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Weekend vibes: microadventures

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We have over original and curated bikepacking routes in our global network spanning nearly 50 countries. Start at our worldwide routes map to dig into our detailed guides with GPS maps and inspiring photography. The Local Overnighters Project is a unified effort to document and map one-night bikepacking routes all over the world—by locals, in their own backyards. The Bikepacking Journal is our biannual printed publication. Each issue features a collection of inspiring writing and beautiful photography. Find details on the three most recent issues below, join the Bikepacking Collective to get it in the mail anywhere in the world , or click here to find a collection of selected stories in digital format. For Issue 11, we head to Iceland with two contributors and photographers, plus share a handful of brilliant adventures from Mexico, Spain, the Republic of Georgia, and riders' own backyards Issue 09 takes readers on trips through time—one to the early days of bicycles—and offers several reminders to be grateful for supportive friends and family, and strangers we meet along the way Not every journey ends when you get back home, as Joshua Meissner discovered upon his return from a solitary tour around Scandinavia in Settle in for a thoughtful reflection on the twists and turns that followed his journey and a set of photos from the vast north here…. Up in Lapland, I encountered a perfect storm of vastness and solitude. My identity, my story of who I was and would be, had little value to anyone or anything out there, and without the usual cues to reinforce it, that story quieted and eventually evaporated entirely. The outside world demanded my full attention. Sustaining myself while tuning in to the longer wavelengths of the vast taiga occupied me completely. It took everything I had and more to face the austere beauty of the rocky highlands and not retreat when it rained or the mosquitos attacked. Stripped bare of my armoring stories, the world pierced my heart and soul. I cried tears of joy and frustration every day. The first days back in the city were surreal. My airtight apartment felt like a jail cell after living under open skies for months on end. I enjoyed the awesome power of my kitchen stove but was puzzled by my hoard of possession that would never fit on my bike. In the mornings, I went walking in search of natural stones or grass, anything to get some texture underneath my feet in this strange smooth and straight manufactured reality. The frequencies of the city were all wrong. Who am I, what should I do, where shall I go? Life only smiled like a sphinx when probed head-on. Far from having clarified my next steps, my mind was wiped clean. I felt way more lost than wandering in the woods without a GPS. My slim hope that everything would sort itself out while I was away had been shattered for good. Surely, something as big and important had to follow this life-altering trip? I was adrift in an unruly sea of emotions, and just staying afloat required all hands on deck. The waves crashed over me from all sides. So I wrote about navigation, more an intro and what-if than a conclusion. It was an opportunity to sit at length with that swirling cloud of feelings and thoughts and crystallize out of it a productive story that, if not true, at least pointed to something important. That was the tip of the iceberg I could make some sense of, but there was so much more in the depths that escaped formulation. Gradually, I gave up agonizing over which of the dozens of paths I felt I should pursue. My priority was giving space and time to my experience to let it unfold and see where that might point me. It was an unlearning of my future—more living, less living up to. Outside in the world was where I needed to be. I took time to be kind to myself, and in befriending myself, I found it much easier to appreciate others. At my birthday picnic, someone mentioned that I was a social person. It sounded wrong when it hit my ears, but the proof was sitting all around me. I kept a safe distance from others—and indeed myself—for most of my life and was pretty lonely for it. The realization sent me soaring high above the belief that any one person stands on their own. I found it challenging to keep the awareness gleaned at the peak alive down in the city. Mercifully, I had the free time to open up and listen, which let me find allies everywhere. Through their stories, I got to marvel at the aurora borealis in northern Canada, get heartbroken traveling through Chile, and experienced hospitality and kindness on the steppe in Central Asia. These experiences from across the world seemed to echo the universal awe and grace and love and connection that had sent me soaring in Scandinavia. Working in the digital world ruled by science and technology drained and dispirited me. Comparing the relative sweetspot I was actually living in—rich in time and good friends, low on stress and obligations—to some idealized vision caused me a lot more suffering than necessary. At the tail-end of summer—one year after my return to Berlin by the calendar—I rode down to Budapest to see what was between here and there. Within my allotted vacation time, I dipped back into that simple touring mode of being in which the past and future evaporate and all attention radiates out to sense the present. I was back home in movement, and when I arrived in Budapest, my body could have kept on riding east. Back in Berlin and hunched in front of the screen a few days later, it was like the trip never happened. I gripped the memories I had from Scandinavia even tighter. For all the letting go of the past year, tenacious new stories were sinking their hooks into me. I envied those who seemed to be enjoying well-adjusted lives after their big adventures; it seemed impossible to me. But that peak I was constantly referencing was slowly fading into the distance, and the thought of losing its guidance scared me. Always the fear of sliding back into destructive old patterns. The pervasive notion of passing time does no favors. If only I had more time. But holding out for a complete and accurate reckoning is perfectionism in disguise. I was squeezing too hard. A habit of harsh self-judgment is a mind parasite that eats mental and emotional capacity, while the fear of future judgment completely incapacitates in the present—which is only more fodder for the parasite to feed on. It took a big break to interrupt this life-long vicious cycle. More than that, I get to be a different me on tour. The sabotaging ghosts get blown away in the wind, and I can look at myself and like what I see. Something good in me fought hard to maintain that state of mind when I returned home, which allowed those fresh shoots to put down roots. At some point, though, they can stand on their own. Relating everything back to some past event then becomes a burden that detaches you from your present reality. Fortunately, after going through these evolutions, I no longer had to rely only on myself to come unstuck. The stories of a good friend returning home from his own grand tour brought everything flooding back. The day after we met up, I found myself bobbing in the swell like on my return last year. Massive waves crashed over me and made my soul shudder and my heart cry. Instead, I embraced the beautiful churn and let myself sink below its roaring surface. Floating down into the depths, it was quiet and peaceful, and I realized I had nothing to fear. Everything precious I feared to lose was all around and part of me, no matter what passing time or fading memory had to say about it. Clutching was unnecessary because I could touch it whenever I needed to. Lapland no doubt left its imprint on me. It took me out of my comfort zone, broke my continuity, and charged me with infinite potential for transformation while leaving it up to me to realize it. Granting space and attention to the experience after the fact stretched my capacity for appreciation. It dared me to love myself and those around me. Through it all, I was the source and victim of a simplification. The error started infinitesimally small but accumulated over time. I was seeing everything that happened to me through a singular, increasingly distant lens—slowly sliding back into living in the lonely past. But experience has no smooth edges, no beginning or end. As the distinct memories inevitably decay, the experience lives on by being integrated into new ones I make and intertwining with those of others. So, the next time I encounter a humbling landscape or receive lodging from a kind soul, my gratitude will extend not just to them but the entire chain of events that brought me there. It took time for that important lesson from Lapland to sink in. It might still have many more twists and turns in store for you, if you trust it. Make sure to dig into these related articles for more info Please keep the conversation civil, constructive, and inclusive, or your comment will be removed. You need to be logged in to use these features. Login JOIN. Where to Begin We have over original and curated bikepacking routes in our global network spanning nearly 50 countries. From our sponsor; more content below Add to Bookmarks. Rad Companies that Support Bikepacking.

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