I packed my bike with zero expectations, just a vague plan to ride until my legs gave up. A friend in Alabama kept mentioning an old rail line turned into a trail that stretched on forever, and I finally decided to see it for myself.
The first few minutes felt ordinary, pavement and trees, nothing unusual yet. Then the noise faded and a quiet, steady rhythm took over, the kind only an old rail bed seems to offer.
The path kept going, mile after mile, calm and uninterrupted in a way that made stopping feel pointless. Birds scattered ahead of me now and then, unbothered by the occasional cyclist…