Every Day Adventurers

Photo Courtesy of Derrick P of Family//Bike//Words

Thanks, again to everyone who submitted their essays to our Dump On Us contest. And a hearty applause for our finalists. Tater salad disaster man started with a strong lead but lost steam as a head-to-head battle waged between our winner and a sad tale of spilled suds and homework. Thanks to all who voted and chimed in with your favorite dump story. Now, for the crowd pleaser:

The Iceman Crasheth

I volunteered, as I usually do, to pickup the ice for the concession stand to one of our summer swim meets at our local pool. Instead of getting the 22 needed ten pound bags of ice with my Ford Ranger, I thought I would try to show that my Xtracycle could do this run as well. I had to go only a mile and a half to a 7/11, then less than a mile to the pool with the ice. The side panniers quickly filled, bulging both out and into the rear wheel. So now I started putting the ice bags cross ways, like building a wood pile, on the padded Magic Carpet rack top. The bike acted like it was trying to squirm out from under the load, so I leaned it against the big glass windows in the front of the 7/11. I think I had six or so bags in each pannier and a mound of 10 on the rack. I then ran a strap around the top bags under the rack and lengthwise, pinching the bag pile across its midsection. I started slowly, feeling little control but moving fine with the mountain bike’s granny gear. A small rut seemed to throw my whole operation loose, and then everything was listing to the left and I heard even more rubbing on the rear wheel. No stopping now, I though, and kept going hard, picking up speed. It was seven in the morning on a Saturday so there was nobody in my way in our suburbs. Approaching the entrance to the community pool I hit another bump which shifted my top cargo so far to the left that I now couldn’t stop from turning left, which felt like it was going to end badly. I strategically crashed into a neighbors shrub which kept my X and cargo upright. I felt like an old guy riding a huge Harley, knowing that if I drop it in front of the Starbucks, I will not be able to lift it back up. From my holding spot in the shrub, I regrouped, shimmied my cargo back closer to center and pushed off for the last quarter mile. Into the pool grounds I went to amazed looks of fellow early morning setter uppers. They didn’t know that I was pedaling hard to try to get as close to the concession stand as I could before I went over. Faster and faster until finally, about 50 yards from my destination, I went over in soft grass, ice bags flopping off but only one bursting open. Immediately, a wiseacre 12 year old boy roared with laughter and told me how funny I looked (payback from a Greek God who punishes wise guys from New Jersey for having done this in their youth). I had learned something about the outer limits of my X.

John P.
Somewhere near a pool

Runners Up

You Get an “F” for Effort

So I’m coming back from teaching. I have an open bag full of homework to check and I decide, “what goes better with homework than beer?” Since I live in the Commonwealth of PA, you can’t get 6 packs, so I have to get a case. I stop off at the beer store and get a case of PA’s finest, Yuengling for those unaware, and head back out to the dummy to load it up. At this time I was using a pletscher stand. So with all the joy I can muster at the thought of grading homework I load up the case of beer and strap it in. Faster than I can believe it actually happened, the dummy fell to the beer side, off the sidewalk and down the one foot drop to the parking lot. I was so busy being morally offended at the sound of broken glass that I failed to notice the slowly pooling puddle of suds. Once the leaking beer made it through my addled brains, I next had to process that at least half the bag of loose homework had fallen into said puddle. I just went ahead and called in sick the next day.

Galen F.
Commonwealth, PA

Octoberfest F*#!ck Up

I live in the mountains of Evergreen, Colorado. Working less than a mile from my job (a fine dining server), the X runs me to work most days.

There is also a huge community park that I walk/ride through to get to work that holds all kinds of different events. The last and most notable being a great Oktoberfest celebration, were we feed folks all kinds of Brats, Weinerschitzel, etc… When setting up for those events, I bring my bike and shuttle back and forth grabbing gear, food, whatevs. So as we are finally set up and already have a huge line, Chef says “Crap! I forgot the potato salad, Allan, can you handle it?!” “No worries” I say and I’m off. Get back to the restaurant and load up (clipped to the top, about 40 lbs of really great potato salad) and pedal back. No problem. Pull up and everyone is cheering the arrival of potato salad (drunk at 10am is a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon) as we have already started feeding people. I hop off and drop the kickstand and start to unload when my chef says something to me so I turn around. As I do that, I hear a growing noise from the crowd. I turn around just in time to see the kickstand bury into the grass and a shitload of potato salad go EVERYWHERE. There were cheers, boos, and angry drunks who apparently love potato salad jeering. Granted, it didn’t stop a few folks from grabbing some off the ground (It’s a really good dill potato salad).

I then got to spend an hour picking it up off the grass. Not a great way to start Oktoberfest, but a few sympathetic souls did buy me beers!

Allan C.
Evergreen, CO

Honorable Mention

While this story didn’t involve a kickstand, but rather a trackstand, we wanted to post it as an honorable mention. Take it away, Anne!

Trackstand Tim

A year or so ago Tim and I were visiting friends in Portland. After a
lovely dinner, our friend Vincent found himself without a ride home.
We had an Xtracycle and my Oma, so an extra passenger was no problem.

I handed my “ladies” bike off to Vincent and hopped on Tim’s SnapDeck.

Tim relished the challenge: 5 miles through Portland on a warm summer evening while toting a skirt-wearing, side-saddle-sitting passenger.

Perfect.

That is, until we got stopped at a long red light. I should mention
Tim has this thing about doing track stands at stoplights, even when
the kids are on board. And though I weigh a bit more than the kids, he
wasn’t stopping the practice on my account. And did I mention *this*
track stand was ONE-handed? He seemed to think capturing video of
Vincent’s maiden night ride on the step-through Mom’s bike trumped the safety of a real Mom on the SnapDeck

You’re probably getting the image, right? All it took was a slight
weight shift and we went down. Picture a slow-motion tumble,
eventually dumping me on the pavement with my legs in the air and my
unmentionables exposed.

Luckily only my pride was injured (and even that didn’t take too much
of a beating because I was laughing so hard).

All this could have been avoided with the Kickback. The center stand
stability means Tim can still pretend he’s a wizard track-standing
videographer, while I can keep better control of who sees my
underpants!

(for proof that this really did occur, read Vincent’s comment on this post)

Anne K.
Portland, OR

the xtracycle does something that none of my other bikes do: it connects with people, and it brings out a friendly curiosity. Strangers regularly ask me “did you make that yourself” and pay compliments to the extreme practicality. No other bicycle I own receives this much attention, particularly from people who don’t cycle. There’s something to be said for that intrigue. I know, a bakfiet would get just as much attention, but I simply can’t afford one. A bakfiet, with the cargo-forward design, carries loads up front, which gives it a range of advantages and disadvantages well-covered by the Austin-On-Two-Wheels blog.

In short, this is my desert island bike, the one I would keep over all others. It’s just too damn useful to do without. It rides like a cruiser, and that makes me a relaxed rider. The extended wheelbase makes it feel very stable and predictable, loaded or unloaded. I don’t mind riding it long distances. Neither do these folks, who rode from Alaska to the southern tip of Argentina. There aren’t many things in this world that make you feel capable of anything. This is one of them.

Xtracycle cargo bicycle one year review by Bike Denton.

Sean, a Big Dummy owner, sent us some helpful advice regarding roof racks that work well with long wheelbases. His rack is ATOC’s BT-63 (BT = Bike Topper; 63 = 63″ tray length). Sean was looking at other options on the market, including DIY hacks, but found the price and fit of the BT-63 to match his needs perfectly.

Sean's Big Dummy on his BT-63 roof rack

ATOC Bike Topper Carriers for Roof Racks.

Gearing up for marriage can be a challenging time, depending on how much you’re willing to organize. My dad proposed to my mom in their tiny piston driven airplane (she couldn’t vamoose). She said yes, and according to Colorado common law, they were husband and wife.

My marriage is a bit more detailed than that. We’re going the full nine and are having a blast in the process. Sure there’re hiccups like coordinating schedules, picking the wedding party and who to invite, but overall it’s planning a giant party with your loved ones.

One hiccup that hasn’t relaxed till five minutes ago is my suit. Being über tall and rail thin poses logistical nightmares for finding a suit. I wouldn’t care so much if it wasn’t my beautiful bride and I, front and center, for all our family and friends to see. After numerous attempts, and the usual procrastination, I settled on getting a custom suit.

The day my suit was ready to be picked up, I pedaled into Berkeley excited with anticipation. Trying the suit on I immediately noticed something wrong. It felt as if small pythons were mistaking my armpits for baby capybaras. This couldn’t be. I thought I got this baby custom. Ugh.

Turns out the suit tailors thought my 39.5 was my chest size WITH jacket (I’m not that scrawny) instead of it being my skin measurement. It already took three weeks to get the suit from the tailors and the wedding was 10 days away. Panic kicks off Plan B gearing as I tell my fianceé, who’s there with me, that the suit seems a no go.

Fast forward through frustration, suit hunting and some berating (“This is why I told you not to wait!”), we find out that the local tailor can semi-fix the tightness. She does. I try it on. Almost there. The sleeves need lengthening (boy, where did custom ever come into play with this thing) and a few other minor points of alteration.

Present day, and another ride into Berkeley praying it’s my last. Current tally: 4 Xtracycle rides, two single-speed and one BART trip – not to mention the other visits during the suit replacement scramble. I try on the suit. Feels great, but wait… What’s this? Why is one sleeve longer than the other? Did I mention I’m leaving on a plane tomorrow at 7:50AM and you’re about to close…. NOOOOO! The owner gets the tailor to stay late, promising me to bring the suit by this evening. I accept fate, hop aboard my Big Dummy and roll home.

Almost to the domicile, and talking on my earphones with future wifey about the rollercoaster (or is it rollercoat?) of the day, I randomly take a street earlier than my usual. The warm setting sun lights me from behind. I notice an overgrown orange tree and wonder why more urban fruit tree owners don’t donate their fruit to shelters. Then I notice a book on the curb, it doesn’t take me long to see what it is and elation erupts in my heart.

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein. On the edge of the sidewalk, no less. Another glorious curb find, and one that reflects the unknown future we all waltz, stumble and pedal down. May this be an omen of good tidings and glorious excitement.

Catch y’all on the flip side(walk).

Just one of the many great curbside finds I've been fortunate enough to find.

P.S. Have suit in hand. All systems go!

These are Mike Cobb’s words and wisdom from his Xtracycle tour around Europe as part of the Pleasant Revolution. Enjoy!

Wifi is precious and rare for this mechanic… just performed field surgery on my iPhone to replace the battery. Disabled the camera in the process! So- I can only send old pictures + hopefully a few that tourmates e-mail to me. But let’s start this off right!

Tower Bridge, London - World Naked Bike Ride

Had a one week vacation from our working vacation. Ljubljana, Slovania, the city of love, is where it started.

Ljubljana: Soooo full of grafitti. Seems as though civic concerns lie elsewhere. I like it – street level culture staining the walls. Saturation of personality. Sweet, mellow.

The squat in Ljubljana – the 5th squat or so. Always a somewhat creepy adventure. Squats attract creative people, anti-establishment people, rebel-rousers, sick people, poor people, drug adicts. This one had no electricity, lit by candles stolen from the local cemetary. One morning I watched a young man conspicuously trying to act casual outside the main building in the courtyard. It was a tough role to play as he kept puking in the storm drain. You can’t puke quietly. Or casually. After finishing, he quickly stood erect and wiped his whiskers. I just can’t stop assuming he was a junky who’s junk stream dried up – at the squat looking for a solution. William Burroughs has filled my head with diagnosis details…

Spent the night last night on a rugby field inside an Aix de Provence, France sports complex. I slept in my bivi sack on the field’s grass. Woke up to cloud bursts that delivered regular intervals of rain – 15 seconds of hard rain, 50 second break, 15 seconds of hard rain…kinda like a sprinkler…After about 4 or 5 rounds of this onslaught, it dawned on me that it WAS a sprinkler. Moved 30 meters away to the dry zone while Kipchoge first attempted to thwart the rain-makers with heavy rocks, then successfully with cooking pots AND heavy rocks. The tent-testing ended.

I’m finding a lot of “raw sienna, reduced red” (color of my room) all over provincial France. Often the main road through villages is canyon-walled with solid shop/residential walls, buffered by minimalist one meter sidewalks. These walls are often awash in subtle variations of “raw sienna, reduced red”. It’s a faded earthy yellow, familiar like memory from dreams. Truly soothing and pleasant. The feeling of ancestral habitat.

Skateboard for a snapdeck, a soccer ball, running shoes: my tools of diversion.