Who's In Your Pack? How to Find the Right Companions for a Global Bikepacking Adventure

There’s a romantic ideal in bikepacking of the lone rider, a solo adventurer charting their own course across continents. It’s a powerful image, and I admit, there are times when the profound silence of a remote mountain pass is a reward in itself. But for many of us, the dream of a grand adventure is one we want to share. The thought of sharing the soaring highs, navigating the inevitable lows, and celebrating at the finish line with a trusted friend is incredibly appealing.

But here lies one of the greatest challenges in turning that dream into reality: finding the right people to share it with. This choice is one of the most critical decisions you will make. It can be the difference between a life-changing journey and an isolating, frustrating experience that ends prematurely. This guide is about helping you find the right people for your pack, whether you're building your own "DIY" team or looking for a ready-made community of like-minded adventurers.

The Allure of the Pack: More Than Just Company

On a long journey, the right companions offer more than just someone to talk to; they create a moving community that brings a whole new quality to the experience.

I learned this vividly during the Silk Road Mountain Race in Kyrgyzstan. After a night spent in a guesthouse on my own—a private sanctuary that was comfortable but felt strangely lonely and disconnected from the race—I knew I needed to reconnect with people. The next day, I rolled into the town of Baetov to find the main hotel completely full. I found another guesthouse with plenty of rooms, and instead of keeping it to myself, I went back to the town square and began gathering the riders I’d been chatting with on the road, ushering them over.

The feeling of being generous with my time and energy, and receiving smiles and thank yous in return, was incredibly fulfilling. That night, we weren’t just a collection of individuals; we were a team. We shared a great meal, talked about our plans, and debated the best methods for washing clothes on the road. One of my favourite interactions was with a Korean rider who spoke very little English but had an infectious smile and, improbably, a smoking habit. Despite the language barrier, his happiness at being included was palpable, and he insisted on buying us all a round of beers. His warmth is what I remember most.

That camaraderie is a powerful force. On another event, the BPS 600 in Queensland, I spent four hours wading through waist-deep rivers in the dark, feeling utterly lost. When I finally stumbled into the designated campsite, exhausted and soaked, another rider was waiting. He’d had the foresight to buy takeaway burgers from the pub before it closed, saving one for me. The burger was stone cold by the time I arrived, but it was a meal given freely from the generosity and care of a fellow adventurer. It was a reminder that even in a 'race', the best experiences come when the competitive spirit gives way to a sense of shared humanity. We were in this together.

The Great Divide: When Good Mates Make Bad Expedition Partners

The warmth of a great group is matched only by the chill of a bad one. It’s a hard lesson, but the friend you love riding with on a Saturday morning might not be the person you can count on in a remote mountain range. The stakes are higher, the stresses are greater, and the dynamics are infinitely more complex.

In Australia, our sporting tradition often influences cyclists to treat every ride as a competition—a test of strength and speed. I lean towards seeing the bike as a vehicle for connection with nature, and this difference in philosophy can cause friction.

I learned this firsthand on a cold winter weekend in the Grampians National Park with a workmate. He was a strong city road-rider but had limited outdoor experience. We had a 120km day planned, a distance he’d never ridden before. From the start, he was keen to ride hard and fast, and I struggled to keep up, constantly asking him to pace himself. He didn’t really know what that meant. In the city, if you get tired or cold, you just find a cafe or a train station. Out there, there was no escape.

Halfway through the ride, his body started shutting down. He was cold, he stopped eating, and his pace dropped dramatically until he was completely exhausted at the 90km mark. He made it to the end, but the experience left him traumatised. The next morning, despite our original plan for a second 120km day, he wanted to go home.

I was annoyed. I like to make a plan and stick to it, managing my effort to see it through. He had different motivations and a lack of experience. Our intentions were mismatched. While it didn't ruin our friendship, it taught me a valuable lesson: I would never again commit to a multi-day trip without knowing my partner's intentions and experience level. That experience is why I now have a rule: I must ride with someone for at least a couple of hours to get to know them before committing to a weekend, and I require multiple overnight trips before considering anything longer.

The Cautionary Tales: How Mismatches Lead to Disaster

It’s one thing to talk about mismatches in theory; it’s another to see how they play out on the road. These aren't just minor inconveniences; they are trip-defining, and sometimes friendship-ending, moments. Here are three common disaster scenarios that can arise from choosing the wrong partner.

Scenario 1: The Mechanical Meltdown

Imagine this: you're on a remote track, it's cold, it's raining, and you hear the sharp ping of a broken spoke. For me, this isn't a hypothetical; it happened during the Hunt 1000 in the Australian Alps. As a bike mechanic, my instinct is to stop and fix the root cause properly, because I know a quick fix can lead to a total wheel failure later.

Now, imagine you’re with a partner who is impatient, eager to ‘push on’. They see your careful work as a waste of time, getting agitated and creating pressure to rush. Their focus on speed over safety makes a stressful situation ten times worse. You'd find yourself not just fixing a bike, but managing their frustration.

Contrast that with an ideal partner. Seeing the situation, they first make sure they’re warm and safe, then they help you. Not by interfering with the repair, but by offering to make a coffee or a small meal. In the cold and rain, that simple act of care—a hot drink, a moment of respite—can transform a miserable ordeal into a moment of teamwork and shared resilience. Food and warmth go a long way to making you feel cared for, and a calm partner is an invaluable asset when things go wrong.

Scenario 2: The Goal-Mismatch Impasse

Let’s picture Rider A and Rider B on a dream trip. Rider A is driven by the physical challenge, wanting to ride from dawn till dusk to prove something to themselves. Rider B is on a cultural journey, wanting to stop in villages, talk to locals, and soak in the atmosphere.

By Day 3, the friction is already showing. During a meal break in a beautiful village, Rider B wants to linger, enjoy the sun, maybe take a power nap. Rider A is already talking about catching the riders ahead of them. By Day 7, the situation has become untenable. The patience of Rider A is constantly tested, while Rider B is exhausted by the relentless pace. Their conversations are like ships passing in the night; they talk about things the other simply doesn’t care about.

This isn't just an argument waiting to happen; it's a logistical nightmare. If they're dependent on each other for shared gear, like a tent or cooking equipment, their different philosophies make it impossible to continue. They are forced to separate, either by route or by pace, and the grand journey they planned together is over. The entire expedition fails because they never aligned on their fundamental "why" before they started.

Scenario 3: The Financial Fracture

Sometimes the deepest cracks are formed not by arguments, but by quiet, unspoken tension. About fifteen years ago, I went on a multi-day hike across the island of Corsica with an older, wealthier friend. I was working for a charity in London on a tight budget; he lived with his family in Amsterdam and had more disposable income.

After paying for flights and gear, I could only afford to camp every night. He, quite reasonably, wanted to stay in the comfortable mountain huts and enjoy a hotel at the end of the journey. I’m still embarrassed to admit that he paid for most of these comforts. I tried to contribute by cooking, but my camp cuisine was hardly a fair trade for his generosity.

Though the hike was stunning, a rift formed. I believe he would have preferred a partner with similar funds to share the costs and experiences equally. I know I would have felt more comfortable with someone who revelled in tent life and camp cooking. We never had a big fight, but we never planned another adventure together. Since that trip, I have seen him only once. Thinking back, I wonder if that financial mismatch marked the end of a deep friendship. It’s a sad thought, but a powerful reminder that mismatched budgets can cost you more than just money.

Anatomy of a Great Partnership: The Signs to Look For

To avoid these disasters, you need to know what you’re looking for. A great expedition partner is more than just a strong rider. They possess a suite of non-cycling character traits that are essential for long-term harmony: helpfulness, empathy, patience, and the ability to focus on solutions—not problems—when things go wrong.

When you're testing the waters with a potential partner, look for these signs:

Green Flags: A great partner is self-sufficient, with their own mechanical and survival skills. They understand pacing and respect the plan. They have good conversational chemistry with you but also respect the need for comfortable silence on a long ride. They have solid navigational ability and contribute to the team's direction.

Subtle Red Flags: Be wary of the rider who constantly competes, pushing the pace on every hill. Watch out for a pattern of moaning or negativity over minor issues. Poor personal hygiene can become a health risk on a long trip. Critically, assess their gear: a partner who packs too light, skimping on warm clothes, tools, or adequate shelter, is a liability to the entire team.

Your Blueprint for Building a "DIY" Pack

If you want to build your own team, you need a structured plan. It's not about luck; it's about a deliberate process of vetting and alignment.

Step 1: The Personal Audit

Before you can find the right partner, you must understand yourself. Ask yourself the hard questions: What is my true ‘why’ for this trip? What does achievement look like for me? What average speed can I realistically maintain for weeks on end? Where do I want to go, and how remote am I comfortable with being? Do I truly have the experience for the terrain I’m planning to ride? Answering these honestly is the only way to recognise a compatible partner when you see one.

Step 2: The Compatibility Conversation

This is the most crucial step. You must have a frank discussion about the non-negotiables. Use these categories as a guide for your conversation:

Budget: "What's our plan if one of us is running out of money but the other isn't?"

Time, Distance & Pace: "What will we do if, after a week, it's clear I'm consistently faster or slower than you?"

Terrain & Technicality: "What is the most difficult type of terrain you're truly comfortable with? What's your plan if the route gets harder than you expected?"

Food & Accommodation: "On a scale of 1 (wild-camping and noodles) to 10 (guesthouses and restaurants), what is our ideal mix?"

Culture & Communication: "How much time and energy are we willing to invest in learning the local language and interacting with people we meet?"

Step 3: The "Trial Run" Blueprint

The final test is a multi-day trip designed to simulate the pressures of a long expedition. Plan a tough 3-day weekend that includes a major climb on Day 1, a deliberate navigation challenge on Day 2, and a long, mentally taxing section on Day 3. During this trip, observe how your potential partner handles everything. Do they help set up a good campsite? Can they read the weather? How do they react to a mechanical? Can they cook a decent meal when tired? Their actions on this short, tough trip will tell you everything you need to know.

Two Paths to Your Great Adventure

As you can see, finding and building your own expedition team is a significant undertaking in itself. It requires deep self-awareness, a series of honest and sometimes difficult conversations, and a structured vetting process. For those who get it right, the reward of completing a major journey with a trusted friend is one of the most profound experiences one can have. It’s a path that demands patience and effort, but it forges bonds that can last a lifetime.

But what if your desire for a shared journey is matched by a lack of time or the right network? What if the idea of finding that instant camaraderie—that feeling of arriving at a remote guesthouse to be welcomed by like-minded souls—is the missing piece of your dream? This is where another path emerges, one built not on finding a single partner, but on joining a small, temporary community created for the express purpose of the adventure ahead.

This is the spirit that animates the kind of small-group journeys we guide. The goal is to foster an environment where the challenges of logistics, planning, and group dynamics are smoothed over by experienced leadership. This allows the group to focus on the ride, the landscape, and the connections being formed. It’s about creating that Baetov guesthouse feeling by design, bringing together a handful of adventurers who are already aligned in their goals and their passion for seeing the world from the saddle.

Ultimately, your one big international adventure is too important to be compromised. Whether you choose the rewarding path of building your own team from the ground up or the supportive path of joining a carefully guided one, the objective remains the same: to experience the world, to push your limits, and to do it with the right people by your side.