Words and Photos by: Elena Alsides-Haynes (@mplsbruja)
Additional photos by: Amanda Harvey (@mandi042)
My first winter bikepacking trip was about 4 years ago. I went with my friend Amanda and our friend Rebecca, both of whom were experienced in winter specific bikepacking. The experience I brought was my years of bikepacking across the continent, but I drastically overestimated my capabilities and knowledge of what it would look like in a Minnesota winter. Looking back, I underpacked in every possible way. When we left the cities it was fall, a breezy 40 degrees, and when we woke up it was winter. There was about a 30 degree temperature swing and snow on the ground. My lack of both sufficient and proper clothing was immediately apparent – I was shivering, I didn’t have enough hand wear and my Raynaud’s afflicted hands were freezing, my sleeping bag had been a 40 degree bag and it was single digits so I hadn’t slept from being cold – it was a disaster. I ended up calling a friend to come pick me up from our campsite and with my tail between my legs, I went home in shame.
I didn’t let this shame discourage me however, and when I got home I took notes on everything that had gone wrong. Amanda and Rebecca were both supportive resources, and let me pester them with questions. That same year I did my first winter ultra fat bike race, using that as a further learning opportunity. I was hooked on the depth that the season and its weather played in these experiences. There is no doubt that the weather plays a role in all kinds of bikepacking for sure – I’ve been caught in a hailstorm on a mountain pass, stuck in one place in the high desert after a rainstorm turned the clay dirt into mud, and sunburned to hell and back while running out of water after an unexpected heat wave. But Winter felt different. It felt present in a way I couldn’t explain. I was in love.
Over the next few years I did multiple winter overnighters with Amanda and other friends, focusing on building my skills and knowledge while also continuing to pursue winter ultras as a part of my newfound fascination with pushing my limits in winter (though I did an interesting switch to running these events rather than riding, which puzzled many and is too long to explain). I kept bikepacking and touring in spring, summer and fall. But this past month, I finally felt ready to take a bigger step and test what I had learned – I planned a 4 day winter trip in the Superior National Forest in Northern Minnesota.
While I’ve loved and seen many breathtaking places, my favorite place to ride has continued to be in my home state. The Superior National Forest is in the northernmost part of the state, surrounding the Boundary Waters Canoe Area – while most folks just pass through it to get to the BWCA, as someone that prefers to travel by bike, I’ve spent my adult life falling in love with the national forest instead. I bought a paper map of it on my first trip up there to do the Straddle and Paddle route since I didn’t own a bike computer yet and I just traced the digital route on my paper map and was off. I’ve used that same map every trip I’ve been up there, usually multiple times a year – it’s easy, and as long as I pack enough food and have a way to sanitize or melt water, I’m good for days on end and don’t mind the lack of cell service.
My familiarity with and love of this place helped me decide on it to be my location for my first multi-night winter bikepacking trip. I first reached out to Amanda about it in August, since she had done a similar trip a few years back, and additionally, I just love bikepacking with her (when you find someone you meld with bikepacking, you hold on to them). She was game, and we settled on Thanksgiving weekend since it would give us the max amount of time with the least amount of planning around PTO with her work. We prayed for snow and patiently waited.
The weekend came, and it wasn’t until the day before that Minnesota finally snapped into winter – it had been 50s and sunny the weeks leading up to it, and then all of a sudden the whole state went in to a winter storm warning with estimated ranges of snow fall from 6 inches to 15 inches where we were going.
I became simultaneously extremely excited and more nervous – my love of winter is concurrent with a healthy respect for the real danger that can be presented with her. That much snow meant inevitable sections of hike-a-bike, and slower riding. Amanda and I agreed to pack as if we weren’t going to make our full route, which included one night at our friend’s yurt outside of Ely. We would take enough food and gear that would allow us to stay safe and warm. I was nervous I was going to have no actual winter prep to acclimate to before we got there, but I was equally if not more excited to get up there.
The day arrived, we loaded our Arctodus bikes and gear and hit the road to head north by 6:15 am. As we drove north, the snow accumulation visibly accrued from a few down in the cities to closer to and surpassing a foot further north. As we pulled into our parking spot off of the superior hiking trail near Temperance River State Park, we were fully in snow. We loaded our bikes quietly and quickly, both feeling ready and nervous to see what our day held. Once everything was secured and we were fully layered and decked out, we smiled at each other and without a word, pointed our bikes into the forest and began our steep ascent away from Lake Superior.
When you’re riding into the Superior National Forest away from the lake, there’s no way to avoid a steep and seemingly never ending ascent. I’ve been parking in the same spot as my entry point for over 8 years so I’m used to this climb but adding in soft and deep snow and a loaded Arctodus made it almost laughable. As we climbed I did a mix of walking and stumble pushing until we got to our first flat section when I hopped on and tried to find Amanda’s rut and followed her. It was clear only a few cars at most had driven on this road the last few days so I did my best to remember how the f*ck to ride a fat bike in snow since I hadn’t done so in over a year (and last year we barely had snow). I breathed, centered myself and loosened up and let myself laugh – once I remembered that what I was doing was just silly I had fun and fell into my rhythm. I was astounded at the difference the 5” tire made versus my previous 4.2” and pleasantly surprised and happy with my increased capabilities. I plopped and smushed snow with confidence and charged ahead, cracking jokes with Amanda as we went. I was happy. I was in my favorite place in northern Minnesota with my friend on fully loaded bikes under a sunny blue sky in winter – I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather be doing.
Our joy quickly turned more incredulous and into type 2 fun when we made a turn about 5 miles later – our previously slightly rutted deep snow turned pristine and untouched and deeper – we would be breaking the trail. We proceeded at a snail pace, taking turns pushing and alternately riding whenever it was shallow enough to pedal through, discovering just how deep we could break trail in (just shallow enough that our cranks and pedals made an imprint with each stroke but not a full hole in snow). The going was slow, and hard and both of us removed most of our layers as we began to sweat hard whenever pushing our bikes up a hill. But I laughed saying “this is all we have to do today. We don’t even have phone service. Our only job is to be out here.” Knowing that put less pressure on everything. Even if we only made it one mile, we’d be okay.
After a few more miles, we hit another section where a car had driven and we were able to ride the rut. We flew down the road, waved hello at the famous Trestle Inn, and kept going. Snow began to lightly fall and darkness began to descend – we grabbed our lights and kept riding. We found a rustic campground with a pit toilet, and began our nightly routine – we made a shelter with a tarp and our bivys, cooked dinner with our stoves and made a small fire to dry out my boots from the hike a bike (I had forgotten gaiters, something I realized almost immediately and deeply regretted). While they dried out we took out my map to figure out our route for the next day – based on our experience that day, we knew all the little remote trails we had included in our original route were likely off the table if we wanted to make actual progress forward. We mapped out what we hoped would be our best bet and set an alarm to wake up early to get out on the road. Once my boots were somewhat better, we quickly tucked into our sleeping bags with all clothes and water to keep them warm overnight and I promptly passed out.
Mornings are the hardest for me when winter camping and they were the part I was least looking forward to. I love being snug as a bug in my bivy and sleeping bag and leaving my warm little worm hole is devastating to me. I had practiced cracking open hand warmers the second I woke up to help get them warmed up for my hands (despite my love of winter, I have Raynaud’s which is something I do my best to work around). This small thing helped my morning immensely, making breakfast a much more pleasant experience. I also practiced having a calorie bomb of a breakfast which I had hoped would get my “engine running” and truly helped. We had to melt snow this morning for water which took an indefinitely long time – the snow to water ratio is off enough that it can test your patience. I made a mental note to pack more esbit tabs next time to account for this, or to use my white gas stove instead of my esbit stove. After about an hour of melting snow for water, we headed out.
Thankfully the roads were forgiving that day – perfect amount of snow to make it fun, but rutted and/or cleared enough for it to feel fast – we had a break from snowing for clear skies and sun, making the riding beautiful in the forest glow. We had one of my absolute favorite days of riding I’ve ever had. On the last few miles we were forced to route to the highway, where I had cell service and called our friend to pick us up – the shift into heavier traffic and no shoulder isn’t the type of riding I enjoy, and I was willing to call a bud for a scoop off of that without feeling bad.
Staying at the yurt was a delight – it gave us a chance to dry out our layers, bivys and sleeping bags and we were able to eat a ton of Thanksgiving leftovers from our friends. We charged our devices. We met a cute dog named Beans. We passed out at 8 pm in warmth, feeling content.
We skipped a sauna opportunity the next morning in favor of getting on the road again. It was snowing, and was predicted to get worse. Our friends dropped us off back at the entry point to the forest and we rode quickly. We were hoping to go further than we had yet in a single day, to make our last day easier. As the day went on, the conditions got more intense – the snow fell faster, harder and we were breaking trail again – my glasses kept fogging and clogging up with snow and I eventually put them in my pocket and turned my light on to help me just use the shadows for contrast on the snow and followed Amanda’s wheel. We confirmed with each other we wanted to keep to the plan to forge further ahead this day, knowing we were potentially saving some of the hardest miles for last. The sun went down, leaving only snow and darkness behind – there was no moonlight, as it was hidden behind the clouds. We couldn’t see anything beyond our headlights and every descent felt like a leap of faith as we fell into the abyss – we were both hungry and tired and I was pretty damn blind but these were some of my favorite miles.
We made it to our destination (another free national forest campground that had a pit toilet) and quickly set to making shelter – we stomped out our camp area, kicking and moving snow out of the way, and set up the tarp so we could make our dinners under it then set up our bivys. We were both pretty exhausted and it was a comedy of errors as we tried to cook our dinners, both of us fumbling and spilling and losing things the second we put them down. We eventually both got our food ready and as we ate, I thanked the world for hot food and my decisions to choose only meals that were truly midwestern sounding like “hot chili beef Mac” knowing that it would be perfect for a winter trip like this.
We immediately set up our bivys and skipped a fire after dinner – I had a mini melt down about not being able to find my mitten (poor Amanda) and put myself to bed hoping it was just in my sleeping bag already but was grumpy enough I made the mistake of not just putting on another layer when I could tell I was a little cold and ended up tossing and turning all night because of it. When we got up the next morning, I did find my mitten in my sleeping bag, and we quickly made breakfast, both having enough water we were able to skip melting snow this morning.
As we were leaving, the sunrise was a gorgeous pink and orange, putting the snow in a pinkish sparkly hue that was breathtaking. We rolled out on the road, feeling optimistic about the conditions and settled into our pace.
The conditions were a mixed bag – some roads seemingly fast rolling while others were much deeper than the last time we were through. We saw wolf tracks and were excited as they followed the direction we were going. What started as a clear day, once again turned snowy and what little tracks there were fully disappeared as we turned back on the road that we had broken trail on our first day. We swapped to Amanda being the lead (we can just say it – she’s much stronger in uncertain and deeper snow conditions than me) and did our best to charge ahead.
A few miles in, a big work truck gently pulled around us and we shouted with glee as he went forward the same direction we were and we fell into his ruts. Renewed with vigor we quickly made our miles, turning on to the final large descent with excitement (a 5 mile dirt/gravel/snow descent). Before we knew it, we were back at the car.
We both set our Arctodus against the car (which had not been plowed in, delightedly) and hugged.
“We did it!!” We both chanted.
“And we did so good” Amanda smiled.
As we packed up the gear, changed in to non-bike touring clothes, loaded up the bikes and soaked up the heat in the car, I felt immensely grateful – grateful to have access to this forest, to my gear and Otso Arctodus, and most importantly, to a friend that was excited to do this with me, was patient and kind with me as I worked through years of gaining experience to do a trip like this safely, and that was willing to always be learning and growing with me in the only way a multi day bike trip with minimal service and in deep winter can – this is the kind of shit I live for.
