Over Psyched and Under Prepared

As a van dweller, I have two schools of thought when it comes to preparedness.  

On the one hand, I feel prepared for anything at all times because everything I own is packed into the 55 square foot space that I live in.  I have downhill skis, cross country skis, snowshoes, crashpads, cams, ropes, harnesses, a road bike, a mountain bike, a PFD, dry bags, several backpacks, sleeping pads, two tents, several means of cooking food, art supplies, books, seven pounds of oats, three hammocks, a violin, and lots of other essentials.  Should I want to do an activity, chances are I have the basics somewhere in the van to make it happen.  

On the other hand, there are the times when we go away from the van.  Overnights and extended trips, and those rare times when people invite us to stay inside their home (usually we are invited to shower first, then inspected and if approved we are sometimes offered an indoor bed).  Suddenly, I panic because everything is no longer at my fingertips.  The van is outside in the driveway, or at a distant trailhead, or parked along the road somewhere and I am somewhere between 2 minutes and several days worth of travel away from it, and what if it were to suddenly snow and I should need my cross country skis?  Or what if I come across a cool boulder while backpacking and I need my climbing shoes? Or what if I'm inside someone's house and  I need my phone charger?  These are the things I think about, and these thoughts usually turn to action and that action is usually overstuffing my backpack.  On the Tahoe Rim Trail, my pack weighed about 60 pounds the day of our last resupply.  That's half my body weight.  But hey, I needed my glow sticks, two GoPros, a down jacket for those 65 degree overnight lows, and all that other necessary stuff.  

A sub-thought in the preparedness spectrum is this: because we live in a van, we travel to lots of different places where there are lots of different things to do.  And we like to try them all, but don't necessarily invest the time into them that would lead us to purchase the best gear for said activity, nor do we usually follow the proper sequence for introduction to activities.  We just jump in 100% using the gear we have and see how it turns out.  We usually end up being over-psyched and under-prepared.

Anyway, Chelsea, Titan, Star and I were in Alaska packing for our very first bike tour.  Two days before, we had one of the more epic failures we've ever experienced on what was supposed to be our very first bike tour.  We made it one mile.  That's not a joke.  On round two, we decided to try to cut a bit of weight.  Because that one mile felt pretty damn hard.  We were feeling very proud of ourselves because we both owned one of those tiny hand pumps that you hope you never have to use because there's no way you are going to get that tire to 100 psi standing on the side of the road in your spandex, cranking that thing until your arms fall off.  Look at us, we thought, bike touring pros.  Then we looked at my mountain bike tires and all four Burley tires and realized that they were all schrader valves and both the hand pumps were presta only.  Welp, we'll just take the WHOLE ENTIRE FLOOR PUMP with us on this 250 mile tour.  NBD.  Heaven forbid we spend $15 on another hand pump, because, please we just spent like $47 on Snickers bars and a teeny thermometer so we could confirm that it was freezing out when we felt freezing, so really there was no room left in the budget for such frivolous items.  So we weren't successful at saving weight in that department, but I made up for it by bringing a two inch toothbrush instead of a regular sized one, which meant that I got to carry an ounce less and that I got to stick my fingers fully in my mouth every night after dinner.  

We were physically prepared for bugs... mentally, not so much

Now may be a good time to reiterate that neither of us humans, nor either dog, had ever done a bike tour before.  We didn't have panniers or touring bikes or a super light tent or any of the items you might consider standard for a bike tour.  What we did have was one mountain bike, one hybrid cross bike, two Burley trailers and a lot of excitement.  We figured we would just go for it and hope it all panned out.  With the forecast showing a week straight of rain, we loaded up our Burleys with four bear canisters of human and dog food, our bike pump, some extra layers of clothing, camping and cooking gear, and Titan and Star, and we hit the road.    

All in all we spent eight days and 250 miles on the Denali Highway.  Sure, a little extra preparedness and know how would have made our lives easier a few times.  Like when I somehow lost the use of my granny gear and had to bike the hills on over half the ride at a glacial, threatening to tip over pace, it could have been nice to know a few things about bike maintenance.  It also would have been good to have prepared for the possibility of freezing temps and little snow flurries because it did do that (in August).  Fortunately, we had enough layers to keep fairly warm, and after biking for a bit we could maintain a comfortable temperature.  We did suffer a bit in the rain, but I don't think any amount of preparedness would have made that suck less.  But it all worked out.  We had the energy and the enthusiasm to make it happen.  Each day we woke up with the excitement of another day on the bike, exploring the majestic scenery of Alaska by our own power.  We worked together with Titan and Star, alternating their running and sitting in the Burleys and we completed an awesome journey together.  The Denali Highway was some of the best fun I've had this year, in a year spent doing only fun things.  Sometimes you just have to get out there and try new things and not worry about the fact that you're towing a 100 pound trailer behind your mountain bike for eight continuous days on your first bike tour ever.  Oh, and none of the eight tires needed air the entire trip.  So we brought that whole pump along for nothing.