I recently took an informal inventory of my gear to try and figure out what piece I’ve used the most over the past three months. A favorite pair of Altra running shoes and a Salsa bike were near the top, but as I finished the tally, it became clear that individually sealed wipe packets, like those from Dude Wipes and Goodwipes, led the way by a longshot. I’ve used them countless times in every scenario imaginable, and trust me, I’ve never regretted carrying one with me while playing outside.
One standout moment was during an epic backpacking trip with my kids in the San Pedro Parks Wilderness; my wife and I relied on wipes to keep their faces (somewhat) clean during three days in the dirt. Another was the weekend I spent camping out of a car at Overland Expo West, where a morning face wipe-down was equally as important as my daily coffee—and much easier and more effective than washing in the sink of a public restroom.
But the majority of my wet wipe uses, and the biggest reason I now find them indispensable, have come while running. At the ripe old age of 44, I’ve decided to go all in on distance running—and I’ve quickly found out that the more miles I run, the more often I have to poop.
I’ve visited the Porta-Potty that sits in the middle of my run loop so many times I almost take ownership. When a wind storm knocked it over for a week, it completely changed how I organized my day because I had to find another route and an accessible bathroom.
As runners know, a dirty bum, especially combined with sweat, is an easy way to increase your chances for butt chafing. And yet, toilet paper sometimes falls short in its cleaning duties. Through lots of testing (haha), I’ve found that the added moisture in the wipe does a much better job cleaning so there’s as little chance as possible for chafing—which is why I now carry a wipe on every run, no matter the distance or location.
Moisture and butts is a topic that America is actually converging around in a big way at the moment. After decades of wipes being just for babies, tons of companies now offer adult wipes for butt health. One of them, Dude Wipes, echoes my recent revelation on its website, “You wouldn’t wash your face with a dry washcloth, why would you clean your butt with dry toilet paper?”
One problem I’ve had to overcome, however, is how to dispose of the used wipes. Companies claim that their wipes are “flushable,” and it’s technically true that the wipes will go down your toilet. But once they reach the city’s sewer system, the wipes don’t break down fast enough, so they cause backups and shutdowns (photos here). Non-plant-based wipes not only cause blockages but also leak micro-plastics into the water system. Wipes, whether plant-based or not, stand almost no chance of breaking down in the desert where I live, so they’ll be a hazard if left in the wild.
The good news is that there’s a fairly simple fix. At home it’s been as simple as using the wipe and then throwing it in a special plastic-bag lined trashcan. The trashcan never smells, thanks to a lid, and when the bag is full I tie it up and throw it in the outside trash, where it will eventually be taken to a landfill and have time to biodegrade. This process feels a little gross at first, but after the 100th wipe, I—and my family—came to treat it as normal.
Outside of the house, things get a little messier, but with a little practice, the process is totally manageable. Any time I have to use a wipe in the backcountry or when visiting the Porta-Potty, I put the soiled product in a sandwiched-sized plastic bag and either throw it away at the trailhead or at home. It can be weird to hike or run with a poopy wipe bouncing around in your pack or shorts, but there are usually bigger things to worry about (e.g., don’t trip, where’s the trail, look at that stunning sunset), so it’s easy to forget the baggage.
In terms of brands, I’m pretty agnostic, but have gravitated toward companies like the ones from Goodwipes that are made from plant-based ingredients so that I’m not using petroleum products and putting more plastics into a landfill. At home, I’m a big fan of Costco baby wipes because they’re cheap and come in bulk.
It’s ironic that as a gear tester, I show up to a run or a hike decked out in the newest shoes, the fanciest shorts, the most powerful GPS watch, even high-performance socks—but secretly feel completely unprepared unless I have a wet wipe in one of my pockets. I would certainly survive my run or backpacking trip without these moist towlettes, but I’m glad I don’t have to.
