Jeremy's Bike Blog

​In retrospect, most of what I’ve written about has been focused on the  riding I’ve been doing, and this post isn’t really much different, but instead of being an account of any particular stretch of time or road, it’s a sort of post-mortem/FAQ.

How far did you ride?

10,000km is my estimated distance, based on my bike computer’s lifetime distance reading of 12,432km.  I bought it in Helsinki on my last tour after getting hit by a car and replacing my front wheel and fork and stuff, after which I flew to Budapest and rode with it from Budapest to Athens, at which point I’m pretty sure the distance was 2,400km, give or take.

When I’d calibrate it against distance markers, I’d notice that sometimes it would report that I’d gone 5% further than I actually had.  One possible explanation is that this would happen because my front tire was a little under-inflated.  Possible, but highly improbable (super dubious math redacted…)

But focusing on distance alone really misrepresents the effort involved.  The few kilometers I relayed/carried my bike and bags up steep, rocky, narrow, jungley-ass trail in Guatemala were considerably more difficult and time consuming than flying 80km across a flat stretch of Northern Arizona with a stiff wind at my back.  Topography makes all the difference…so much so that I’ve come to notice that I feel a Pavlovian wave of relief wash over me when I spot a cell phone tower ahead of me on any substantial climb.  For obvious reasons, the people that put them up should tend to place them at local altitude maximum, and at this point I think it’s fair to say that I’ve confirmed this empirically and conclusively.

What was the worst thing?

The honking.  I know, and on some level appreciate, that the majority of drivers mean well when they do it, but if I could have one bike touring related wish granted, it would be to convey to any and all drivers out there that, regardless of the intention behind it, there is nothing less pleasant than having a multi-thousand pound vehicle make a loud startling noise at you as it passes within feet of you while you’re completely unprotected, on a relatively tiny vehicle.  I think this is immediately self-evident to anybody who has been honked at while on a bicycle, but surely, many of the honkers haven’t been on a bicycle in years or decades or perhaps even ever.  Shouts from people in passing vehicles are just as bad, maybe a bit worse in that they’re more startling and hard to receive as well-intentioned, but they are far less frequent.

What was the best thing?

The chills.  I’d get these sort of chills every so often when I got to a nice stretch of something and could lean back and where pedaling felt effortless and good, and just take it all in, knowing I had everything I could possibly need for pretty much any eventuality right there in my bags on my bike.  It’s hard to do justice with words, but it’s like a complete sense of contentment, where my biggest concern was actually that I only had 2-8 more hours before I’d have to find a place to stop for the night, which is really a very tiny concern.

What do you wish you had brought but didn’t?

Nothing, really, which I know is a non-answer.  I will say, I wish I hadn’t lost my micro leatherman, my red blinky, one of my straps for stuff on the top of my back rack, and that I hadn’t gone through 4 pairs of ( < $6) sunglasses quite as fast.  I guess I also wish that my tires didn’t wear out so quickly, but considering how thoroughly I beat my bike and spin out my tires trying to go up stuff that’s too steep, I probably shouldn’t complain.

What did you bring but wish you hadn’t?

So much stuff!  Which is a little ironic given that between my Europe tour that wrapped up this time last year and when I quit my job in April, I gotten rid of almost all of my possessions, including all my furniture, most my clothes, several hundred paper books (all but a dozen), a bunch of electronics (TV and such), and anything that didn’t serve a particular specific purpose about which I felt strongly.  Following this great purge, in preparing for this tour, I felt like I was packing modestly, and I started out with less stuff than I’d brought on my last tour.  But when I got to tropical climates and settled into a rhythm of hand-washing my one and only daily outfit along with myself, facilities permitting, I realized that almost all of my clothes were superfluous.  As was most of my camping gear once I got to places consistently populated and cultivated, and where accommodations were cheap enough and bugs and weather were troublesome enough that it really made more sense to pay for a place to sleep indoors.  If I knew then what I know now, I would have shipped far more stuff back home from Tempe, AZ than I did, probably including a bike bag or two.  I might have even tried shipping stuff home from Mexico.  From the smaller countries, I’m not sure it would have been worth trying, recalling that in early 2014 I shipped a bunch of things to my address in India from Thailand, and instead I should have just saved the $50 in shipping and just given/thrown the box of stuff away.

I don’t plan to become a gram counter, but I do like reading the thoughts and approaches of people on bikepacking.com, where there’s a much sharper focus on packing only what you really REALLY need to not die.  I doubt I will soon ever actually need the carrying capacity of my rig with front and rear bags for myself alone.

Are you sad/glad to be done?

Yes.  I’m sad and glad.  Unlike at the end of my last tour, physically I could keep going indefinitely.  My ass was the weak link on the brink of failing me completely at the end of the last trip, but at 8 of the last 16 months on the saddle for a significant portion of most days, let’s just say it’s not an issue any more.  And once I get a direly needed new pair of bike shorts, I’m really looking forward to seeing how far I can ride per day on a less loaded bike.  I think my one day record this trip was 150 kilometers… not even 100 miles.  I know once I make some basic adjustments and eliminate some of the limiting factors (heat, weight, and topography) that’s only scratching the surface of what I can crank out.

Mentally, on the other hand, I’ve pushed my limit on the amount of continuous travel that I can do and still appreciate (close to) to the fullest.  At 5 months, I’m exceeding my previous record for continuous travel (last year’s tour) by 2 months, and tying my record for duration away from Seattle since moving there in ’96.  I think 3 months is, for me, a good amount of time to travel continuously before it might be better to regroup in one location for at least, I dunno, a month?  Which leads to the next and final commonly asked question.

What are you going to do with yourself now?

This is the third year in a row that I’ve been away from Seattle for 3-5 months, so I know in broad strokes how I’ll feel.  For a few weeks, I’ll be nothing but delighted to be back in my inarguably wonderful home town.  Within a few months, a sense of restlessness will start to creep in.  It will be faint at first, but within 6 months it will be substantial.  What’s different this time is that I don’t have a job of many years that I’m returning to, which is both a challenge and an opportunity.  I’ve minimized and driven down expenses and am grateful and fortunate to be able to afford a lack of income for at least a few more months, and now I’ll have substantial time to pursue personal projects that I haven’t had in the non-distant past.  The last time I lived in Seattle, not travelling, and unemployed, was early 2002 to mid 2003.  I’d say this had mixed results, but I think that I have a deeper appreciation of the privilege of not having to earn income for a while than I did back then, along with a little more wisdom, discipline, and inspiration.  So I’m optimistic.  But only time will tell for sure how it goes.  For all I know, I could end up back at a full time 9-5 job before the end of 2016.