Bikepacking with Mabel
Background
Just got back from an overnight bikepacking trip — me, Mabel, and the trailer. One night out, nothing ambitious. I’d been meaning to do a little solo trip like this for a while and finally just went. Loaded the dog up, packed the bags, and pointed the bike out of town.
It went really well.
The Stove
Of course I screwed something up. I grabbed the wrong type of fuel for my stove — didn’t realize it until I was out there and trying to actually cook. Classic. You can plan a whole trip down to the pound and still miss the one thing that turns your sweet warm respite dinner into a problem.
What I kept thinking about, biking home, is what that little mistake did. It forced me to reach out. I’m not always great at that — asking for help, leaning on other people, admitting I don’t have it handled. Left to my own devices I’ll white-knuckle through almost anything before I’ll bother someone (classic Minnesotan). But the stove didn’t leave me that option, and there’s something to needing help that I don’t want to lose track of. It pushes you toward people you’d otherwise just avoid or at best make small talk with. People like to help other people when they can to make themselves feel good. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world to ride to town to grab dinner at a restaurant but that sounded like a whole lot more work at the end of a fully loaded 30 mile journey.
Doing It Alone
The bigger thing, though, is how good it felt to do (mostly) this by myself.
It was genuinely empowering. Liberating, even — and not in some grand way. Just the plain fact of being tired and sleeping somewhere that isn’t home. Being away from all of it. For the sake of it.
I want to keep doing this. More of it. I think I needed the reminder that I can just go — that the version of me who packs the bags and leaves is right there whenever I decide to be him.
Mabel
A note on Mabel, since she’s the real co-star here. She’s a Kentucky southern Belle who got re-homed with me up in Minnesota, and she’s getting up there in years now. You don’t really notice it day to day — then you’re watching her curled up by the tent and note her graying head and ears that weren’t noticeable a couple summers ago. Time does that quietly.
She’s done a few camp trips with me before, with varying levels of annoyance or lasting trauma. This went well. She settled in, slept hard, and seemed happy to be out there together with me.
The extra blanket I brought for her expecting it to be colder than it was worked out nicely as I also forgot a pillow.
By the time we rolled back into town we were both dog-tired — her more literally than me. Worth every mile.
