DINO Journal: Traveling Into The Wind, With A Little Help

Melanie at Anza-Borrego Visitor Center in 2023

I've considered writing about our mode of transportation when we're not traveling in our Leisure Travel Van (LTV) over the years, but put it off, I suppose, waiting for the right time. After being without my bike for almost two weeks recently and missing it acutely, now's that time.

When we left Birmingham seven years ago in January 2019, trading four walls for the sleek, compact comfort of our 25-foot LTV, we made a decision that still shapes our daily adventures, especially when we are actively traveling: no tow car. At first, I'm sure friends thought we were crazy—how would we get groceries, explore trails, or navigate small-town streets without one? The answer, as it turned out, came on two wheels, humming quietly beneath us: our Trek electric assist bicycles.

These aren’t mopeds or scooters. Our bikes have no throttles—no twist of the wrist or button push to propel us forward. Instead, they reward our pedaling with a boost from the motor, the level of which we can adjust with a simple handlebar control. Each bike has a small digital display that tells us speed, battery level, mileage, and, most importantly, our “assist level.”

Motor off means we’re fully human-powered—a reasonable choice for a gentle cruise on relatively flat rail trails or, maybe most importantly, when conserving battery because you got lost in your revelry, but, honestly, our bikes are not geared for longer rides without battery assist. Mine weighs 55 pounds, more with panniers. Level 1 offers just a whisper of help, making it feel like we’ve had an extra cup of coffee that morning. Level 2 turns headwinds and hills into mild inconveniences. Levels 3 and 4, the highest settings, make climbing a steep coastal road in Nova Scotia feel like coasting along a flat multi-use trail in Tucson. The motor engages only when we pedal, giving us the sensation that our legs are younger, stronger, and more resilient than they actually are.

Over the years, these bikes have carried us through towering redwoods in California, through farmlands on the Leelanau Trail in coastal Michigan, into bustling small towns in Vermont, and along the salt-kissed shores of the Maritime Provinces in Canada. In Nova Scotia, we camped in Shubie Park in Dartmouth and rode into Halifax on the Shubenacadie Canal Trail, took in the Halifax Public Gardens and had a nice brunch near the Gardens. In Maine, we pedaled from our campsite on a friend's property near Point Francis into Acadia National Park across the way from Bar Harbor, taking in Schoodic Point along our way. We've ridden the Carriage Trails in Acadia National Park to lunch in Northeast Harbor.

Redwood State Park, California

The real beauty of these bikes, however, goes beyond convenience. For people in their 60s, 70s, and beyond, electric assist cycling offers remarkable health benefits. The steady pedaling keeps joints limber without the pounding stress of running. The adjustable assist means we can maintain a steady heart rate, getting cardiovascular exercise. I liken it to a good spin class with scenery and the possibility of lunch and a beer along the way. It keeps muscles engaged, improves balance, and helps maintain bone density—critical as we age. Just as importantly, it keeps us moving every day, not only physically but mentally.

There’s a joy in knowing that we can ride farther than we might have on traditional bikes, yet still return to our campsite pleasantly tired rather than exhausted. The electric assist removes the fear of “what if I can’t make it back?” and replaces it with the freedom to explore without limits. We’ve met other riders our age who had all but given up cycling because of knee pain or declining stamina. After trying an e-bike, they’ve rediscovered the pure pleasure of the open trail.

For us, the bikes have become more than a mode of transportation—they are our bridge to places a van can’t go, to conversations with locals we might never have met, and to landscapes that reveal themselves slowly, at the pace of a turning wheel. Whether we’re pedaling along the shores of Lake Superior near Duluth or coasting into a small-town farmers market in Brattleboro, Vermont, we feel connected—to each other, to the road, to our environs, and to the simple joy of movement.
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Nearly seven years on the road has taught us that freedom often comes with clever tools. For us, that tool has two wheels, a battery, and a quiet motor that reminds us—every time it kicks in—that age is no barrier to adventure, only an invitation to keep going, with just a little help.