Submitted by Martin Fernandez
Back in May of 2023, I rode the length of the C&O Canal with friends and had such a good time that I knew I wanted to do it again — this time carrying everything on the bike. I started collecting bikepacking gear and planned to repeat the trip in 2024.
Then life intervened.
Early that year, my mother was diagnosed with colon cancer. The months that followed were spent traveling, grieving, and eventually dealing with my own serious health challenges. Cycling faded into the background, and for a time, riding wasn’t just difficult — it was impossible.
After major surgery in the spring, recovery became its own journey. Walking came first. Riding had to wait. It wasn’t until early August that I finally got the green light to get back on the bike. My first ride was short and cautious, but it felt like a return to something essential.
Not long after, I committed — reluctantly — to a bikepacking trip on the C&O. The plan wasn’t ambitious by bikepacking standards, but for me it was a test. I hadn’t ridden more than 30 miles in a single outing all year, and now I was staring down back-to-back 60+ mile days on the bike.
Three days before the trip, the friend I was supposed to ride with crashed and broke his collarbone. Suddenly, the choice was simple: go alone, or not go at all.
So I went.
I paced myself, stopped often, and paid attention to how my body felt. By late afternoon, fatigue set in and the mile markers started to matter more than I wanted them to. But eventually I rolled in, tired and relieved, having cleared a hurdle I wasn’t sure I could.
That night, sitting by a small campfire under a nearly full moon, I had time to reflect. Riding alone forced me to trust myself again. It wasn’t about speed or distance — it was about showing up and moving forward - to just pedal.
The next morning, I packed up and rode back the way I came. It wasn’t easier, but it was steadier. Somewhere along the towpath, the ride stopped feeling like a test and started feeling like what riding has always been for me: simple, grounding, and necessary.
Sometimes the only way forward is to keep pedaling.
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