5-Word Gear Reviews: Thermarest Z Lite Sleeping Pad

photo by Ry

The Therm-a-Rest Z Lite has been in production since 1989. It's used by alpinists in Denali National Park, thru-hikers on the Appalachian Trail, and bikepackers on the Tour Divide. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of reviews online. Why do the internet and your email inbox need another one? Because alpinists, thru-hikers, and Tour Dividers are hardcore. These folks can rough it. But what about the normal folks, the weekend warriors, the semi-rad fun-hoggers looking for an outdoor sleep system? Let me tell you.

I have slept outside on a Therm-a-Rest Z-Lite sleeping pad since 2013. Before that, I had a Therm-a-Rest Ridgeline I cut and duct-taped back together to accordion fold like a Z Lite. This did not work well. I have put my Z Lite through the wringer, spending hundreds of nights sleeping on dirt, sand, rock, and snow on this 3/4 inch thick piece of dimpled foam. It is amazing. I fiddled around with inflatable pads from the industry's giants -- Therm-a-Rest, Big Agnes, and REI -- but  I always came running back to the indestructibility of the Z Lite. No popping. No waking up in the middle of the night on the ground due to a slow leak. No snorkeling in the bathtub trying to find the impossibly small hole in need of repair. 

However, the Z Lite has a lot of naysayers. "It’s not plush enough." "It’s too dirtbaggy." "It’s not for side-sleepers." Of course, none of these are true. I recently returned from a camping trip with family. This kind of camping involved extension cords running to box fans inside massive dome tents filled with queen-sized air mattresses. They were all flummoxed when Rebecca and I put together our tiny backpacking tent and their jaws hit the ground when we whipped out our matching set of Z Lite sleeping pads. My sister-in-law was even concerned if we were "going to be okay." Eventually, I convinced her husband to lay on it and he said in five words what reviewers at Outdoor Gear Lab, Backcountry, and Gear Junkie have struggled to say in hundreds of user reviews: 

"Oh, it's not that bad." 

And then he fell asleep. Like, he took a nap right there. This is the power of the Z Lite. It's really not as bad as the inflatable crowd says. My brother-in-law's laconic pre-slumber gear review got me thinking about some more 5-word reviews for this industry standard:

You can sleep on it.

It's only a few nights.

Tummy sleeper? No! Buy it.

Maybe don't if you're eighty.

Basic comfy pad cuts mustard 

Closed cell foam gold standard 

Let's be real: it's cheap.

It gets the job done.

Super-lightweight and ultra-durable

And if hyphenated words count as one word: super-lightweight, ultra-durable that never fails.

*This gear review was not sponsored by Therm-a-Rest and I purchased my Z Lites with my own hard-earned monies. This review was also more than five words. 544 to be exact. I apologize. But please continue to support megasplitter by subscribing to the mailchimp, commenting on, and sending the posts that you like to your friends. 

Bikepacking the Big South Fork

Big South Fork photo by Ry

The Carboniferous Period of the Paleozoic Era lasted about 64 million years. Over this epoch, continents merged and mountains were born. It's impossible to conceive the slowness of time that allowed for the glacial transgression and regression of ancient seas and rivers that exposed what are now the Appalachian Mountains and Cumberland Plateau. Impossible, that is, unless you have pushed, pulled, and carried a fully-loaded bicycle up loose, baby-head-sized "gravel" at 24% grade for miles and miles. Then you can understand the glacial passage of primordial time. 

Last June, Ry, Brooks, and I bikepacked around the Big South Fork of the Cumberland River. Here, those primeval waters carved a vast system of narrow, v-shaped gorges stretching northeastern Tennessee and into southern Kentucky. Due to flooding, our route (a variation of the loop from bikepacking.com) generally avoided the river and instead explored the deep creek gorges that drain into it. The 90-mile route combined loads of delightful gravel, flowy singletrack, and a handful of burly horse trails to make a figure-8 around the west rim of the canyon. 

When you see pictures of gravel biking on social media it's usually looooong stretches of gravel farm roads through expansive flat fields or gently rolling hills. This is not Appalachian gravel. Our gravel roads are punchy climbs followed by woefully short descents repeated ad nauseam. It is not uncommon for a ride in southeastern Tennessee to surpass the "golden ratio" of 1,000 ft elevation for every 10 miles. However, the Big South Fork is just far enough west to offer a little taste of what it's like to ride the famous routes of the Great Plains. There were stretches of gravel as far as the eye could see. There were climbs, to be sure, but we never exceeded the golden ratio in our three-day ride. 

super aero! peep that sweat thong photo by Ry

Trip Report

Day 1: Bandy Creek to Pickett State Park (Strava)

There's a certain kind of joy to riding single-track on a fully-loaded bike. Weighed down with camping gear an otherwise banal trail becomes spicy and exhilarating. After a sandy stretch, the course takes a turn down an improbable horse trail. We triple-checked the map, went for it, and got absolutely jackhammered. Burltown, U.S.A., population: 3. The route descends and ascends this equestrian path before meeting back up with that sweet sweet pea gravel all the way to Pickett State Park.   

Day 2: Pickett to Parkers Mountain (Strava) 

Besides a dramatic climb up a highway, Day 2 was a pure gravel grind. The textural sound of tread on terra is the stuff dreams are made of. Like cams rattling on a climbing harness or a skateboard carving up a swimming pool, gravel biking is so auditorially pleasing, and the day offered up 44 miles of ambiance. We biked a bit out of the way for a swimming hole, which was nice. But we camped on top of a ridge with no water source, which was not nice. 

Day 3: Parkers Mountain to Bandy Creek (Strava) 

Priority numero uno: find water. We did a few miles away, off-route, on an overgrown single-track trail at Massey Creek. Priority numero two: get back to the car and back to Chattanooga before supper. We did, but not after more insane horse trails that eventually retraced, in reverse, the same insane horse trails from Day 1. Jackhammered, again. And it ruled. This ride included a substantial hike-a-bike that prompted a guy passing us in a 4x4 to roll his window down and laugh at us. This made us all laugh, which was nice. He was also nice and offered us a ride but we declined. 

a really great candid or just me checking for ticks photo by Brooks

mermaid Brooks photo by Ry

Trip Review

Aside from our team of six dwindling to a team of three before our departure date (and our night on top of Parkers Mountain) this trip went according to plan. We met our singular objective: have fun outside on bikes. Inadvertently, our trip also lined up with the Swift Campout weekend. I'm essentially a Quaker, but I'm too much of a sacramental theology nerd to actually convert. So, to me, it felt a bit eucharistic to know I was partaking in this sacrament of nature with people all over the world at the same time. Here are some other lessons learned along the way: 

1. I think my favorite kind of riding is horse trails. Every horse trail I've ever ridden has been absolutely heinous. Not designed for bikes or cars or even bipedal animals, horse trails hit this sweet spot between gravel biking and trial biking. Bombing down a steep grade with loose rock chunks the size of my two-year-old niece's head on a rigid bicycle makes me feel like a poor man's Danny MacAskill. Yeah, I crashed. And yeah, I still loved it. 

2. When a one-eyed man and an ex-carny with multiple Insane Clown Posse tattoos tell you where a swimming hole is, you go. 

3. When you don't want to share a campsite with a one-eyed man, an ex-carny with multiple Insane Clown Posse tattoos, a gun-toting and ax-throwing woman, and their multiple screaming children, it's okay. Don't feel bad. Even if they invite you to share their chili. Or especially if they invite you to share their chili.

You can watch an instagram reel of our ride here: 

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