A bike, a bill, and a brave little state

I’ve always believed you can learn a lot about a place from the seat of a bike.

That’s usually the motivation for my bikepacking trips: ride for a while, meet people, ask questions, take in the scenery. And if you’re riding in Vermont, you stop for a maple creemee.

Last summer, my friend Paul and I rode the length of the state—from Massachusetts to Canada—on a dirt route called the VTXL. Paul’s an environmental lawyer and one of the folks behind Vermont’s new Climate Superfund Act. As we passed through hard-hit towns in the Northeast Kingdom, the poorest counties in the state, we saw bridges washed out and homes still marked by last year’s historic floods. For two years in a row, Vermont’s river communities have been hit by so-called “100-year” flood events. The damage was real. But so was the pride—neighbors rebuilding, volunteers hauling gravel, people who refuse to complain and get to work helping each other.

Washed-out bridge in the Northeast Kingdom

Five days on bikes, in tents, sharing meals…that’s a lot of ground to cover. And topics to chat about. So as we pedaled north, Paul told me about the bill he’d spent the last few years helping push across the finish line—the Vermont Climate Superfund Act. It’s the first law in the country to make the world’s biggest polluters pay for the damage they’ve caused. The state will tally up the costs of climate disasters—crumbling roads, flooded homes, ruined crops—and send the bill to the fossil fuel companies responsible for decades of emissions. The idea is simple: Vermonters shouldn’t have to keep footing the bill for a mess they didn’t make.

What struck me most about the law is how ordinary it feels in a state like Vermont. Accountability just makes sense here. We look after our neighbors. We take pride in lifting each other up. When something breaks, we fix it. Right our wrongs. The Climate Superfund Act is that same neighborly logic, scaled up to meet a global crisis. If your product floods our towns and wrecks our roads, you should help us rebuild.

The 'make polluters pay' idea has been discussed in policy circles for years, but few governments have dared to try it. Vermont did. The bill passed last spring despite pressure from the fossil fuel lobby and hesitation from Governor Phil Scott. Now the state treasurer is calculating exactly how much damage climate change has caused within Vermont’s borders—estimates hover around a billion dollars after two straight summers of record flooding. Those costs will be billed to the companies most responsible for historic emissions. Under the law, any company responsible for more than a billion tons of greenhouse gas pollution since 1995 will have to pay its share. If the plan holds, the money will flow into adaptation and recovery projects, like rebuilding washed-out roads with permeable materials, restoring river corridors, reinforcing bridges, helping the small towns of the Northeast Kingdom recover and prepare for what’s next.

Skeptics say Vermont is too small to take on Big Oil. Maybe. But smallness is also its advantage. A state with the population of a mid-sized city can move nimbly and test ideas. Progress often starts locally, with a handful of people deciding to lead. California took the lead on car emissions. Massachusetts did it with health care. Maybe Vermont will be the one to do it with climate accountability.

For a place defined by its green mountains and small towns, that leadership fits. Sustainability here isn’t an abstract policy term—it’s how people live. It’s the pride Vermonters take in doing things the right way, even when it’s the hard way. The Climate Superfund Act isn’t a radical idea. It’s just a continuation of that ethic.

Still, riding through the Northeast Kingdom, it’s clear that pride alone can’t pay for recovery. Many of these communities were already stretched thin before the floods. When the rivers rose, they lost homes, crops, and businesses. Funny how the costs of climate change always seem to land on the people least able to afford them. That’s what makes this law so powerful. It holds polluters accountable and considers those most impacted by climate disasters in the state.

By the time Paul and I rolled up near the Canadian border, our bikes were caked in mud and our legs burned from 300 miles and a thousand little climbs. We camped one last night at Island Pond state park. Over a warm campfire, we cracked a beer and soaked in the moment. At one point, I look down to see what the heck I’m drinking: Heady Topper. A state of 600,000 people, and we make the beer consistently ranked #1 in the world. How about them apples.

THE Woodstock, Vermont property that you see all over Instagram in the fall

Vermont isn’t perfect. It’s rural, under-resourced, and facing climate threats that will only grow. But it’s also proving that leadership doesn’t require size or wealth—just courage and clarity of values. If our small state can look Big Oil in the eye and demand justice, maybe the rest of the country can too.

That’s Vermont for you. A brave little state. That’s how to lead.

The next time I ride the VTXL, I hope the bridges are stronger, the rivers a little wilder, the towns a little more resilient. Maybe by then, the Climate Superfund will be funding that work—proof that even a small, scrappy state can punch above its weight—and keep its rivers, roads, and people intact. And when we stop for that maple creemee, it’ll taste a little sweeter knowing the polluters are finally picking up the tab.