When Familiar Became Its Own Adventure

One of the things I love about bikepacking is that every trip begins long before I ever throw a leg over my bike. It usually starts with maps spread across my computer, multiple browser tabs open, weather forecasts, campground research, route planning, and asking myself, “What adventure do I want to create next?”

This trip was different.

Honestly, I wrestled with it for a while. Part of me wanted another completely new adventure, somewhere that would challenge my navigation skills, introduce me to new trails, and continue stretching my confidence. But another part of me wanted something much simpler. I realized I had missed some of my structured cycling workouts over the past few weeks while learning bikepacking, and I wanted to reconnect with that part of myself too. Riding strong has always given me confidence, and I didn’t want to lose that while exploring this new passion.

As I thought about it more, I realized those two goals didn’t have to compete with each other.

One of my longer-term goals is to build a collection of bikepacking overnighters that I know well enough to ride almost on a whim. Places where I don’t have to spend weeks researching routes or wondering where to camp. Places that are always there when I simply want to load the bike and go. White Ranch is one of those. The Nederland loop is becoming another. I would love to find several more throughout Colorado that remain open year-round so even in the winter I can disappear for a night whenever the weather cooperates.

That thought led me to Chatfield State Park.

From my house, it’s a couple of hours away by bike, giving me a solid endurance ride on a loaded bike, an overnight camping experience, and enough climbing on the return trip to turn the ride home into a quality workout. There would be no complicated navigation, no wondering whether I’d miss another turn, and no worrying about where I was going. I could simply ride.

I even laughed to myself thinking this might be my version of “bougie bikepacking.” Bathrooms. Showers. Running water. A picnic table. I briefly considered DoorDashing dinner to my campsite before deciding maybe I’d save that adventure for another day.

As I rolled out of the driveway after kissing my fur babies goodbye, the sky looked dark enough to make me wonder if I should wait. I figured it was probably just one of Colorado’s quick afternoon showers.

Within minutes, it started raining.

It rained steadily for about thirty minutes, and oddly enough, I found myself smiling. Every one of my bags passed their first real rain test. My Apidura bags stayed completely dry. My USWE pack wasn’t quite as waterproof, so a few things near the outside became damp, and I discovered a small opening where the zippers meet on my fork bag that let in just a little water. Fortunately, I had packed everything inside Ziplock bags, so nothing important got wet. Instead of feeling frustrated, I just added another mental note for next time. Every trip teaches me something.

By the time I reached Bear Creek, the rain had stopped, the trails had dried, and the ride settled into a comfortable Zone 2 pace. I stopped once to lube my chain, laughed when Ride with GPS took me to the campground address instead of my actual campsite, and spent a few extra minutes riding around Chatfield Lake before finally arriving. Lesson learned. Next time, I’ll route directly to the campsite instead of the park entrance.

One thing that surprised me on this trip had nothing to do with Chatfield itself.

Somewhere over these first few overnighters, bikepacking has quietly started becoming familiar. Packing wasn’t stressful. I wasn’t second-guessing every piece of gear. I wasn’t wondering if I had forgotten something important. I simply packed my bags, loaded the bike, and left.

Even after arriving at camp, everything had its place. My headlamp hangs from the corner of the tent. My rain jacket clips overhead beside my glasses. The next day’s riding clothes slide into the foot pocket. My shoes, hydration pack, and water stay neatly in the vestibule. Even my crystal necklace now has its own little place hanging from the center of the tent.

Without realizing it, I’ve created little routines that make the tent feel less like a temporary shelter and more like a tiny home. I love that.

The campground itself was nice. Having bathrooms, showers, and unlimited water felt wonderfully luxurious after several more remote trips. I filled my hydration pack for the ride home, mixed LMNT in my water bottle, filled my Katadyn BeFree bladder with water for the evening, and by the next morning, I realized I had used every drop. It’s funny how quickly water disappears when it’s easily available.

The only downside was the noise.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard children cry for that long or quite that loudly. The campground was full of families, kids, conversations echoing between campsites, and neighbors shouting across the road to each other. It wasn’t exactly the peaceful evening I had imagined. And yet…

The highlight of the trip had absolutely nothing to do with the campground.

As I walked toward the bathroom to fill my water bottles, something hopped into the corner of my vision.

A toad.

At least I think it was a Woodhouse’s Toad.

Since moving to Colorado, I honestly can’t remember ever seeing one before, so I was completely delighted. He had somehow found his way into the bathroom, and I couldn’t imagine that was where he wanted to spend the evening. I gently encouraged him back outside into the grass and walked away smiling.

Later that evening, when I returned to brush my teeth before bed, there was another one. Or maybe it was the same little guy. Either way, I laughed.

Ever since I started bikepacking, every overnight seems to come with its own greeting from nature.

White Ranch welcomed me with deer. St. Vrain gave me osprey and birdsong. Nederland introduced me to the moose. Standley Lake surprised me with a rainbow. Now Chatfield had given me a toad.

Maybe it’s a coincidence. Maybe it isn’t.

The metaphysical symbolism of frogs and toads speaks of transformation, emotional renewal, and moving between different worlds with ease. Whether that’s objectively true doesn’t really matter to me. What mattered was how it felt.

It felt like another welcome.

After showering, I put on my favorite sun shirt, sat at the picnic table for Transcendental Meditation, watched the sunset, and climbed into my tent around nine o’clock.

I absolutely love my sleeping setup now. My Nemo pad and Enlightened Equipment quilt are incredibly comfortable. I even bring two pillows, yes, I know that’s a little bougie for bikepacking, but they make sleeping on my side wonderful. I filled the tent stuff sack with extra clothing to create a third pillow for my arms, charged my phone from the power bank, and settled in.

Sometime around midnight, I woke to use the bathroom. Later, I woke again around 3:20 in the morning, stepped outside beneath a sky full of stars, listened to coyotes somewhere in the distance, and stood there for a few quiet minutes before climbing back into the tent. Just as I was drifting off again, gentle raindrops began tapping the rainfly. I don’t know many sounds that sound more peaceful than rain falling on a tent.

Morning arrived slowly.

Breaking camp felt easy.

The ride home turned out to be even more enjoyable than the ride to camp.

Almost immediately, two deer stood quietly beside the trail and watched me ride past without moving. I saw a large black-and-yellow snake that I believe was a bullsnake, rabbits along the trail, and enjoyed the cool morning temperatures as I left the park.

Although my body felt noticeably more tired than it had on previous overnighters, something interesting happened.

I wasn’t actually much slower.

Instead of pushing power on the climbs, I focused on spinning easily and letting the loaded bike find its own rhythm. When I looked at my ride times afterward, they were remarkably similar to the ride out. Sometimes our bodies feel more tired than our performance actually reflects.

By the time I rolled back into my driveway, I was definitely more fatigued than after my previous bikepacking trips. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was riding a loaded bike. Maybe I simply needed more carbohydrates the night before. I’m not entirely sure. What I do know is that my heart was full.

Would I return to Chatfield? Surprisingly, probably not.

The campground itself was lovely, and having showers and unlimited water was wonderful, but the constant traffic noise from C-470 and the busy campground never allowed me to fully settle into the quiet that I found at White Ranch or St. Vrain.

That’s okay. Not every trip has to become a favorite. Every trip simply teaches me a little more about the kind of adventures that nourish my soul. And perhaps that’s what this trip gave me more than anything else. Not another spectacular destination. Not a dramatic challenge.

Just the quiet realization that somewhere over the last few months, bikepacking has stopped feeling like something I’m trying to learn. It’s becoming part of how I live.