My favored route to the top of Mount Sanitas, in Boulder, Colorado, gains some 1,200 feet in just over a mile. It starts on the aptly named Goat Trail and then climbs the East Ridge Trail to the 6,800-foot summit. There are much better trails for running in Boulder鈥攍ess rocky, less steep鈥攂ut I prefer this route up Sanitas because it has a great view, it鈥檚 near my home, and, if nothing else, it鈥檚 very efficient.

I鈥檓 not a particularly good runner, definitely not fast, but I am consistent. Over the last 15 years, I鈥檝e chugged up Sanitas more than 2,000 times. Occasionally I鈥檒l mix it up with one of those other Boulder trails, where the grade is more running-friendly and my dog can chase new smells, but we always come back to Sanitas. Which is to say, I know the route to the top really, really well. I know where wildflowers appear in yellow and purple bunches in late spring and where ice persists long after winter storms. I know where water pools after summer rain and which pine trees smell like butterscotch.

And I certainly know my pace. The ascent takes me about 30 minutes, depending on how many times I have to pick up my dog鈥檚 poop. (I once made it to the top in 22 minutes, without the dog, which isn鈥檛 bad for a middle-aged desk jockey, but for context, Kilian Jornet ran the nearly identical in 14 minutes and 12 seconds, according to).

Even at my slowest, though, I鈥檓 at least maintaining a steady jog. So I knew something was different when I suddenly stopped running halfway up. Weird, I thought, as I slowed to a walk with no conscious decision to downshift. It was a bright April day, perfect conditions, and I was glad to be back on Sanitas after a couple of weeks out of town. I had been put-putting along like normal, on a section of trail that steepens considerably after a couple of long switchbacks, and then suddenly I was walking. It felt like running underwater: I was telling my legs to run, but they just wouldn’t go any faster.

I felt fine in every other way鈥攏o pain, nothing. I was breathing hard but that鈥檚 normal on a trail that ascends more than 1,000 feet per mile. This must be what serious athletes mean by hitting the wall, I thought. But why was I bonking on a trail I know so well? I continued to swim-walk, considering possibilities. Did I need to re-acclimatize to the altitude after being at sea level for two weeks? Did I have a virus that was sapping my energy? Were the effects of aging unfolding the same way Earnest Hemingway, in the Sun Also Rises, described the process of going bankrupt: gradually, then suddenly?

More than a decade ago, surprising research sparked sensational headlines suggesting that endurance training might be bad, not good, for your heart. Articles like 鈥溾�� captured the spirit of the moment. The counterintuitive results of these studies turned out to be flawed, but they did jumpstart a series of investigations into the relationship between endurance training and cardio health.

Alex Hutchinson, 国产吃瓜黑料鈥檚 Sweat Science columnist, has written extensively about the subject. Most recently he dug into the latest news in 鈥�Two Promising Updates on Heart Health in Endurance Athletes.鈥� The upshot? It鈥檚 clear that endurance training affects the heart, but it鈥檚 difficult to say exactly what the changes mean. For example, one study found that masters endurance athletes have elevated scores compared to non-athletes, which on the surface is not good. Higher levels of arterial calcium are associated with a higher risk of serious and potentially fatal heart problems in the general population. That鈥檚 because calcium deposits are a sign of possible plaque buildup on the artery walls, and when plaque breaks off it can create a blockage, reducing or stopping the flow of blood.

But the new research goes deeper, examining the difference in plaque between endurance athletes and non-athletes. It turns out that while CAC scores do increase in athletes over time, the athletes鈥� plaque tends to be smooth and hard, and unlikely to rupture compared to the softer plaque found in non-athletes. Crucially, one study found that subjects with higher CAC scores caused by exercise did not have a higher risk of cardiac events.

Endurance training can affect the heart in other ways. It鈥檚 a muscle, after all, and it responds to a workout. Researchers have documented micro-scarring in athletes鈥� hearts, for example. But the studies are so far inconclusive when it comes to proving if specific changes are good or bad or neutral on the one thing it鈥檚 safe to say we all care about: longevity.

Fortunately, a 2022 published in the journal Circulation speaks directly to that issue. It followed 116,221 adults over the course of 30 years. Researchers asked subjects to report on their exercise habits every two years, which provided a much more complete picture of their athleticism over time than previous studies. The takeaway? As Hutchinson sums it up in his reporting, 鈥淭he headline result is that those doing 150 to 300 minutes a week of vigorous exercise such as running (or, somewhat equivalently, 300 to 600 minutes a week of moderate exercise such as walking) were about half as likely to die during the study.鈥�

That鈥檚 good news for runners who have been confused by the mixed messages on heart health. Five hours of running a week鈥攁bout exactly how much time I spend going up and down Sanitas鈥攊s as good for your body as it is for your soul. (Logging more than 300 minutes of vigorous exercise per week yielded about the same benefits.)

Of course, large epidemiological studies can鈥檛 say anything about an individual鈥檚 experience. Which is why endurance athletes should take comfort in the latest research, but pay very, very close attention to what their own bodies are telling them.

Halfway up Sanitas, I should have stopped and paid a little more attention to my sudden inability to run. But mostly I felt confused, not worried. And embarrassed. I encountered an acquaintance who was going down the trail, and as she passed, my main goal was to jog a few steps so she didn鈥檛 see me walking. I barely managed it. Then I started thinking about how late I would be getting to the top, where I was meeting a friend. Would he get impatient and leave?

I kept slogging away, and though my legs felt the same鈥�deadweights鈥擨 actually started to feel better about the situation. Just a fluke, I figured, I probably just need a good night鈥檚 sleep.

By the time I reached the rocky summit, I felt victorious, like I鈥檇 really achieved something. My friend Aaron didn鈥檛 see it that way.

鈥淵ou look like shit,鈥� he said when I arrived on top.

鈥淛ust need to catch my breath,鈥� I gasped, like I鈥檇 just finished a marathon. I sank gratefully onto a boulder. It took a few minutes longer than expected, but I did catch my breath, and also fended off Aaron鈥檚 efforts to ask if there were any doctors among the summit crowd. I felt vindicated鈥攁nd mostly back to normal鈥攐n the descent.

Two hours later, after eating and drinking and showering, I was ready to write off the whole episode and try Sanitas again the next day. But two things changed my mind. My resting heart rate was still high, over 80, when it normally hovers in the 50s, and when I called my wife, she encouraged me to get checked.

If continuing up Sanitas that day was my first mistake, identifying my second is pretty easy: riding a bike to the urgent care a half mile away. But at this point I was feeling fine. Going to the doctor? Just an abundance of caution. So when the folks at urgent care said they lacked the required diagnostic tools, and I needed to go to the Emergency Room at a hospital across town, I was mostly annoyed. I had to ride home and drive there (mistake number three: driving).

Things only coalesced for me when I was in the ER, hooked up to an EKG machine, and heard an announcement over the intercom: 鈥淐ardiac alert room 9.鈥�

Room 9? That was my room.

An hour later, I was in the operating room getting a stent inserted in my left anterior descending artery. According to the cardiologist, the artery had been partially blocked by an event I鈥檇 experienced while running. A piece of plaque, he said, had 鈥渆xploded鈥� and formed a clot. He couldn鈥檛 say what had caused it, but he reassured me that the rest of my arteries were fine, and now this one was too.

In my particular case, it鈥檚 impossible to say if running had any role in the heart attack鈥攅ither as a contributing or mitigating factor. Could exercise have led to an increase in plaque? Or could some level of cardio fitness have protected my heart from damage while the blood flow was diminished? And did I have soft plaque despite running, or did I have hard plaque that ruptured anyway? Was it due to genetics? (My dad, 82, has three stents.)

Regardless, the cardiologist saw no reason for me to change my running habits. Just take it easy for a month, he said, and then I could resume exercising with no limitations. And that鈥檚 exactly what I did, first on Sanitas, and then farther afield. In the following months, I rafted the Grand Canyon, trekked in Nepal, and topped 17,000 feet. I drove a moped around northern Vietnam, a stress test if there ever was one.

If that sounds like a post-heart attack bucket list agenda, it鈥檚 just a coincidence鈥攖he trips were already planned. So this is not the part where I reflect on my close call and embrace a newfound fervor to live for today. I like to think that we all have the capacity to appreciate how precious and fleeting life is without having a near-death experience.

But here鈥檚 something I have been thinking about on recent runs up Sanitas: Could endurance athletes, even very average ones like me, be their own worst enemies when it comes to recognizing serious medical events? After all, the ability to push through discomfort is literally the definition of endurance. We practice training our minds to overrule our bodies.

That doesn鈥檛 mean we should start walking instead of running. Heck, plenty of sedentary guys have ignored heart attack warning signs. There鈥檚 no reason to miss out on the well-documented physical and mental benefits of endurance sports.

So rather than backing off鈥攁nd to be clear this is my evidence-free opinion鈥擨 think we need to push a little harder. Most everyday athletes, even very accomplished ones, don鈥檛 redline their bodies. Elite athletes may know what hitting the wall actually feels like, but most of us ease up well short of collapse.

What if that鈥檚 a mistake? What if knowing the full range of your potential鈥攚hat it feels like at the outer edges of what you鈥檙e capable of鈥攊s exactly what you need? Will you be more likely to notice, and act, when you enter unfamiliar territory?

Before experiencing a heart attack, I thought I knew the, chest pain chief among them. But of course, it鈥檚 not so clear cut. On Sanitas, shortness of breath and fatigue were my only complaints, and they were exactly what I expected to experience, to varying degrees, when running up a very, very steep hill.

So go ahead, run hard. Or bike hard or hike hard. But take it from me: if you experience serious changes, take them seriously.

Lewon says he isn鈥檛 sure if he has good luck or bad, but this was actually his second close call in the backcountry. To hear about his first, listen to of the Out Alive podcast.

The post I Had a Heart Attack While Running. This Is What It Felt Like. appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

The central train station in Mumbai is one of the busiest railway hubs in India. Moving through it, visitors are easily pushed and pulled off course by the human tides, especially if it鈥檚 your first day in the country. So I felt victorious when I made it to the correct platform comfortably ahead of my train鈥檚 departure time.

I had arrived in Mumbai (at the time still called Bombay) early that same morning, solo, on a flight from Cairo that I had taken on a whim. The fare was cheap and India sounded exciting. That was the extent of my planning. I didn鈥檛 even have a Lonely Planet guidebook, just a map of India (this was pre-internet). I had just turned 21 and over the previous few months had discovered the joys of traveling more by feel than plan.

I didn鈥檛 need advance planning to know my first move after landing. I loved traveling, but much preferred exploring rural areas over big cities, so I didn鈥檛 waste any time getting out of Mumbai. I had a vague notion to head generally east and north, angling for the Himalayas, where I hoped eventually to go trekking. I consulted my map and bought a ticket on a train heading inland, to a town about 200 miles from the crowded west coast.

I picked up some spicy lentil mix from a snack wallah, found a patch of unclaimed cement on the platform, and sat on my pack, content to watch the swirl of families, commuters, and who-knows-why travelers.

The cavernous station afforded a good view of trains coming and going, so I saw mine听rolling toward me when it was a few hundred yards away. The locomotive slowed to a jogging pace as it neared the end of the line. I’ve always听enjoyed that moment just before the start of a journey by rail, when you anticipate stepping aboard but have to wait a few more seconds before the train comes to a complete stop.

Except people weren鈥檛 waiting. Men in the crowd鈥攐nly men, young ones鈥攕tarted running toward the still-moving train and diving into the open windows. This wasn鈥檛 an easy feat; the windows were not big. I watched, mystified, as more leapers followed the first wave through the openings, as if听storming a moving castle.

Men continued to climb through the windows even after the train stopped. Now I could see why. A crush of bodies jammed the doorway as passengers trying to get off the train collided with those trying to get on. Slowly, they squeezed past each other, contorting through, an arm at a time, a shoulder at a time. For the moment, at least, the best way in was through the windows.

I sat on my pack until the frenzy subsided. By the time I boarded, the train car was a cliche of overcrowded transportation: six people crammed into every three-person seat, passengers lying prone in the luggage racks, squatters in the aisles. The only space left was a small transition zone between the doorway and the carriage, where the stragglers ended up. I squeezed in, and when the train pulled away, we were standing rock-concert tight, pressed together so densely that you couldn鈥檛 fall down if you wanted to.

My immediate neighbors didn鈥檛 seem to mind being crammed up against the sweaty foreigner who took up too much space because he couldn鈥檛 squat worth a damn. A slight, twenty-something guy laughed good-naturedly at my discomfort. He said something to his friend. I couldn鈥檛 understand it, but I was pretty sure it was something like, 鈥淭his tourist must be especially dumb to end up on a second-class train.鈥�

Which was true. For just a few more bucks I could have gone first-class express with a seat of my own. But I hadn鈥檛 learned that yet. I was navigating the Indian train system by trial and error, so here I was鈥攖raveling very slowly east, on a train stopping at every village, my knees aching because there wasn鈥檛 enough space to sit or lie down, heading for a random destination I鈥檇 plucked off the map.

I don鈥檛 recall the town鈥檚 name, and it doesn鈥檛 really matter because I never made it there. It鈥檚 where I ended up that counts.

ELSEWHERE ON THIS website, you鈥檒l find lots of great advice about planning a life-list trip. After all, careful planning can save you time, maybe money, and most importantly will result in exactly the kind of experience most travelers want鈥攖he one they鈥檝e been dreaming of. The one they expect. Call it the gospel of travel planning. And I think it鈥檚 wrong. The best journey is the one we can鈥檛 imagine.

Science agrees. Research from prominent universities on the emotion of surprise makes it clear that we benefit in both immediate and lasting ways when the world shakes us loose from the routine and expected鈥攆rom the planned. You may not realize it, but your brain likes to be surprised.

Neuroscientists have discovered that unexpected events trigger the nucleus accumbens, the brain鈥檚 pleasure center. You鈥檝e experienced the effect if you鈥檝e ever received a surprise gift of flowers, or a box of chocolates, or a raise out of the blue. You would have enjoyed those things if you knew they were coming, but unpredictability increases the pleasure. That鈥檚 because you get a shot of feel-good dopamine, according to a by researchers at Emory University School of Medicine and Baylor College of Medicine that analyzed the brain鈥檚 response to predictable and unpredictable rewards. Subsequent research has shown that surprises also generate a dose of noradrenaline, which aids focus and attention.

Boosting pleasure and focus is reward enough, but it gets better. Current from MIT scientists, published in 2022 in Nature, suggests that the element of surprise improves memory, which bolsters one of the great rewards of travel: remembering our bucket-list experiences long after enjoying them. You don鈥檛 need a neuroscientist to tell you why that鈥檚 important. The benefits of being surprised read like a tick list of what I value most about traveling: discover unexpected rewards, learn something new, and remember everything well in the years to come.

In the definitive book on the subject鈥�鈥擳ania Luna and LeeAnn Renninger extol the many benefits of unpredictability, arguing that it improves happiness, relationships, work, mental health, and more. 鈥淲e feel most comfortable when things are certain, but we feel most alive when they鈥檙e not,鈥� writes Renninger.

Even if you accept this as true, it鈥檚 not easy to embrace radical surprise. Most people prefer a lesser variety, the kind you get from exploring a new trail or striking up a conversation with a stranger. But听I鈥檓 after bigger game. If a little bit of surprise is good, then a lot of surprise must be great. And a lot is what you get when you travel with zero planning. A whole lot.

SEVERAL HOURS INTO my inaugural Indian train ride, my legs were cramping, the sweat-box air was barely circulating, and the mosh-pit remained just as crowded. During its frequent stops, the train seemed to acquire a new passenger for every one who got off. At 3 a.m., 12 hours after boarding, I reached my limit. I decided to disembark at the next station, no matter where it was.

That鈥檚 how I ended my first day in India: stumbling off the train in the predawn darkness, finding the station鈥檚 cool, spacious concrete floor all but deserted, and lying down to sleep right there. Unexpected? Yes. But also uncomfortable. Perhaps the only thing that鈥檚 not surprising about anti-planning travel is that, occasionally, it requires some tolerance for discomfort.

I woke up when the floor started vibrating with the footsteps of morning travelers. I wandered out of the station, thinking that I might try another form of locomotion. I bought chai at a stall in the street, and the shop owner asked if I was going to visit the nearby temple. 鈥淢ost famous,鈥� he said. 鈥淵ou must go.鈥�

I consulted my map and saw that, indeed, I had disembarked just 20-odd miles from a site called the Ellora Caves. The shop owner pointed to an open-bed pickup truck鈥攂asically a rideshare for laborers鈥攁nd helped me secure a spot. An hour later I was at the entrance of a Unesco听World Heritage Site.

The , a temple and monastery complex built between 600 and 1,000 CE, are cut from solid rock. With 34 caves spread over a mile and a half, the place is a massive piece of live-and-pray artwork, encompassing intricate decorative carvings, high-ceilinged sanctuaries, and living quarters for the monks. Every structure is carved from cathedral-size blocks of stone. The feat of construction spanned听generations, with relics from three faiths鈥擝uddhism, Hinduism, and Jainism鈥攃ommingled in one site.

I had never seen anything like these rock-cut temples. Even after hours of walking around them, I was struck by the site鈥檚 size and complexity. It was like watching a slow-motion meteor shower鈥攁 thrill every time I looked up. Imagine coming upon the cliff dwellings in New Mexico鈥檚 Chaco Canyon without knowing they existed. I was in awe, a kind of surprise that lands like a time-stopping, visceral wow.

Studies have shown that awe has its own neurological rewards. Dacher Keltner, a psychologist at U.C. Berkeley, has demonstrated that the feeling of awe leads to greater well-being by boosting a host of desirable traits, like humility, curiosity, and happiness. It鈥檚 even good for your health. has linked awe with lower levels of interleukin-6, a chemical that promotes inflammation.

Would I have been awed by the Ellora Caves if I had planned a tour and researched them before visiting? Certainly. They are amazing. But add the element of surprise and the effect is exponentially more intense.

HERE’S AN OBJECTION I sometimes hear: what if a lack of planning leaves you unaware of some cultural site or geographic wonder? I could have easily missed the Ellora Caves altogether, of course. Then again, the temple complex is in a remote area, and advance planning might have steered me away, to more famous, more conveniently located sites. Regardless, I鈥檝e found that locals everywhere love to show off their favorite places, and any curious traveler will be rewarded with both well-known and unknown experiences if they engage in conversation.

Plus, there’s the matter of unintended familiarity. While it鈥檚 satisfying to visit bucket-list places, you’ve already by definition heard of them. Consider the Taj Mahal. You don鈥檛 need a guidebook to know about the famed mausoleum. Most travelers who can reasonably fit a visit into their journey do. I did. And it did not disappoint鈥攊t鈥檚 a marvel to behold鈥攂ut neither did it offer a surprise. My sharpest and fondest memory of that visit is from a moment after visiting the Taj Mahal, when I took the wheel of a bicycle rickshaw (pedaling one is way harder than it looks), and experienced something novel to both me and all the passing rickshaw drivers who witnessed me white-knuckling it along the side of the road, the owner of the rig lounging in the rear and waving at them like the queen.

When it comes to experiencing maximum wonder, surprise is the secret sauce.

SO WHAT’S THE catch? Not all surprises are good. Memorable, yes. But not always enjoyable, comfortable, or even safe. When you abandon planning, you open the door to the unexpected, and its cousin 鈥渦nfortunate鈥� might just slip through as well. That grueling train ride wasn鈥檛 my worst snafu. On a different unplanned trip, in the Solomon Islands, I ended up in a stranger鈥檚 boat on a long open-water crossing. The dinghy鈥檚 outboard motor ran out of gas just as a storm unleashed a maelstrom of rain and wind and waves, and we had to paddle for our lives with a couple wood planks. It was not the kind of surprise I was looking for.

But the听 point is, radical anti-planning doesn鈥檛 come with guardrails. If the thought of waking up in the morning without knowing where you鈥檒l be in the evening gives you hives, the approach might not be for you. But if that sounds a little bit exciting, it鈥檚 because it is.

Naysayers will complain that zero-planning travel only works when you鈥檙e young, with few responsibilities and plenty of time for miscues.听It鈥檚 true I did a lot of unplanned travel in my early 20s, roaming for months on end. But if my experience stopped there, I wouldn鈥檛 be such an evangelist. As I got older and my trips got shorter鈥攋ob, marriage, kids鈥擨 still made sure to travel without a plan on occasion. It can be a challenge on a standard-issue week-long vacation when you don鈥檛 want to 鈥渨aste鈥� a single day, but I鈥檝e learned it鈥檚 the only way to invite real surprise.

Once, on a short trip through Europe, before we were married, my wife and I left Barcelona on a train heading west. We had Eurail passes and no plan (not her travel style, but she humors me). When the conductor checked our tickets, he asked where we were going and we said we didn鈥檛 know. He was perplexed and determined that we needed a destination for his stamp of approval. 鈥淲here should we go?鈥� I asked.

Now he was truly flummoxed, so he enlisted the whole carriage, and after a flurry of conversation in Spanish, the consensus was Miravet, a small village on the Ebro River. Only one problem: the train didn鈥檛 actually stop there. No matter, a middle-aged woman offered a ride in her car, which was parked at the nearest station. That led to three days in a town with no hotels and one cafe. Vineyards surrounded the village, and a castle-fortress, originally built by the Moors, overlooked it. We found a room in a sprawling hacienda that had served as a hospital during the Spanish Civil War. I鈥檇 never heard of Miravet before, but we couldn鈥檛 have found a better place with all the planning in the world.

Is it irresponsible to travel this way with young kids? All I can say is that we had no unwelcome surprises when we joined another family on a decide-on-the-fly journey through Fiji. Between us we had five kids ages 5 to 12. On a night that I can still remember like it was yesterday, we swung from mild parental panic鈥攚here are we going to stay?鈥攖o pure joy when we found a remote lodge where a group of twentysomethings invited us to join them for an evening of kava (adults only) and singing. The unexpected a capella show was better than any Broadway musical, as far as I鈥檓 concerned.

That鈥檚 not to say I never plan vacations. I鈥檝e enjoyed a flawless Costa Rica beach getaway at a carefully chosen spot, a Baja sea-kayaking trip that鈥檚 only possible when you plan logistics well ahead, and other such journeys. I appreciated each of those experiences. But they haven鈥檛 diminished my love for unplanned adventure.

Just this year, in fact, I went on a spring-break vacation with my college-age son and three of his friends. We headed to Utah with a single goal: hike in five national parks in five days. Otherwise we had nothing planned鈥攏o campsite reservations, no trails picked out, no pre-mapped itinerary. It was a risky way to travel during prime time in southern Utah. But we could count on plenty of surprises, and they would bring their own reward.

was the longtime editor in chief ofBackpackermagazine and has traveled extensively, from the South Pacific to the Scottish Highlands. He鈥檚 now the Director of Custom Content at 国产吃瓜黑料 Interactive. His next trip? In November he鈥檚 leading a group doing where his family’s tradition in unplanned travel continues. His 18-year-old son is joining him in Nepal, but he’s going with a one-way ticket. Surprises are guaranteed.听

The post Stop Overplanning Your Vacation. It鈥檚 Ruining Your Trip. appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

If you love travel and you love giving back, you鈥檒l really love combining the two. That鈥檚 why we started a program doing just that. Since 2019, we鈥檝e been bringing听Backpacker and 国产吃瓜黑料 readers to Nepal to volunteer on projects supporting health and education, and then we go on a trek when the work is done. As Nepal continues to recover from the devastating earthquakes in 2015 and the recent pandemic stresses, we鈥檙e supporting infrastructure efforts with a 听that鈥檚 half volunteer effort, half trekking, and all fun.

What鈥檚 that mean? The first week is devoted to a service project. In fall 2024, we鈥檒l be helping a Nepal-based nonprofit build new classrooms at a school in the village of Kakani, in the hills outside of Kathmandu. No skills are required鈥攋ust a willingness to roll up your sleeves and work鈥攁nd we鈥檙e making a $500 donation to the project on behalf of every participant.

The second week we鈥檒l embark on a nine-day trek in the Nar Phu valley, a remote region between Annapurna and the Tibetan border. There, we鈥檒l stay in villages that were settled centuries ago by Tibetan communities, visit Buddhist monasteries, and have the opportunity to cross a 17,400-foot pass. We partner with听听and use Nepali guides and porters, and while Himalayan hiking is always challenging, anyone in good shape can do this trek.

It鈥檚 the ultimate win-win adventure. In fall 2024, our trip is scheduled October 12-31, and space is limited.听

How can you tell if this trip is for you? Easy, just see if these apply.

You want to make a tangible contribution.

In Nepal,听GDP per capita was $1,336 in 2022, according to the World Bank. That makes it among the poorest countries in the world (for comparison, Haiti鈥檚 per capita GDP was $1,748 in 2022.) With limited resources, Nepal often lacks critical infrastructure that we take for granted. In Kakani, that means hundreds of families have to travel to Kathmandu for medical services, a problem that was exacerbated by the pandemic. Last year we finished work on a new health clinic, and it鈥檚 now serving the local community. This year we鈥檙e returning to Kakani to work on a school-expansion project. There鈥檚 not enough space in the current building to accommodate the growing student population, and there鈥檚 no instruction at all for 11th and 12th graders because of lack of classrooms.

While in Kakani, you鈥檒l meet the kids and families who will benefit from the school project and work alongside members of the community. You鈥檒l make a real contribution to construction (get ready to roll up those sleeves), and know that every ounce of sweat and dollar donated is going directly to a project that locals have said is their highest priority.

You want to experience the world鈥檚 greatest mountains.

Nothing against the Rockies or Alps, but the Himalayas start where those mountains end. On the Nar Phu trek, we鈥檒l stay in villages above 13,000 feet, in the shadow of 20,000-foot peaks. On an optional day hike to Himlung Himal base camp, at 16,000 feet, we鈥檒l walk above a massive glacier. But it鈥檚 not just the scale that makes the Himalayas so unique. It鈥檚 also the people, who have mastered the art of living in some of the world鈥檚 harshest conditions.

You want to experience teahouse trekking.

We won鈥檛 be sleeping on the ground or cooking dehydrated meals on this trek. Nepal鈥檚 famously hospitable teahouse culture is something every hiker should experience. The Nar Phu Valley, which was off-limits to trekkers for decades, is relatively undeveloped, so lodging is basic compared to popular routes like Everest Base Camp and Annapurna. But you still get cozy rooms, homemade curries and momos, and hot tea morning, noon, and night.

听You want to challenge yourself.

For most North American hikers, climbing a fourteener is about as high they鈥檒l ever get without boarding a plane. On this route, legs and lungs willing, we鈥檒l go more than 3,000 vertical feet higher. The 17,400-foot pass comes near the end of the trek, allowing plenty of time to acclimatize, but it鈥檚 still a challenging day that takes most hikers 12 hours (there鈥檚 an optional lower route if needed). The reward? Atop the pass, you鈥檒l come face-to-east-face with the Annapurna Range.

If听this sounds like you, join us October 12-31 for the trip of a lifetime.

Special听thanks to , which equipped our team with water filters.听Traveling in a developing country requires constant care when it comes to drinking water. Both in town and on the trail, water could be contaminated with any number of听pathogens (such as viruses, bacteria, and protozoan cysts). The听听eliminates those contaminants and filters pesticides, chemicals, heavy metals, and microplastics as well. Equipping our team with Grayl purifiers made it easy to treat water in every situation.听听听听

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If you’re vaguely disturbed by the idea of paying more for a pack that weighs less, REI understands. The latest and largest in its UL line, this pack weighs little more than a pair of trail runners yet has space to stretch a long weekend into a week. Even when I overpacked it with group supplies, the basketlike wraparound pocket absorbed excess gear, like a sleeping pad and fuel canisters, and the dual aluminum stays kept it all in check. (Just don’t push the weight, as the thin hipbelt will max out at about 35 pounds.) As with the Mountainsmith, stash pockets on the hipbelt put small items at your fingertips—these should be standard on all packs. 3.1 lbs, 3,660 cu in; www.rei.com

Bonus: An internal compression system tidies the load on short, gear-light hikes.

Bummer: The silicone-treated nylon pack bag and mesh water-bottle pockets are less abrasion-resistant than heavier fabrics.

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AN ELEGANT BRUISER

Imagine the offspring of a Ferrari Testarossa and a Toyota Land Cruiser: precise handling, hard-duty construction. That's the essence of the Alpine Pack 50. It's a no-nonsense, climber-oriented pack with zero bells and whistles to create weak points. The 420-denier nylon鈥攔einforced with 1,000-denier fabric on the bottom鈥攕hould handle years of abuse. Go ahead and take it off-trail: The molded back panel is incredibly stable, the narrow profile keeps the load centered and balanced, and the superclean design won't hang you up. 3.9 lbs, 3,051 cu in; montbell.com

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Bonus: The removable lid converts to a lumbar pack.

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Bummer: Chronic organizers will lament the lack of external and sleeping-bag pockets; even the wand pockets are too small for one-liter bottles.

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We would never suggest you limit yourself to just one pack. But if you can’t fit more than one in your tiny Manhattan flat, the folks at Osprey feel your pain—and have the solution. The Aether is light enough—and its ventilated back panel cool enough—for a quick summer weekend on the steamy Appalachian Trail. Come October, it has the capacity and weight-bearing ability to handle a week in the Rockies. The heat-moldable hipbelt is a little gimmicky, but it’s one of the most comfortable you’ll find, even if you don’t bake it in the oven (at the store, not at home). 3.9 lbs, 3,700 cu in; www.ospreypacks.com

Bonus: The tough pack bag—with its cavernous lid pocket, stretch-woven sleeves on sides and front, multiple lashing options, and a deep divot for head clearance—is one of the best we’ve seen.

Bummer: The Aether’s tall profile can make it a bit unstable if not packed carefully.

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CLASSIC WEEKENDER

If today's stripped-down packs are a little too austere for your tastes, but full-featured packs are too heavy, you'll find the Ridgeline just right. It's light enough for weekend duty but doesn't require a minimalist approach to packing. Go ahead and throw the espresso maker and extra vino in the large shove-it pocket, or stash a deck of cards in one of the small zippered compartments. Heavy loads are no problem, thanks to a wraparound aluminum frame and a pivoting hipbelt that reduces friction on long days and improves stability on technical terrain. One tester said, “It allowed the pack to move freely and stay close to my body when I crossed a creek on skis.” 4.4 lbs, 3,967 cu in; rei.com

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Bonus: A huge U-shaped access zipper lets you open it up like a suitcase.

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Bummer: The lid is not extendable, and the hydration ports put the hose at an awkward, too-low angle.

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Visible technology may be the buzz at most design shops, but on trip after trip, this pack scored top marks because of what you can’t see: two hinges hidden behind the lumbar pad. Each side of the hipbelt swivels independently, allowing it to conform perfectly to your body shape and movements. A single aluminum stay and top-to-bottom compression deliver plenty of support and stability for up to 50 pounds. The pack bag is old-school in a good way: It includes a large shove-it pocket, gear loops and stretchy water-bottle pockets, and a waterproof, rubberized bottom you can set down in mud or on cactuses with impunity. 5.3 lbs, 3,300 cu in; www.gregorypacks.com

Bonus: Padding on all packs should be this good.

Bummer: Micromanaging the torso length yields little change for the effort.

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POCKETS GALORE

Are you forever looking for ways to stash small items, like camera, snacks, GPS, sunscreen, first-aid kit, and more? The Nimble, with no fewer than seven pockets and three storage compartments, is your pack. “It's more organized than my kitchen!” said one tester. Even better, the Nimble still made good on its name, keeping a tester surefooted during a rocky off-trail trek to the top of a 12,000-foot peak in New Mexico's Pecos Wilderness. Credit a back-hugging framesheet, no-sag hipbelt, and effective compression straps. 3.9 lbs, 3,500 cu in; kelty.com

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Bonus: Hydration ports are located on both sides, and they're big enough for the largest bite valves.

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Bummer: All those mesh side pockets can snag on branches when you're bushwhacking (or fill with snow come winter). Also, testers had trouble keeping the sternum strap in place.

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Your perfect weekend: packing a frying pan, camp chair, fishing gear, and 12-pack and marching 12 miles to a secret trout pond. Your perfect pack: the Catalyst. It features a dynamic suspension with a wide, firmly padded hipbelt linked directly to a pivot point in the middle of the frame, creating a supremely comfortable carry for supremely impractical loads. As befits such a monster, the pack is outfitted with a weight-be-damned collection of bells and whistles, like numerous compression and lashing options, panel and sleeping-bag-compartment zippers, and molded rails that accommodated a fly rod quite nicely on a hike along Oregon’s Deschutes River. The quick-and-easy torso adjustment is smart if you’re pack-sharing, but check hipbelt fit, as some testers had trouble with it creeping down. 6.6 lbs, 3,650 cu in; www.thenorthface.com

Bonus: The removable reservoir sleeve converts to a run-oriented hydration pack.

Bummer: At more than six pounds, it’s a load all by itself.

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