I've only been riding off road for two seasons, and if you'd told me at the start that I'd be signing up for adventure riding events, I'd have laughed. Riding with my husband, Keith, felt like enough of a stretch. Riding with a bunch of people I didn'tknow, on terrain I'd never seen, sounded like a great way to embarrass myself. Now, two seasons in, I've done five adventure events and already have four confirmed for next year.
Here's the thing I've learned: the group pushes me in ways I simply don't push myself. When it's just Keith and me, I pick the easier line. I turn around when it looks sketchy. I stay comfortable. On a group ride, comfortable isn't really an option, and that turns out to be the whole point.
Me with some of the greatest riding ladies around at the Adventure Bike Gathering hosted by the Dirt Chimps in Vernon, British Columbia, Canada. Fall 2026. I (Andrea) am third from the right.
Someone's always behind me
There's a particular kind of pressure that comes from knowing there's a rider behind you. It's not that anyone is rushing me. Nobody is. But I know they're there, waiting on me, and that little bit of awareness changes how I ride.
I commit to the line instead of hesitating at the bottom of the hill. Most of the time, it turns out I could do the thing all along. I just needed a reason not to talk myself out of it.
Terrain I'd never pick on my own
Group events take me places I wouldn't plan a route through myself. Rockier climbs, tighter switchbacks, water crossings, the kind of trail where you look at it and think, "Nope." When Keith and I plan a ride, we tend to stick to what I'mcomfortable with. When someone else plans it, I end up on terrain I'd never have chosen, and that's where the real learning happens.
It's one thing to watch a video about riding loose gravel downhill. It's another to be halfway down one with a group strung out ahead of you and behind you, figuring it out in real time.
Even when it sucks
I'm not going to pretend every group ride is fun. Some of them are hard. Some of them are really hard. There have been moments where I was tired, frustrated, sweaty, a little scared, and seriously questioning my life choices.
But every single time, when I look back on it, I can see what I got out of it:
My skills grew. Something that scared me at the start of the day felt doable by the end of it.
I learned something about myself. Usually that I'm more capable, and more stubborn, than I give myself credit for.
I found my next homework. Every ride shows me something I really need to spend time on, whether it's clutch control on steep climbs, body position, or trusting the bike more in loose stuff.
The hard rides are the ones I talk about for weeks afterward. They're also the ones that made me a better rider.
It was a group effort along with my husband (Keith) to remove the chain the bunched into my front sprocket. Another reason riding with a group can be a blessing.
People who get it
And then there's the community. There's something special about being around people who just get it. They know why you'd spend a whole day getting dusty, bruised and exhausted on purpose. They know what it feels like to finally clear the hill you dropped the bike on twice.
These are the people who cheer when you make it up. Who tell you "you've got this" when you're not so sure. Who share their own stories of the time they ended up in the ditch, so you don't feel like the only one. As a newer rider, that encouragement means more than I can say.
There's always a hand
One of the things I love most about group rides is that I'm never really stuck. If I drop the bike, stall on a climb, or just need a minute, someone is there.
Most of the time, it's Keith. But if he's already made it to the top of that steep hill and is waiting up there, the rider behind me always stops. Every time. They help me pick up the bike, talk me through the line, or just hang back until I'm ready to go again. Nobody gets left behind, and nobody makes you feel bad about needing a hand.
Knowing that makes it so much easier to try the hard thing. The worst case isn't so bad when you know you won't be dealing with it alone.
The not-so-great parts, and what they've taught me
To be fair, group rides aren't perfect, and I'd be lying if I said otherwise.
Sometimes the group is just too big. More riders means more stopping, more waiting, and more of that accordion effect where you're either sprinting to catch up or sitting idle. It's harder to find your own pace, and harder for anyone to keep an eye on the newer riders. It's also a lot easier to get lost. When the group strings out and you lose sight of the rider ahead, one missed turn can leave you on your own, wondering if anyone has noticed you're gone.
Know your limits, and when to push them. "It's not that bad" means something very different to a rider with decades of experience than to someone in their second season. So, I've learned to be realistic about my own skills. Before a ride, I ask how steep, how loose, and whether the hard parts can be bypassed. On the trail, I try to be honest with myself. Sometimes that means checking my ego and admitting I'm out of my depth. Other times it means finding the courage to do the thing that scares me.
If you're on the fence
If you're a newer rider wondering whether an adventure event is for you, my advice is simple: go. You'll probably be pushed a little further than you planned. You might have a moment or two where it sucks. But you'll come home a better rider, with a clearer idea of what to work on next, and with a bunch of new like minded friends.
That's why I keep signing up, and why I'm already counting down to next season. See you out there
Ride safe,
Andrea