This is a guest article from bikepacker and Bend local, Rob Knoth. Rob, Dawn Rae, and Max (age 10) have been tackling short sections of the OTT since 2016.
Photos & words by Rob Knoth.
Just like the year before, I pulled our car under a large tree across from the small library. It was a good compromise between being discreet and being visible enough to prevent mischief while we were out on tour.
Bikepacking as a family, the majority of our riding was done in weekend or week-long tours. Where to stash the car was often a large source of angst and worry while riding. This would just be a simple overnighter, but it still meant parking a car.
We proceeded to take out our bikes and compete in the strap-things Olympics—finding places to attach all possessions needed for a weekend in the wild. The heat of the day was starting to build, and we had a long shadeless stretch of pavement & gravel ahead before climbing into the pines up high where we planned to camp.
An old sedan drove by and parked at the library. The driver was a thin, weather-worn, older woman. Before she went into the building, she stopped and sized us up. This was not a strange occurrence. Bikepacking is an odd mix of looking homeless and alien. She crossed the street, heading towards our family.
“Our world screams at us to see the differences in people – red versus blue, conservative versus liberal. In reality, it’s not black and white, but shifting shades of grey mixed with feelings, fear, and desire for connection.”
She was a local. Her ranch was up the road, on the edge of the awe-inspiring Winter Rim. She was curious about our plans, and specifically our preparedness – did people know where we were planning to go and who would call if we were late? She related tales of wild animals in the mountains, and the lack of water. Realities we were already aware of and prepared for. One item in specific – did we leave a note on our windshield with our plans? This shocked me. While we don’t live in a big city, we still were definitely “city folk” in comparison. The thought of leaving a note letting the world know the owners were a long way away and wouldn’t be back for awhile, in fact saying specifically when we would be back, struck me as a bad idea. This would be a flashing light inviting someone to smash and grab. But she came at it from the polar opposite – concern for our well-being. To make things even more interesting, she actually had seen our car parked here a year back when we were on a week-long trip. That time, she had run our plates to make sure the car was not stolen or the owners involved in anything bad or misfortunate.
We kept talking about our shared love for the unique, beautiful, and harsh country all around us. The conversation strayed into politics and government and she started crying. The area had suffered catastrophic wildfires the previous year, and she was scared for the future and at odds with the fire management practices of the forest service. She was planning to be in our home city in the coming week for a doctor appointment. We took this opportunity to share contact info and invited her to stay with us if needed. We thanked her for her concern and shortly left on our trip. Pedaling away, I was struck thinking about her, and the similarities – love of the land, and difference – politics, land management ideas. What kept coming back to me were our differences: my concern for our car, and her concern for our well-being and safety. Whether that concern was out of general human kindness, or worry that soft out-of-towners were heading into her mountains to do something foolish and need help…
A week later, we returned to the same area for another overnight bikepack. This was a much harder trip for the family – hotter, loose singletrack, and much of it through the burn area of the prior year. By the end of the weekend we were wrecked, covered in ash, and happy to cool off and clean up swimming in the river. We had parked several miles out of town, in a pullout off a forest service road. As we dried off from the river, and dismantled our bikes and bags, an old truck slowed and stopped in front of our car. The driver, a grizzled white bearded man. The passenger, an old woman on oxygen. After questions about our gear and the trip we just finished up, they mentioned seeing our car parked here yesterday. In a strange echo of the previous week – they had been worried someone was in trouble and looked for a note. Once again, concern for strangers, and care for community – local or visitors.
Our world screams at us to see the differences in people – red versus blue, conservative versus liberal. So much energy is put into building walls and encouraging a low energy civil war. In reality, it’s not black and white, but shifting shades of grey mixed with feelings, fear, and desire for connection. A shared love and responsibility for our public lands is a place to start building bridges.
“There is more kindness and care out there than is obvious. We are privileged to travel, adventure, and live in these lands.”
Bikepacking places us in a unique position. We’re traveling through beautiful wild lands, but also through lands that people call home and where they work. We may be self-sufficient, but we’re also very dependent on the kindness of these same locals for water, roads, and help if things go south. This means the table-stakes of leave-no-trace, but also making sure we’re respectful and friendly. One bad interaction can poison the well for future access rights and land use partnerships.
The Oregon Timber Trail is a shining example of this ambassadorship. A great ride, but also growing bridges, building a community between often disparate parties. The tireless work of the Oregon Timber Trail Alliance, and the host volunteers who make these realities are great role models. While we may not all be creating long distance trails, we are all in the position to use our bikes, and the encounters they enable, to build community and understanding.
These two encounters while our family was bikepacking left a strong impression – there is more kindness and care out there than is obvious. We are privileged to travel, adventure, and live in these lands.
The Knoth family have been bikepacking together since their son was four. They enjoy overnighters from home, weekend rambles across Oregon, or multi-week adventures across the globe. They live in Bend, Oregon, and are ambassadors for Ride with GPS and Old Man Mountain racks. Follow them on Instagram: @robknoth & @dawnraek
