It all began just after dawn, taking a few sips from the remainder of a keg of stale beer. One could say that these lukewarm drops from the previous night pushed us to accomplish the one hundred miles before us; perhaps, though, it was the large American breakfast that I ate thirty minutes before.
In any case, I was not prepared for what I was soon to experience. Amateur cyclist with a joy for spontaneous and extreme adventure, I was ready mentally, so it is possible that the unknown and my enthusiasm prepared me physically.
It was the autumn of 2016, towards the end of October, in Alabama. Two friends decided quickly to plan a bikepacking trip and asked me to join them. I was ready, but I had no idea how difficult the distance would be, having barely biked fifty miles. Adventure, however, was calling me, and I decided to join them.
We awoke at dawn, a sunny and mild day, in order to be able to reach the miles and hours before us. We met at Velocity Cycles, the bike shop where Michael and Adam worked, my two dear friends and organizers of this trip. Michael, having already made the trip three months prior, was our guide; Adam, in amazing shape, but perhaps unequipped for a one hundred mile trip on a mountain bike, was our inspiration; and me, I followed the two others like a inconscient friend ready for adventure.
Upon leaving the bike shop in downtown Tuscaloosa, a university town in west-central Alabama, we had to cross a large bridge over the Black Warrior River to reach the small picturesque town of Northport, in order to catch Alabama Highway 43, which led us north towards our destination: Caney Creek Falls, in the William B. Bankhead National Forest, approximately one hundred miles north of Tuscaloosa.
Being very early in the morning, the conversation between us friends was mild and brief. On one hand due to the difficulty of speaking in a peloton, on the other due to morning fatigue, but jovial nevertheless, each one of us having a dream and adventure before us. The perception of an adventure is different for all. We mull over different levels, over different aspirations, over different expectations. It was also this which caused our brief exchanges, I believe. A silence to mull over something—it’s beautiful.
At mile thirty, we had to stop in order to refill our water bottles in a small town called Berry. Let’s say Adam and I had not yet learned to conserve our water at all costs. I do not believe that the inhabitants of Berry were accustomed to cyclists, and much less bikepackers, because we received many strange looks. In Berry, I began to feel tired and slightly anxious, but in an effort to ignore this feeling, I told myself that we were only one-third of the total distance. There remained still enough excitement to say, “Keep your head up!”
The route after Berry continued. We passed through several small towns such as Townley and Carbon Hill, where we stationed our bikes to take a break and take advantage of a little stream alongside the road. This stop was better than the first one in Berry because only one-third of the trip remained. We took some time to joke and think about what we were going to do once we arrived at the waterfall.
***
Around six and a half to seven hours into the trip, we were getting close to Double Springs, the closest town to Caney Creek Falls—the end of our trip. Fortunately, and despite our exhaustion, we were able to find a restaurant in a Chevron to each lunch, where we continued to receive strange looks from all angles. Two elderly women asked us where we came from, and we told them, “from Tuscaloosa.” They did not believe us, thinking we were joking. After having eaten and taken a long break inside, we continued our route.
Calmness began to set in once we arrived at the trail. I was only thinking of one thing: in a mile I was going to be at the waterfall.
The waterfall was one of the most beautiful that I had ever seen, with a crystal clear pool of fresh water, and trees all around. It was like a paradise, as if we were pilgrims after an extraordinary voyage. Now, we had to prepare our rudimentary campsite, consisting of a sleeping bag and two mobile hammocks.
The night came too quickly, but we had a brief moment to take a dip in the pool under the falls, which, in restrospect, was a bad idea, leaving us damp and cool all night. We saw it as a reward however…
Darkness had almost arrived when Michael decided to return to the Chevron to talk to an old buddy he met the last time he made this trip. It was so dark. We only had our miniature bike headlights and taillights to light the way. Once again, the marvel of adventure enchanted me, and I followed Michael on a very dark route, where cars, not accustomed to bikers, and let alone night cyclists, passed.
In returning from the gas station, Michael and I joined Adam at the campsite, in a total darkness that I have never again seen. We were located in a microclimate in sleeping beside the waterfall; so, it was chilly at night, but we had a real sleep machine in listening to the falls.
We awoke with the morning sun which began to warm our cool bodies. The birds sang beautiful odes to the day ahead; the falls flowed incessantly, appeasing our tired minds. We did not tarry long, just enough time to pack up the campsite and prepare our bikes. After having left, we decided to pass one last time by the Chevron, which had become our lifeblood, to eat breakfast. One among us decided not to join us on the return to Tuscaloosa. Too tired and on a mountain bike weighing fifty pounds, including water and gear, he called on a friend to pick him up. I would be lying if I were to tell you I did not also want to return via car.
Despite my short hesitation, I decided to return to Tuscaloosa by bike, telling myself that I would regret it later. In addition, I was still desirous for adventure, despite my exhaustion. The last two-thirds of the trip, I kept telling myself that never again would I ride a bike, never again would I take a bike trip, never again would I even cycle. I was done. Fortunately, that was only exhaustion talking. The infamous interior voice that is necessary to either quieten or ignore at all costs.
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This trip still serves as one of the most adventurous and happiest trips of my life. When you have the opportunity to enjoy an adventure, a vacation, or another experience among friends, take it quickly. It will always be a sweet moment on which you can reflect back. In the times of Covid-19, I often thought of this trip. I hope to inspire each of you to cherish your friends, to tell them how much they mean to you. May our days be happy and may we always be ready to reach for adventure.
COLE LEWTER 