There is a version of this story where I rode into camp exactly as planned. I followed the route, arrived at my dispersed campsite near Nederland, set up my tent beside my bike, cooked dinner, slept under the stars, and rode home the next morning. That is not the story
When I first felt called toward bikepacking, I didn’t see gear. I saw mountain bike trails winding through forests. I heard streams and little waterfalls. I imagined butterflies dancing from wildflower to wildflower beside the trail. I imagined sunshine, sweat dripping from my helmet into my eyes, and the
Well, as life would have it, as soon as I committed to exploring bike packing and all that it involves, all the emotions, thoughts, and belief systems that are not aligned with that version of myself immediately surfaced. * Can I do this alone? * How do I stay safe? * What do
Bikepacking arrived in my life as both a curiosity and a calling. For context, I have ridden and raced bikes—mostly mountain bikes—for more than 25 years. I’ve always loved cycling. I’ve always loved camping. But combining the two seemed like a distant fantasy until I finally