Into the Wild: BikePacking. What is it? Como se come?

By someone who pedaled, pushed, and powered through

There’s something sacred about strapping all your essentials onto a bike and heading into the woods with nothing but pedal power and the company of a few good friends. Our past BikePacking trip to the Delaware Water Gap was more than just a ride—it was a full-on immersion into nature, frustration, minimalism, and the unspoken bond that forms when you choose to unplug and take the long, hard way around.

For those unfamiliar, BikePacking is a blend of cycling and minimalist camping. Think of it as backpacking, but on two wheels. You carry your shelter, food, tools, and hope on your bike. The terrain isn’t always smooth, and the miles don’t come easy. It’s a test of endurance, resourcefulness, and patience. But for every challenge, there’s an equal (if not greater) reward.

Essentials

This trip to the Delaware Water Gap started with the usual obsessive planning—route scouting on BikePacking.com, reading through recent comments, checking elevation gains, and estimating where we’d sleep that night since this route can easily be done as an overnighter. BikePacking is not something you can just wing. There’s weather to consider, water sources to locate, gear to test and retest, and group dynamics to respect. You need a plan, but more importantly, you need flexibility—because the woods have a way of tearing up your plans and handing you humility instead.

Part one of the day was smooth. Spirits were high, the drive was fine, the trail seemed firm, and the fall air had that sweet mix of pine and earth

But nature doesn’t do favors. By the later second half of the day, we went deeper into the wild where now the only option was to continue to look/pedal forward. We entered a section that looked like a scene from the movie jurassic park: No bueno! - trees downed by a past storm had turned our ride into a “hike-a-bike” mission. Imagine dragging a loaded bike Uphill over large trees. Huge in fact. Also over branches, mud, and rocks. Yikes is right! Each step reminded us that no matter how advanced your gear is or how fancy your route app looks, the forest will always have the final word.

After years (i'm obviously exagerating) of draggin our bikes through this hell, the group began to despair. Frustation got the best of us as we began making eachother accountable of the route chosen and "did you read enough comments?" "why did you suggest I'd come in my monster hardtail bike, is slow" etc etc etc.

And that’s where the magic happens. You see, No one gets left behind—not on a real BikePacking trip. If one person breaks down, we all break down. So even though we needed our space amidst the frustration, we knew we had to stick to together and keep tabs on the entire group. That simple truth makes you more aware, more compassionate, more together. The trip becomes less about the individual and more about the group. The miles only matter when everyone’s still pedaling.

Without cell service, our phones were just dead weight. The silence was golden. No doomscrolling, no likes, no emails. Just conversations, trail mix, & laughter around the fire. There were no mirrors, no real showers, no curated moments—only what was right in front of us. And that was enough.

BikePacking isn’t for everyone. It’s cold sometimes. Wet often. You’ll smell. You’ll get tired. You might cry a little. But those who get to experience it are lucky. Lucky to feel free. Lucky to be reminded of what really matters. Lucky to be reminded that you don’t need much—just water, food, a functioning derailleur, and people who won’t let you fall behind.

Delaware Water Gap taught us more than any map could. We came home sore, hungry, and a little cold—but with hearts so full and a stronger sense of what it means to move together.

Until next ride.