Having worked at a bike shop for two years, I don’t ride my bike nearly as often as I should. Cycling has always brought on a lot of anxiety for me, or at least the thought of cycling. There are so many ways things can go south on a bike and I can get myself pretty worked up leading up to a ride. This anxiety does tend to subside the more frequently I ride, but it’s always there in the ether waiting to reemerge. The guys at the bike shop always gave me a hard time about not going on shop rides with them, but in my mind I was always the weakest rider and believed I’d be holding them back. Having left behind the daring, daredevilry of my youth some years ago, I was never willing to push the limits like the young bucks I worked with. I also didn’t like being the old guy in the back of the pack and can’t stand to be a burden to the people around me.

Having recently started a new job outside the bike industry though, I was starting to really miss riding my bike. I missed the camaraderie of the guys at the shop. I missed the fitness gains I had made in the two years of working at the shop and having been more active than I had in the previous 38 years of my life. I was ready to ride.

Cody, one of the mechanics at the shop, had the brilliant idea to get our crew from Cumberland Transit to ride with the guys from Halcyon, another local bike shop, on the annual Swift Campout trip. Swift Industries is a cottage manufacturer of bike bags and accessories that both of our stores sell. They’re a brand that promotes the often under-recognized, “adventure casual” side of cycling that you may not know about unless you spend your spare time hanging out in alternative bike shops. Back in 2014 Swift started what has now become a nationwide event called the Swift Campout, where riders from all over the country get together with their local bike shops for a one night bikepacking trip in their local area. I myself had never been to a Swift Campout event, and the timing of the trip was just right because I needed to get back on my bike.

As you can probably imagine, leading up to the trip I started to worry about it. I’ve never bikepacked before and I wasn’t sure what all to bring, and I wasn’t sure how it was all going to fit on my bike. We were riding to a part of town I’m not familiar with which heightened my anxiety, and to bring my nerves to their upmost capacity, I also invited my friend Jesse from my new job who also likes to ride and I wanted to make sure he felt like part of the group.

Final preparations were made Saturday at the bike shop. My nerves started to calm once I was able to compare notes with the guys. I was starting to get excited. I put my fully loaded bike on the scale. 44 pounds 12 ounces. No biggie, right? Right..? My bike normally weights in at 23 pounds, but I’m pretty sure I had the lightest rig of our bunch, and I happily accepted this small advantage. But pedaling an additional 21 pounds up a hill is more significant than it sounds. The weather was supposed to be hotter than the hinges of hell too, but at this point I was in go mode and there was no turning back.

From left to right: Andrew, Lauren, Cody, Jesse

At 6pm we closed up the shop and geared up to head out. Thank sweet baby Jesus we had cloud cover and cooler than expected temps. I settled into the groove of riding quickly. I hadn’t been on a bike in several months, but within a few miles the creeks of my 40 year old bones subsided as my muscles warmed. Being on the bike felt right. Being with these people on this trip felt right. The first half of the 14 mile ride to the campsite was without incident until Cody, who was riding directly in front of me, caught a nail in his tire. His tubeless tire sealant wouldn’t fill the hole so we had to pull off in a stranger’s front yard for repairs.

We tried to plug the tire, but it wasn’t holding. We took turns pumping air into the tire with one of the tiny frame pumps that are quite a disturbing site to watch someone use if you’re a passerby and not versed in the nature of using one of these pumps. Other riders were starting to pass us from the Halcyon crew who started well behind us. This was taking forever.

We drew the attention of a neighbor two houses down who asked if we wanted to use his bike pump. He was an older gentleman with a southern drawl and a rather large, brown felt cowboy hat that would rival any I’ve seen on the Honkey Tonk strip of lower Broadway. We assured him we had the situation under control, but this guy really wanted to help. After a few minutes of rummaging in his garage he lowered the top on his little red Corvette, redlined the tach, and pealed out of his driveway no more than 50 yards down the road to offer up his bike pump to us. He was clearly proud of this car and wanted to show it off. He parked in the middle of the road which was not without a decent flow of traffic, jumped out and insisted we take this pump from him. “I don’t want it anymore. I need to get this here thing out of my garage. Take it! You can have it!” he exclaimed. We reassured him that we had the the situation under control and thanked him for his kind gesture. He withdrew the pump and made his way back to his car, seemingly defeated. In a last ditch effort to rid himself of this pump, he tried to pass it off to the driver of a pickup truck that was passing by this strange scene, but he had little use for it either. Feeling dejected, the cowboy forcefully thew the pump into the passenger seat of his Vette, hopped in, spun a uey, and hauled tail back to his house 50 yards away.

We resorted to using a spare tube and finally got back on the road. Our group split up a bit and Jesse and I found ourselves riding together down the final stretch of country road leading down to Bell’s Bend Park where we’d be camping for the night. The sun was setting on the horizon as we passed a farm that appeared to be picked right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. We stopped in the driveway to take a couple of photos. I didn’t realize that the owner was standing on the front porch of the house staring at us as we gawked at his farm. I waved hello and complimented the fruits of his labor. He was nice in return, then we pedaled off.

We arrived at camp right at dusk and fumbled around as we set up our abodes in the waning light. For the first time the entire group assembled together around the campfire and a great night of conversation, laughs, food and libations ensued. Exhausted from the day, I retired to my tent at midnight and left the young folk to party well into the night. The combination of sweat and grime from the ride paired with 98% humidity made for a restless night. The temps grew cool as the night went on, but was dank and unforgiving. I tossed and turned and never got more than half an hour of sleep at a time. My sleeping pad made raucous, crunching noises every time I shifted my weight and I feared that I was keeping the rest of the camp awake. At 5am I couldn’t take it any longer and groggily wrestled my body upright.

The light of the sun was struggling to find its way to our neck of the woods but a dense fog was covering the camp. I’m not a morning person at all, but since I found myself roused at this awful hour I decided to explore the area with my camera in search of photos. The landscape did not disappoint. I had the entire park to myself that morning and rode my bike down miles of grassy trails stopping frequently for photographs. Thoroughly soaked by the morning dew, I arrived back at camp a few hours later to find everyone still asleep. I used the rest of my peaceful solitude to make coffee over my camp stove.

One by one the rest of the campers rose like the walking dead. Without much fanfare we all broke camp and loaded our bikes for the ride back to Nashville. Judging by the mood of the morning, it was apparent that everyone was ready to be home. Rather than waiting for the rest of the Avengers to assemble, Jesse and I rode out ahead of everyone else for the journey back. The temperatures were not as forgiving as the day before. The sun burned off the fog in an instant and began scorching our skin and the pavement as our tires whirred on. My lack of rest became evident as my legs burned hot and lungs struggled for air at the first hill we encountered. But as we rode on, I fell back into that rhythm, back in love with being on my bike. At a few points I thought I’d lost Jesse to the wrath of the sun and our lack of sleep, but he would always catch up within a moment with a smile on his face, ready to keep going.

The temperatures and road gradient were at their worst in the last few miles. At the top of the most grueling, sun scorched ascent I stopped for water and rest. Jesse stopped alongside. “Nope, that’s it! I’m done. I live here now, right here under this bridge. Shouldn’t have stopped. Should have kept on going!” Jesse said only half jokingly. At this point inertia was the only thing keeping us going. But you gotta end strong, right? By the time I got back to my car and unloaded my gear, I was beyond beat. Jesse split off to ride home and ahead of me lie a nice, lukewarm shower and a long nap, but not before circling back in my truck to pickup Cody after another flat tire…

On the way back to find Cody, I passed several others from the trip who mostly all looked like their souls had been exercised from their bodies. Part of the allure of adventure is in the struggle itself. Having survived something hard and having stories to bring home is what it’s all about. This adventure was mild in comparison to what so many others do on a regular basis, but for me it was just right. I’ll happily take my adventure in small doses. I fell in love with riding my bike again on this trip, and best of all the roots of friendship I share with these incredible people grew deeper.

Lastly I leave you with a few of the photos I took during my morning exploration. I hope you enjoy them.

Journal

Swift Campout 2021