Finding New Friends on an Old Route
Tristan Bogaard and Belén Castelló
For me, the most important part of an adventure is often the people that come along. When it’s pouring down rain, their funny remarks make me smile and when I’m back home, those shared moments are what I miss most. Even if they were with people I only just met. Have you ever gone on a trip with someone you’ve never met before? Tristan and Belén say the best way to get to know somebody for the first time is by bikepacking with them - wild camping and poorly-timed mechanicals included. Read on to find out how their TranSardinian adventure went with a couple they’d only just met in person. And how together, they re-discovered an almost-forgotten route along the way.
Catherine
Editor, Notes from Outside
If there’s something that characterizes my generation, it’s online friendships. When I was younger, I came back from school and chatted with my friends behind the keyboard for hours at a time, as if a whole day at school together wasn’t enough. Then, in my late teens, social media boomed, bringing along the possibility to connect with strangers from all around the world despite the physical distance. In the past decade I’ve been able to meet so many remarkable people through online platforms such as Instagram—including my partner Tristan—and while choosing the protagonists for our latest book, we got to know Sam and Bec; our soon-to-be gravel partners in crime.
Having spent the summer of ’21 bikepacking around Europe, we had our eyes set on one last route on the Italian island of Sardinia, in the heart of the Mediterranean. Known for its emerald coves, arid landscapes and touristic appeal, we wondered what this place would look like off-season in late fall, once most vacationists had gone home.
After some in-depth research on existing cycling routes, we came across the TranSardinia mountain bike trail on a very outdated-looking website, complete with decade-old blog posts and a downloadable pdf with the original track. The challenge of retracing and properly documenting this route made it all the more attractive to us. It also seemed like the perfect opportunity to finally meet Sam and Bec in real life. After their long, covid-enforced break from the bike, it only took a mouthful of words to get them on board. Riding, good weather and a wicked adventure? They were in!
We met in Olbia a few weeks later, a coastal city located in the northeast of the island with a palm-lined waterfront and busy port. As the couple unpacked their bikes from their boxes, we sneakily hid away to surprise them. Sam was as cheerful as on the calls, giving us a firm hug and warm smile, and Bec, she was the same spirited personality exuding good energy with every word. We immediately felt we’d be a great match on the road. After checking out each other's rigs, and adjusting the last bolts and straps, we headed off into the unknown: a trail seemingly ambitious, of which we only had a retraced and unreliable GPX track to follow.
The TranSardinia stretches over almost 450 kilometers of roads (mostly unpaved trails) along the center of the island, away from touristic areas. And as soon as we ascended from the coastline, the landscape transformed into a parched panorama, embedded with impressive geological formations, reminding us of Utah’s National Parks. The ones we’d seen scrolling through our Instagram feeds. Unlike in Utah, we had this empty place all to ourselves. Four riders, lifting dust beside the monolithic rocks and cracking jokes around bend after bend.
The thing about riding with others is that you can’t quite predict how the group is going to glue together. As compatible as you may think you are, the trail can squeeze the best and worst out of us.
Hunger, fatigue, differences in rhythm. Even the smallest differences can test one’s limits. For Tristan, the documentation of our rides through capturing video and photos is paramount, but it does break up the rhythm of riding since he mounts his tripod every third bend. Sam prefers to break camp at least an hour ahead of sunset to have sufficient daylight to cook, whilst Bec enjoys her rides most when there’s enough coffee and snack breaks planned in. I personally really want to hit the daily distance goals to avoid logistical errors, like running out of water in the middle of nowhere.
Surprisingly then, our first setback had nothing to do with personal preferences and instead arrived in the shape of a closed gate and signs delimiting private property. And exactly because we had blindly trusted this route, our disappointment in getting blocked by this gate felt like being a kid and finding out Santa isn’t real — the kind of unexpected anticlimax you really wish wouldn’t have come knocking.
We’d been pushing up dusty, ascending paths all morning, and being brought to a halt by this seemingly impassable object made the itinerary we’d promised ourselves suddenly crumble to bits.
At the same moment my derailleur stopped shifting properly, essentially turning my bike into a single speed. The combination punched our motivation in the gut. We’d been shown that the route couldn’t be trusted, and it didn’t take long before we recognized we had to let go of our purist ambition to stick to the original track and instead, focus on the real sentiment of the journey. After all, we were there to spend ten days of quality time together, regardless of the route. So we komooted our way to the nearest train station, spent the night back in Olbia to get my derailleur fixed the following morning, and found ourselves on an improvised set of roads not too long after – keeping our fingers crossed that the Sardinian gates, fences and barriers would leave us alone from now on.
Letting go and defining our own way meant we were able to enjoy the company and location in a fresh, relaxed way. Stopping at every little village to taste the richness of ristrettos, macchiatos, cappuccinos and thirteen other types of coffee became nearly compulsory, allowing us to absorb the enchantment of these quaint hamlets while chatting our minds out. We buzzed through the many monumental natural sights – the karstic highlands of Supramonte, Gennargentu’s massif, and the arid plateau up to Bruncu Senzu. The newly improvised route, while it did cover a greater percentage of asphalt now, didn’t disappoint in a single way. Instead, the island rapidly captured our hearts.
Throughout the days and nights that followed, we discovered each of our bikepacking passions. Among your own group of adventure friends you’ve probably found that the reasons to ride are mostly alike—breathing fresh air, exploring unfamiliar places, meeting new people—yet there’s almost always a personal twist to be found within these common motivations. For Sam, this trip represented a chance to improve his (already exquisite) camp cooking skills, and treating us to finger-licking meals on nearly every occasion. After a year in an office job, Bec was determined to improve her riding prowess, learning to handle her bike out on the rough Sardinian gravel, in preparation for their upcoming bikepacking plans. And Tristan and I, still fairly new to the concept of sharing bikepacking adventures with others, were keen on finding out whether this ride could solidify a new friendship.
But what does it mean to really know someone? And how is friendship even achieved? We don’t know if a universal answer exists, but what we do know is that an adventure outside can greatly contribute to its foundation. Before Tristan and I pedaled into our relationship, our families were concerned with the risks of spending so much time together. Indeed, swapping a long-distance relationship for a 24/7 adventure—in which even the most basic understanding of privacy gets a rebranding—could be seen as a bold move. And yet, camping, cooking, riding and generally just spending all your time together is a risk worth taking if you really want to get to know someone—whether that’s family, friends or even complete strangers. Because you will. Moreover, relying on each other’s adaptability in riding speed, empathy after a roadside squabble, respect for privacy at camp—or in the bush-loo—and gratitude for participation in chores teaches you a great deal about the simple social interactions we so often overlook in daily life.
For us, traveling with Sam and Bec these last late October days proved our mutual, initial feeling. What was once a shared connection through the ether turned out to work just as well in the real, tangible world. Of all the situations and feelings this bike tour threw at us—from forced route adaptations to lack of showers and far too few Oreo-breaks—nearly none were experienced as negative. The few that were, proved to be valuable lessons about each other’s personalities and sensitivities. Sam’s fine cooking flair and wise words, Bec’s eternal positivity, Tristan’s stalwart ability to document the entire journey and my logistically driven intent to make sure the group would make it to the end of the day with enough energy, food and water, was the perfect list of ingredients for one lovingly-concocted bikepacking adventure.
Our final night at camp, sheltered high above, looking out over the twinkling lights that bathed the bay of Cagliari—the endpoint of the TranSardinia—we concluded our trip with a simple stir-fry of rice and five spice cabbage. The rising steam from our plates, shared smiles and tired, heavy eyes decorated the collective conclusion. True friendship is rare, but I think the bike had once again helped us find it.
Words by Belén Castelló and photos by Tristan Bogaard
Tristan Bogaard and Belén Castelló are adventure cyclists and bikepacking photographers as well as komoot ambassadors. They’ve explored numerous countries and routes by bike since 2017, documenting them in route report videos and photos. They have published two coffee table books on the topic: Bike Life and 50 Ways to Cycle the World. Check out their TranSardinia Collection and follow them on komoot.
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