Author Mark Svenvold has a long feature piece in the January/February issue of Orion magazine about idealistic people taking to their bicycles and following a seasonal migratory pattern between south Texas and central Mexico:

The real destination, the goal of this enterprise, as the saying goes, was the journey, bicycle migration itself, but in truth, we arrived every day at our goal: a threshold zone of utopian dreamscape, the shiftless world of hobo campsites under bridges, of vanishing into a landscape, a place where labor had become obsolete, of stopping as you please, for any reason—to admire the burnished sunlight while resting in a pair of exploded reclining chairs abandoned in the middle of the Sabinal River valley, or to watch an ostrich-sized emu, some rich Texan’s exotic aviary escapee, step tentatively into the road.

On a bicycle in the Texas Hills, one’s contract with time slowly, marvelously dissolved. You moved under your own power, at your own speed, with your own thoughts. What was it, anyway, that had once seemed so important?