The Bonding Agent: A Bikepacking Excursion in Durango

I’ve known for a while that sometimes I need to sleep outside to recharge my batteries. I have a wonderful job that I love, but it still drains my body and spirit over time. Axes get dull with use; they need to be sharpened. Getting away from everything man made is like taking a diamond stone to a dull blade for me.

When a lucky steed calls, the best recourse is to get out and ride ...

In Colorado over Labor Day weekend, I learned something new about sleeping outside. Spending a few nights under the stars with others develops a special bond that I cannot replicate in any other way. Looking back on life, this explains the nature of some of my closest friendships.

The ritual of packing for a bikepacking excursion ...

Ashley (my better/faster half) and I were offered an invitation we couldn’t pass up. Joey and Sandhya of Velorution Cycles in Durango, Colo., gave us a standing invitation to go bikepacking with them anytime, with the subtle hint that Labor Day is usually the best time of year for the San Juan Mountains. We took them up on this offer, and the three-day weekend we spent in the mountains together couldn’t have been better.

We knew Joey and Sandhya through our business relationship: I am their Salsa Ambassador, and Ashley works logistics for parent company Quality Bicycle Products. Before this trip, we knew Joey and Sandhya well, and we valued their friendship. However, like in so many relationships in life–professional and personal–there were slightly uncomfortable pauses in conversation, moments of not being 100 percent sure that you’re on the same page, and a slight air of formality that still permeated our association.

The outdoors, away from manmade things, tends to be harsh and unforgiving. Your feelings won’t change the jaggedness of the rocks. The searing pain in your legs won’t flatten the pitch, and all the cuss words in world won’t make mosquitos go away. That harshness does a really good job of stripping away pretense and formality. I can distinctly remember the moment in time where our friendship with Joey and Sandhya went from the previously described association to moments of wonderful silence, working together as a team that’s on the same page and sharing a collective desire to stay fully in the moment in time, both physically and emotionally.

Each sweet descent meant more climbing later on ...

We spent two days climbing as fast as our Minnesotan legs could take us in Colorado altitudes. Short downhill reprieves weren’t all that enjoyable--we knew as we headed down hill that we would inevitably have to re-earn all the elevation we were losing. We made a couple of route changes based on incoming foul weather--and our ability--over those two days, as well.

Changing of the seasons in Colorado ...

The last 1,500 vertical feet was along some very primitive trail and featured an average pitch that I needed three hands to count. We saw more hunters than tire tracks. It became 1,500 vertical feet of hike-a-bike. Joey said this was a rad trail. He and I might have different definitions of "rad." This route was a “maybe we can make this” choice. It was a stretch goal for sure, given the time of day and altitude we needed to gain. It was hard and the air was thin, but we all relished the decision to push onward and upward.

Some "rad" hike-a-biking ...

As we set up camp at 10,000 feet and cooked dinner with the sun retiring for the day, I noticed a change in our group dynamic. For me this was the moment when all formality was shed, and we became a little closer. The rain of the previous two days washed away not only the smokey haze in the air, but also any self-consciousness we had as a group.

Our mountaintop campsite treated us to a show of stars that I have never seen before. They weren’t the normal white dots on blackish-bluish paper. The sky was three-dimensional and alive with satellites and shooting stars. We heard bull elk calling out to hunters, disguising their voices as lonely and eager sows. Birds danced around our camp, and chipmunks and field mice built up courage as the night went on and our dinner was cooked. I have a few images of that night that are etched into the backs of my eyelids: I hope they never leave.

Breaking camp at 10,000 feet ...

The descent down from our mountaintop camp to the town of Durango was fast. Real fast. I’m always shocked at how well my El Mariachi handles with a full load of camping gear in the bags. We paused for an instant-potato lunch in a field with a helluva view, and I was reminded of our ability to hold two conflicting emotions at the same time.

The descent was a blast. We couldn’t help but to hoot and holler in pure joy. The descent also meant it was the end of the trip. That made me sad. I didn’t want to leave what we had. Saying goodbye to Joey and Sandhya that night also yielded opposing emotions. We were sad to say goodbye. We genuinely loved the time we spent with them, and saying goodbye meant it was over. At the same time we were very thankful. We consider ourselves blessed to have Joey and Sandhya as friends, and we’re humbly grateful that they shared their trails and mountains with us.

Thanks, guys. Next time you’re in Minnesota, let us return the favor ...