Bos/treal has never just been a bike ride to me.

For the last ten years, it has been a annual pilgrimage, a growing community, a proving ground, a logistical nightmare, a yearly act of optimism, and one of the defining experiences of my adult life.

Every spring, a ragtag collection of cyclists rides roughly 400 miles from Boston to Montreal to raise money for the Boston Cyclists Union — a nonprofit organization fighting for safer, more sustainable, more equitable streets for everyone who moves through our cities.

Along the way, somehow, this ambitious little volunteer-run adventure grew into something genuinely special.

I’ve watched strangers become lifelong friends.
I’ve watched nervous first-time riders discover they were capable of far more than they imagined.
I’ve watched people fall in love, reinvent themselves, build confidence, build community, and build a culture rooted in mutual support, generosity, and joyful bike-related antics.

Hell, I even met my fiancée on this ride. It’s still bonkers to me.

And this year — the 10th anniversary of Bos/treal — will likely be my final year riding it.

Over the past decade, I’ve gone from rider, to organizer, to one of the people helping steward the whole operation forward. It’s been one of the greatest privileges of my life. Exhausting as all hell sometimes, for sure. But always deeply meaningful.

This year especially, I want to help send this chapter off properly (hence the long-ass post; sue me).

So once again, I’m raising money for the Boston Cyclists Union and the work they do advocating for safer infrastructure, better transit policy, and streets designed around people rather than survival instincts.

If you’ve ever:

• biked in Boston,
• walked through a dangerous intersection,
• nearly been hit by a car,
• wished getting around felt safer,
• or simply believe cities should be built for human beings…

…then this work matters to you too.

And if you’ve been part of Bos/treal at any point over the last decade — as a rider, organizer, volunteer, donor, host, supporter, or cheerleader — then thank you. Truly. You helped build something beautiful.

If you’re able, I’d love your support for one last ride north.

Any amount genuinely helps.