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Eli Beech-Brown ascends the highest point in the Bighorn National Forest, Powder River Pass. Legs burning, breath heavy in the thin air at 9,666 feet. 

This is the spot where he recreates his father’s iconic photo, taken nearly 50 years before. Around him, the alpine tundra stretches in arid barrenness. Its rocky, shallow soil can barely sustain the scraggly shrubs that cling to life. The sky here is vast, and the wind is crisp and dry.

Along the road, peculiar rows of wooden fences stand parallel to each other and the pavement. These snow fences, weathered and splintered, are built to prevent massive drifts from burying the road. Eli exhales and grips the handlebars. His father stood here once, at this very spot. Decades may separate them, but at this moment, they are connected by the road, the mountain and an epic journey.

Jeff Brown was a short man with dark brown, slightly wild hair that grayed toward the end of his life. Eli described him as resembling King Bumi from Avatar: The Last Airbender – a perfect comparison. In the cartoon, King Bumi is an eccentric mad genius, unpredictable yet deeply wise, always acting with conviction in doing what is right.

Jeff’s deep passion for the environment was much like King Bumi’s. His approach was unconventional and intense, guided by the mindset of a mad scientist. 

This is the level of passion needed to truly develop a connection with the world around you. He didn’t just believe in sustainability; he lived it. Jeff constantly tested his own limits with human-powered transportation. In college, he rode his bike daily to school but intentionally took a detour, turning what could have been a simple commute into a grueling 100-mile ride.

In 1979, Jeff embarked on his own cross-country bike trip. At the time, the term bikepacking didn’t exist the way it does today. Now, cyclists can purchase specialized gear designed for long-distance touring, but Jeff’s setup was mostly improvised and heavy. Taking this trip proved to him that a person could traverse the country entirely by pedal power. Later, he pushed himself even further, riding from San Francisco to Alaska, navigating rugged landscapes and extreme weather.

The bike that carried him on these journeys was as unique as he was. Built by a frame builder named Awesome Walker in Michigan, Jeff’s custom machine was a true product of his philosophy – narrow tires, a heavy steel frame, and a manually tuned gear system that demanded constant adjustment. 
Eli keeps that bike as a relic of his father’s vision. It’s far too heavy and difficult to ride, but it remains a symbol of his father’s dedication.

Jeff passed away due to a sudden heart attack in 2020. This was toward the end of Eli’s high school years, right before he began college. It was a pivotal moment in his life, and dealing with the grief and stress of school was not easy. Always lingering in the back of his mind was the mythical bike trip his father took after graduating college. For years, Eli knew he would eventually take this journey, but time was ticking. In 2024, he finally decided to go. 

The journey began in Duluth with minimal planning. The motivation and drive to figure out the best way to do this were a strong force. 

I was very impressed to learn that Eli only spent nine days preparing for this trip. He quickly acquired a new bike and necessary gear from local retailers. His motivation was all he needed to get going.
Eli had many memories growing up of riding bikes with his father, especially on Madeline Island. This was the place where Eli first learned to ride without training wheels and managed to bike six miles that very first time. That experience sparked a lifelong love for biking. 

Going on bike rides can be very meditative. A 4,000-kilometer journey, however, is healing on another level – one of processing grief and living the mythology. Eli’s journey didn’t require extensive planning or training. “I had a deeper sense of purpose… some sort of deeper rooted strength that pushed me to do it.” 

He refers to the motivation drawn from this being a legacy in his family. Taking this trip helped him process grief in a way nothing else could.

The journey begins
Eli’s journey began in Duluth on August 14, 2024. He started by testing his bike and gear on a trip to the Twin Cities to meet up with some friends. This would be the test to see if he was truly up for the task. He passed with no problems and set off from the Twin Cities toward South Dakota.

While riding through South Dakota, he experienced one of the worst days. Flat land stretched as far as the eye could see. Running dangerously low on water, Eli struggled through barren gravel roads and farmland on an extremely hot day. To make things worse, on two separate instances, he was chased by animals. One time by an aggressive dog and another time by two badgers. 

And then there were the grasshoppers. They were constantly getting squished and stuck in the tires, jumping out of the way only to land on him while he was riding. 

Despite it all, Eli pushed through because, in the end, days like these were few and far between on a trip like this. The campsites and scenery were breathtaking. There was no boss to answer to, no clock to punch in. Most of the time, people were looking out for Eli by offering him places to stay, buying him food or even handing him money.

On a trip like this, one burns massive amounts of calories daily. It’s important to eat large amounts just to sustain what has been burned off. Eventually, it just felt natural to Eli, 

“After two weeks, I kind of felt like I was just floating on the bike… like a runner’s high, but for months.” 

The comfort on the bike also came with building mental strength. A trip like this is very empowering. It gave him the ability to be more comfortable with being alone and sitting in peace.

After pedaling through much of scenic Utah, Eli reached Salt Lake City, having covered approximately 2,500 miles at an average of 60 miles per day. This was the end of his trip, and he was ready to head back to Duluth. 

At home, he works as an ecologist. The shift from life on a bike for months to the structure of everyday American life is always a huge blow. But it’s trips like these that change a person. Moving at 12 miles an hour without a roof over your head for months is bound to change your perspective on life.

Eli returned home a changed man. One that’s more patient, more grounded and more aware of the pace of the world around him. The open road had taught him resilience, self-reliance and reinforced his belief that humanity is mostly kind. 

His father had once taken a journey like this, and now he had done the same. Whether he realized it or not, Eli was carrying on a legacy – not just of adventure, but of seeing the world differently, of pushing limits, and of finding freedom on two wheels. 

“What can’t you do after riding a bike across the country? It made me feel super empowered.”

I am very thankful for the opportunity to learn about this trip. A big thanks to Eli for taking the time to sit and chat with me about his journey. This interview reinforced a belief I’ve long held – whether it’s 0.2 miles or 2,500 miles, any day of the year, it’s always better to take your bike.

Eli’s journey has been told in a documentary called a Tailwinds of Love. A private showing is taking place at the West Theatre on Saturday, Feb. 22.