A Fat Bike Vow

I, Jasper Gates, do solemnly swear that in purchasing this brand spanking new On One Fat Bike, hereafter referred to as “FB” (and which is, apparently, to be delivered to me some time in the next 6 days, possibly even by Christmas!), I will

Strive, at all times, to remember that I am an adult, with obligations and responsibilities, and cannot spend all my free time riding the aforementioned FB, even though riding a FB has a way of making me feel like a kid on Christmas morning;

Not allow said FB to interfere with my pursuit of other wintery leisure activities, especially those I enjoy doing with my spousal unit, to wit, cross-country skiing and skating and walking;

Not cause my spousal unit to become a fat-bike widow, whose husband disappears into the river valley for hours on end after every snowfall;

Occasionally allow the car to also be parked in the garage along with the FB;

Not neglect the other bicycles in my garage, that I will continue to love them equally in each’s own special way, even though the FB will obviously be my favorite, at least for the foreseeable future; 

Not scoff at bicycle tires less than 3.8” wide;

Allow, on special occasions, my teenage son Gil to ride said FB, though only under certain very carefully controlled conditions;

Remember that there are fun, meaningful, fulfilling activities in life other than riding my new FB.

Dated December 18, 2013 in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada

Vélivre: A Bike Ride: 12000 Miles around the World

I love the modest title of Anne Mustoe’s 1991 cycle-travel classic. “A Bike Ride” suggests a jaunt, a lark, a spin maybe—so even with the much more impressive-sounding subtitle, we know we’re in the hands of a writer who, despite her impressive accomplishments, doesn’t take herself too seriously. It’s an endearingly British thing, this self-deprecation.

Mustoe’s story really is inspiring: at age 54, a widow with grown up step-sons, she left her job as headmistress of a girls’ boarding school in England and decided to head off around the world on her bicycle. She was, by her own admission, “not athletic”; in fact, she was “overweight, out of condition.” Although a seasoned traveler, she had never been “a keen cyclist.” Yet she got the idea in her head one day that cycling was the perfect way to go, offering the freedom and simplicity she was yearning for: “I should be breaking free, not only from my responsibilities but from life’s clutter.” Her goal? Simply to “dawdle in beautiful places.” It’s a narrative angle many of us can appreciate, if not emulate. To her credit, Mustoe soft-pedals the “personal journey of discovery” bit and simply gives us her informed, thoughtful, witty observations on her extremely long “bike ride.”

Edmonton Ice-Up Rides

It happens quickly, sneaking up on even long-time Edmontonians. One day the river valley is brown and bare and the water is gently skiffing along. The next week, it’s all white fluff and chunks are beginning to form and bunch in the North Saskatchewan River. That week or two when the river ices up is a perfect time to grab the camera and go riding on the river valley trails. I went on three short ice-up rides over the past 10 days. Here’s what I discovered.

An Impromptu Shave

“One day, wishing to get rid of the several days’ growth of bristling beard on my face, I took out my shaving apparatus, hooked the leather strap to the brake handle, honed the razor, found an old can, brought some water from a brook near by, pinned the pocket mirror on a tree, and got as clean a shave as I ever had, washing my face with one corner of a handkerchief, and drying it with the other end.”
 --George B. Thayer Pedal and Path: Awheel and Afoot across the Continent (1887)

George B. Thayer was on the outskirts of Chicago, in the middle of the westward leg of his solo journey across America in 1886, when he succumbed to an overpowering impulse to get off his high-wheel bicycle and shave his face. I imagine there are, at this very moment around the world, many Movember-weary cyclists who can appreciate—and are perhaps jealous of--Thayer’s bold, some may even say rash, “IMPROMPTU SHAVE.”

Winterthrill

“Yes! there is pleasure—genuine pleasure—in winter cycling.”

--R.J. Mercredy, “Winter Cycling.” The Fortnightly
          Review 50 (1891)

Anyone who’s ridden a bike in The Great White North knows that small thrill that comes with the first ride of spring. We pump up the tires, dust off the saddle, squirt a little grease on the chain, lift a leg over and off we go, kids all over again.  It’s elemental, this sensation that accompanies the first ride of the season—the shift from darkness to light, from grey to green awakens some deep life-affirming giddiness.

Strangely, though, I found myself experiencing some of that little thrill in my stomach last weekend, believe it or not, as the weather forecast promised the first serious snow and cold of winter. I spent the weekend getting ready for winter cycling—rustling up a winter machine for my 13-year-old son, Gil; switching over to studded tires (and studding up a new set); and digging out the neckwarmers, ski goggles, and longjohns—the thermal wardrobe of winter riders.

Tasting Notes: GU Energy Gel (DIY Chocolate & PB)

GU Energy Gel is the only energy gel maker I know of to produce a peanut-butter-flavored product. And all you have to do is try it to realize why no one else has bothered.

Now, I love ya, peanut butter, but you’re just not a good fit for a gel—at least not on your own. The problem with GU’s pb gel is simple: it’s too damn peanut buttery. After squirting an envelope of the stuff in your gob, you know precisely how that poor dog feels—the one whose owner thought it would be “hilarious” to see how Fido would like peanut butter. The goo adheres to the roof of one’s mouth and initiates a quicksand-like tongue-immobilizer reaction. One’s brain instantly calls for saliva but it’s too late—the pb has contracted the inside of the mouth, glomping up the salivary release points.

Gravel Gloss: Hard Tack

Premium Alberta Hard Tack

Gravel grinders dream about this stuff: imagine a gravel or dirt road surface that is so beaten down by tires and wind that it takes on the look and feel of regular asphalt. In fact, premium, grade-A hard tack—polished to a kind of soft sheen—can be even smoother and faster than pavement.

Harvest

The road treasure cornucopia.

It’s that time of year: the elementary school’s pumpkin patch overfloweth. My neighbour’s apple tree is weighed down like a sherpa. Huge bundles of hay dot the brown fields outside the city. Farmers are frantically taking off crops and storing up the bounty of the season. The Saturday market stalls are bursting with fabulous butternuts, swelling turnips, and mighty rutabagas.

But if farmers are harvesting now, why can’t cyclists? In the past week of riding, I’ve noticed an incredible amount of road treasure—you know, the man-made prize objects that somehow end up on the shoulder of the roads (not garbage, not litter), the cool stuff that motorists don’t see but that cyclists do, even if they don’t always stop to examine it. Every cyclist’s got his or her road treasure favorites: the diamond ring, the teddy bear, the Ganesh figurine, the waterlogged Bible.

The treasure I’ve been noticing isn’t just the usual flotsam and jetsam of bungee cords and work gloves but weird stuff, and tons of it. It’s as if the very roads are trying to get in on Nature’s act, and, like the fields, are brimming with their own strange fruit.

Dusty Lens: October Sunday

October 6, west of Villeneuve, Alberta. The dumb-ass birds are heading the wrong way.