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A blur of my bikepacking on the tricounty corridor as I rode to Brule from Superior.

Unbridled freedom in my childhood came from riding my bike and spending time outside. 
Long-distance bike rides with Ron were always exciting. Ron, my ex-stepmom’s stepdad (the first hint of chaos in that marked the early part of my life), took me on countless rides. Ron was tall and slender, with glasses and a bald patch on the top of his head. At that age, I had never met someone so intelligent.

He had two old Mustangs that he meticulously cared for in his garage. Unlike other adults in my life, his workspace wasn’t a greasy mess. It was organized, and intentional. 

These same qualities were extended to how he interacted with me. Ron didn’t yell at the car when something was hard. He approached everything with patience and methodical care. Ron also worked as an IT professional for Omaha Public Power District (OPPD). He even built computers for my siblings and me to play games on. 

But what truly set Ron apart was his emotional intelligence. He provided me with structure, a stark contrast to the chaos I experienced at home.

When I was young, I had boundless energy that my parents couldn’t handle. Ron helped me channel it into biking, where I quickly learned I could ride 10 to 13 miles in a couple of hours. 

Our usual route took us from the Pacific Meadows neighborhood in Omaha, Nebraska, to the trails around Lake Zorinsky. The reservoir was a man-made escape, a blend of nature and human design, with planted trees that seemed magical to me. 

I met Ron around the age of 7. He introduced me to biking in a way I’d never experienced before and sparked my lifelong love for it. Ron took me on charity rides for the OPPD, and we explored countless trails around Omaha together. He even gave me a sweet blue Schwinn hybrid bike, which became my prized possession. 

When my dad and stepmom divorced when I was 12, Ron wasn’t in my life anymore, but I was able to take the bike with me when I moved to a small town in Iowa with my mom.

That bike became my chariot around Avoca, Iowa. I rode it daily, using and abusing it as I explored the town and found my own escapes. Biking became my way of coping with the turmoil at home. 

I grew up in two different abusive households, and chaos seemed to follow me no matter which parent had custody. But my bike was my constant escape. There was something special about it – freedom. 
My mom was very controlling during my teenage years, and there were so many things I wasn’t allowed to do. But if I mentioned my bike, it was like a magic word. Somehow, riding my bike made it acceptable for me to go out and have some independence. I could stay out late as long as I said I was biking to my destination. I don’t even think she realized how often she’d give in at the mention of my bike.

By 10th grade, my bike broke, and soon after, I moved back to my dad’s house in Omaha. Biking was put on hold for several years. 

During this time, like many teenagers, I began experimenting and exploring countercultures. This led me to question the world around me, especially systems of power and environmental injustice. Some of my teachers played a huge role in opening my eyes to these issues, but so did my personal experiences. 

Watching my dad work himself sick in landscape design, all while eating a poor diet from being overworked, deeply shaped my perspective. 

These ideas came into sharper focus during moments in nature with my family. Moments like these gave me the sense of stability that rarely existed. I loved being outdoors. 

One fall during my junior year, my entire family spent time at Ponca State Park, and it became a core memory for me. I remember this crappy bike we had laying around at home came with us. While at Ponca on a cold misty morning I took that bike zooming down the hills and felt the wind flow through my thin, holey hoodie. Moments like that made me question my place in nature. I mainly wondered what it was like before roads existed.

My reconnection to biking came when I was 19. At the time, I was still living with my dad and working at a pizza place in Omaha. My primary ways of getting around were rides, the bus, and the “ankle express.” I had a skateboard, but my mobility was limited. 

I didn’t even consider getting a bike until one night, a friend showed up at my house around midnight, drunk, with a bike he had stolen from his brother. Luckily, I was awake to let him in, and I calmed my dad down enough that he was OK with my friend crashing at our place. He passed out late and slept through most of the next day. 

Meanwhile, sitting in my garage was this Trek mountain bike – unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Out of curiosity, I rode it to the gas station. I was blown away by how smooth it rode and how effortlessly the gears shifted. But what stood out the most was how much faster it was than walking. 

My newest bike, the belt-driven Priority 600. Belt drives work great for this region.

That experience planted the seed of wanting a bike, but at the time, I didn’t pursue it because I was more focused on getting my own car.

A few months later, I moved out of my dad’s house and into a place with some friends. This move was its own form of independence, filled with parties and newfound freedom. I eventually bought a car – a 1986 Nissan Hardbody pickup – but it was a sketchy vehicle. It had a laundry list of minor issues, and I didn’t enjoy driving it because it felt unreliable. 

Around this time, I realized that I lived near a trail that connected directly to my work. I remembered how much easier it had been riding my friend’s bike and decided to check out a proper bike shop instead of Walmart. 

Little did I know, high-quality bikes were way out of my budget. Fortunately, Omaha had a used bike shop called Re-Cycle, where I found a decent bike for $140. That bike hooked me for life. While I still used my car occasionally, the bike meant freedom from gas expenses and the stress of traffic.

As I entered my 20s, my love for bikes grew. I had many different jobs, but one that amplified this passion was working at The Bike Way in Omaha. While there, I purchased a Specialized Rockhopper and built a Salsa Marrakesh. Although I’ve since sold both, they were amazing bikes that deepened my love for biking and introduced me to bikepacking. This is essentially loading up camping gear on your bike and heading out to camp in wild areas. This is something I’m still passionate about today. 

Biking became more than just transportation; it became a vital part of my mental health. Even before I fully understood it, biking was helping me heal.

During this time, I was experiencing symptoms of unresolved trauma from the abuse and neglect I endured growing up. The adults responsible for me had failed in many ways. The only stable parent I ever had was my current stepmom, but even with her support, challenges persisted with my dad, mom and stepdad. I faced both physical and emotional abuse, and I was also groomed by a cousin during high school. 

By my 20s, this past manifested as debilitating anxiety that affected every aspect of my life.

It wasn’t until I was 25 that everything came to a head. While dating Cassie, my partner, I experienced a severe panic attack that made it impossible for me to be around people. Cassie was incredibly supportive, encouraging me to open about my past and share things I had kept to myself for years. Her support gave me the push I needed to seek professional help.

My primary doctor diagnosed me with PTSD and referred me to a therapist specializing in trauma. I began therapy at a pivotal moment – from 2019 to 2020, during the height of COVID-19. Since I was still covered under my stepmom’s insurance, and the pandemic waived my co-pays, therapy was essentially free. 

My therapist, a tall bald man with a kind yet stern voice, was someone I clicked with immediately. I appreciated his commitment to holding me accountable and on track during this process, all while making sure I was taken care of mentally. The mode of treatment, Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR), helped me unpack those turbulent years. In the end, I developed three non-negotiable rules for living: 

1. Nurture my inner child, 

2. Follow my passions in life without inhibition, 

3. Embrace nature whenever possible. 

Therapy gave me the ability to pursue my passions in life. This is where I discovered mycology, which led me to permaculture. These interests became a foundation for the next chapter of my life as I began pursuing them professionally through academia.

My healing journey has brought me to where I am today. By the end of therapy, I recognized that Omaha is no longer the place for me. Around this time, I discovered mycology (the study of fungi), my first attempts at cultivating gourmet mushrooms were lion’s mane in my apartment kitchen. Those days were humble and amateurish compared to what I can do now.  

I realized that mycology was something I wanted to pursue seriously, alongside leaving Omaha. I had researched the Twin Ports region, visited once, and knew it was where I wanted to be. 

Once here I began studying biology at Lake Superior College. I started school with a strong focus in mycology. My move to Duluth and starting school was reinforcing the very principles of what I learned in therapy. 

Since moving here, I’ve graduated from Lake Superior College and transferred to the University of Wisconsin-Superior to pursue a bachelor’s degree in biology and environmental science. Along the way, I’ve earned a McNair scholarship, researched fungi, and come to terms that while mycology holds a significant place in my life, it may not define my entire career. 

Fungi are extraordinary beings hidden, omnipresent and masterfully adaptive. They sit silently in the shadows of death, waiting to break down what it leaves behind. I once imagined starting a business cultivating mushrooms and selling DIY supplies, but I’ve come to realize I’m not driven by profit or exponential growth. 

My passion lies in connecting with nature, raising a fist in solidarity for its resilience. Maintaining this resilience requires building human connections to the world around us. Mycology remains deeply personal and meaningful, far beyond what can be sold in a grocery store. If any colleagues, friends or family want to know how to cultivate gourmet mushrooms. I am happy to teach them free of charge.

Recently, I have been inspired by the encouragement of my professors. One idea is that I should begin exploring biking as a professional research avenue. The very idea of it ties together my love for nature, community and sustainability. Part of this research is advocating for better bike infrastructure. 

This comes with its own challenges and is unique to the region one lives in. For this area I was able to meet three experts in this field. 

The Duluth and Superior Bikeways plan is developed by the Duluth-Superior Metropolitan Interstate Council (DSMIC). This plan integrates the Superior Active Transportation plan for Superior, Wisconsin. The Active Transportation plan was completed by the City of Superior so they will use that over the Bikeways plan when planning for projects. Both plans involve many organizations to help shape and guide the plan and Bikeways for the region. The bikeway plan is a part of a 25-year plan that is updated every five years. The newest update will be completed by Spring of 2025

There are a few challenges that planners face when planning bike infrastructure. The two main issues are existing street width and businesses needs/wants. 

One of the main concerns of businesses can be street parking and the potential loss of some or all of it. Which in turn leads to a perceived loss in business due to the lack of parking. The first phase of figuring out if a bike lane is possible is using a Geographic Information System (GIS) to gather and interpret data. This data is then made into a draft plan that is presented to the public. The concerns are voiced and addressed. 

One fact is that businesses (depending on if the street is properly redesigned) see more business due to the multimodal forms of transportation connecting the area. Many people enjoy being able to park and walk a block or two to go shopping or out to eat. This also attracts people who don’t have cars or prefer to use bikes or other ways of transportation. They feel safer going to these businesses with the better bike/pedestrian infrastructure and nine times out of 10 redesigning for multimodal transportation includes more bike parking. 

Another place of pushback is neighborhoods and the potential of multi-use trails behind houses. Some people have voiced concerns that the trails will cause more safety issues and more break-ins. However, in the presentation to the public facts are presented. This is highly unlikely to happen. In fact, a bike path near property increases property values (in most cases). However, there can still be hurdles and pushback from these communities. In wealthier neighborhoods they can have influence and contacts within organizations that they can communicate with and the ability to hire lawyers, which typically just delays public infrastructure.

In mycology, the interconnectedness of fungi and their ecosystems is a constant reminder that life thrives on connection. My classes in GIS and nature writing have encouraged me to dig deeper and far beyond what can be taught in class. 

Here I’ve found the same principles mirrored in biking. On a bike, I’m not just moving through space. The bike is an extension of myself and my therapist at the same time. I am engaging with my environment and community in ways that a car or bus cannot. The open-air freedom of biking doesn’t isolate me; it connects me to the world around. In this space I feel more aware of my surroundings, city streets and trails become shared spaces of belonging.

In this country we have deeply rooted cultural foundation of rugged individualism. Coined by Herbert Hoover, this term has come to define much of what we think freedom means: self-reliance, pulling ourselves up by our own bootstraps, and doing it all without help. In this sense we abandon the need for community. 

But this philosophy often misrepresents the reality of American inequality, as scholars like Heather E. Bullock, Lawrence M. Eppard and Mark Robert Rank argue. Rugged individualism assumes a level playing field while ignoring the systemic barriers that make freedom inaccessible for many.
Biking flips that idea on its end. It’s a practice of interdependence, not isolation. Take the work of Richard Sarran, Carson Polomis and Chris Carlson in Duluth and Superior. Both highlighted how bike infrastructure is not just a quick construction project, it requires the values of the public. 
Chris, the Assistant Public Works Director for Superior, explained the challenges of planning for bikes: narrow streets, businesses worried about losing parking and public pushback. But through GIS and community input, plans like the Duluth-Superior Bikeways Plan and Superior’s Active Transportation Plan show how collaboration can create spaces that work for everyone.

Richard and Carson, both GIS specialists, shared how GIS supports this vision by translating data into action. By mapping existing infrastructure and analyzing potential bike corridors and safe routes GIS reveals the hidden potential of our cities. 

This isn’t just about building bike lanes; it’s about creating places where people feel safe and connected all while maintaining places where businesses thrive because they’re part of a walkable, bikeable system. When everyone feels safe to bike for daily activities they will do it. To realize the potential that we hold here in this area we can look at cities with bikeable infrastructure and find strategies to implement locally. 

One city that stands out is Copenhagen, Denmark. This city has committed to five areas of focus to make biking more accessible and appealing. Safety is first and foremost, unidirectional cycle paths separate riders from pedestrians and cars.  

Second is speed and ease of getting around, people need to get to their destination in a timely manner the city has a vast network of these bike paths connected throughout the city. 
Next for third is secure parking, people won’t want to ride their bikes daily and lock them up outside with the risk of being stolen. 

Fourth, is the ease of switching modes, this creates an almost seamless transition for a biker to hop on the train or bus without taking too much time or effort. 

Finally, they focused on interurban bikeways, paths that connect the suburban areas to the intercity. These five areas of focus have been an ongoing project that has spanned decades and is still expanding. To address these areas of concern for the Twin Ports it will also take decades to reach this level of infrastructure. This example shows it can be done. 

As Twin Ports prepares to update its Bikeways Plan in 2025, we have a chance to redefine freedom – not as rugged individualism, but as collective liberation. Biking is freedom, not because it isolates us, but because it brings us together. It gives us the power to move through the world lightly, to heal ourselves and the environment, and to connect with life in ways that cars never could.

I challenge you, the reader, to ask yourself and attempt to answer the following questions: What did it feel like when you were riding your bike as a child? Do you feel that way while you are in traffic? 

Next, I invite you to join me in this movement, by riding more, attending city planning meetings, talking to neighbors and coworkers about riding to workdays and dedication. Together, we can create a future where the paths we choose reflect the values we share – freedom, connection, sustainability and healthy living. 

Ryan Figueroa is a Mycologist and Environmental Science student at UWS, and manager at E-bike Duluth.