Curiosity and Fear Colliding: Who Wins?

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 I do about my pets?
• What if I’m scared?
• How much food and water do I carry?
• How do I handle being older and sleeping on the ground?
• What about the U-Haul amount of supplements that I take daily - how do I manage that?
• How do I prepare legally and practically?
• How do I balance adventure with financial responsibility?
• What gear do I actually need to get started?

And yet, simultaneously, a hurricane of enthusiasm was brewing inside of me and I could not contain it. While I quietly dismissed the fears, or at least set them aside temporarily, I allowed myself to swim in the current of desire and curiosity.

Fortunately, that guided me to take little steps that verified for me that my interest in bike packing was real and not a passing fancy. I cleared a closet in a room and designated it as my gear closet, making space to store a tent, quilt, packs, clothing, and a "go-to box" to house the essential items I would take on every trip. While that may seem small to you, it was huge to me. I found myself fully engrossed in my imagination as I cleared the closet. As I rearranged items, creating space, I noticed a full immersion of possibility expanding before me and an accompanying feeling of my heart swelling with excitement and anticipation. I even placed pictures of tents, morning coffee, trail systems, essential bike components, and the like on my vision board to fuel the enthusiasm beginning to burst inside of me.

And then there was the question: Can I do this?

The intersection of practicality and possibility.

The question wasn't just "Can I do this"-as in, ride my bike, camp, and repeat. It was a much deeper question. On a practical level, it meant finding bags that fit my size-small bike frame. And given that much of the cycling industry focuses on men and male bodies, finding bags that fit my frame wasn't easy. I spent three weeks building a spreadsheet of the required items I would need. I measured bikes, tracked grams and weight, and used ChatGPT to refine my choices and confirm my designed ecosystem would work for me and the criteria I had established. Just that process alone nearly led me to dismiss my idea of bikepacking. Frustration set in so many times. And yet, each time I wanted to walk away, that desire within me said, Try again. There's a way.

So, in that way, I felt like I was actually becoming an adventurer - displaying adaptability, resilience, and also, connected to my vision for myself. Despite the setbacks, I found solutions, which built my confidence. I thought this was not unlike being on a trail, figuring out a mechanical or navigation issue. I am learning, and I can use these little wins as confidence-building exercises for myself. And I did. My final decision point for moving forward was a consultation with a guide, Megan of Belay Expeditions. Given this was a sizeable investment in bags, gear, etc. I wanted to explore my vision of all of this with another female, and one who is actively bike packing. I think I counted down the hours for that phone call. And it was everything I needed to hear. I was in!

But there it was again. Can I do this?

This time, it wasn't fear. I had to sit with it a while to truly discover what the unease was all about. When I finally found it, I discovered it was really about permission and self-worth. For most of my life, achievement and performance equaled worth. Allowing myself to purchase nice new bike bags and a tent and quilt that I really loved, and committing to taking bike-packing trips on a regular basis, seemed like a radical departure from "earning worth." Could I really gift myself these cherished items? Could I really allow myself to feel this excitement and joy without penalizing myself in any way?

At its core, this was a wild adventure to me. Radical freedom from older identities that I have outgrown. But could I trust myself in this new way of being?

Spoiler alert: when curiosity and fear collided, curiosity won.

Why? Because my heart felt the calling, and the calling of this adventure far outweighed the fear. I'm still writing. Bike packing plans are unfolding. Sure, the fears are there, but they are gifts to help me discover the truth about myself. Not the falsities I've bought into over time.

And then something unexpected happened.

I stopped wondering if I could do it and went and did it.

My first overnight bikepacking trip was to White Ranch, a place I know well from years of mountain biking. It felt like the perfect place to begin. Familiar terrain. Familiar trails. An opportunity to test not only my gear, but also myself.

The ride to camp wasn’t particularly long, but it immediately taught me something important: a loaded bike is different. The bike felt heavier on the climbs. Hike-a-bike sections required more energy. My heart rate was higher than it would have been on the same route unloaded. Yet, at the same time, I was surprised by how capable everything felt. The bike handled well. The bags stayed secure. The entire system worked.

As I rode toward camp, I heard hummingbirds chattering and chasing one another through the trees. Later that evening, while storing my food in the bear locker, I looked up to find eight or ten deer quietly standing nearby, watching me with calm curiosity before silently moving through the landscape. Throughout the night, I listened to the wind move across the hills. Long stretches of complete stillness would be interrupted by a gentle rush of air through the trees before everything became quiet again.

Those moments reminded me why I wanted to do this in the first place. Not to accumulate miles. Not to prove anything. To be there. To experience the world differently. To me, this is pure joy!

What surprised me most was how much I loved camp life. My quilt was incredibly warm and comfortable. My tent felt like a tiny home. The mattress was warm, the pillow worked, my cooking system functioned perfectly, and all the gear I had spent weeks researching and second-guessing performed exactly as I had hoped. Instead of feeling intimidated by the equipment, I felt confident using it.

The next morning, I stood in the sun with a cup of coffee and a protein bar, warming myself as I listened to the birds sing. A large blue bird landed nearby. The world felt quiet and spacious.

Of course, there were lessons too. I learned I need more storage when carrying water. I learned my rear shock sag needs adjustment when riding loaded. I learned I should never forget my power bank. I learned that sleeping on my side means I need a better way to support my arms.

Most importantly, White Ranch answered the question that had been following me for months.

Can I do this?

Yes!!! Yes, I can!

The fears that once felt so large became much smaller once they were met with direct experience. That’s the funny thing about adventure. Eventually, I stopped imagining the life I wanted to live and started living it.