#bike pannier rack

[lonepeakpack]

waterproof frame bags

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[phantomrose96]

Explaining to Patches that she's an only child now.

Bike got stolen 😔. Which happens to people but you need to understand that thing was my first born child. I rode it everywhere.

[hannahssimblr]

Evie doesn’t appear phased about what I did in the abandoned church. When we left, scrambling back over that rocky wall, I already hated everything I said to her all evening. I can't even count all of the stupid things.

Yet she is unphased like she hasn't figured it out yet, laughing and chatting on my bicycle as the first glimmer of light from the seaside appears on the horizon. If I had pulled any of that shit with Michelle, with the torch and the spooky stories I was inexplicably compelled to tell afterwards, I would be dead already. Buried.

“Can I confess something?” Her voice is soft and close to my ear. “You don’t seem like a person who is into ghosts and stuff like that.”

“No?”

“No, you seem too cool.”

“I’m not cool.”

She pauses. “I think you are. You remind me of some of Shane’s friends from home a bit.”

“Culchies.”

“No, just very sporty, popular boys who, like, get invited to house parties.”

“You don’t get invited to house parties?”

A derisive laugh, “No, I’m not cool.”

“Well, if I threw a party, I’d invite you.” 

The road thins and slopes towards the sea as I pass the welcome sign to the village, freewheeling over palm fronds, and through the sand piles gathered by the curbs until the last, empty, open street lies ahead. I have no concept of what time it is. It is after midnight at least, but before four, because the sky is still that even, deep blue of astronomical twilight. 

It is disappointing to reach the gates of the caravan park. 

“Do you want me to bring you all the way?” I ask her.

“Yeah, okay.”

And so we gain another two minutes, which I use up telling her about the ganja guy in that caravan by the tennis court. She finds the story amusing. It seems she feels that way about a lot of things I tell her. This is not unfamiliar. At school, I grew accustomed to people who hung around me and acted like every word I uttered was hilarious, not because they honestly thought so, but because they wanted me to give something to them, attention, or popularity, validation of some sort. It just doesn’t seem that way with Evie. 

“What time is it?” she climbs off the pannier rack and rubs the side of her neck. 

I check my phone. “It’s half two.”

“Wow. I should really get to bed. I barely slept last night and I’m so exhausted.”

“You didn’t?”

She wavers. “Um, no, I was just wound up from being in Dublin and all. My mind was racing a bit, like, it tends to do that.”

We say nothing for a beat. I should probably get back on the bike and go home, but instead, I stand there scouring my brain for some way to spark another conversation and keep her where she is. 

It takes too long to think, and within a second she has turned away. “I better go inside.”

“It was nice to hang out with you,” I call after her as she climbs the weatherbeaten planks of the mobile steps. 

She smiles, fiddles with a piece of her hair, then, almost as an afterthought, she tries the door. 

But it is locked. 

Another attempt, jiggling it this time, then she pats her pockets with growing alarm. 

“Everything okay?” 

She shakes her head. “I’m locked out.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” with hands at her temples, she stares at the ground in disbelief, “I remember where I left them. They’re in my room.”

I’m stumped. It’s not like I can bring her home to my house. That’d be weird, and I don’t even want to think about the questions it would arouse. What if the guys were to come home to find her, God forbid, brushing her teeth in the bathroom? What would they think I did? Could I even blame them for thinking it?

“Oh! Hang on!” She says, and without explaining herself, she darts around the side of the mobile home, vanishing through clumps of overgrown grass until she’s swallowed completely by darkness. 

“What the fuck?” I follow her. 

I find her at the back, where moss has sprouted between slits in the PVC sliding. 

“My window,” she explains, “I thought I left it open.” Her thumbs find a sliver of space at the base of the frame, and with some effort she shoves it upwards, heaving out a heavy sigh of satisfaction. “There!”

She pauses. “Do you want a glass of water? You must be tired from cycling all that way.”

She means an actual glass of water. It is not an innuendo and I know it. 

“Yeah, that’d actually be really nice.”

Nobody needs to know that I agreed, that I’m doing this, that I am actually crawling in her bedroom window behind her, because God knows, I don’t know what I would tell them if they asked. This is one of those moments where my behaviour is inexplicable even to myself.

As I clamber over her bedside table, narrowly avoiding knocking her lamp to the floor, I catch her kicking a pile of clothes under one of the twin beds. I smile. She’s messy. 

“Okay, stay here,” she orders, and hurries out the door, leaving me alone in her room, surrounded by her things. 

One of the two narrow beds is unmade. I choose that one to sit on while I observe this little box room. An old, painted dresser, a 90s-era television set left unplugged, a bedside table and a lamp. Without question, the rest of the stuff is hers. There is a suitcase, still unpacked, a tennis racquet, and a few plastic bottles of water at various states of fullness. An orange bikini hangs up to dry by the window, and I don’t stare at it. The door handle squeaks and I snatch a book from the bedside table so I can pretend to be interested in it. 

“What are you doing?” Evie stands frowning with my cup of water in her hand, and I feel like she has caught me doing something illegal.

“Just looking at your books. Is that okay?”

“They’re not interesting books, just silly romance novels and stuff.”

It’s like I’ve only just landed in my body. I hadn’t even realised what I was looking at. Turning the book over to its baby blue cover, looping cursive across the front, I shrug. “If you like reading them, then who cares?”

She hands me the cup and sits next to me on the mattress. “I know I should be reading the classics, but I tried to read Catch 22 a couple of months ago and found it bad.”

“Really? I like that book.”

Her cheeks redden. “Oh, well, it’s not really bad, that’s not what I meant, it–”

“It’s okay, it’s not for you. It’s fine not to be into something.”

She frowns at her lap and brings a fingertip to her mouth before catching herself like she’s remembering she doesn’t bite her nails in front of other people. I want to talk to her more about how it’s alright if she has an opinion that is different than mine, that it doesn’t make her wrong, or anything like that, but I decide against drawing attention to her embarrassment at all. I suspect she might prefer it that way. 

Under the window, a black, linen-covered notebook sits flat, loose pages jutting out from the side. Laying the water and the romance novel down, I reach for it.

Quick as a whip, she moves to block my hand. “You can’t see this.” 

“What? Why not? What is it?”

“It’s personal.”

“What, like your secret diary?”

“No! Not like that. It’s none of your business.”

She doesn’t say a word, so I adjust my tone to be gentler. “Come on, let me see it. It’s no big deal.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s messy. My work is messy.”

“Uh, yeah, like all sketchbooks. I’m just curious about it, please.” 

She says in a tiny voice: “I don’t want you to judge me.”

“But why would I do that?”

“Because. You’re a real artist, and I’m just… a hobbyist.”

I scoff. “I’m not a real artist either,” not by any stretch of the imagination. 

“Well, those people at the Berlin art school would disagree.”

I’ll be a real artist after I go to Berlin, not before. I wish she knew that. Right now I’m just a sixth-year student who likes to draw pictures of his own feet. “You’re saying all this based on nothing. I’ll show you my sketchbook sometime and you’ll see. You don’t turn into a prodigy just because you get accepted into art college.”

“Okay, well, you’re not allowed to be mean.”

“I’d never”

“If you think it’s shit, I’ll know,” she warns as finally, she relinquishes it to me, “I’m really good at reading faces.”

“I bet.”

Finally, I open the cover. I do not underestimate the value of this worn-out sketchbook that she was so incredibly protective of, and hope my hands are not dirty, that they don’t smudge the corners of the pages. I am careful to be very thoughtful about each piece that I encounter. 

She has a tight line, surprisingly. I expected to find something more loose and free-form, floaty figures with dozens of wandering, light lines, some voile curtains in the wind, perhaps, but her hand is deliberate, cautious and exact. It says something about her that I didn't expect.

I pause on one page, one close to the end of the sketchbook, with a drawing of a man and a dog. It’s this beach. The land’s shape in the background she roughly drew looks familiar to me, but I sense her anxiety when I realise I haven’t spoken in a while. 

“These are really good,” I assure her. “The way you’ve captured the movement… You can tell that he’s resisting the wind here, there’s a great weight to it.”

She seems to melt with relief. “Thank you. I’m trying to get better at drawing things that are moving. I got too comfortable drawing still things and then got way too focused on the details. Like my cat,” leaning in close she flips back near the beginning, “See, she was sleeping, so I felt like I had time to draw every little thing. Like all the individual hairs and everything. I got way too caught up with it.”

“I like these too, though. I get what you’re saying about there being a lot of detail, but I dunno, it still works for me. I think the line work is really sensitive. I think you’re a really good artist, like, everything in here is honestly great.”

“Really? You don’t have to say it just to be nice.”

“I’m not! I really think that.”

“Okay,” she pulls the sketchbook off my lap before I can change my opinion, and stashes it safely beneath the bed, out of reach. With a quick toss of her hair over one shoulder, she looks at me with a challenge in her eyes. “You’ll have to show me your work now. This is a transaction that works both ways.” 

“Yeah, I will. The next time you’re over at the beach house, I’ll show you what I’ve been working on.”

“I bet it’s unreal.”

“Don’t hold your breath. Not as good as yours.”

She rolls her eyes. “As if. I bet I’ll look in your sketchbooks and they’ll look like DaVinci did them.”

“Well, if you think that, I promise you’ll be disappointed.”

I should thank her for showing me her work, but it feels like a kind of weird thing to do, a thing a boy who was insecure and hungry for her approval would do. Someone like Liam. 

Liam. 

Should I feel bad about Liam? Here I am, in Evie Kilbride’s bedroom, getting her to show me one of her most private and precious possessions while he, what? Sleeps under Lion King themed bedsheets at home? I wonder if he’s ever been in her room, or in any poor, suffering girls’ room. 

Why am I so obsessed with being nasty about him? What is wrong with me? Perhaps inherently I am a mean person. 

When I adjust myself on Evie’s bed, I rest my thigh against hers. Her skin is cool. She doesn’t move away. 

“When you go to Berlin,” she says, “Will you know anybody there?”

Oh yeah, Berlin. I exhale. “No, I’m going on my own, which, like, I’m kind of excited about.”

“Scared though?” She prompts, and I admit: “Yeah, a little bit, I suppose. More excited.”

“I think I’d be scared to leave and be away from everybody I know.”

“Yeah, I get that, but I wasn’t really thinking that way when I applied for university there. It was honestly more about the experience I’d have and what I’d learn from doing my degree there. Plus, when I applied, I didn’t actually think I’d be going on my own.” 

“No?”

“My girlfriend at the time and I applied together, actually, but she didn’t get in. It was brutal. We got our letters on the same day.”

“You decided to go alone, anyway?”

“Yeah it felt like the best choice for me, I just didn’t see myself being in Ireland anymore, I don’t want to waste my early twenties in this horrible recession, and I don’t want to graduate into it with no job prospects. I just need to get away from it.”

“And your girlfriend?”

I hesitate. It’s not like I don’t want to talk about Michelle, it’s just… I usually avoid any conversations that might lead to some necessary explanation of the arduousness of our relationship. “We broke up. We called it quits before our exams. I didn’t want to put her through the long-distance thing, like, honestly, I didn’t want to put myself through it, because I knew I couldn’t handle that. I really just… I don’t want any attachments when I go, like, no responsibilities towards anybody else. Having a relationship while trying to navigate the changes that are ahead of me,” I sigh. “It would be too hard.”

“Wow. How long were you together?”

“Almost a year.”

She hums sympathetically. “It must have been a hard decision.”

“It was. She’s a great person.”

“Well, you can always get back together at some point in the future, you know, like maybe someday when you graduate…” Her sentence trails off as I shake my head decisively. 

“I don’t think so. It’s just over. I can’t really see us picking up where we left off, like, nothing to do with her or the relationship, per se. It’s just that I feel like I can’t ever go backwards. Once it’s done, it’s done for me. I just don’t really hang on to other people in that way.”

Her leg shifts away from mine, and the warmth of the atoms between us dissipates. She rests against the wall, her head lolling gently to one side, makeup flaking beneath weighty lids. 

“You look a little sleepy.”

“I am.”

I smile. “Then sleep. I’ll leave.”

“Okay.”

Hugging her sort of seems like the right thing to do, but I overthink it, hesitate too long and then just get up from the bed. “Okay Evie, I’ll see you again soon.” 

It’s her who demands a hug, holding out her arms to me and making a little hmph sound, so I kneel on the bed and let her wrap her arms around me. Her face nestles in my neck. She’s all warm cheeks and the flutter of eyelashes. 

“I’ll text you when I’m free to hang out again.” 

“Mm,” she has already laid down, and I can’t resist one moment where I just look at her. She’s so cute. She has the loveliest face I may have ever seen in real life.

“Goodnight,” I whisper, but I doubt she’s even heard me, and then, as quietly as I can, I climb over the bedside table and leap down onto the dew-sprinkled grass below, leaving behind no trace but ripples in the glass of water on the bedside table, lying untouched next to her sleeping face. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter [2]

[trivialbob]

Today it's sunny and warm here. I got going early on a bike ride, to beat the oncoming hot weather. For this ride I used my single-speed Surly Cross Check. This bike is decked out as a commuter machine, with fenders, rear rack, pannier bag and a center kickstand. Sheila gave it to me for Christmas about ten years ago.

I love the simplicity of a single-speed, but as I get older I start to think about getting gears added. I'm really interested in trying an internally geared hub.

Above in the video is Minnehaha Falls, flowing stronger than usual. On my route map below, the falls are in the lower right corner, a little over halfway of this 18 mile loop. There's a seafood restaurant at the park there too. Sometimes Sheila and I stop there for a beer if we're having a lackadaisical ride.

The top length on the map is the Minneapolis Greenway, a bike trail running along a former railway trench through the city. I rode the Greenway from Bde Maka Ska (pronounced bu-DAY muh-KOSS-ka, the new name of the former Lake Calhoun) to the Mississippi River.

The right side is West River Road. The bottom length is Minnehaha Parkway. To the left are lakes. This route is entirely on paved bike paths, except for a little construction detour off the Greenway this month.

After the ride I got out my bike mechanic stand. I cleaned and lubricated the drivetrains of the Surly and my e-bike. If the weather cools off a little this evening I think I'll take Sulley over to Lake Harriet (where the red marker is on the map) so he can swim a little.

[wingingitonwheels]

Getting there…November 2024

Wohoo!!! Here we go again!

1017 days. That’s the last time I sat at Heathrow Terminal 5, when I sacked my employers, jumped in the car and bolted to South America on a wing and a prayer. The drama filled days that preceded that trip are happily behind me. What a holiday, cos let’s face it, that’s what it was! I came home 131 days later, still having no clue what I’d do next. I always promised myself that having chosen to be a young mum, I’d do what most people do when the fledglings had flown. So that’s what I did!

As my next career plan hadn’t yet solidified, I started a job in the autumn of 2022 was as pants as the previous, only a different colour, style and fabric, but pants nonetheless. I had another soul-destroying 3-month notice period inflicted on me, and on finishing, had the long-anticipated bi-compartmental knee replacement to rebalance the metal in me, became a freelance consultant, resumed my sports and remedial therapy business and tried to adapt to a new world where cycling no longer featured.

I still have the same number of teeth but I have replaced the metal in that tooth with 4 different kinds of implants in my knee. My jaw has collapsed and I am very much looking forward to a Hannibal Lecter mouthguard when I get home. I have a fracture in my left metacarpal sustained after a freak bullseye hit from an industrial sized luggage strap buckle on it before an event. And luckily, what felt like a popped rib, sustained after my regular daily session of Greco-Roman Wrestling has calmed down. As caring about the weight of my bike and bags is no longer a topic of discussion (I am no longer fast and light, rather slow and heavy) I’ve bought with me hoarded drugs of all kinds and around 200 needles to get stuck into should the urge take me. Otherwise, not much has changed!

The body is an amazing pile of cells. It’s 8 months since I last cried about my knee, whilst it seems it will always hurt and never be good, it probably won’t get any better and hopefully won’t get any worse. On balance, there’s plenty of awful things that happen to people and in terms of knees, I’m just the first in a long line of my network who are likely to be getting similar at some point. The knee now marks my 12th operation since 2006! Still just about standing 😄

Which leads me to here. I’m sat in São Paulo, watching the world go by at Aeroporto Internacional de Guarulhos on a dull and wet day, only different from home because it’s warmer and people are not speaking English. Later today, I’ll lie in my apartment and listen to the tropical birds as they serenade each other. This is, after all, right on the edge of the Amazon (i like to think so anyway!). I’ll make a friend of my taxi driver again, this time, Rodriguez, and this time I’ll attempt pigeon Portuguese. He’ll tell me how the roads are flooded and the F1 Grand Prix was delayed. Keane will play on the radio and I’ll tell him I sat next to their producer and that the whole band and entourage were on my flight. Ace!

I stink, as I’ve been dragging round my adventure steed for nearly 24 hours. Martini’s a titanium adventure bike and much to my disgust, has a pannier rack and panniers (Olive and Espresso) tucked away in the mountain bike cardboard box which adorns her, covered in “FRAGILE” tape and weighing in at 22.5kg fully loaded. I upsized her tyres from 32 to 35, then 38 and finally 42c. They now weigh a massive 518 grams each! My additional travel companions are here too: there’s my old faithfuls, my Antler Star Wars Suitcase (think storm trooper) and Monkey 2, my old backpack which has come with me to Greece, across the Americas and around Wales. They’ll both shortly meet their maker as the bike box is cut into little pieces, at the point when I finally will have figured out where I’m going to begin this adventure. It’s fair to say that this trip, I am completely self-sufficient to the point I can even start a fire using steel and flint. That could be fun! The most exciting edition to this trip is the camera and two lenses. They are the heaviest items I’m carrying so I’ll have to do them some justice.

I decided on the plane that my personal transformation is complete. I’ve convinced myself I look like a bad ass ninja explorer, in black zip off trousers, black merino t-shirt and merino hoodie and to finish off the look, black merino socks. Nobody is going to mess with me. That is more attributable to being older so even less of a target for the supposed opportunistic bandits hanging out on every corner of Patagonia. There was definitely a time I dressed up to travel but alas, those times are gone. Whilst I have more clothing with me than last trip, that’s only by one t-shirt, an extra pair of knickers and a bikini. But 47 days of the same clothes! It’s not really befitting of a lady from Windsor who went to a convent (spell check just corrected that to concentration camp 😂).

I’m only in São Paulo because I first thought I’d ride Brazll. Chile kept calling me, haunting me as I’d not been able to get in during 2022 due to their IT systems and COVID. The impact of this indecision is I sit, waiting 6 hours now to get into an apartment where I’ll hang out until early tomorrow, when I’ll either jump on a plane, either to Santiago or Puerto Montt.

The hesitation around those plans is that the weather from Puerto Montt south until further notice looks like the end of the world (I guess it would because it is!). I’m not thrilled about the extreme likelihood of being completely wet through for 2 weeks, camping and riding through deep mud on unpaved roads the length of the UK. It seems torturous that just a hop, skip and jump across the Andes back into my old friend Argentina, the Patagonian desert is bone dry, windy yes, but also 25 degrees! It’s fair to say that as I sit here pontificating, it could go one of 4 ways. I’ve not lost my ability to wing it even if I’ve lost my fitness. Yes, everything will be okay!

My next biggest worry is which virus is likely to get me. I don’t know what it is about airports but I seem to attract travellers who sit down next to me and leak snot from every orifice. Do they sit down and quietly dispose of it into a tissue? No. They chug it down, project it in all directions and snort as if no one’s listening. I feel for them, I really do. Just go somewhere else. Perhaps that they want to let everyone know how unwell they are. Or to make others suffer “I’m about to have a shitty time on my trip, so come join me in my misery”. It happened at Heathrow and now again here. I wouldn’t mind but they seem to come find me. Why? And as if on queue, my ears detect I’m sat in infested corner…time to move…

For today and to this end, much like the last trip, I’ll get to my apartment, listen to the sounds of the city, the rain gently falling as tyres cut through puddles on the noisy street below. Sirens will erupt and accentuate the rhythm of the city. I’ll pick up my Spanish lessons and as I fall to sleep, mull over what the heck I’m going to do tomorrow.

In the morning, I’ll surreptitiously manoeuvre between duty free make up counters, slather up on moisturiser and perfume, and lament the time that will pass until I see them again. Victoria’s Secret will look down on me in disgust as I pass wearing one of the two pairs of knickers that will be my closest friends tor 7 weeks. I’ll know that I will definitely make it to Santiago but Puerto Montt? Who bloody knows? 😄

[advpulse]

We’ve been testing the GIVI GRT722 auxiliary bags on several bikes, including the Himalayan. These compact roll-top bags are made with highly-durable 840 TPU and feature an IPX5 waterproof rating — enough to handle heavy rain. With their built-in mounting straps, they attach conveniently to upper crash bars for extra storage that doesn’t get in the way like a tank bag, plus they help you spread the weight around the bike more efficiently. Alternatively, you can attach one to the rear rack and use it as a day trip tool bag or mount a pair on the back of your panniers. With 8 liters of space each, there’s plenty of room to pack your tools and a tube with room to spare, or use them for quick access to a first aid kit or a place to stow away extra layers. Worth a look if you’re looking for an easy way to add more capacity to your luggage setup. More details at: bit.ly/grt722aux

[davidnajewiczphotography]

Confluence Cyclery - Confluence Pa..... along the Great Allegheny Passage ( bike trail from Pittsburgh to Washington DC). A really great bike shop- my Pannier Rack mount broke during a tour and they were able to repair it and get me on my way. 

[tracksterman]

So that was the trip: 600km, and 53m shy of an Everest's climbing. I was loaded heavier than I've been for many years, but wanted to take a bit more stuff than I do on the shorter 2-3 day trips I mainly do now. It all worked fine; stable, well balanced, surprisingly easy to push and manoeuvre over rough terrain. I'd forgotten the almost tank-like momentum you can build up on a well loaded bike! On the rare occasions I had to lift it over a locked gate, the two rear panniers popped off in seconds and the rest was light enough to just hoy over in one go.

In fact, I wasn't carrying a massive amount of luggage. The rear panniers are 10l each; about 10-12l in the seat pack (sleeping bag, fleece bag liner, pillow, folding saw, trowel); the fork bags are 5l each; the double ended bar bag can hold up to 15l but was generally folded down to about 8-10l. So, along with the tool kit, lock and tent poles in the frame bag, a total of about 55litres.

I took stuff I didn't use - but I might have used it and wouldn't necessarily rule it out next time. Folding saw, small tarp, extra clothes on the shoulder of the season, maps....hmm, maps. I didn't look at the paper maps once. It's been a journey but I might finally be post-map. I just designated chunks of OS mapping and downloaded them for offline use as the route evolved. Navigation was as much about battery management as anything else.

No real mechanical issues. The anti-sway hook on one of the panniers came loose and needed nipping up early on. The right fork cage came loose on its bolts twice. It's a Salsa Anything cage, lacking the cut-outs that the left PX cage has, which makes getting in there with an allen key a bit tricky. Once I got medieval on it, it was fine for the rest of the trip.

I didn't have any problems with the Ortlieb Quick Rack but still have reservations about it that I'll cover in future posts.

So that just leaves the odd metallic plinking noise that's developed at the rear of the bike - that's tomorrow's job...

[eusuchia]

I like printing at home rather than dealing with the printer demon at work, and therefore have a whole ass backpack for the purpose of carrying one slim plastic folder of paper. would really like to stop carrying a backpack to work for primarily sweaty back reasons but I dont want to put a rack on my bike and commit to the pannier lifestye. I also cannot do messenger bags because of my busted back. so my latest thought is what if I roll my drawings into a cardboard mailer tube that will fit inside a handlebar bag. lmao. what if I print on legal size and unroll the Drawing Scroll for each client

[parker-d-bloodrose]

My least favorite thing from staunchly pro-car people is that they say snide shit like "how are you going to carry your groceries on your bike?" Without like. Fuckin thinking about upgrades to your bike such as a rear and front racks and baskets. Or even panniers! It's 100% possible to do it on a bike. FUCK EVEN BIKE TRAILERS EXIST YO.

[aeide-thea]

i think maybe in a really optimized world i'd have like. little wall bars to clip my panniers to for storage. so like. get back. bike goes on the rack i definitely have. panniers are on the wall and not just flopped on the floor in the corner. beautiful unlikely unrealized vision.

[biking-the-erie-canal]

And we are off!

It is sort of empowering to ride out of your garage with everything you need for 2 weeks packed right on your bike. And sort of funny — at the bike shop, everything is about weight — to get the bike as light as possible. For example, tubeless tires - after converting my tires to tubeless, the shop owner handed me the removed tubes and said, “you just took off the amount of weight equivalent to a $1000 bike upgrade”. That’s pretty cool, but what did I do? I packed those tubes in my pannier in case of flats and we both put 20-25 pounds on our back racks. There is nothing light about our loaded bikes!

We got to the train station early enough to grab a cup a coffee and to avoid the greeting ”you are finally here” like last year! We pre-purchase our bike passage and hand them over for a nice ride in the luggage car.

We have opted for the roomette between Raleigh and New York for our 10 hour ride today where meals are included and you have a bit more room to stretch. We feel fortunate to be departing today because hurricane Idalia caused Amtrak to already cancel the Miami to New York train the next 2 days. Last night we got a little scare thinking our trip was being cancelled.

[tirumphlover]

How to Customize Your Triumph Speed 400 and Scrambler 400 x with New 25 Genuine Accessories

Introduction

Triumph recently introduced two new models in its classic lineup: the Speed 400 and the Scrambler 400. These Triumph motorcycles are inspired by the retro style of the Speed Twin 900 and Scrambler 900 but offer a more affordable and easy entry into the Triumph motorcycle brand. They also come with a wide range of original accessories that allow you to customize your motorcycle according to your taste, comfort, needs, and preferences. Here are some of the best accessories for the Speed 400 and Scrambler 400.

Bar-end mirrors

One of the easiest ways to change the look of your bike is to swap the standard mirrors with bar-end mirrors. These mirrors are mounted on the ends of the handlebar and give your bike a sleek and stylish appearance. They also provide a better rear view and reduce vibrations. You can choose between a black or chrome finish for the Speed 400 and the Scrambler 400.

Double-barrel silencers

The double-barrel silencers are a good choice if you want your bike to sound more powerful and athletic. These silencers feature a brushed appearance and are composed of stainless steel. They generate an exhaust noise that is deep and throaty and fits the personality of the bikes. Both the Speed 400 and the Scrambler 400 can use them.

Teardrop-shaped LED indicators

Another way to add some flair to your bike is to replace the standard indicators with teardrop-shaped LED indicators. These indicators are small, elegant, and bright. They also consume less power and last longer than conventional bulbs. They are available in black or chrome finish and can be fitted on both the Speed 400 and the Scrambler 400.

Top box, pannier, and tank bag

If you need more storage space on your bike, you can choose from a variety of luggage options. The top box is a lockable case that can be mounted on the rear rack of the bike. It has a capacity of 30 litres and can fit a full-face helmet. The pannier is a rugged bag that can be attached to the side of the bike. It has a capacity of 15 litres and can fit a laptop or a tablet. The tank bag is a nylon bag that can be secured to the fuel tank of the bike. It has a capacity of 10 litres and can fit a smartphone or a wallet

Front-fly screen

If you want to reduce wind blasts and improve aerodynamics, you can install a front-fly screen on your bike. This polycarbonate shield covers the headlight and deflects air away from your chest. It also enhances the look of your bike by giving it a sporty touch. The front-fly screen is available as an optional accessory for both the Speed 400 and the Scrambler 400.

Sump guard

If you want to protect your engine from rocks, debris, and other hazards, you can equip your bike with a sump guard. This is an aluminum plate that covers the bottom of your engine and prevents damage from impacts. It also adds some ruggedness to your bike’s appearance. The sump guard is available as an optional accessory for both the Speed 400 and the Scrambler 400 x.

Radiator guard

If you want to keep dirt, bugs, and stones from clogging or puncturing your radiator, you can install a radiator guard on your bike. This radiator's front is covered with a metal mesh that lets air through while obstructing foreign things. Adding some texture and contrast, it also makes your bike look better. The Speed 400 and the Scrambler 400 both have the radiator guard as an optional extra.

Engine bars

If you want to minimize the damage to your bike in case of a fall or a crash, you can install engine bars on your bike. These are metal tubes that surround your engine and act as a buffer against impacts. They also provide some extra support for your legs and feet. The engine bars are available as an optional accessory for both the Speed 400 and the Scrambler 400.

Quilted seat

If you want to enhance your comfort and style, you can replace the stock seat with a quilted seat. This seat has a soft and plush texture that provides more cushioning and support. It also has a diamond-stitched pattern that adds some elegance and class to your bike. The quilted seat is available as an optional accessory for both the Speed 400 and the Scrambler 400.

Headlight grille

If you want to give your bike a more rugged and adventurous look, you can add a headlight grille to your bike. This is a wire-mesh cover that protects your headlight from stones, branches, and other obstacles. It also gives your bike a distinctive appearance that sets it apart from other bikes. The headlight grille is available as an optional accessory for the Speed 400 and as a standard feature for the Scrambler 400.

Conclusion

Triumph Speed 400 and Scrambler 400 are two exciting new models that offer a lot of potential for customization. With over 25 genuine accessories, you can make your bike suit your personality, needs, and preferences. Whether you want to make your bike more stylish, comfortable, functional, or protective, there is an accessory for you and your lovely bike.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Nine

I shut my eyes and let the wind rush past us, my hands linked tightly around Jude’s waist as he shoots up and down the narrow streets of the town on his bike. I didn’t know that there was such a thing as truly perilous bicycle riding, but I feel like we’re going so fast that every time we swerve around a corner I am sure that I’ll be hurled off the pannier rack and splat onto the concrete. I tell myself that if I squeeze my eyes shut tightly enough then I’ll be able to pretend that I’m safe, because this way all I can feel is the jerks of my body every time he swerves around another building or telephone pole and hear the sounds of my heartbeat drumming in my ears. I squeeze my cheek into his back to try and feel more secure, and the vibrations of his voice rebound through me as he speaks from up at the handlebars. 

“You doing okay?”

“Yes, great.” He skids onto a long stretch of straight road, and I breathe a sigh of relief as the bike steadies, and I peer over his shoulder. Seeing a town in this light is eerie. The streetlights cast a strange, ghostly orange glow over everything making it look like a black and white film or like we’ve somehow cycled through a portal into some old photograph, a town deserted and we’re the only ones on it. During the day this place is always bustling with noises, car engines and voices, footsteps, but now there’s no other souls but ours. It’s so quiet. 

“Hold on tight for a second.” Jude says, his voice an isolated sound in the silent streets.

“What are you going to do?” I cling on and brace myself as he releases the handlebars from his grip and tries to cycle with no hands. The bike wobbles first, then lurches to one side, and to my horror, I am almost launched from the back of it until he steadies himself and holds on again. “Sorry, I wanted to see if it would work with two people.”

“Well it doesn’t” 

“Sorry.” He cycles a little slower for a while after that. 

I wait until my heart has stopped thumping until I talk again, and when we’ve left town and all that lies ahead of us is a straight road all the way home, I feel steady enough to speak. “You didn’t have to bring me home, really, it’s so nice but I could have found my own way. And the extra weight can’t be good for the tires on this thing.”

“What, like you think you’re heavy? This bike has been through worse.” 

I glance down at the rusty frame, the spray paint, and the pedals so worn down from being tossed onto hard ground that most of the plastic has snapped off. I suppose that it has been. “And your hoodie,” I say “You didn’t need to give me it either.”

“I did both those things because I wanted to though, really, you’re not a burden. I’d prefer to cycle home rather than wait for the guys to be finished in the nightclub. It’s fine.” 

“You often cycle alone at night?”

“I prefer to do most things on my own, honestly. I have my own pace.”

I assume that pace is absurdly, dizzyingly quickly. He moves around so energetically, every movement he makes is so abrupt that he would make your head spin around. I’ve never met somebody so charged before. I think that it’s a bit thrilling to be around him. 

“Do you want to see something?”

I don’t even ask what it is. “Yes.”

He turns down into a narrow driveway, and we quickly lose all light from the road behind us. I have no idea where we are, only that the surface beneath the wheels is rockier now. I can feel little leaves and branches from a hedgerow swiping against my arms and legs, and I ask him where we’re going. 

“You’ll see.” He brings the bike to a stop soon after, and as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can see that we’re next to a high brick wall. We climb off and he leans his bike against it. “In my hoodie pocket” he says. “There’s my phone, can you hand it to me?” I reach in and retrieve it, and as my hand curls around it I can feel that it’s old. It’s some early 2000s model sturdy block phones. Nobody has these anymore, nobody except old people, and Jude apparently.

“Nice phone.” I say as I toss it to him. “Is this the new Blackberry?”

“Ha ha. Can your Blackberry do this?” He presses a button and a torch light glares out of the top of it. I’ve become so used to the pitch blackness of the night that it hurts and I have to look away and shield my eyes. “Jesus. No, I’m glad my Blackberry can’t do that.”

“Hey, it’s handy.” He clutches on to the top of the stone wall and starts hoisting himself up onto it. I start to follow him and leap up to grab the jagged stones at the top. “That phone is mad. I haven’t seen one of those since I was a little child.”

“It’s the worst phone ever.” He agrees, throwing a long leg over the wall and straddling it. “But I always break them, this is the only one that’s ever lasted.” He shines the torch light over the wall at something that I can’t see yet while I try to use all my strength to haul myself up onto it, feet searching around for some leverage, but it doesn’t work. I’m just not strong enough for it. 

“Give me your hands.” He reaches out to me and takes them, and then drags me up onto the top of the wall with him just like that. He made it look so easy, even if he scraped me on the stones on the way up a little bit. It’s only when he shakes my hands off his that I realise I’ve been holding onto them for longer than I should have, and I’m glad that it’s too dark for him to see me blush. “Getting in is the hard part.” He tells me. “It’s way easier to get out again.”

He grabs his phone again and points the torch at a patch of long grass on the other side of the wall, and then in one fluid movement he’s leapt off onto it and is reaching up to help me down there with him. 

“It’s too high.” I say. 

“I’ve got you.”

I scoot myself to the edge of the wall and then slowly, carefully I turn around and start easing my feet down the side of it. I’m facing away from him when he takes hold of my waist and asks me to let go of the wall. “I’ve got you.” He says again. 

There’s a rousing feeling within me when he lands me on the grass. An excitement in the vulnerability of it, the nearness of him in the darkness sending electric currents over me so that goosebumps rise up on my arms. I’ve had kisses with boys that have left me feeling nothing, but he can make my whole body shiver while barely touching me.

“Are you alright?” He says softly, because to speak in a normal voice among the absolute silence of the countryside would feel like an exclamation.

“Yes.” I breathe.

“If you want to go home, I can take you home. All you have to do is climb up on a bench and you can get back over, easy peasy.”

“No, I want to stay.”

“Alright.”

“Where are we?” I ask him. He lifts the torch and shines the beam out in front of us to illuminate what at first, looks like oddly shaped rocks scattered around in an overgrown field. I squint. “What is this? It’s like a- oh!” I gasp when the realisation strikes me. “We’re in a graveyard.”

“Yeah.” He starts stepping through the overgrown grass, weaving in and out of the gravestones and I follow him, trying to stay close enough so that the tiny phone torch light will light up the ground beneath me. God forbid I catch my shoe on someone’s grave and fall face first into an open tomb or something equally horrifying. 

“This way.” He says to me, and I scramble after him, reaching him as he stands at a pair of large, wooden doors. I reach out and lay my hands flat on them, looking up at the dark blue sky where I can see for the first time the pitch black silhouette of a steeple. “A church.” I say in wonderment. “An abandoned church.”

“Can I show you what’s inside?”

“Is it safe?”

“Yeah.”

“Then yes.”

Prev // Next

[trivialbob]

Years ago I read an article in Bicycling magazine called Invisible Riders. Of the thousands of magazine articles I've read, this one has always stuck in my mind.

It's about the bicyclists, often poor, who pedal cheap bikes to work. They aren't doing it for fitness. There's no racing or sightseeing. Saving the environment isn't a consideration. The title is explained in these two sentences:

You and I have seen the bikes everywhere—cheap, department-store rigs chained to fences and signposts outside car washes, lumberyards, budget chain restaurants. But we’ve never seen the riders, not really.

I thought of that article again this morning as I entered a grocery store. Outside It's -5°F (-20°C). Here rests this clunky Schwinn, locked to a bike rack with a cheap cable.

The seat is adjusted oddly. There's a water bottle holder, but it's placement renders it useless. The sagging chain sits on the smallest gear in back. It's likely the other gears never feel that chain. This Schwinn has as much carbon fiber and titanium as the Mayflower did.

The lack of snow and frost on the seat and handlebars indicates this was pedaled to the store this morning. It is not abandoned.

The little Schwinn could belong to someone going shopping. Inside I didn't see anyone wearing a backpack. So it probably belongs to one of the employees.

When I worked downtown I used to do some bike commuting. I loved every minute of it, even when I got caught in the rain or had a flat. I could afford nice gear. My waterproof panniers had room for spare tubes and tools in addition to my laptop and work pants. I even did a bunch of winter rides, wearing Gore-tex and fleece, but never when the temperature was sub-zero. I still use those nice panniers to go grocery shopping these days -- in the spring and summer.

The ratio of miles pedaled to money spent on the Invisible Riders' bikes must be astronomically greater than that of most carbon fiber racing bikes I've seen around town.

These Invisible Riders bikes always catch my eye, when they are parked. And I guess I don't notice as often when they're being ridden.

[wingingitonwheels]

Day 1: A change of plan: Santiago - San Fernando - the green valley

Go Day

There’s nothing quite like cycling through a city to get the heart going. The population of Chile is 19.63 million. 50% of them live in Santiago. So whilst I made a decision to delay Carretera Austral accepting too it would add around 1400km to the overall journey, a city start didn’t make it easy! The weather was perfect and I avoided another wait and another flight, and watched as a group of Americans collected their bikes for my missed onward leg. One chap sidled up to me as I collected mine asking quietly, “Are you doing the Austral?” To which I quietly answered “I sure am…see you on the road”. He probably expected to see me on the plane. I’m now picturing how wet they’re all getting as they set out today.

For me, Puerto Montt is now anything up to 9 days and now 750 miles down the road, having ridden 108 miles yesterday. I don’t think there can be any rider in the world who says “City cycling: Ace!” It’s been a long time since I’ve inhaled so much crap. Fumes, dirt, the stuff that came out of my nose when I reached San Fernando was black. It will take my lungs a week to recover. It’s also interesting that my highest heart rate was achieved whilst continuing to run the gauntlet in the city boundaries, which took 90 minutes to escape. It’s not too often I can feel palpitations, but yesterday my heart took on its own “rhythm”, like a crocodile playing the drums.

Because of this decision, Olive is now a full pannier which won’t be opened until Puerto Montt, most likely. She contains all my wet weather and cold weather gear, tent pegs and frame, sleeping bag and mattress. Espresso contains my daily essentials and has just enough room to stuff in food bought on the road. My tent is bungied to the top of the rack along with my trainers and one book I HAVE to read (and as soon as possible) so I can donate it to someone. It’s something I always miss when I’m doing these trips…a real book rather than a phone.

Whilst the weight of my bike and gear is soul destroying, I thought my biggest regret in this decision would be my tyres. They are bomb proof (I hope) and made for serious gravel, and just not what I’ve ever contemplated for any trip previously. But with much of the route between Puerto Montt and Ushuaia loose gravel or mud, they’re a necessary evil. I didn’t expect to be so grateful in Santiago, but with badly maintained and potholed roads and serious amounts of traffic for much of yesterday, I could ride in sections of the road unthinkable on my normal set up and stay more out of trouble. So whilst I’m slower both because of weight and tyres, I’m more likely to make it to the end! I’ll also be honest and admit that not carrying a backpack for 9000 miles and a titanium frame makes for a comfy ride. I’m definitely getting older. It will be cleats on crocs next.

The route I took was made up as I went along, as the hotel WiFi set up didn’t allow me to download any route to my bike computer. So winging it I was once again! Mountains on my left, ocean on my right and aim to have the sun on left shoulder, then back, then right shoulder. This largely worked except for Chile’s arterial road, Ruta 5, the Pan American Highway. This cuts through every possible plan of going south safely. At one point, I was forced onto it due to a wide river delta. I held my breath and went, praying to the Bike Gods to spare my life. A few miles later, I was directed again. I refused to go, and instead prepared some Spanish to plead to ride through a private residential estate because Autopista no bueno.

Whilst the roads surrounding Ruta 5 are lush and green, it feels so entirely different to Argentina, stone’s throw away over a mountain pass. Perhaps as I get further south, the busy to intermittently quiet roads will become tranquil and I’ll feel carefree. Mark reminded me that within 100 miles of Lima on the coastal road it was the same. So I look forward to progressing south to feel the romance of Chile in I hope the same way as Argentina. In terms of density of population, Chile looks quite good: 69 per square mile compared to UK: 740, USA: 98 but most impressively, Argentina: 43. The thing with Chile is because it’s so narrow with the Andes on one side and Pacific on the other with around a maximum of 75 miles between the two, it has created a fertile valley which runs north to south where it seems EVERYONE lives. So some creative thinking may be needed.

For many, many years I’ve wanted to ride the country. Its 3 geological zones have always excited me. End to end it’s 2647 miles long and covers 38 degrees - 17 degrees south to 58 degrees in the north. This trip I most likely won’t visit Cape Horn and won’t do Chile/Peru border crossing (I feel like I rode some of Atacama in Peru last trip). But I love solitude and remoteness. It will come, I’m sure but I may have to wait until Puerto Montt and beyond. In the meantime, I’ll experience people, culture and dogs!

I met some beautiful people today but I’ll save that for another day, as I need to let off some steam about an article I recently read and some of the regular comments I get about cycling in South America. That will take some time and probably needs a trigger warning. Instead I’ll focus on the animal related events of the day.

My first dog chase was within the dirt boundaries. But being well-acquainted with these events now and having panniers for extra protection, I was cooler than previous trips. The dogs are everywhere and as chilled as those in Argentina. Just that one mental dog was perhaps an escapee from Peru or Bolivia. My one Attenborough moment was watching a snake just in front of me with his head high, gunning it across the road. The sun bounced off his skin as he slithered elegantly but with purpose, unaware perhaps of the speeding car approaching. I tried to wave the car to stop but alas, Sylvester the snake was obliterated, his tail still wiggling after his head was decimated. I was truly sad. I get I’m not Chilean and perhaps he was deadly, but surely, left to his own devices, harmless to humans and not looking for trouble.

One of the best things about coming away is when you can finally hear the countryside, listening to how the bird song changes, dependent on country and in America, region of country. Right now, I’m surrounded by parakeets and other sub-tropical birds. I wonder how that will change as I ride south.

Now, I wake up on my second morning, warm, dry and rested. I’m staying with Joanne, who has 6 dogs and 2 cats. She renovated her place herself and is a beautiful and peaceful human of about 40 years. She and her place of loving animals is quite different to the wrong place I turned up to down the road: a love shack hotel. I was pretty tired by then and would happily have taken a cottage and observed all the shenanigans going on. I wouldn’t have lasted long though as I passed out around 8pm!

I’ve managed now to get a route on my computer. I’ll follow it for now, but if it doesn’t get quiet enough for my liking and Ruta 5 continues to blight my dreams, I’ll be heading over the Andes for a while so let’s see! Hasta Luego, Amigos!