Sam Maddaus thru-hiked the Pacific Crest Trail along the mountainous spine of the western United States in 2022. Northbound, up, down, and over 2,600-plus miles, from the Mexican border, through Oregon, and onward to the edge of Canada.
Now near San QuintÃn on the Baja California peninsula, before he'll ferry to mainland Mexico, the Minnesota man is 4,000 miles or more into a bikepacking odyssey with grander ambitions. He pedaled out of an oil field in Alaska, in Deadhorse, nearly four months ago. Destination: Patagonia, at the bottom of South America.
As adventure-seeking goes, Maddaus, 30, checks the boxes: gritty, audacious, determined. Like other long-haul trekkers of his ilk, there are big considerations, too, about reliable gear, ample food, and support. But it's fair to say among them, few have asked themselves:
Can I get my leg on today?
In mid-November, Maddaus's bicycling journey paused in San Diego, a central scene in his story, a fitting place to talk about his trials and continuing transformation.
Maddaus grew up in southwest Minneapolis, graduated from Breck and, at 17, went on to the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis, Md. After graduating and a deployment overseas, he was stationed in San Diego.
In 2017, while motorcycling on a highway near the city, he crashed. Among his injuries was a mangled left leg.
After more than 10 operations, a decision was made to amputate his left leg below his knee.
The damage was emotional, too. Maddaus identified with expressing his physicality through recreation like boxing and swimming, and as a young adult, he embraced intense workouts and outdoor experiences.
Left in the ashes of his tragedy were anger and depression, Maddaus recalled. In the months to come and with support from his family, including five siblings, and friends, he found refuge on a yoga mat where his deficit was less of a barrier. He was able to strengthen his core and his mobility. Even his mental game.
"I can still do something. That is the bottom line: You can still do something," he recalled thinking. A pivotal point in his recovery had arrived.
Five months later and with the use of a prosthetic, he was able to recover another passion: He got on a snowboard — adapted for people with disabilities — during a Wounded Warrior trip to Vail, Colo.
Maddaus fulfilled his military commitment for three remaining years before moving on in 2020, and after that, he accompanied a Navy prosthetic specialist on a trip to the central highlands of Guatemala and witnessed the needs of amputees and others in need of better health care.
Over time, Maddaus said he began to feel a sense of worth and liberation that his accident had eclipsed. He thought of hiking and backpacking experiences he'd enjoyed with two good legs, and in 2021 he began laying the groundwork to tackle the wilds of the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT).
His father, Mike, recalled a dinner around the table at his Minneapolis home when Sam announced his intention.
"I am going to hike the PCT. That is the only way I can reclaim myself."
Sam went to Colorado to get acclimated. The first miles of hiking were rough and, at times, painful, but he chipped away, his father said.
On March 17, 2022, Maddaus hit the PCT. It was a week after he was fitted with a new artificial limb from specialists at Tillges Orthotics and Prosthetics back in the metro. Gone for now were the skin irritation and pain from his previous device.
Still, averaging upward of 20 miles a day in weather and on dirt and rock presented a host of challenges over the next 5 ½ to six months. For one, he had to be diligent about keeping his artificial limb clean. More than the mechanical were the physical demands — and lessons that apply to his current trip.
Maddaus developed a baseball-sized tumor of pus and a serious infection that forced him off the PCT near the Sierra Nevada Range for four days. A Dutch hiker he'd connected with pressed on. Maddaus had an epiphany: Perhaps solo was the only way for him to succeed.
"That was a reality check for me," Maddaus recalled. "I know I can do these things, but it's the way I have to do them. The pace without a doubt is going to be different. And not so much that I can't keep pace with somebody, but when these issues come up there is no way around it than to take time off, take antibiotics, and take care of it."
Botox treatments at a Veterans Affairs clinic during his recent stop in Southern California have helped limit sweat, another risk to the skin at the area of his amputation. Liners and other protective padding help with his limb's fit in the prosthetic.
Much like the PCT, Maddaus said his days atop his Salsa Cutthroat gravel bike are a "constant slow burn" over several hours. Early on he had to plan his resupply because of his severe isolation along hundreds of miles of the Yukon tundra. (What he didn't anticipate was wildfire smoke, the effect so intense it drove him indoors.) Still, trekking by wheel is, at times, less physically demanding.
"Past that I haven't planned much [of the route]," said Maddaus, who carries some light nourishment and hydration but otherwise eats where he can and finds quiet spots to pitch his tent.
While uncertain of amputees' records on the PCT, Chris Rylee applauded Maddaus, and the powerful message he is sending.
"Sam's story truly is inspiring — a PCT hike can be a magnificent accomplishment for anyone, but thru-hiking as a lower-leg amputee is amazing," said Rylee, Pacific Crest Trail Association communications director. "The rigors and dangers of the PCT would only be increased for an amputee, so to see it through takes some serious commitment. … Sam is helping to break important ground."
Humble in conversation, Maddaus acknowledged that some people have drawn energy from his story. And he's committed to sharing through social media. His PCT hike helped raise money for the Right to Walk Foundation, and he is doing the same to help U.S.-based One World Unity Project build a medical clinic in Santa Cruz Verapaz, Guatemala.
Yet, the origin of that first step on the PCT was wholly personal. Stripped clean by his amputation of a "young, aggressive feeling of invincibility," Maddaus said the PCT represented an autonomy he'd known and invested in from a young age, whether refining his boxing skills or pumping iron.
"[The PCT] felt like an accomplishment that stood on its own," he said. That he was an amputee seemed secondary.
Kristina Chien grew up next door to Maddaus and remains a close friend and ally. She has helped coordinate and support his charitable work with her own nonprofit. She said that he is beginning to accept that his story might have a unique power.
"He is truly realizing that this might be something that resonates with people and, if that is the case, that he owes it to them," she added.
Maddaus, meanwhile, pedals on. Open to the next horizon, open to his physical limitations.
"Fundamentally, there are so many different aspects of the day that are always going to be different now," he said. "It's harder and it's more uncomfortable. That's the thing you have to accept wholeheartedly. That was a big step for me — that is the new reality. Get my mind right about it."
It's a new reality for his supportive father, too, who has seen healing beyond the physical. Mike Maddaus said Sam's independence and drive are quintessentially him, but he now is on the move and unencumbered from things harder to quantify: The weight of familial structure and expectations, however well-intended.
His son is finding his freedom on the road to Patagonia. Immensely proud, Mike Maddaus knows Sam is embracing whatever comes, moment to moment — as he already has.
"If [Sam] was hustling to get down there, it would cause him to ride past experiences that can be incredibly enriching and perhaps change his life," Mike said. "Each day is new, and you need to approach it with that open-ended curiosity. I'm confident he is."
