Bikepacking Berlin to Grünheide, Germany 2021

On a whim, I asked Lena if she wanted to go bikepacking over the weekend. I proposed we ride 40 kilometers east of Berlin to a lakeside campground in Brandenburg for one night outside of the city. It would be Lena’s longest day of riding ever, but she didn’t hesitate before saying yes. In the end, the route ballooned to 50 kilometers but we were still happy and confident about the weekend’s planned adventure.

On Saturday, just after 2 p.m., we loaded our gear on our bikes and set off through the glass-covered streets of East Berlin. We made our way south through Neukölln to the canals for the scenic route to Müggelsee. Ever the food opportunist, Lena insisted we stop to munch on some boysenberries discovered along the way.

After our snack we wound our way south of Müggelsee before swinging north through Erkner and finally arriving at the campground at around 7 p.m. The woman at reception guided us past rows of mobile home bungalows surrounded by gardens ranging from disheveled to perfectly cultivated.

After leaning our bikes on a nearby pole, we stripped down and jumped in the clear water of the lake to cool off and get rid of the grime of the trail. Feeling much cooler and cleaner, we donned long sleeves and pants and sprayed bug repellant on our hands and faces before preparing dinner. The mosquitoes were already relentless a couple of hours before sunset. Our European backpacking meals were underwhelming compared to the great options in the U.S., but we still ate our fill. After dinner I settled in to read a bit before bed but it was hard to focus with all of the mosquitoes buzzing about our heads.

We reapplied bug spray and bundled up with our rain jackets to try to keep them away from our faces and settled in, assuming that after dusk the mosquitoes would turn in for the night. In the meantime, I tried using the towel as a makeshift tent to cover our hands and faces but it was so stiflingly hot underneath that we couldn’t breath. At 11 p.m. the mosquitoes were still buzzing about and skewering through our clothes. It was so hot in our sleeping bags and rain jackets that we gave up and stripped naked and ran to the lake. We quickly sat down in the water, leaving only our heads exposed, relying on bug spray to keep our faces safe.

After a few minutes of respite from the heat, the lateness of the hour pushed us back towards our sleeping bags where we tried to fall asleep again.

At 1 a.m. neither of us had slept a wink and I was certain that the mosquitoes weren’t going anywhere that night so Lena and I started spitballing solutions. I floated the idea of giving up on sleeping altogether, packing up, hopping on our bikes, and biking back to Berlin in the dark. Lena considered it but didn’t like the idea of biking so far in the dark. She proposed a taxi but neither of us had phone service or any hope that a taxi would come to the middle of the woods an hour after midnight. I then remembered that on a walk around the campground a few hours before I had noticed a gazebo wrapped in mosquito netting. I proposed that we bring our sleeping bags and pads across the campground and sleep in the safety of the gazebo. Before committing to it Lena and I agreed that I should check and see if the mobile homes surrounding the gazebo were occupied—we didn’t want a rude awakening the next morning when an old German man found us squatting in his outdoor dining room.

After a quick look around I was certain that none of the spaces around were occupied and went back to our camp. Lena and I quickly grabbed the essentials and threw our tarp over the rest of our gear before walking across the camp grounds to our safe haven.

We hurriedly slid our gear under the mosquito netting and slipped in after as quickly as possible in an attempt to keep out the gazillion mosquitos swarming around us.

We breathed a sigh of relief as we lay on our pads without the familiar buzz of mosquitoes dive-bombing our faces. Finally, we could lay in the heat without our sleeping bags closed up as tightly as possible to keep the horde at bay. I pulled my book out to try and wind down before falling asleep. Five minutes later I heard an unfamiliar ding from a nearby cell phone. Lena and I looked at each other.

“Is that yours,” I asked. She shook her head no.

We held our breaths and looked at the darkness surrounding us, waiting for any noises. The phone dinged again. Then we heard voices.

An elderly German couple was talking—at 2 a.m., no less—and we were camped in their gazebo. It seemed that the “empty” mobile home that was 2 meters from Lena’s feet wasn’t so empty after all.

Lena and I looked at each other, horrified. I imagined an angry old man kicking open the door to his trailer and finding us in his mosquito haven. I gulped in fear and tried to push the idea out of my mind. I assured Lena that if they came outside and found us we could calmly explain the situation to them and they would have to understand. Right? I knew it was true deep down, but at 2 a.m. and half crazy from the never ending onslaught of mosquitoes I was having a hard time convincing myself. Lena wasn’t having it. We laid there for another 20 horrified minutes waiting for them to come outside and discover us. Instead, the voices slowly disappeared and were replaced by snoring. I set my alarm for 5 a.m.—just in case we fell asleep—so we could vacate their space before they woke up.

I offered to Lena that I could stay up and talk to anyone who might discover us but she was as stressed as I was and neither of us could imagine sleeping any time soon. Even without the mosquitoes. So we both lay there in the ironic half-safety of the netted gazebo trying to fall asleep. After another 30 minutes the exhaustion finally took its toll and we dozed off here and there. We slept in nightmare-plagued 15-minute spurts, constantly jumping in our sleep imagining that someone was just outside the mosquito netting looking in on us.

Despite the nightmares the night passed uneventfully. When my alarm went off we dragged ourselves out of our sleeping bags and cleared our things out of the gazebo. We hustled away as fast as possible in case we had woken them again while putting their table and chairs back where we found them. We dropped our stuff back on our tarp and, with nothing else to do, stripped down for a morning swim before the rest of camp woke up.

Our mosquito net-engulfed gazebo was both a safe haven and nightmare-fuel.

The sunrise was amazing, but both of us would’ve rather gotten a few more hours of sleep before enjoying it. We swam in small circles in the lake with the purple and pink clouds unfurling above us—swatting at mosquitoes all the while. The second we stepped out of the water they went in for the kill so we jumped back in our sleeping bags for protection, certainly not sleep. We decided that a quick breakfast and a cup of coffee were necessary to fuel our departure back to Berlin. Estimated time of departure? ASAP.

The plan was to bike 10 kilometers, much less than the 50 we biked the day before, to the nearest train station that could take us home: Erkner. The second we were packed up we hit the road without a second glance at our cursed campsite. With the wind in our faces and no mosquitoes buzzing around our ears we suddenly felt infinitely better. We started to laugh about how ridiculous our experience had been.

Before we knew it we were already in Erkner. Despite our rough night it felt too soon to get off the bike for the day so we pushed on past Erkner and through Müggelsee. After 30 kilometers we hopped on the train in Köpenick for a quick ride home. We topped up on lost calories with a quick meal before Lena donned a sleeping mask and napped for a few hours. I made the couch my home and turned on the Olympics in the background while I googled affordable two-person tent options with the hope that I might convince Lena to join me for another bikepacking adventure. If it ever happens again I’m sure you’ll read about it here.

Bikepacking to Parsteiner See, Germany 2021 - Video

After class, Paul and I raced home to pack up our things (and in Paul’s case picked up his newly-repaired bike from the bike shop) for our overnighter at Parsteiner See, 80 kilometers northeast of Berlin. He haphazardly strapped things onto his rear rack with an old bike tube and we pushed out of his driveway just before 5 p.m.

Watch the video below to see how the trip unfolded.

Eagle Pass, California 2018

“Most people do the John Muir Trail in 30 days, but I think we can do it in 15.”

My cousin Mark had texted me offering a backpacking trip as a graduation present.

“Uhhh, I don’t have 15 days for a trip Cuz. I’m not even going to be in California that long,” I replied.

I figured that was easier than trying to convince him that the JMT in 15 days wasn’t exactly reasonable. After some more texting back and forth that included a few date changes and some gear talk we decided on a three-day trip in California’s Emigrant Wilderness just north of Yosemite. We were both familiar with the area and realized we didn’t have that much time for a wilderness trek after all.

Meetup with Mi Wuks

After running into road closures that added another hour to our drive we got on the trail around noon as we looked at nearby snowy peaks and talked about how lucky we were to be able to find any way into the backcountry this early in the season.

While we hiked my cousin told me about hunting in the region and how he met a Mi Wuk couple who owned a 100-year lease on cattle land that we’d be hiking through. He hoped that they’d already be living in their Cooper Valley homestead at 8,000 feet so he could see them again.

The first of many stream crossings.

Scouting for wildlife that wasn’t there.

Where it all began.

Eagle Pass

Home for a few days (in a tent next to the cabins).

We made quick work of Eagle Pass but still only arrived at the homestead around 5 p.m. because of our late start on the day. The Mi Wuk couple wasn’t there but the little cabins and outhouse made for a picturesque place to make camp so we decided our hike was done for the day.

As we started a fire and cooked dinner we broke into a fifth of Crown Royal that we’d carried in (with its felt sack) to pass the time. A few hours later when we reached the bottom of the bottle and the end of our wood pile we scattered the coals and hit the sack.

Suffer Fest

We woke up the next morning to everything in the valley covered in frost. We made our way over to our camp kitchen to start on coffee and breakfast when we noticed the bottle of Crown Royal sitting in the dirt, empty. Suddenly our headaches made more sense. After the coffee kicked in we got to work planning our day over some hearty homemade granola.

“There’s this peak, Granite Mound, that I’ve seen in the distance when I hunt this area. I’ve always wanted to climb it but never had the chance, you up for it?” Mark asked.

“Sure. We’ve just got to hike through this valley, and this valley, and this valley, and then make this part of the climb to 10,000 feet without a trail,” I said as I pointed at the map that was laid out between us.

“Yup,” he replied, as if it would be as easy as skipping a rock.

We hiked in and out of mosquito infested valleys all morning, crossed a half-dozen streams, and lost the trail in huge swaths of snow along the way, until we finally got a glimpse of Granite Mound two miles in the distance, according to Mark’s GPS. We haphazardly planned our summit route from afar and then embarked on the portion of the hike that was off-trail.

An hour and two false summits later—which dashed my hopes more than I’d like to admit—we stood in the middle of a field of snow with soaked boots and looked up at the summit. It still felt impossibly far away, but there was no way we’d turn back now. We scarfed down some salami sandwiches and gummy bears before we slogged our way to the top as we huffed and puffed from the altitude.

Cooper Valley, campsite, home, mosquito village; whatever you want to call it.

The summit

Sledding is always better when it’s earned.

When we finally made it to the top we looked off in the distance at Yosemite Valley and turned in amazement at the 360-degree view that surrounded us. We saw the valley that our camp was in and plumes from forest fires in the distance. I had barely caught my breath when I looked at my watch and thought we should head back home if we didn’t want to be hiking the last mile in the dark.

As we hiked back all of the fields of snow that we’d traversed on the way up became sledding hills on the way back down, and with our tired legs we didn’t care about wet butts.

We were still a valley away from camp when I asked Mark how far he thought we’d walked.

“Today wasn’t that far, I’d guess seven or eight miles.”

“Total? Or one way,” I asked incredulously. There was no way we’d only hiked eight miles, I thought.

“Total,” Mark responded coolly. Don’t forget, this is the same person who thought we could hike the John Muir Trail in half the time that most people do.

I didn’t have the energy to argue so I focused on the trail ahead and the freeze-dried backpacking meal that waited for me at camp.

Our home valley didn’t end up being the warm welcome we were looking for. The three minutes it took the water to boil for dinner felt like an eternity as we were swarmed by what felt like all of the world’s mosquitos. Despite the heat we bundled ourselves in every bit of clothing we had to try and keep them at bay while we ate our food in silence, too exhausted to talk. I was the first to admit defeat in the battle against the bugs and trudged to our tent to lay down and rest. Mark wasn’t far behind.

In a daze, we pulled out the map to sort out how far we’d actually hiked that day. After some quick math, we realized Mark was way off. I wasn’t shy in rubbing it in that his estimate was so far off.

“16 MILES. Ha! Man were you off, Mark. 16 miles to a 10,000-foot peak,” I remarked.

He wasn’t embarrassed to admit how wrong he was as he folded up the map.

We didn’t need Crown Royal or an hour of reading to help us sleep that night as we curled up at 8 p.m. trying to find a position, any position, that didn’t hurt.

Homeward

Compared to the day before the hike home was uneventful. We meandered our way up and out of Cooper Valley and back down to the car, an easy 5-mile stroll. We rinsed off in a stream and cooled off our blister covered feet before getting back on the road. The first place that sold burgers was our first stop on our way back to civilization and crazy times in the world. (Trump and Kim Jong Un met while we were gone.)