Words by Rhys Verner, Photos by Margus Riga
A five-day, late-September, high-altitude bikepacking trip in the Rockies could go either way. We might get lucky with clear skies, or we might get buried in snow, deep in the mountains, and days from the truck. What we got was a bit of both; the perfect mix of fun and suffering to close out bike season.
Before any pedaling could happen, though, we had a ton of packing, driving, and re-packing to do. The front porch looked like a gear bomb had gone off with tents, tools, layers, food, and camera gear everywhere. After years of chaotic road trips, this time was different. Each of us had a RUX 70 and a RUX 40L to pack everything away clean. I've always enjoyed packing for a big trip, but there’s something incredibly satisfying about neatly fitting a crazy amount of gear into these perfect little bins. To make things even more exciting, we also had a Cooler Cube and a RUX 25L Cooler to ensure we were properly hydrated before and, especially, after the trip.
Packing stage one complete, we hit the road late and camped in Golden. An early following morning had us driving deep into the Rockies to our start point. Then came the real challenge: trimming down to what could fit on our backs and the bike. This was the longest self-supported trip I’ve ever done, and I really had no idea how we were going to fit everything…. Fortunately, we had a secret weapon: The RUX Ultra Packing Cubes saved the day. All my ride food and snacks in the 2L strapped to the outside of my pack, and all my layers in the 10L and strapped to the bars. With both bags being waterproof, durable, and compressible, my full setup ended up being by far my most dialled and organized I’ve ever had for a trip like this.
Once we rolled out, all the pre-trip stress vanished. No service, no distractions, just big mountains and a huge expanse of wilderness. The first day and a half went smoothly, and by the second evening, we found ourselves on top of a 3100m rideable peak. It was a huge push to get up there, and we were rewarded with a massive 1400m descent back to our camp. It wouldn’t go easy, though, and the Rockies had no problem reminding us who’s boss. The ride off the top was right into a storm as winds picked up and snow started to fall. It was every man for himself as we raced the darkness back to camp. We arrived separately, both wet, cold, and with only a couple of minutes to spare. A full pull day and a clear sign that things are getting real.
Day 3 we had 2 alpine passes to cross, and a bit more time spent on trail. The storm left a skiff of snow, but otherwise let up for the time being. After packing up Margus informed me he left his GoPro somewhere around 3000m on the peak from the previous night…. We needed it, so back up he went. I didn’t leave anything up there, so I took the opportunity to make a coffee and take in the scenery. After a successful retrieval, we were back on our way. What started as a calm morning turned into a windstorm, and we rolled into our night's camp spot riding on a 45-degree angle into the wind. I was seriously nervous about how exposed to the elements we were going to be, but the most epic campsite was waiting right around the corner. Shielded from the wind, perched on a grassy cliff edge, and right in front, a pristine alpine lake. Confined to the tent, the wind howled all night, and we went to sleep knowing that whatever the weather did that night, we still had a long way back to the truck.
Day 4, another skiff of snow blanketed the peaks, and we questioned every decision that had led us here. But with one more big line planned for day four, we had to commit. The sun came out for just long enough to melt the snow, and the wind appeared to subside. It was unspoken, but we were clearly going for it, and didn’t stop once all the way to the top. Once at the summit, the storm unloaded again, with howling winds and snow starting to fall. We had to make moves and get out of here, and lucky for us, the way forward looked perfect. A 1,200 m ridge-line scree descent over a huge cliff for its entirety. One of the wildest descents either of us had ever done.
The euphoria didn’t last long. We were still a full day from the truck, the storm had fully arrived, and everything we’d ridden was now under snow. The mission had shifted from summits to survival; crossing flooded rivers, pushing through overgrown trails, and brutal winds with nowhere to hide.
We made it to the tree line and hunkered down under a tarp I’d almost left behind, and built a fire. I tried to dry my shoes and whatever else I could, while Margus didn’t bother and paced around barefoot like a maniac.
It rained all night, and we knew we’d made the right call by stopping to camp. Thirty-five kilometres stood between us and the truck (somehow uphill both ways) but we were in full survival mode, soaking in the last stretch of what had become a true backcountry epic.
When we finally rolled in, we were shattered, but the beers were still ice-cold after five days in the RUX Coolers. Maybe the best reward of the whole trip. Cleanup was painless: filthy gear stayed sealed in the RUX 70s, clean clothes in the other bins. No mess, no chaos, just a simple system that worked as hard as we did. It was off to find the greasiest burgers we could, and after 5 days in the backcountry, it was a double order kind of night.
After the long drive and dropping Margus off the next day, I realized it was the smoothest post-trip unpack of my life, with no missing gear and no scattered piles. Just two bins and a bike. The new mandatory road-trip setup.
This trip had a little of everything — high peaks, snowstorms, type-two laughs, and a reminder that being prepared doesn’t just make things easier; it lets the adventure actually happen.
