Well, that was horrible.

I like fried trout. I like cookies. I doubt I’d like trout cookies.
I like cycling. I like backpacking. I discovered I don’t like bike packing, it’s an ugly amalgam.

Four days, three nights, 250 miles, 18000’ climbing, 65 pounds of bike and gear, 20% gravel climbs, and white-knuckle descents, camping with mosquitoes, trying to avoid the poison ivy of Arkansas. Some amazing sights, cool cafes and general stores out in the middle of nowhere, great overlooks (at the top of a 25 mile/ 4000’ climb… part of a 68 mile/ 6200’ day).

Midway through day two if I could have gotten cell reception I would have called Uber and paid whatever it took to get me back to my truck parked what seemed like a million miles away.

The guy who organized the ride cramped up so badly on day one that he had to call his cousin to pick us up 15 miles before our destination; her very rustic cabin with no electricity or running water but a roof that kept us dry during an early evening rainstorm.

The third guy had his bike fly sideways out from under him midway through a stream crossing. Nothing broken but he was soaked.

Things I discovered:
I like riding a responsive bike, one that you can rail with confidence into a corner or stand hard on the pedals to get over a climb. No matter how you slice it a 65-pound rig is a tank.
Camping is fine for a night or two. More than that and the tent set up and take down gets to be a jumbled-up mess.
Cooking over a Jetboil is great for no more than four meals.
Rides from 2 to 4 hours are great… six is pushing the limit. Ten hours in cycling gear stinks in more ways than one. No amount of chamois cream or axel grease can compensate for that amount of time or sweat. #nuclearchaffing

My plan for a thousand-mile, three-week Continental Divide Trail ride just got thrown out the window.
As one of my buddies said, “I’ve pretty much resigned myself to activities where the fun outweighs the suffering.”

Preach it, brother!