Singletrack/MTB
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Dirt-road Touring
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Having attended Brother in the Wild events in the UK for nearly a decade and eagerly anticipating the annual celebration with old and new friends, Christine Geiger didn’t let a couple of unexpected hurdles stop her from making it to the 2025 edition. Find her recap of Brother Cycles’ community-focused weekend getaway and a vivid collection of photos here…
Words and photos by Christine Geiger
Brother in the Wild marks the beginning of summer to me. There’s nothing quite like finding yourself on Saturday night in that very field, realising a year has passed. It’s like New Year’s Eve in my brain calendar. And in that calendar, it’s Labrador summer, as I intend to spend my days being food-driven and possessed by the need to have a swim—like right, right now.
Robin and I had big aspirations of being campervan people this year. Our T4 all packed up with duvets, pillows, snacks, snaffles, bikes, and our rad CD collection, we made it as far as Edinburgh to Frome where Big Blue shat out a bearing along the driveshaft. But the show must go on. We got a rental car and left Big Blue at the garage. With a pitstop at Halfords to buy a tent and an air mattress, we made it to Brother in the Wild before sundown on Friday. Arriving on Friday was non-negotiable. Camping on Friday night is like the enjoyment of eating all your popcorn before the movie starts while knowing you have even better snacks for the movie.
I’ve been coming to the Isle of Purbeck for seven years now—Brother in the Wild has such a permanent place in my year. It might not seem that deep, but the calm confidence in knowing your friends will be there, not specifically which ones, but that friends will always be there, keeps me coming back. I long for spaces where we can turn up without spending more time planning an adventure than just having the adventure. With that said, thank you to the brothers, Will and James, and their team of friends and family who put all that love and effort into making it all feel so effortless.
I’ve dialed and tinkered with my setup over so many years that even with camera gear, I’ve managed a really stripped-back box-ticking exercise of a bikepacking rig, but it won’t ever be as memorable as strapping a three-person pop-up tent to a backpack. Or convincing people who are driving down to bring your wellie boots. Or packing full-sized BBQ tongs for an inside joke. That Halfords tent reset me back to my first Brother in the Wild, where I had no gear and no idea, as if gear has ever stopped me from enjoying an event before. It’s the people who make Brother in the Wild. Campfire chats with people you see once a year, making sure to catch each other up on new bikes, new jobs, new life events, and getting those pints back you owed from last time.
The routes were impeccable this year. Opting for the Woods Cyclery WTF loop on Saturday with some serious climbs and ever more serious descending makes for a long day well spent in every nook, cranny, ditch, cliff, scenic view, and swim spot across the Purbecks. My bike felt right at home with the chill vibe of the rigs. Flat pedals and cruiser bar. If I’ve got all day to do something, I’ll take my time to do it at my own pace.
I remember the first time I rode that golf course gully decent, I think I cried, scooting my way down it on my top tube with one foot on the ground. Here we are years later, and it might have just been my favourite bit of riding all day. I’m a very chill rider, prioritising good vibes, good photos, and being able to breathe. At any rate, around mile 28, I knew the Square and Compass pub was on the horizon, and I just gave it all the beans because I got scared that with the growing popularity of BITW, there might not be my favourite veggie curry pasty left (there was). Back at camp, I didn’t even have a shower that night, I was so busy and delighted by the campfire talks and the best in show display of wondrous bikes people brought for the weekend.
I ate my own weight in fruit pastels on Sunday and opted for the Sips and Dips route by Velo Domestique. Sips happened, dips happened, and even sipping while dipping happened. The white sandy beaches further added to the in-a-world-of-its-own experience at Brother in the Wild. Life is simple: you wake up with the sun, snaffle some food, pootle around, have a swim, pootle some more, and spend the evening around a fire regaling of the day’s pootles. I want to bottle that.
Come Sunday night, there were six of us left in the field. Robin and I told Will we were headed to the pub by the river in Wareham because we didn’t get the chance on the Friday before the event opened. Will was surprised. Surprised that there was this unofficial pre-party at the Old Granary, unspokenly started by anyone arriving by train, and that he’d never even heard about it. It’s been kind of a tradition since as long as I can remember, another uncoordinated beautiful experience that sprang to life without being planned. We enjoyed some fish and chips and some pints, the urge to swim in the river arising occasionally throughout.
Brother in the Wild is great because every year it gets better, you get better, your appreciation for those little moments gets better, and your coffee-making setup gets better. Hope to see you next year.
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