Something Totally Wild and Out There
Riding bikes is straight fire. This thing where you’re moving fast but also slow, where you’re part of the world but also above it, and the wind is whipping around you and makes you feel a fleeting rebellion to the universe’s cares. How strange, how beautiful, how utterly pointless—yet somehow pedaling in the realm of ‘mandatory.’” I think that’s something we can all agree on.
And how fortunate are we to live on this beautiful planet (while we still have it!)? I’m reminded of this every time I hop on the saddle of one of my favorite bikes—especially when the hopping on co-occurs with heading into the woods. And if kismet should smile upon these plans, I’ll be heading into the woods with some homies, and we’re going far. To borrow a phrase from Doechii, “The journey is messy, but the mess is where the magic happens.”
Hell yeah.
I am grateful for my life and how it has unfolded. Back in the halcyon days of 2011 in New Orleans—when billionaires were still just mega-millionaires and disc brakes were a novelty—I found myself at an early morning Lundi Gras party. There, in the haze of an alcohol-infused revelry, I met two party animals who completely shattered my perception of possibility. They had biked all the way from D.C. to NOLA just to party for a week—and they planned to bike back home. WTF!
A couple of years later, I had just made it through a cancer scare and opted not to re-up a contract at my insanely stressful 80-hour-a-week teaching job at a KIPP school—pretty sure the stress had something to do with my diagnosis. I wanted to celebrate but needed something more meaningful than the usual round of partying in New Orleans, which had been my go-to coping mechanism during my time with Teach for America.
I needed a fresh start that would push me physically and mentally while giving me a chance to really hit the reset button. Something totally wild and out there. That’s when I remembered that old conversation about biking from D.C. to NOLA. The only riding I had ever done was commuting by bike to parties in New Orleans just to avoid driving after some drinks. I 100% was not a cyclist, but the idea of a long bike ride struck me as a pitch-perfect plan.
After a little doing-my-own-research, I stumbled on the Adventure Cycling Association (ACA) and their stupendous route network. Seriously, it’s (one of) the best resources out there for cycling in North America. Around the same time, my childhood friend Jon was also feeling stuck in life and a need to get funky, so he quit his job and signed on to the mission. Kismet. Since we were starting in October and wanted to ride toward better weather, we picked a route from our hometown in Columbia, Missouri, to Los Angeles, California, using bits of the ACA’s Trans-Am, Western Express, Grand Canyon Connector, and Southern Tier routes to get us there. The 2,000ish miles of our route sounded outlandish, especially for two guys who had no experience doing rides over 20 miles even. LFG.
We both quickly bought steel touring bikes—I went with a Surly Long Haul Trucker—along with a bunch of heavy-duty bags from a certain German mega-brand, cheap tents, sleeping bags, and all the gear we thought we’d need. We loaded up and set off on October 1, 2013, heading west on the Katy Trail toward Kansas, and, eventually, California. My loaded bike weighed around 90 pounds, which was about 30-40 pounds more than what I carried later on. Even then, my rig was much heavier compared to what I would carry today for such a trip. Haha, what a time to be alive!
We had no idea what we were doing—no fitness, no experience, just the time of our lives.
Setting off in Columbia, MO, and arriving at the Pacific Ocean weeks later
I don’t have the words to fully describe the feelings, dreams, imagination, and peace that trip brought me. But one thing I can say with certainty: boy howdy, long rides (especially day after day) really are the shit. It’s all so simple—wake up, ride, eat, sleep, repeat. There’s no better recipe for mental clarity and a full reset. That’s just a fact.
Then there’s the sense of accomplishment, the connection to nature, the adventure, the true freedom. And the camaraderie? Next level.
And every way-too-freakin’-long ride I’ve done since then never misses. It does what it is meant to do—dependable, quietly brilliant, and absolutely essential, and I hope this blog I’m calling The Bikepacker’s Buffet ends up being something that could inspire some of you to get out for more long rides in the future.
Yes, this is a wholly owned subsidiary of South City Stitchworks, which is in the business of selling abundantly choice, handcrafted and world class bikepacking bags, and, yes, there will be occasional updates about new products and more self-serving content that I believe you should want to know about haha, but it will also be a place where wonderfully wild friends and mentors post about their own recent adventures on the backroads of our wondrous planet (while we still have it). Stay tuned!
Peace,
Zach Smith