Winter bikepacking

Last week one of my nephews came to our place to do some bikepacking.  Here in northern WI winter is still very much here - you can see chinks in its armor but we still have feet of snow on the ground and the nights are below freezing.

In late February weather starts to get iffy and as we looked at the forecast a small window of good-for-bikepacking weather opened up and we made plans to get a quick two-nighter in.

On a few rides recently I had taken some time to scout out the snow conditions in the area we were going to camp - about knee to thigh deep.  I decided that it would be worth the hassle to bring snowshoes for both of us and a shovel for clearing out a campsite in a sled.  Also in the sled were a few extra clothes as it was supposed to get down to the single digits both nights we were out.

Because of the deep snow and the effort it would take shoveling and generally readying a campsite we decided to stay at the same spot both nights and just do a day trip on the second day.

Late in winter the snow has been settling for months and have gone through numerous freeze/thaw cycles and this is why our bikes (and snowshoes) aren't sinking in much.  If we weren't wearing snowshoes we'd be sinking in up to our knees each step.  Snowshoeing while pushing a loaded bike was definitely a first for me. 

The way things looked before Nolan shoveled all the snow.  The hammock looks to be a reasonable height now but after removing two and a half feet of snow it looked comically high.

Not gonna' lie: that first night we didn't get a whole lot of sleep.  It wasn't so much that we were all that cold - although it was in the single digits (I can't speak for Nolan but I wasn't any too warm, either) it was more that there were sounds that woke us every once in a while.  Fresh snow sliding off the tarp, trees popping with the cold, that kind of thing - nice sounds, the kind of sounds I don't mind hearing but loud and/or strange enough to wake me up. 

Since we were camping in the same site again the second night we were able to leave almost all of our gear and it would be waiting for us at the end of our day-ride.  Besides a few essentials we were unencumbered the second day.  Here Nolan pours water for the day into my bottle.    

Our day ride took about 3 1/2 hours, so we were back by early afternoon.  The second night was forecast to be even colder - near zero F - and we spent much of our post-ride time gathering firewood so if we woke up cold we could at least get out of our hammocks, light a fire and warm ourselves back up. 

Thinking we were going to be waking up during the coldest hours before dawn we went to bed early to try and get in some solid sleep before we were woken up.  We managed to hold out until about five a.m. when Nolan's feet got cold (despite the rest of his body being toasty) and my back got damp from condensation on my sleeping pad.   Nolan kindled a fire and we both just hung out near it until the sun was up and the air was a bit warmer. 

We then made some breakfast, packed up camp and rode home.

Smoothing It

The wise old woodsman, George Washington Sears, wrote, "We do not go to the green woods and crystal waters to rough it, we go to smooth it."  

That quote has been used to justify all manner of camping excess.  I suppose it could be taken to mean Bring everything you want, and be 100% comfortable at all times.  To do this you'd need, of course, to be car camping.  Car camping, glamping, and other super plush forms of camping have their place but for the most part this kind of outdoor experience is not for me.

But I love the quote - and that love relies on an interpretation of the quote that's about as far from promoting glamping as you can get.

The quote is from the book Woodcraft and Camping which also includes a chapter titled: A Ten Day Trip in the Wilderness - Going It Alone.  In this chapter Sears traverses, by foot, a 60 mile chunk of Michigan (this was written in the 1800's so it really was a wilderness). Something tells me that when he refers to "smoothing it" he wasn't talking about hauling a two-burner stove with him.

Another tip off is that, still in the same book, he says, "Go light; the lighter the better, so that you have the simplest material for health, comfort and enjoyment."

Is it possible to go light and still smooth it?  Sure.  But it requires knowledge of how to do more with less, and most importantly, a definition of smoothing it that doesn't include being perfectly comfortable at all times.

Referring to the "smoothing it" quote, he also says, "To this end you need peaceful days and pleasant nights.  You cannot afford to be tormented and poisoned by insects, nor kept awake at night by cold and damp, nor to exhaust your strength by hard tramps and heavy loads.  Take it easy, and always keep cool."

I should mention that Sears was a slight man, 5'3" and weighing slightly over 100 lbs.  He wasn't some big brute that considered a 70 lb pack light.

I guess the next question is: what does all this have do with biking?  Many riders strip down the things they carry to maybe a granola bar and various tools to fix their bike.  If that's your style then by all means, go for it.  My frame bag lives on my bike and carries: a map, folding saw, poop kit (trowel, TP, hand sanitizer), extra cord, sheath knife, lighter, and a tool kit and pump.  Depending on what kind of ride I'm doing also included could be a lock, pot, stove, fuel for the stove, SPOT GPS device, chain lube, clothing layers.  Every single one of the things I carry sees at least occasional use - and I carry them because they make my rides better.  Maybe carrying around the extra weight slows me down, but 1) we Americans have an unhealthy obsession with speed.  I go on bike rides to interact with the outdoors, not to blast through it as quickly as possible.  2) If you enjoy riding you're probably going to do more of it, which makes you faster.  The things I carry make riding more enjoyable.

An example: last week I did some bikepacking, and took with me more than I technically needed in order to stay warm at night.  It was forecast to get down to the high 30's but I took my 0˚ sleeping bag and a sleeping pad for sleeping on snow.  I didn't think that my summer top quilt and under quilt would keep me comfortable.  Of course the warmer gear was bulkier and heavier.  I'm still glad I had it with me.

Soup's On

The day before the ride I chopped up some turkey, carrots, celery and various other soup-making ingredients with the idea that I'd ride out into the National Forest, make myself a campfire and cook the soup.  To that end I brought a knife, folding saw, chunks of rope (for making a tripod to hang the soup pot, as well to suspend said pot), extra clothes to keep warm while not exercising.  I rode out a ways until I saw a good spot - out of the wind and two oak trees down nearby, hauled my bike through the trees and snow to a good spot.  Only then did I realize that I had forgotten matches or a lighter.

Happily in the handle of my knife is a ferrocerium rod (which is a rod that when you scrape it gives off sparks).  I gathered everything I needed to coax a spark into an actual fire.  Birchbark, small twigs, finger-sized twigs, and finally some larger fuel.

I even split down some dead/standing maple to get to some nice, dry wood in the middle.

I had lashed a simple tripod but needed a fire to cook.  After a bit (OK, a lot) of scraping and swearing (that little ferro rod in my knife handle isn't really meant to be the go-to method for starting fire and as such is kinda tricky to use) I finally managed to get a spark to land just right on some birch bark and it caught.  I quickly threw on the fire-building materials that I had collected and it took off - and I breathed a sigh of relief. 

They say (and I agree) that everything tastes better when cooked over the campfire and eaten outside, and the soup was delicious but I think it would have held it's own in most kitchens - it's delicious-ness wasn't only because of the campfire setting (hell, even ramen noodles taste good cooked over a fire and eaten in a beautiful setting)...it was just good soup.  I think.  Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me.  I'm sorry to toot my own horn I'm just sayin' that I enjoyed my soup.  

It was kind of a huge serving of soup and when I first saw it I didn't know if I could finish it - maybe I'd have to leave some for the forest critters, but as the contents of the pot got lower my belly didn't get as stuffed as I thought it might.  

Soup eaten and hot cocoa drunk and dishes "washed" it was time to pack up and head home, but not before watching the sunset through the trees.  

Bikepacking: Lenawee Lake - empty bottle from the number three pile

A couple of days back I headed north towards Lenawee Lake to do a bit of bikepacking.  It's getting to be my favorite time of the year.  Everything seems to be turning color, from apples to leaves.

I reckon that I've spun these cranks once or twice.  

"Two paths diverged in a wood" and since they both have about the same "less traveled by" look I took the one toward Lenawee Lake.  

None of the lakes the the CNNF are very big.  The few that are big enough to have motor boats on them are generally privately-owned anyway.  Which works out well for me since I'm not a particular fan of motors in general and when attached to a boat they can be particularly obnoxious - mainly because lakes can (and should - in my opinion) be quiet, serene places.  Certainly motorboats have their place, I've ridden in them lots, and will in the future.  But if I don't have to go far/fast and am not carrying a big load then I'll be happier in a canoe virtually every time.

When I was packing for camping I realized that I didn't have any alcohol to fuel my alcohol stove.  Lacking a source to get more I packed my wood-burning stove.  And it turned out to be a good thing...for one I just enjoy fires and for another my Steripen ran out of juice and I ended up having to boil my water.  Even if I'd had a bunch at home I wouldn't have brought enough alcohol to do as much boiling as I needed to.  Sticks to burn in a small twig stove are virtually infinite.

I pack a Crazy Creek chair with me.  I could get by without it but my 39 year old back doesn't really like me to grub around on the ground anymore - or more accurately I should say that my back never did like it but now complains more loudly.  They say that when you're packing for a backpacking/bikepacking/canoeing/any-human-powered trip you should divide your stuff into three piles.  The stuff you'll need, the stuff the might need, and luxuries.  Then you take all the stuff from the first pile, none from the second (besides things like the first aid kit and rain gear) and one thing from the third.  Well, truth be told I'm out here to enjoy myself and part of that is enjoying my time on the bike (which would be hard to do if it weighed a ton) while still bringing enough stuff from the second and third pile to make my camp time (which is the majority) enjoyable too.  And, of course, the idea of what we "need" varies from person to person.  Some "need" a smartphone.  Some "need" air conditioning, etc - you get where I'm going.  Do I technically need to bring that down vest?  No, I mean, it's not like I'd die without it.  But was the camping part more relaxing with it?  Absolutely.  As some wise old woods-person once said, "We don't come out here to rough it, we come out here to smooth it."  So I take more than one thing from the third pile.  

In camp you could hardly turn around with literally tripping over beaver sign.  

Cooling the water I had boiled.

Another item from the third pile.  While the second pot of water was boiling I used the first to rehydrate supper and make some hot chocolate (into which went the contents of this bottle) and then, once the second pot of water had boiled, poured it into the now-empty bottle.  

It was well after sunset when I was standing out near the lake when I heard a loud sploosh behind me.  Having heard this particular style of sploosh before I knew right away what it was - and waited for it to sploosh again.  It swam around for a bit and then slapped it's tail again.  Thankfully it let me sleep and didn't sploosh all night.   I managed this ridiculously blurry handheld shot of the beaver. 

View from my hammock in the morning.  It got fairly chilly overnight - mid 40's.  I was never all that cold but did wake several times to shore up my insulation.  It might have been chilly but damn, I love me some lake-mist in the mornin'.

The bright spot in the background that looks a bit nuclear is the brightness of Lenawee Lake .  

My bear-proof Ursack tied in place overnight. 

You can see that when this pinecone fell from the branch it gathered enough steam, and was oriented such that when it hit, it stabbed.

Packed up and ready to go.

Some of the roads in the CNNF have been graveled and have been packed down enough that a 23 mm road bike tire could make it without huge problem.  Contrast that with this: a narrow two track made up entirely of sand - some of which was too deep/loose for my 3" wide tire to handle. 

Remember that fork with the two equally "less traveled" roads?  Well I took one fork on the way there and the other fork on the way back.  On the way back I happened to see these bear tracks.  I think a good indication that the path you're traveling on is on the "less travel by" end of the spectrum is 1) it's deep, loose sand 2) animal tracks aren't covered by car tracks 3) said animal tracks aren't from a dog or cat, they're from a bear.

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