Disclaimer: Take the following advice with a grain of Morton’s Table Salt, or a bottle of imported Mediterranean salt water, or the entirety of Bolivian salt flats.
It’s time. You’ve got your launch date. The tickets are all scheduled. Training Camp is in the past, and, no doubt, you stuck your toes in the water. That’s awesome. You packed the backpack. Unpacked it. Packed it again, but this is different. This is 11 months.
What should you bring?
Speaking with all the authority of someone who doesn’t have all that much authority on the matter, but decided to speak up anyway, I have some advice.
First things first, make a big pile of everything you’d like to bring with you on the Race. For some of you, that might be just about everything you own. Plus, a couple of borrowed things your brother won’t miss. Plus, that incredible antique pipe organ you found at a garage sale last week. Why not take the time to learn a new instrument?
Then there’s those hand knit wool socks you wear every Christmas. Sure, Cambodia’s still going to be hot in December, but it’s tradition. And who’s to say you won’t want to reread the Lord of the Rings trilogy while you’re trekking through the Andes? Everyone knows hardcover always beats paperback.
Don’t think about it, just collect it all into a big pile (think squirrel, preparing for the long winter). Some people might throw around terms like organization, or practicality. All in good time. Don’t worry about that right now.
Fill your living room. Move the couch if it comes to that.
Better yet, include the couch.
Now here’s the trick, cut that pile in half. Do it blindly. We’re talking reckless abandon. Cut your smaller pile in half again. Maybe a third time. Open your windows and toss things out onto the front lawn. These aren’t proverbial windows. The strategy here is twofold. You’ll quickly find you have the makings of a reasonably well-stocked yard sale. Let’s face it, fundraising. Bonus points if you manage to get the pipe organ through the living room window.
I know what’s coming. Did you accidentally sell one of your tent poles and the rain cover to your recently purchased REI Quarter Dome 2, still covered in that pesky Georgia clay, curtesy of one World Race training camp experience? Which one of your neighbors bought the pant legs from those safari zips offs you’ve never worn, just the pant legs, and a single chaco?
Kudos to you as a salesman (or woman), but again, the strategy is twofold. Two birds, one chaco.
Here’s where we talk about “the backpack.” Some of you, even after the yard sale and the window, will enter the field with a kitchen sink, a spare tire, and your dad’s old lawnmower duct taped to the outside of your pack. That’s not to mention the unopened paint can and the industrial strength toenail clippers you managed to fit inside.
You know who you are.
Here’s the good news, between the clanking metal dishes and the occasional wayward splash of water (from that fish tank you insisted you’d need) every time your tuk tuk driver makes a sharp turn, your team will never lose you in a crowd. Neither will the locals.
But maybe, once you’re down a couple tent poles and a pant leg or two, all nonessential aquariums aside, you’ll think smaller. Maybe you don’t need to exchange that respectable 65L pack for the 125L upgrade, complete with a portable kennel for your grandmother’s cat. Maybe you don’t need to travel with the caravan equivalent of mid-sized circus. Think abandonment.
Better yet, think fanny pack.
Clothes? I’m glad you asked. You might be tempted to take on a new persona for the duration of the next year. I understand. There’s only so many times in the breadth of a lifetime that a person gets to step into the shoes of a remote wilderness enthusiast. I get it. I too have felt the lure of quick-dry clothing and biodegradable underwear. The zip-off pants are only the beginning.
If you came to the Race a homeless birdwatching survivalist with all the corresponding accoutrements, by all means, the world is your oyster. We’re so excited to have you. If that’s not the case, wear your new digs around for a while before launch. Take the zip-off pants out for a quick jaunt to the grocery store and then a longer trek down the aisle at your best friend’s wedding. Settle into that remaining chaco.
On one hand, if you feel right at home nestled between the gortex folds of your new rain socks, don’t let me stop you. On the other hand, when the wistful glances between you and the wardrobe you’d thought to leave behind threaten to overwhelm you, it’s more than alright to start scrounging up some of those receipts.
Pack early.
Or don’t.
Maybe you’re the type to spend 11 months living on supplies purchased exclusively from the bottom racks of an airport gift shop.
All this to say, there are tons of excellent packing blogs for the World Race. I’ve read quite a few of them myself, so I feel pretty comfortable encouraging you to have a sense of humor about the whole thing.
I can’t tell you how many shirts you’ll need, or which sleeping pad has been voted “the absolute best, no question, no possibility of error” by 10 out of 10 lifelong backpackers. Does such a sleeping pad even exist? I don’t know.
Instead, I’ll leave you with this, it’s going to be okay. I promise.
