Dear ACA Board,
I am not a writer of critical letters. I was raised by parents that believed in fixing problems rather than complaining about them. What I am, though, is a fellow bicycle traveler and a recent seven-year employee of Adventure Cycling Association. As such, I am compelled to go against my nature to express a deep sadness upon hearing of the potential sale of Adventure Cycling’s home office at 150 E Pine St. Everything I learned, witnessed, and understood about the org and every bicycle tourist I had the pleasure of meeting in that time period leads me to believe that this is a mistake.
I know I’m not alone in feeling this way, and I assume this is not the first or the last letter you will receive on this matter. I am also not naive about the challenging reality of running a membership-based bicycle nonprofit in 2025, or the current state of the org’s finances. I lived it, and I continue to hear about it from my ex colleagues and friends in the industry.
So, I will spare you the reasons against the sale. I’m sure you’ve heard and hopefully considered most of them by now. I choose to believe that it was a hard decision to make and not one made impulsively and in bad faith.
I will also spare you the blame-pointing and personal reflections on the misguided leadership decisions that contributed to the org’s continuing demise. I believe that every exit interview conducted over the last three years shares a common theme and speaks for itself. Having said all that, please allow me to attempt to change your mind by sharing my personal relationship with the headquarters and the transformational role it played in my life.
In the fall of 2017, I accepted a graphic designer job at Adventure Cycling Association. This meant taking a significant reduction in my annual income, moving and saying goodbye to my family and friends, and trading my sunny Florida cottage for a studio apartment on the third floor of a 100-year-old building in a town I’d never been to and knew very little about. Nevertheless, I packed my truck and enthusiastically drove almost 3,000 miles to Missoula, Montana. This was one of the happiest days of my life.
Very few people understood this at the time. And almost all did once they came to visit and got the tour of my new workplace. My girlfriend teared up at the first sight of photos and bikes on the walls. My friends expressed envy and my parents were proud. None of them were cyclists but all of them almost immediately understood the allure. Every framed photo, every bike on the wall, every faded map and dusty bike bag was a testament to ordinary humans who at some point decided to finally answer that timeless call of adventure and transform their lives into a story worth telling. It was as clear to them as it was crystal clear to me that this was not an ordinary business in an ordinary office building staffed with ordinary career-minded employees. In this building, the walls actually did talk and the tales they told were uplifting, awe-inspiring, aspirational, and unforgettable.
Yet the most exceptional thing about this is how unexceptional it all actually is. In my seven years at Adventure Cycling, I had the privilege of greeting a great number of visiting cyclists and getting a morale boost by re-experiencing the same wide-eyed reaction from every one of them, every single time. Their excitement and joy of finally standing in this bucket-list destination was almost always palpable and infectious. They understood that each person they met — from map makers, magazine editors, artists, writers, to various guided tours and membership service people — was in some way responsible for their journey. They would show their appreciation by purchasing from a store, donating, renewing or getting a life membership, or simply and sincerely shaking my hand and saying “thank you for all you do.” And all I had to do was stand there, offer them an ice cream, listen, and let the building’s secret sauce work its magic.
And these reactions that any other organization or business would die for were just to the visible, surface-level parts of the building. Every now and then I would feel compelled by a supremely enthusiastic visitor or a motivated life member to pierce below that surface. I would lead them into the basement, or the attic, or open one of the file cabinets containing images of bicycle travelers frozen in time going back five decades, to reveal an entire world of bicycle touring history almost certainly not found anywhere else on the planet. Romance, sentiment, and nostalgia are the natural language of bicycle travel, and this stuff has enough megawatts of it to temporarily stop the heart of anyone that has sat on a bicycle seat for even a second.
I’m sure you’re getting the idea by now or have been lucky to experience all of the above yourself while visiting the building. I sincerely hope so. If not, I’m happy to make myself available anytime for a quick tour.
When I sat down to write this letter, it was all those people that first came to mind: the members or not-yet-members that I had the pleasure of introducing to this bicycle travel oasis that they traveled, sometimes a world over, just to see and experience for a brief moment on their journey. I thought of the founders and early volunteers, every Bikecentennial rider, every tour participant, every intern, every business catering to bicycle travelers on one of our routes, past and present staff, and every Missoulian who ever walked by the building and discovered that a world-renowned organization originated and was still operating out of their small mountain town.
But most of all, I thought of every person currently packing panniers before their very first tour, perhaps with a dream of visiting this “bike touring mecca” they’ve been hearing so much about. That is a lot of people that care and a lot of people whose shoulders we are standing on. It is easy to get sentimental and overwhelmed by it all, but don’t you think we/you owe it to them to try harder to honor the bike travel legacy that inspires them and save this one-of-a-kind place? I ask this sincerely and without any illusions that there are easy answers. You know and I know the painful truth that much of the once pioneering work of Adventure Cycling is by this point a part of the commercial and somewhat saturated industry of offerings with many of the players in the industry doing it better, faster, and with more funding than the org will most likely ever have.
So why not reimagine the building as a permanent bike travel visitor center with multimedia displays, traveling exhibits, talks, and leadership workshops all focused on celebrating bicycle touring and its history? Or maybe a research center dedicated to collecting, digitizing, archiving, and making available text, images, and other media related to bicycle travel? Perhaps a bike travel hostel and the world’s coolest and most desirable warm shower host? Donations only! Thinking outside of the box has always been one of the hallmarks of this organization, so why stop now? If you look around and make yourself open and vulnerable, you will find plenty of like-minded people willing and eager to help. Sounds just like a bike tour, doesn’t it?
The location of 150 E. Pine St started as a church. Until the day I left, my desk was in this original part of the building. I’m not a religious person, but I did find religion at this address in Missoula, Montana. I found it on the walls and in the basement, in the drawers and in countless conversations with my colleagues and the larger community of bicycle travelers. So I ask you today to please reconsider your decision to sell this special place. A heritage organization that loses confidence in its history loses confidence in itself and is doomed to failure and irrelevance. Make the harder decision not to sell and look for allies to help. Generations of future bike travelers are already forever grateful for it.
Sincerely and very respectfully,
Your friend, former staffer, lifelong fan, bicycle traveler, and one-time-only critical letter writer
Daniel Mrgan
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