutes to .

South Carolina

Wild Hope Farm (From $100)��

Stake out a tent at , an organic farmstead situated 45 minutes south of Charlotte, North Carolina. Amble along oak-lined trails and fish a��ten-acre pond that’s stocked with bass.

South Dakota

Whispering Winds Campsites (From $45)��

The eight RV spots and ten��cottages at put��you within easy reach of Black Hills favorites, like and the , the latter a monument to the Lakota leader that has been under construction since 1948.

Tennessee

On the Beech Treehouse (From $110)��

Perched on the edge of a mossy cliff, this indoor-outdoor includes a covered deck and can sleep six people. Cook up a storm in the large outdoor kitchen, stroll��to the private��50-foot-tall waterfall, or visit one of eight state parks within a half-hour drive of��the property.

Texas

Sky Ranch Terlingua (From $20)��

Just outside Big Bend National Park, this offers respite from the West Texas heat (and wind) and a private slice of desert. You’ll have a sturdy fire pit to go with a panorama that includes landforms like Nine Point Mesa, Camel’s Hump, Black Hill, Packsaddle Mountain, and Hen Egg Mountain.

Utah

Running Deer Tipi (From $70)��

Thirty minutes from Bryce Canyon National Park and an hour from Zion National Park, boasts a 360-degree vista of red rocks and the Sevier River. Unlike bare-bones tepees, this one comes with an ozan, an interior awning that catches any water that may fall in through the smoke hole up top.

Vermont

SiloSide A-Frame (From $50)

If you book this charmingly rugged , be sure to snag the farm host’s $5 Garden Goody Basket, full of fresh herbs, greens, and vegetables. You can also rent a��canoe��to paddle on nearby Harvey’s Lake, meander among the apple trees, or head over to ��to hike.

Virginia

Incredible Mountain Camping (From $35)��

Although it has since returned to nature, the ten-site was once a bustling resort. Best for tents, it affords pedestrian access to a wooded lake for fishing, boating, and seasonal swimming.

Washington

Treehouse Place at Deer Ridge (From $225)��

Follow a circuitous��boardwalk through the forest to find perched among the trees, complete with a kitchenette, fireplace, slipper tub, and spiral staircase leading to the loft, where floor-to-ceiling windows are a constant reminder that you’re in a treehouse. It’s just an hour north of Seattle and near plenty of day hikes.

West Virginia

Loafer’s Glory Wilderness Camp (From $85)��

Set on a scenic bike route of the , also has access to the camp’s��own trails (and many more to be found in the greater area, too). You’ll get to play at��on-site fishing ponds,��nearby swimming holes,��multi-pitch trad and sport��climbing at Seneca Rocks—a world-class climbing destination just 30 miles north—and the adventure hot spot of Monongahela National Forest, 60 miles west.

Wisconsin

Sanctuary at Little Sand (From $87)��

A self-described “eco-glamping” site, offers a snug canvas tent, a composting toilet, and a solar-powered shower. You’ll be within two miles of the beach at , on Lake Superior, and close to paddling and swimming at .

Wyoming

Japanese Cabin (From $150)��

Bike, boat, fish, climb, windsurf, swim, and paddle whitewater within a small radius of the property. You might not want to leave. Overlooking the Bighorn Basin, has a cedar sauna, a wood-fired stove framed by geometric windows, and a traditional tub in addition to a separate wooden soaking bath.

The post Our Favorite Hipcamp in Every State appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

Jim Cummins was not only the founder of one of the world’s best-known gravel-bike races, the Dirty Kanza, but he was also its public face—the man at the finish line in Emporia, Kansas, waiting to give each returning rider a hero’s welcome after 200 miles of rutted roads, headwinds, and tire-sucking mud. That is, until June 17, when Cummins posted a video on his personal Facebook page��calling the shooting��of Rayshard Brooks,��a 27-year-old Black man who was��killed�� on June 12��when Brooks��was found sleeping in a Wendy’s drive through lane,��“justified” and inviting anyone who disagreed to “unfriend” him. Many followers did so, and even more expressed hurt and anger about the post on social media.��

Cummins’s reach in the bike world is considerable. The race he dreamed up in 2006 as a solo, self-supported tour of Kansas’s��rolling Flint Hills has since grown into a marquee event��attracting not only top professional racers but amateur riders from��all over the country—the closest thing the burgeoning gravel scene had to a World Tour. Last year��the Dirty Kanza attracted thousands��of riders to its 25-, 50-, 100-, 200-, and 350-mile events. The race put Emporia on the map as a top U.S. cycling destination, a new and unexpected reputation the 24,000-person town was happy to adopt.��

In 2018, Life Time, a national chain of races and fitness companies, the once scrappy gravel grinder and kept Cummins on as its “chief gravel officer.” Until that post went up. Within 24 hours, Life Time had “parted ways” with Cummins, according to the senior vice president Kimo Seymour. The company describing his Facebook comments as “inappropriate and insensitive,” and clarified its��mission of making gravel racing “a more inclusive and progressive place where all feel welcome and represented.”

Cummins declined an interview, but in a statement shared with Road Bike Action, he , “I��chose my words poorly” and “[I]��hope that, some day, I can��help to heal the wounds that I have caused.” But his words landed during a summer marked by civil rights protests and in a cycling world grappling with a historical lack of inclusivity, particularly for Black and Indigenous riders.��

His dismissal also reignited another��long-simmering, racially charged controversy surrounding the Dirty Kanza.��

Race director LeLan Dains has a long history with both this region of��Kansas and the race. An Emporia local, he first competed in the 200-miler in 2008��and joined the four-person staff five years later. Then��someone approached the event team about the problematic nature of the name of the race itself, which some argue is a racist slur against the��Kaw people native to the land on which the race is held.��Translated as the “,” the Kaw were given the name “Kanza,” or “Kansa,” by early French traders and other European settlers. But��it’s the pairing of “dirty” with the tribal name that many argue turns the race’s title into a historical racist stereotype.��

Dains says that there were no ill intentions behind the name of the race. “We named it ‘dirty’ for the gravel roads and the dirt you get on your legs and body when you ride them,” he says, “and ‘Kanza’ for the state, which gets its name from the Kaw tribe.”��

Still, over the years, Dains says members of the organization made several unsuccessful attempts to contact the Kaw Nation’s leadership for their thoughts on the name.��

In 2019,��Cummins��was finally able to meet with Lynn Williams, chair of the Kaw Nation Tribal Council. The two convened at Kaw Nation headquarters in Kaw City, Oklahoma, on February 26 of that year��and ultimately agreed that the name would stay as is. Seymour says, “The last time we spoke, Williams said the Kaw Nation took no offense to the name.” (Williams did not respond to requests for comment.)

But continuing criticism��raised the question of whether Williams’s decision accurately reflected her community’s feelings as a whole. In fact, according to by��Bicycling, a few months before he met with Williams,��Cummins was forwarded an email on November 9, 2018, “signed by 45 members of the Kaw Nation, along with academics, advocates, and allies” saying that��“the name was offensive to many people in or associated with the Kaw Nation,” James Stout wrote for��Bicycling. (Dains says he’s not “personally aware of a petition that potentially contained 45 members of the Kaw Nation.”)

In April of 2020, Christina Torres, the founder of��, an independent publication focused on “sharing knowledge and the stories of BIPOC and FTW [femme, trans, and women]��folx in cycling,” launched a urging the race to change its name. The issue felt personal to Torres, as an avid cyclist and a Kawaiisu Shoshone-Paiute descendant of the Tejon��Indian Tribe, she . “The Kaw Nation of Kansas, now of Oklahoma, has survived adversity and today is a federally recognized, self-governing tribe seeking to recover its cultural heritage and land,” . “To preface the Kanza people with ‘dirty’ shows a disconnect of America’s legacy of anti-Indigenous violence.”

The petition drew more than 1,200 signatures—many from Indigenous people across the country—and the attention of the team in Emporia. In response, Cummins issued in April 2020 revealing his 2019 meeting with Williams��and said that the race name would not be changing. The statement also clarified his��intentions behind choosing its name. Though Williams’s signature appears on the open letter, her voice seemed to be absent.

At the time, the Dirty Kanza wasn’t the only gravel event confronting the impact its name might have on Indigenous groups. In late 2019, Bobby Wintle, founder of the gravel race in Oklahoma, announced that��he had changed the race’s official title to .��Wintle VeloNews that when he first named the race, he was “unaware that the name held negative connotations for many still living today.” The Oklahoma land rush��was named as such because a , effective April 22, 1889, allowed 50,000 white settlers to seize two million acres of Indigenous land. (The land run of 1893 saw settlers take a further six million acres.)��“Once our small crew and myself realized that the correlation with the original land run of 1889 was offensive to others, we had to make a change,” Wintle said in .

To many, the Dirty Kanza was one more example of the way Native-derived names often ignore the voices of the very people they purport to honor, raising the question of who gets to grant permission��to use those names. “One person from the Native community saying, ‘I think it’s OK’ is no different than someone saying, ‘That’s not racist, because I have a Black friend,’” says artist, gravel rider, and Indigenous activist Gregg Deal. “You’re talking about an entire community of people, which means there are different ideas and schools of thought.”

Deal bemoans the fact that Indigenous people aren’t given agency or authority in matters so deeply tied to their culture. “People will tell you straight to your face, ‘It’s not offensive, that’s not the intent,’” he says. “Most Americans in that school of thought feel like they get to decide what’s offensive, what’s not offensive, and what’s an honor, what’s not an honor. But that can’t exist without a true dialogue or relationship of some kind.”��

That dialogue is finally being attempted on more of a national scale. Just this week, the NFL’s Washington, D.C., team announced plans for a to replace its long-protested racist one, California’s Squaw Valley Ski Resort reportedly for a less offensive moniker, and Yeti Cycles they’d stop using the word “tribe” in their marketing.

Torres declined an interview, and while she didn’t provide her reasons, the naming saga had become heated and sometimes personal.��Once Cummins issued his open letter, many thought the issue was settled: the Kaw Nation had granted an ostensible stamp of approval on the race name. This prompted a fair amount of online backlash to the petition. Commenters unleashed their usual gripes about cancel culture, some of which spilled over into personal criticism of Torres. “Stop looking for ways to be offended!” read one��of the tamer responses on Instagram.��

And then came Cummins’s June 19 Facebook post, which renewed the��push to change the race’s name.��Activists began a second petition.��Titled , the petition is a “campaign to end the use of the slur ‘dirty Kanza’ as the event name of DIRTY KANZA (DK) in Emporia, KS.” The authors��have decided to remain anonymous��but��are described as a “united collective of Indigenous advocates, cyclists, people of faith, educators, elders, youth, local Kansas residents and builders of a just world.” I reached out to the authors��through an intermediary, and they declined to comment. As of today, the petition has been signed by more than 6,500 people.��

This time, the team in Emporia was ready to listen. In a June 22 , race organizers committed to changing the name. Dains confirmed over the phone on June 24 that they were in the process of landing on a new race title, which they would announce in “eight to ten weeks.”��He added that the petition had accelerated the decision, but that the name-change conversation had remained open for some time.��

“We know now more than ever that words have meaning,” Dains says. “At the time we made that announcement in unison with the Kaw Nation, we felt we were right in continuing with the name. But at the end of the day, we can be legally ‘right,’ or��we can be kind. We’re going to choose to be kind and change the name.”��

For many, that change can’t come fast enough. Support for the petition and further demands—including more acknowledgement of the Indigenous groups who have long opposed the name and have had their complaints ignored—continues to grow after the announcement, even among past riders and winners. Amity Rockwell, the winner of last year’s race, requests for the organizers, including a name change and a BIPOC athlete-sponsorship program.��

The decision to change the name is a “good move, in good faith,” says Deal, adding that it’s one “that won’t change the hard, grueling nature of the race.” It’s a move toward better accountability to the Indigenous communities whose names and images have long been appropriated to represent the outdoors.��But it’s not the finish line. That will come into sight, Deal says, when Indigenous people are given true agency��over the use of their names and symbols, and when bike races create more opportunities and accessibility for riders of color.��

The post Why the Name of a Major Gravel Event Is Being Changed appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

One summer��I went with my mother on a weeklong cruise to the Caribbean, during which someone jumped overboard. According to boat gossip and accounts from heavily intoxicated eyewitnesses, a man was arguing with his wife when he suddenly yelled, “F—ck��it!”��and leaped��from the balcony. I only noticed something was wrong when I saw searchlights appear on the water. The following day, the captain assured us that��the man had been successfully rescued,��but the night it happened, everyone was fearing the worst. I went back to our room to find my mom. She was inside, sobbing: “I thought it was you. You’ve been so miserable this entire trip.”��

On some level, I began to suspect this is how all family trips go. We invest so much (money, emotions, liver health) to bond over rum punches and zip-lining excursions, determined to make memories at all costs. Disappointment and allegations of ingratitude are practically baked in. Is there any way to emerge from it all unscathed, with something that feels even remotely like a vacation?

While the face of contemporary travel literature is increasingly that of the solo female looking to find herself (Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat, Pray, Love and Cheryl Strayed in Wild), the fact is: most people do not travel this way. Rather than pursuing solitary self-transformation by stepping out of our comfort zone, more often than not, we bring our comfort zone��with us in the form of grumpy kids and stressed-out��spouses. According to , 100 million Americans will go on a family vacation this year, and a lot of those people will be crammed into a car together (and we all know that I Spy��stops being fun really fast). That’s what makes two new books out this fall—,��by Dan Kois ($28; Little, Brown and Company), and , by Kim Brown Seely ($25, Sasquatch Books)—refreshingly relatable.��They both meditate on the highs and lows of traveling��as a family.

How to Be a Family follows Kois, his wife, Alia, and their two preteen daughters as they spend a year away from their fast-paced life in the Washington, D.C., suburb of Arlington, Virginia. They divide the year into four parts, spending three months each in New Zealand, the Netherlands, Costa Rica, and rural Kansas to escape what was starting to feel like a “blur of petty arguments, overworked days, exhausted nights.” This caper, they hope, will be possible with the help of an intricate configuration of logistics: musical subletters, gracious bosses who agree to let them work remotely, and a book advance.��

The four destinations in How to Be a Family provide opportunities to explore different cultural attitudes toward��parenting (from New Zealand’s emphasis on outdoor time to the Dutch practice of giving children sprinkles—�󲹲������������—for breakfast). Kois, who cohosts Slate’s parenting-advice podcast, is open-minded when it comes to all of them (even the sprinkles)��but finds parts of it incompatible with the particulars of American��society. For instance, , a Dutch guidebook on parenting, is rooted in the idea��that��happiness comes from��being content with what you have, but as Kois points out, such a perspective “stands in direct conflict with the American model of viewing our possibilities as limitless.”����

Kois’s podcast is called ,��but in the book it’s largely him butting heads with his daughters��on a topic many parents will relate to: screen time. Throughout the book, Kois frequently returns to a problem that seems to especially burden modern parents, a “vision of what our time together should be like” that can so easily “invade and darken the time we actually have.” This becomes particularly acute, for Kois and for most families, while traveling. Halfway through the journey, he says, “I wanted us to get off screens and into the world; instead we’re all staring at our devices, shouting when the rain knocks the internet out.” His children, 9-year-old Harper and 11-year-old Lyra, don’t really seem to understand where these expectations for togetherness are coming from or where adults get the idea that we need to actively make memories. And maybe they have a point. After all, if it weren’t for the internet, would they have ever mastered the song “Despacito” enough to make up a new version, “No Mosquitos,” a more fitting anthem for their relationship to the Costa Rican air?

In Uncharted, we find a different figuration of family: two empty nesters, but the outdoorsy kind who live in the Pacific Northwest and profess to having a weakness for the word “remote.” With one son in college and another about to start, Kim Brown Seely and her husband, Jeff, contemplate their next chapter. Seeing so many people in the same situation, staving off depression or divorce (or both), they’re determined to find a new way to be “alone together.”��

They decide to sail away in search of a mysterious blond��bear that can only be found in the Great Bear Rainforest of��British Columbia. They embark on the 700-nautical–mile journey, sailing by themselves on a��54-foot boat, which they worry is like “a giant flagpole announcing to the entire world that someone on board was having a midlife crisis.” Seely and her husband are committed to this adventure though, one that is perhaps as defined by the elements (cold water, colder winds, bears) as it is by the prospect of suddenly being alone for the first time in twenty-some-odd years. When Seely wonders aloud “if [their] boat would survive,” it is clear she means more than the floorboards and the sails. But quite literally��in the middle of it all, Seely has a revelation. Seeing a pair of breaching whales swim in the same water that keeps her boat afloat, she feels connected, in a tactile sense, to all living things, including her two sons. “Everything is with you,” she realizes, in a way that you can only realize things when you’re at sea.��

Uncharted and How to Be a Family are firm reminders that despite the independent allure of solo travel, sometimes��we can’t change on our own. And it’s true, because despite my own harrowing solo adventures (hitchhiking in Russia, causing a minor bar fight in Lithuania, crossing the street in India), I think all I really learned about myself is that I like wine, something I probably would have figured out even if I’d never left my hometown. It’s the trips I took with other people that, for better or worse, told me the most about what kind of daughter, friend, and partner I was: one who can be moody, but not to the point where I wouldn’t dance to “No Mosquitos.”��

The post The Joys (and Pains) of Not Traveling Alone appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

DK 2019, from , is a recap video from this year's race, where�� took first in the men's full course.

The post Colin Strickland Took Dirty Kanza by Storm appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

This festival cut of the full documentary, ��looks at why humans pursue type-two��fun. Filmmakers����and follows a group of cyclists as they prepare for gravel grinding’s hardest race, the Dirty Kanza. But at the next level, it’s also kind of humorous and irreverent. We’ll let you be the judge.

The post A Weirdly Honest Type-II Fun Cycling Film appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

Roadies ruin everything.

Just take mountain bike racing. Cross-country racing��in the 1980s and early ’90s was a pretty fun, freewheeling affair until the money arrived and, with it, refugees from the Eurocentric pro road scene. Courses changed, tactics changed, and the whole sport got More Serious. You could argue that the roadification was complete not long after the sport gained Olympic status in 1996.

Then cross-country racing began to falter. The pro-roadie-to-mountain magnetic field reversed polarity as riders like Cadel Evans and Michael Rasmussen switched to pavement��and amateur racers went hunting low-key fun, first with 24-hour racing and then enduro. Only in the past few years has cross-country started to shake off the hangover of becoming an Olympic discipline.

So you’ll forgive the concern some gravel racers felt last week when WorldTour pro team EF Education First announced it would send some select riders to nontraditional events, notably gravel racing’s marquee classic, the Dirty Kanza, a 200-mile race in the Flint Hills of Kansas. (The Dirty Kanza has several event distances, ranging from a 25-miler to the invitation-only DKXL, a 350-mile monster, but the main event is the .)

Had we hit peak gravel?

The roadie invasion of gravel has been underway for some time. Ex-pros like Ted King, Alison Tetrick, and Neil Shirley began entering the DK and other events several years ago. Road-inspired developments, like aerobars and team tactics, have crept in and subsequently . And gravel racing even has the occasional formal team, like Panaracer-Stan’s NoTubes. But the entrance of EF Education First (and, likely, riders from the new Continental-class pro team Floyd’s Pro Cycling) changes things in several ways.

Teams like EF and Floyd’s have markedly better support than most gravel racers, who are largely privateers even if they make a living from their sport. Don’t expect a Formula 1–style “race hub” at the Dirty Kanza anytime soon, but it’s easy to envision pro-team mechanics and soigneurs making a difference over a 200-mile event. The entrance of teams strongly suggests more overt team tactics, which put solo entrants at a disadvantage. Finally, what about, uh, talent?

“A WorldTour racer’s fitness is considerably better than even other pros,” says two-time DK200 winner King, who notes that the Kanza’s June 1 date is propitious timing for a European-based pro coming off a block of spring classics and the May 12 to 18 Tour of California.

TL;DR: Expect, say, Taylor Phinney or Alex Howes to crush the race. Unless they don’t.

Sven Nys is one of the best bike handlers alive, but the cyclocross legend still at the 2018 Kanza. Sure, a teammate could swap wheels for a leader. But the DK’s rules—including��no radios, riders can only accept outside support at three mid-race checkpoints, and riders must start and finish on the same frame—level some of the support advantages a pro team might otherwise have.

The effort is different as well. The DK200 is only slightly longer than Milan-San Remo, the longest one-day event on the WorldTour calendar, but the total saddle time for the winner (10:44 last year for King) is almost 50 percent higher. There are strong headwinds, summer storms, long sections of mud, creek crossings, and 10,000 feet of climbing. Pacing, tactics, and nutrition for the DK are different from road racing in degree, not type, but they’re different enough that even experienced road pros seek out riders like 2017 winner Tetrick for advice. (That said, King still thinks WorldTour racers have a major advantage.)

Those challenges are what draw people to the Dirty Kanza, which has a single mass start and categories separated by age groups and gender—not ability. While the presence of top pros has a significant effect on those at the front of the race, for most of the DK200’s 1,100 entrants and those in the other events, it’s a nonissue,��or even an attraction. (Across all categories, the DK sees close to 3,000 competitors, but the main event, the DK200, has a field limit of 1,100.)

“I think it’s great,” says 2015 DK200 winner Yuri Hauswald, acknowledging it’ll make his own race a lot harder. “What other sport can you ride the same course shoulder to shoulder with a WorldTour rider? That’s really cool.” The other riders I spoke with were at least cautiously optimistic about the influx of pros. On Twitter, King asked for others’ opinions about pros in gravel races, and most, if not all, of the responses were positive.

It’s also important to note that the pro presence is an effect, not a cause,��of gravel racing’s sharp rise in interest. The DK, for instance, is one of the granddads of the sport at just 13 years old.��Its first edition, in 2006, had just 34 entrants. Gravel riding and racing is a pretty broad term today, but most similar events that predate the DK, like England’s Three Peaks Cyclocross (started in 1961) and Pennsylvania’s Iron Cross, were originally conceived as variations on cyclocross—gravel racing by another name.

Today, there are dozens of true gravel races across the country, and top events like the DK200, Barry Roubaix, Rebecca’s Private Idaho, and others see 1,000 or more entrants in the main field. (As with the DK, there are often shorter-distance events as well.)

“When you see the coverage that Alison or Ted or Rebecca Rusch receives from winning these events, it’s easy to see a team looking at that and wanting to steal some of that thunder,” says Nick Legan, author of the book and a longtime gravel racer. That’s even as the Kanza, at least, has no direct prize purse—instead, it donates significantly to nonprofit causes in the Emporia area.

Heightened interest might make competition fiercer for the DK200’s entrance lottery, but it won’t make the event bigger. “We are close to the ceiling” for entrants, says co-founder and promoter Jim Cummins. The main factor is simply rural Kansas’s capacity—a��town of 250 residents serving as a checkpoint can fit only so many support cars, for instance. Cummins also notes that pro entries come from discretionary and sponsor exemptions above the field limit. “Those never come at the expense of entry spots for the average racer,” he says.

It’s easy to envision that a mass migration of pros could park some changes. The DK, for instance, prizes a level playing field and explicitly supports the WADA anti-doping code, but it��doesn’t drug test and has no formal association with anti-doping bodies. Cummins says he hasn’t yet seen a need, but as the competitive level increases, that could change. And the —like leaders drafting a teammate who intends to drop out and can sustain a higher effort for that shorter period, or whether it’s fair for male domestiques to work for female teammates—will likely only get sharper. If gravel becomes more of a team sport, it may spur some current top riders to make a choice: join a team, or simply seek out other events where being a privateer isn’t a disadvantage.

Cummins notes that��even though the rules prohibit things like course-cutting, “We can’t have eyes everywhere. We rely on self-policing. You do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do.” Ultimately, these questions mostly come down to culture. Rebecca Rusch’s (Safe, Honest, Accountable, Responsible, and Kind) is a pretty fair guide to the gravel community’s ethos. And so the community has to decide . Because even if the changes at the front of the race don’t affect most riders, the discussion about those in context of the sport’s culture absolutely does.

If the DK turns you off because it lost its grassroots feel—with a dry chuckle, Cummins notes he’s heard accusations of that even before pros began to show up—then there are dozens of small, funky events around the country. Everyone I spoke with had questions, and even concerns, about how road pros would change the sport, but they also felt that pros could become part of the fabric of it, absorbed in its vibe rather than harshing it. The heart of gravel racing is the personal challenge and shared experience, which runs through events of all sizes. Whether you’re a pro or pack fodder, Tetrick says, “We did the same race, and we can have a beer afterwards or eat pizza or doughnuts and share our stories about the day, and we really connect.”

As long as pro roadies embrace that��and the foundation doesn’t change? Gravel racing will be just fine.

The post No, Pros Won’t Ruin Gravel Racing appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.