Community Science Goes Along For the Ride at BRAG

Seeing what transpires from the seat of a bike

Thankfully, the natural world is unavoidable on BRAG. Riders on the rolling hills near Tompson, Ga. during the 2023 ride. Credit: Katie Bailey.

I spent four days last week participating in Bike Ride Across Georgia, a sweaty effort that allowed me to merge the Venn diagrams of two of my obsessions: community science and cycling. I’m in the last third of my life, yet I experienced quite a few firsts at BRAG: tent camping in a Woodstock-like environment, 71 miles of road cycling in a single day, and doing science while self-powering myself through the heartland of my home state. BRAG was exciting and exhausting. I probably won’t do it again. Still, I’m proud of my body––thanks, heart, legs and lungs––and happy that my pride can extend beyond myself into the world. It’s fulfilling to know that while pedaling along for 258 miles I was able to successfully share cloud data with NASA, grasslands observations with the Georgia Grasslands Initiative, and wildlife sightings with iNaturalist.

The scientific work took only a few minutes of my time, which is a good thing because riding BRAG is arduous, draining the body and the mind. For example, on the last day of the ride, I stopped to fill my water bottle, a job as routine as it gets for a cyclist. I twisted open the cooler’s tap, held my bottle below it and instantly felt water gushing over my hands and hitting my shoes. Opps and duh, I thought. Forgot to take the lid off my bottle. Absent of mind I surely was. Pedaling the long miles along Georgia backroads will sure enough give you that Southern-fried feeling. Therefore, it was a good thing that I kept all my science projects K.I.S.S. simple for the ride and mostly worked as nature’s monitor. 

A basic definition of monitoring is to pay close attention. Community science is largely about monitoring. In fact, community science starts with, and continuously returns to, individual close observations of nature. A few decades ago, environmentalists felt scientific work was better left to the professionals, but that stance has changed. Now individuals from all walks of life are needed to help inform scientists and much of the work required is the easy but vital work of long-term monitoring. “You see what transpires,” is the way one naturalist put it.  

I’ve been BRAG-curious for years. I’m a cyclist who doesn’t think too much of spending hours in the saddle of my beloved two-wheeler, a lightweight road bike that’s been fitted to be as comfortable and safe as possible for me and me alone. In April, I decided that I’d try BRAG Lite, a four-day version of the full seven-day ride. I reasoned that I was trained enough this year to do it, I was not getting any younger, and my community science projects are keeping me outdoors all the time anyway, so why not marry community science to cycling for a few days and have myself an adventure? 

Seeing what transpires 

My consecutive BRAG days covered these distances: 40-, 59-, 71-, and 58-miles. That kind of cycling, at an average of 14.5 mph, will have you sitting on a bike seat for up to five hours straight. It is fun if you like biking adventures like I do, but it will also leave you ragged. I realized upfront that any science I did on this trip would be of the hit-and-run variety, yet looking back I see the benefits were great. I’d be rolling along, hardly aware of the bike noise––wind, cars, and shouts of “pothole right” from fellow riders––then I’d stop to get off the road and inspect some bit of nature.  

Ahhhhh, quiet, I’d think.  

When I paused to consider the clouds, or crouched among the wildflowers, or approached a rat snake resting in the shade, I settled down almost instantly. I’d feel grounded with the nature, the effect was mental and physical. Peace-out, I’d stand there thinking. Look at that sky. One solitary cloud! That is SO cool, wow, just one perfect cloud in all that blue! I’d feel like the double-rainbow dude for a minute and smile at myself. My calm repose was surely aided by my slowed heart rate, but still, the nature timeouts were so pleasant that they became an important part of my journey. Soon, I’d rejoin the ever-forward energy of the 1,000-plus others out on the course and get back into my groove: pedaling, shifting, climbing, and sometimes––eternally grateful for any and all downhills––even coasting. Working with my small science projects, I learned, didn’t require too much time or energy, yet there was still a big benefit to the world, and even to myself, if I’m the least bit reflective about what I’m doing. Which I always try to be. 

• The first “science-on-BRAG" project I contributed to was NASA’s Globe Observer which I wrote about earlier this month in the newsletter, Both Sides Now. I’m an old hand with the workings of the app by now, so it was seamless for me to contribute to the project four times while adventuring in the “wild.” You may recall that NASA sends me a text when one of its satellites is flying over my position. I have about a 15-minute window to open the app and answer some questions about the sky and take six pictures of the sky. I probably hit 16 rest stops during my four days on the road. As luck would have it, NASA pinged me on four of those stops, so it was simple for me to step out into an open area and take the snaps they wanted.  

• My second science-BRAG combo focused on The Georgia Grasslands Initiative (GGI), which I wrote about in Community Science That’s Working To Make The Grass Greener In Our State. When I researched and experienced this project back in April, I discovered that the project is geographically bound to specific locations within the 800,000-plus acres of Chattahoochee-Oconee National Forest. And guess what? On the morning of the Thursday, June 9 ride, I discovered that our route for the day would have us spinning along right through the forest! How lucky am I? I thought. First, the well-timed NASA texts, and now I get to do grasslands at just the right location. The day had dawned with me not being in the brightest of moods due to the trials and tribulations of camping. (Need I say more? Yes, I do. Listen to “The Mattress Went Down to Georgia” podcast and images below.)

  My grumbles were mostly forgotten, however, when I considered the thought of riding through the shade of a protected, old-growth forest. About 20 miles into the ride, I whizzed past the forest entrance sign and started looking for wildflowers. The height of the blooming season had passed, but I still was able to easily take pictures of lavender self-heal, white and yellow horseweed, and brilliant orange milkweed. 

  Later that day, back at camp, I uploaded my pictures to GGI via my iNaturalist app. I also posted them on the BRAG Facebook page where I explained the GGI project (always be promoting!) My post generated a bit of chit-chat. The people couldn’t stop with the “what the heck’s self-heal?,” and “where can I get some?” comments. I looked it up, and in case you too are wondering, it is a common grass that was once regarded as a cure-all and is now still used to make hot tea for sore throats. I love the things I learn on this journey, and all the various comments and curiosities I hear back from my readers.

  

  Common self-heal.

• My third BRAG-plus-science experience goes directly back to my earlier comment about how long-term monitoring is the bread-and-butter work of the community scientist. iNaturalist is the best single tool in my toolkit that does an amazing job of letting me, a regular citizen, help researchers know when and where organisms occur in our world. Thanks to my BRAG outing, and the way I kept my eyes peeled for science, I captured images of a rat snake from Telmo, a sycamore tussock moth from Madison, and an eastern swallowtail butterfly from Good Hope. Within a few days of my uploading the pictures to iNaturalist, all three were vaulted into “Research Grade” status in the database. The images are now filed forevermore within the scientific confines of an vital international science project focused on helping the environment. No sweat, people, no sweat! We are moving on to fireflies next week.

  

  You have questions.

  Early readers of this draft wanted the nitty-gritty about my camping troubles and how it is to live as part of an on-the-move parade like BRAG. And yes, the logistical challenges were numerous; you’ll get an idea from the image gallery below. Listen to “The Mattress Went Down To Georgia,” 15 minutes of storytelling about BRAG.

  

  

  

  Look like fun?