WHEN I TURNED THIRTY-FIVE AND MY KNEES began cracking like glow sticks every time I climbed the stairs, I decided it was time to give my joints a break from running and take up cycling. Then I managed to befriend Jennah, a former elite cyclist in my hometown of Asheville, North Carolina, and persuaded her to let me tag along on rides. I do not recommend this approach unless you are prepared for routine humiliation. A few months ago, as I was huffing through yet another hill, I asked Jennah, “Does this ever get easier?” She looked at me a moment, breathing effortlessly, and replied, “It never gets easier, you just get faster.”
After exclusively riding Western North Carolina’s steep ridges, I was ready for something a little more forgiving. I decided the Virginia Creeper Trail—touted as “the best bike trail in the
