This is a nanoadventure.

I zipped up my sleeping bag and took a long look at the blanket of distant stars stretching across the dark velvet sky. The panoply of the cosmos bounded by a frame of loblolly pines that gently swayed in the wind. The vast otherness of the universe, surrounded by a deep sense of rootedness. An irony emphasized by the fact that I was cowboy camping in my parents’ garden some twenty yards from their unlocked living room. 

My 2021 goal was to go camping once a month. I was mostly successful and felt good about being back in the rhythm of regularly sleeping outside, even if just a little bit. I did miss August and maybe February on a technicality because, well, those months suck. When my November bikepacking plans fell through, I was determined to not lose another month. Even if it meant sleeping in my parents’ backyard while on holiday. Which is what happened.

So that evening, I kissed my wife and dog goodnight and strode forth into the backyard alone, arms akimbo, with a sleeping bag under one arm and a sleeping pad under the other.

You may have heard of Alastair Humphreys' popularized "microadventure." He describes them as the espresso shots of outdoor adventure: concentrated bursts of being outside when you cannot climb Kilimanjaro. This, however, was more of a nanoadventure. 

A nanoadventure is a night in the backyard star-gazing, story-telling, or experimenting with a new sleep system. It requires no planning, logistics, or travel. It merely gets you outside. Which, on its own terms, is pretty cool. 

A nanoadventure is closely related to the microadventure. A nanometer is 1,000 times smaller than a micrometer, so this is not a to-scale metaphor. A microadventure is an S24O bikepacking or overnight backpacking trip. There are some maps and logistics involved, but not much. Just a lot of fun. 

Microadventures rule but trips are what we look forward to. Spring break at the Red River Gorge, a cross country road trip to go skiing, backpacking the Appalachian Trail -- these are all trips. They require varying degrees of planning: plane tickets, resupplies, and lots of maps. We love trips. The nanoadventure is a dry run for the microadventure, which is practice for your upcoming big trip. 

Expeditions are the trips we read about. Kathy Karlo big-wall climbing the Pico Cão Grande in the jungles of São Tomé. Matthieu Tordeur solo skiing across the Antarctic unsupported. Kim McNett and Bjørn Olson circumnavigating the Lost Coast of Alaska on fat bikes and packrafts. These are big-time, big-budget endeavors. You and I will likely never go on an expedition. That's why Humphreys brought microadventures into vogue. 

Trips, big or small, and microadventures are more achievable than expeditions and more preferable to nanoadventures. But guess what? The stars above my parents' garden are the same stars above the last least explored corners of the earth. And the familiar song of coyotes I heard from their backyard is the same serenade I heard years ago in the high desert mountains of northern New Mexico. The range and abundance of coyotes in the United States make it as exotic as the common squirrel. Yet I challenge anyone to hear its howl and not instantly feel like Edward Abbey — alone in the world and at home in the wilderness even if that "wilderness" is twenty yards from your childhood bedroom.  

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