The sun is setting, but the lure of the the jade green pools and burnt orange stalactites prove irresistible. Staj and I glance at each other, quickly swap our bike shorts for swim trunks and scramble down the scree to the water.
This is a daily routine, and rarely is there any deliberation. We see a swimming hole and in less than five minutes, we’re wet. The past few years, my enjoyment of swimming holes has developed into passion. Problem is (or was), I’m no good at finding them myself, instead relying on the help of others.
Away from the monotonous interstates, there’s a pristine network of old highways and forest roads with an astounding percentage of miles winding along rivers and creeks. And it’s a good thing to because for a cyclist, these waterways are like engine coolant; without them, you’re going to overheat.
When bike touring, these lesser traveled, though often hillier, routes are a holy grail. Along with less traffic and better scenery, they provide an overwhelming amount of readily available nooks and crannies right off the road. All it takes is a slower pace to find them. So many of these pristine creek pools and river holes we’ve dived into would have gone under our radar had we traveled by at 60 MPH, air conditioner blasting and Wilburys wailing.
I cannot count the number of swimming holes I’ve dove into, nor can I predict how many more are to come, but one thing’s for sure, there’s plenty out there, and they’re right under my nose.
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