Our third and final roundup of Good Night 2025 campouts spotlights a medley of reader getaways in Japan, Scotland, New Zealand, Germany, Canada, Belgium, and various corners of the United States. Find reflections from 10 readers who closed out 2025 with a bikepacking overnighter here…
Since its inception in 2020, our Good Night Campout has encouraged folks from our worldwide community to load up their bikes and pedal out for one last overnighter to wrap up the year. Thousands have answered the call and shared peeks at their getaways on Instagram and in comments here on the site, inspiring us to keep this six-year tradition going at full steam. Amid the hectic weeks leading up to New Year’s Day, a quick bikepacking getaway has powerful potential to shake up your routine, offer a moment of calm and connection, and leave you feeling refreshed. That was the case for many who made it out last month, as you’ll discover in their vignettes below.
Again this year, we partnered with a handful of great brands to offer prize packages to randomly selected participants. This year’s prizes include bags from Rogue Panda, tires from Rene Herse, and racks from Tumbleweed. We’ll announce the winners later this week. For now, read on for our final Good Night 2025 roundups shared by a diverse mix of fellow readers scattered across seven beautiful countries.
Zach Alexander and Katie Sieverman
California, USA @zachausa @katiesiev
Four years ago, we tried a Catalina Island bikepacking trip on our steel touring bikes with narrow tires. While we had some fun (and Katie shed some tears), that was not the ideal equipment for the breathtaking, at times rugged terrain of this coastal California gem. We never made it to our planned endpoint of that trip, the Parsons Landing campsite on the island’s northern end. Determined for a more successful attempt, we chose to celebrate the new year with another go and schlepped our hardtail mountain bikes from our home in Durango, Colorado, to Southern California.
This year started off very wet for the area. While weeks of heavy rain were likely more welcome than the devastating fires that rang in 2025, they also threatened our victory lap of Catalina. We decided to go for it, ready with our rain jackets and positive attitudes.
The rough ferry ride to the island was a foreboding sign. Barf bags were passed around as the vessel took noticeable lurches up, down, and sideways. Once on the island, we learned that some roads and trails had been recently closed due to mud and erosion. Park rangers who work for the Catalina Island Conservancy advised us not to suffer the fate of three bike campers who were allegedly being retrieved with a truck after getting stuck in the mud at the same campsite we had booked for the night. But they didn’t stop us from trying.
We decided to bike toward the campground, ready to turn around if the conditions became impassable. Luck was on our side that day; we were rewarded with perfectly tacky dirt, sunny blue skies, clear ocean views, and a glorious sunset from camp. The peaceful and epic terrain is a sanctuary compared to the bustling LA metropolis 30 miles across the Pacific. It’s made more appealing by the island’s highly restricted vehicular traffic. We even got a visit at our campsite from one of the local island foxes, found only on Catalina and a few other nearby islands.
After a somewhat sleepless night, wondering if the king tides would sweep us away (our camp host asked, “There isn’t seaweed in your camp, right?”), we learned the weather forecast had worsened. More rain was on the way, along with an increased risk of impassable mud. We made the call to end the trip early. After a rainy ride back to town, we stumbled into a restaurant, soaking wet and ready to indulge in margaritas and burgers before catching a ferry back to the mainland.
All in all, it was a great start to 2026 and a good lesson in decision-making, avoiding compounding errors, and the thrill of having a risk pay off. We’ll be back next year. Third time’s a charm, right?
Tetsuo Ehara
Japan @eharatetsuo
With Mt. Fuji in view, the combination of our bikes and the surrounding scenery gave our Good Night 2025 ride a beautifully nostalgic feel. This time, we both went with randonneur-style setups, running front bags on our bikes.
For the last camp ride of the year, the two of us—my usual riding buddy and I—headed to our regular campsite. He’s much younger than me, but when it comes to cycling, he’s a true rinko master, and when it comes to camping, he’s a cooking master too, so he’s also my mentor.
Riding with him always makes me feel confident and well supported. As such, this ride and camp were comfortable from start to finish. Winter camping is the best—sitting by the campfire at night, taking our time, and sharing quiet, heartfelt conversations. And best of all, there are no bugs.
Stef Ghillebert
Belgium @stef.ghillebert
With the year coming to an end, it was time again to get out our warmest camping equipment, load up the bikes, and go on a winter bivouac. This year, we took the train to the Ardennes, anticipation building as the scenery slowly changed from farm fields to the more hilly region of Belgium. Arriving at the other end of Belgium in Eupen, we were greeted with wonderful blue skies and a winter sun.
Leaving Eupen behind us, we started cycling towards the High Fennes. With the sun out, we quickly took off some layers. We went off the sealed roads onto forest tracks, which became untraceable muddy tracks, and we ended up well off track. A quick reroute brought us back to where we needed to be, rolling into the evening.
Arriving at the “high” plateau of the High Fennes just at sunset was magical. We caught the last light of the day, the colours changing from yellow to pink and then to pitch black. The last descent back into the dark forest and over non-existing cycling tracks made it more challenging than expected to finish the day.
This year, we were not alone on the bivouac. Around 15 other people had the same idea to finish the year off camping, not cyclists, but hikers and bird watchers. We searched for a good pitch and quickly set up camp before we got too cold. We made a real camp dinner of noodles, with the smell of petrol from the burner, finishing off with some tea and chocolate for dessert. To keep us warm during the night, we filled our bottles with the leftover hot water. We went to bed early to warm up in the tent and our sleeping bags. My girlfriend rented a warmer sleeping bag this time; I should have joined her. It’s a long night waking up every two hours because you’re cold!
The next morning, we got up to see the sunrise above the trees and warm ourselves with a fresh cup of coffee. The route brought us back through the frozen forest with a freezing cold and slippery downhill. In Eupen, we stopped in a bakery for pastries to end this year’s campout. Spending a night outside is always a great idea. It gives a sense of freedom and a break from reality.
Andy Blackburn
Vancouver Island, Canada @andybburn
My birthday falls on December 31st, which also happens to be a day often marked with noisy fireworks and intoxicated debauchery. My partner and I decided to break New Year’s Eve convention with some multi-sport Type 2 fun. We waffled on our route decision-making until the eleventh hour, eagerly watching the weather forecast before solidifying our plans. Was the precipitation going to turn into rain or snow? We settled on a steady climb out of Gold River Nuu-chah-nulth Traditional Territory, based on the beta that this section of the Tree to Sea Loop is regularly plowed.
The icy slush climb brought us to the Upana Caves trailhead. The limestone caves are a karst formation that offers the opportunity to explore a series of caverns and passages, with the added bonus that the air temperature inside the caves is several degrees warmer than outside this time of year. We crawled around with headlamps, admiring the icicles and hunting out weird-looking spiders and crickets that call the caves their refuge. I’d like to return at a different time of year when I’m not wearing so many layers, to see if I can squeeze through the smaller tunnels.
The slow climb up to the caves kept us toasty warm. However, the increasingly slippery slush cruise back down made for cold fingers and toes. We returned to town intact and celebrated with butter chicken wraps and birthday candy. Happy New Year!
Christopher Brahan
New Zealand @bikes.on.boats
As an educator, I love to teach, but I love learning even more. Exploring by bike has taught me so much about the environment, community, and culture, while helping me set future goals. Working seasonally has given me the gift of winters off, and each winter seems to send me somewhere new. Last year, that journey took me to Arizona via the Queen’s Ransom and Fool’s Loop. This winter, it brought me all the way to New Zealand.
Because this was my first overseas bike trip, I knew I wanted to explore this vast and beautiful country in more ways than just pedaling. Along with my bike, I brought a packraft and a fly rod so I could reach the waterways my bike couldn’t access.
Over the past 30 days—I’m currently writing this while lying in Ghost Lake Hut—I’ve explored a country that already feels like a second home. Travel can be inherently uncomfortable and, at times, scary. Add biking 100 kilometers a day, battling relentless sandflies, and sleeping in a tent, and it’s easy to understand why many people never embark on a trip like this. Bikepacking places you in a vulnerable position, but that vulnerability isn’t a crutch. Instead, it opens the door to deeper connections with both people and the landscape.
Throughout this journey, with 23 days still to go, I’ve been fortunate to share countless inspiring conversations with locals and fellow travelers. These moments left me with either new knowledge or laughter. Simply being on a bike has led to meaningful, lasting connections. While the North Island offered unforgettable adventures, the moment I set foot on the South Island, I was ready to fully soak in this incredible place.
For the Good Night 2025 Campout, I chose to ride the Queen Charlotte Track. The instant I stepped off the ferry with my bike in Ship Cove, I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be. The scenery, with the aquamarine waters and the mountains surrounding the sound, was so captivating that I forgot about the steep climbs, the mud splattering my gear, and the inevitable hike-a-bike sections. I was completely in awe.
That evening, while camping at the Bay of Many Coves, I was welcomed into a large group of thru-hikers making their way across the South Island. We shared laughs, geeked out over gear, and defended our food from curious, surprisingly sneaky weka and possums. I ended the day feeling deeply content, grateful for an unforgettable experience and a perfect way to close out 2025.
Dallas Mignano
California, USA @dallasrm
Winters in Upstate California can offer long stretches of sunshine, but the timing is often unpredictable. As the year came to an end, I kept a close eye out for a break between storms. Luckily, the forecast for the final weekend of the year began to look clear and sunny as it approached. Just a few days prior, Redding had been inundated with heavy rain and intense flooding. Some areas saw up to eight inches of precipitation in less than 12 hours.
After all of that, the winter sun decided to come out in full force. This perfect weather window allowed me to end the year on the high note of heading out on a local overnighter right from home. I rolled out around 10 a.m. on Saturday morning, stopping first at a local taqueria to grab a grilled rice-and-bean burrito, which I tucked into my frame bag for camp.
The ride across town was intentionally leisurely. I even swung by the Redding Adventure Hub to chat with the bike shop crew about my plans for the day. Matteo, a buddy who works there as one of the local mechanics, offered to meet me at camp that evening with firewood so we could have a fire. I was stoked. From the shop, I followed the Sacramento River Trail and Middle Creek Trail toward Old Shasta. Remnants of the former gold-rush-era mining town are still visible there: brick ruins, a blacksmith shop, and a small museum next to a park that makes a great rest stop for those passing through.
My destination for the night was Horse Camp in the Whiskeytown National Recreation Area, a small campground with just two sites that can be reserved online. When I arrived, I had the place to myself. I unpacked my burrito and ate before setting up my tent and hiking down to Clear Creek ahead of sunset. Just after I returned to camp, Matteo arrived with firewood, and we got a fire going. That night, temperatures dipped into the high 30s, but I stayed comfortably warm.
In the morning, gusts of wind welcomed the sunrise, and things warmed up quickly. On the ride home, I took Muletown Road to Swasey to take some fun singletrack. The recent storm had knocked down plenty of trees across the trails, creating a few obstacles along the way. Lugging a fully packed bike over logs can be a tricky puzzle to solve (and a full-body workout). It’s little challenges like that that make an overnighter feel even more rugged and adventurous.
Before heading home, I made a slight detour to Fall River Brewing for a satisfying lager and a basket of fries. I’m thankful for solo rides like these, which give me the space to slow down and experience familiar surroundings in a different way. I pulled over often to check out things I’d normally just blast past. After moving around the West Coast and eventually returning to live in my hometown of Redding, I’ve made a habit of seeing this area with fresh eyes, and there’s a lot here to appreciate. I’m hoping 2026 brings even more opportunities like this to get outside and unwind.
Lucy Benjamin
Glentress Tweed Valley, Scotland @lucybenjaminslt
In 2025, I dipped my toe into the world of bikepacking. After a few years of navigating having children, raising them during COVID-19 lockdowns, moving to a new country, and getting my career back on track, it felt like a great way to add some decent headspace and adventure to my life balance. Throughout last year, I progressed from enjoying a few local bikepacking camps with my six-year-old to multi-day trips with other mom-friends-turned-adventure-buddies. It has been such a wonderful, life-changing experience having these getaways, and I will hold memories of them dearly for life.
The past two winters, one of my incredible adventure buddies, Christine, and I have enjoyed night riding the Glentress Trails. It offers a mix of smooth, bermy exposed trails and some more technical trails through dense forests. It is heavenly throughout the year, but especially on a frosty evening. When we saw the Good Night 2025 initiative, we had to take it on, and we knew Glentress Forest would be the perfect place to accommodate us.
As we have busy family lives, the only time we could fit in our bikepacking trip within the timeframe was after our kids had gone to bed at home on Monday, December 22nd. While many people were busy wrapping gifts and preparing their homes for Christmas, we got our bikes ready and rode into the forest. It felt like the perfect escape! We left at 7:30 p.m. and made our way along the cycle path to Glentress Forest. It was bitterly cold, but we knew we’d warm up on the climb. We chatted about Christmas plans and sang some Christmas songs on the way. It was festive with the moon and stars in the sky, and thankfully, there was no wind or rain. We enjoyed the climb up the trail, and the busy pre-Christmas life started to feel further away. We had scoped out a place to camp as we knew it would give us a view down the valley and offer some trees for shelter. We pitched our tent while we still had feeling in our fingers and got into our sleeping bags, leaving the tent’s door open to take in the view of the moonlit landscape.
Christine had packed some cheese, biscuits, and mulled wine, and I’d packed some chocolate and games. This was different from the other bikepacking trips we had been on in 2025, but a most excellent way to conclude them. We reminisced about our trips over the year and how we’d progressed in our riding, packing, navigation, and confidence. We laughed our way through retelling stories of highs and lows from our trips and started planning rides for 2026. After some lovely moments of reflection, we managed to hunker down for the night to the sound of owls hooting.
In the morning, we got up to watch the sun rise and had breakfast. We hit a few of our favourite trails on the way down before getting back to our families for 10 a.m. Nothing set me up better for the mad few days before Christmas. Thank you, bikepacking, for the gift of adventure this year. Cheers to bikes, friendship, adventure, and balance. We can’t wait for more in 2026!
Logan Kasper
Maine, USA @logan__kasper
Acadia National Park is known for its rocky, rugged coastline. It is home to some of the coldest coastal waters in the world. This allows lobsters to thrive and provides fishermen with a unique opportunity to inhabit small bay towns that lie hidden along the coastline. Acadia becomes a tourist trap in the warm months, but as soon as the cold comes, it turns into a very harsh, raw environment. Most people, even locals, turn away, but the world still spins, and the small towns still operate.
I wanted to do a winter bikepacking trip around as much of this desolate coastline as I could. In the warmer months, this is more challenging due to traffic and droves of tourists. The trip consisted of a few 100-mile days, sub-zero temps, gale-force winds, and one day of rain. The generational fisherman knows these conditions as another day at the office.
The trip landed me on several islands, two of which are inhabited by only a handful of people year-round. The ferries used to get to these islands were more of a modified lobster boat than the typical large vehicle ferry. I was pleasantly stranded on Isle au Haut because the ferry didn’t run on Sunday in winter. That gave me the unique opportunity to hike fresh snow, cowboy camp on shorelines, and make friends with some seals in the bay. People often forget there are many places right in our backyards. We often neglect to acknowledge these sanctuaries unless the conditions are just right, but these places don’t lose their beauty in the off-season. If anything, they provide more, just in a different flavor.
Predrag Spasojevic
Germany @pedjasp
December in Germany is mostly dark and cold. It’s the time when many riders turn pedals in their living-room caves or fly south in search of warmth and stoke. But when you spontaneously gather five friends for an outdoor overnighter with instructions to pack warm, cozy gear and embrace the funky, you get a proper micro-adventure.
The alarm went off at 7 a.m., and after a surprisingly decent cappuccino at Stuttgart’s main train station, we hopped on a cheap regional train that delivered us to the edge of the Black Forest in just over an hour. Fifteen minutes after warming our legs on the first climb, we were rolling through snow-covered gravel, the forest suddenly quiet and white. Sunrays turned the landscape into something out of a fairytale, until long, shadowy stretches and a persistent headwind cooled our bodies and sent us searching for lunch. Sungazing outside a supermarket, with more food than we could possibly eat, we slurped warm drinks to lift our spirits.
A few hours later, we reached the final climb toward our shelter with a mix of curiosity, excitement, and nervous anticipation. Is it really open? Will someone already be there? Will we find dry wood? A micro-adventure isn’t quite real if everything is fixed and known. That uncertainty is exactly what draws us in. Frozen ground, crunchy gravel, and the dull hum of wind turbines had a strangely meditative effect.
We climbed mostly in silence, each of us immersed in our own thoughts. Just after watching the last red dot of the sun disappear beyond the horizon, we reached the shelter and celebrated the small victories: it had a door, the door was open, and we could indeed spend the night under a roof. We hung twinkling LED lights and gathered around the stove. Warmth and a hint of Christmas filled the room as we heated our meals and raised small cups of limoncello. Later, hypnotized by a sky packed with stars, we stepped outside for a breath of cold air and reflected on the day we’d just lived.
The stove lost its strength overnight, and we silently rotated shifts to feed it more wood. Some slept on benches, some on the floor, and I ended up on a table. While I enjoyed a couple of extra degrees thanks to the height, the subconscious fear of rolling off kept me half-awake. As soon as the first light filtered through the foggy windows, coffee was brewing, and we wrapped ourselves in more down and wool. “Tired but happy and cold but cozy” summed it up perfectly.
Pulling on cycling clothes again wasn’t easy. But it was Sunday, and we weren’t in a hurry. With just 70 kilometers ahead, we stopped often, soaking in the Black Forest’s quiet views and winter landscapes. One short, unexpected MTB trail brought instant smiles and reminded us exactly why we were there. The bike computers drained fast in the -2°C cold. Facial expressions shifted constantly between joy and pain. Hands and toes were frozen, but upper bodies were warm and sweaty. Still, we knew there was nowhere else we’d rather be on a cold weekend in southern Germany. “Fortune favors the bold” became our mantra.
A lone horseman on the horizon and a glowing sunset escorting us back to the train station felt like signs along the way. Those were gentle reminders that nothing about this ride had been a coincidence.
Daniel Iverson
Arizona, USA @cannotfindserver
Good Night campouts have become a tradition, usually with fire, friends, champagne, and a swim in the iced-over Chippewa River. But I was on my own this year in an unfamiliar desert, visiting parents whose traumatic honeymoon in a pup tent has kept them from camping for the subsequent 40 years. Finding Arizona full of incredible rides and knowing I only had a weekend, I got a last-minute tip from Arizona route-making legend John Schilling and headed for the Black Canyon Trail north of Phoenix.
Shortly after leaving the truck, I detoured up the Turkey Creek jeep trail, winding through pedal-deep water crossings into the Bradshaws. Bouncing through boulder gardens into washes and walking up loose climbs, I knew it was going to be a long day and that I had made the perfect route choice. I was quickly in love with the winter green Arizona desert and looking forward to a cold Coors Light at the Cleator Yacht Club and Marina, 50 miles from the nearest navigable water body. Arriving in the afternoon, Tina, the bartender, and the ambience of a Wisconsin dive (but with cowboys) put me right at home. This place is second on my bar list, only to the legendary Plywood Palace.
Reluctantly leaving Cleator and its pirate ship, dreaming of my future desert ghost town hermit life, I crawled north to the Black Canyon Trail, hitting singletrack and looping up Copper Mountain and back with only a few miscues due to my lost bike computer and finishing the section by headlight. After dropping into quiet Mayer’s Christmas-lit streets for a gas station sugar buffet, I left town and found a patch of flat ground under an alligator juniper in my bivy with a book, listening to the coyotes, hoping a tarantula would come keep me company.
Cozy in the 40°F desert chill, I woke with the sunrise for a cold breakfast and cowboy coffee, packed up, and rode away. This amazing trail kept a smile on my face for the remaining miles despite my poor Midwest bike choice regularly threatening to toss me off the trail. I punched a few cacti (gotta give some blood to the earth on every ride or it will take it from you), plugged a tire, and fell deeper in love with Arizona. I declined to take a swim in a cattle trough, though.
Further Reading
Make sure to dig into these related articles for more info…
Please keep the conversation civil, constructive, and inclusive, or your comment will be removed.