Betsy

I was a rustbelt small city kid. I played endless games outdoors in the streets and nearby empty parking lots. I rode my bike and anything on wheels around our block as if it were my job. Summers were spent walking or riding with neighbor kids to the municipal pools with some ponytail softball games thrown in for good measure. When I got older, the Metroparks bike path replaced riding around the block and a catching a ride to a beach replaced the pool in between summer job demands to save and pay for college.

Being the youngest, I looked up to my siblings both literally and figuratively. When they hit their teens, they were able and allowed to go camping. I recall thinking that that must be the coolest thing a person could do. A whole weekend spent with friends, free from parents, hiking, swimming, biking, sleeping under the stars, cooking, and laughing around campfires – it seemed magical to me. I envied their independence as they would pack their exterior frame packs with anything that they would need over the course of their weekend adventures with friends. I admired the cooperative nature of these undertakings that they and their pals organized.

March forward to college. A geology overnight field trip was required for invertebrate paleontology. Here I was in the spring of my second year of college and this overnight trip was my initiation into camping. My big brother sent me his girlfriend’s leather hiking boots and a goose down sleeping bag. The boots fit me well, thankfully. The bag kept me warm so long as I tucked myself well away from the rain-soaked ends and side. Thank goodness I only needed it for one night. I was unprepared for that water-logged weekend but loved every minute. I had brought along my umbrella – as I knew my high school jacket – a stunning purple and gold nylon windbreaker with a cotton flannel lining – was not at all up to the precipitation.  While the more experienced campers in the crowd – i.e. everyone else – kept their snickering to a dull roar at the sight of my umbrella, by the end of the trip, it must be noted, the professor was borrowing it.

Being a geologist, you would think I camp out a lot. Not so. After my education completed with my PhD, I went on to work in industry and in industry, a bunk on a drill ship was a close as I go to roughing it. When we did field work, the meals were prepared and the beds were comfy. At my core, here I am in early retirement, still that small city kid still very much in awe of the wider spaces outdoors, drawn to water in all its forms, who loves to ride her bike.  

My gear has improved through the ages. My current favorite piece of gear, maybe EVER, introduced to me -at least conceptually- by my much more experienced camping geologist husband, is called Graywacke. Graywacke is the name we gave our 2019 Winnebago Travato 59GL. At last this small city kid may have the opportunity to satisfy some of her wider world wondering…all while still jumping into water and riding her bike like it is her job…Some things never change.

Rob

Camping, whether a backpacking trip, a bikepacking adventure, or car camping, always provides memorable experiences that turn into stories repeated around the family dinner table for years.

I was bicycling northbound on the Kootenay Highway in British Columbia about halfway through a solo cycle tour from Missoula, Montana to Jasper, Alberta. The headwinds were relentless and I was tired, so I dismounted my bike and lay down in the high grass alongside the road to take a rest. For the moment, life was good despite knowing I had more miles to go before setting up camp for the night. Hopefully, the wind would abate.

Sometime later, a nearby rustle awakened me. I raised my head and to my surprise, I stared directly at the eyes of a black bear cub less than 10 feet away! YIKES!! I’m not sure who was more surprised. As I raced back to my bike, the bear cub lept up the nearest tree, a young sapling with a trunk no more than a few inches in diameter. After realizing the bending tree was no match for its weight, the bear cub sheepishly scurried up the hill away from the highway. Hmmm…, the headwinds weren’t nearly so bad; my adrenaline rush pushed me onward.

Experiences like this are just one of the many reasons I ventured on solo cycle tours through the Colorado Rockies, California, and the Canadian Rockies many years ago. Family adventures took us over rocky crags, to remote swimming holes, and down thrilling zip lines. Work projects took me from the backwoods of New England to Shemya Island, Alaska, an Aleutian Island 1200 miles southwest of Anchorage and a short 200 miles east of Russia. After raising two great kids, renovating a 120-year old house, and living a fairly typical suburban life, the urge to seek out more experiences (no headwinds, please) led us to sell our house and embark on our version of van life.

Sometime in the future, when we retrieve our dining room table from storage and again host family meals, I’m sure I’ll take the opportunity to share stories from our travels. I may even admit that there was a barbed wire fence separating that bear cub and me.

The Greywacke Van

Our camper van is a 2019 Winnebago Travato 59GL.